I am a crazy person, and I will be the first to admit it. I’m the kind of crazy that documents everything, saves the stupidest little things from the most mundane days of her life, writes about things most people wouldn’t remember an hour later — essentially I’m obsessed with memories, or just remembering. I have a flower made out of tissue paper and a pipe cleaner that one of my best friends made me in 6^th grade. I’m still wearing the wrist band from a music festival I went to in July of 2013. I have pretty much everything my ex-boyfriend ever gave me (including a log that he drunkenly decided would be a good gift to leave in my dorm room one night). Some people have accused me of being a hoarder, but others are amazed at the random things I can remember about my past. I take pride in my sentimentality, in remembering the tiny details of everything, in caring enough to want to remember, even if it can be a bit over the top. I think it might come with the territory of being a writer.
But it’s not just objects that I hoard; I also hoard memories and information that will help me remember my past. This is where the real “crazy” comes out. I think it’s a pretty normal thing for a girl to have a list of all the people she’s slept with lying around somewhere – at least I know a lot of people who have one. But again, from a young age I took this practice a bit farther than the average girl and have kept a running list of every guy I have ever kissed in my entire life, since I was 11 years old. I mean, every. single. one. From middle school on, this list is everywhere from spin the bottle encounters to my first love. I eventually transferred the list to my computer, which recently crashed and while I was transferring my files, I came across it. Having been in a serious relationship for the past two and a half years until quite recently, I’ve had no real reason to look at it for a while. But break ups happen and then drinking happens and then making out with boys you meet at the bar happens, so I had to add a name to the list. When I noticed how absurdly long the list was, I decided to count the names, and I counted 100, exactly. I mean, first of all, what are the odds that I happened to count them at that very point in time, and not after the next boy I kiss? Also, to be clear, I have no shame in admitting that I’ve kissed this many people – kissing is fun.
This list is absurd — almost as absurd as the fact that I have somehow kept up with it for 12 years. But wait, I’m even crazier than you already think I am! Not only have I kept this list, but I’ve put symbols next to some of the names to indicate certain things about the situation. But now I’m looking at this list of 100 men (mostly boys, really) that I’ve touched lips with and it is a TRIP. Partially because there are a handful that I have absolutely no idea who they are, there are a few that are listed as “dude from party at Alex’s,” or something along those lines, and there are some (more than I care to admit) that my only response to remembering them is “what was I thinking?!” And then there are the ones who I wish were still in the habit of kissing me.
So before I start giving the time of day to these boys individually, recounting the good, the bad, and the ugly of all of these encounters, I thought it would be funny to look for patterns in the list. Yeah, it’s a little ridiculous, but I have honestly never had more fun analyzing any kind of data before in my life.

Thus begins the saga of the last 12 years of my kissing history. Over the next, well, however long it takes me to get through 100 boys, I’ll be writing my way through this list. So, if you’ve ever kissed me, consider yourself officially warned; I will be writing about you — even if I don’t remember your name. Stay Tuned!
If you liked this post, check out 13 Reasons I’m Convinced That Taylor Swift Is Stalking Me.

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