So I spent a little time looking up boys I've slept with on the internet. Uh, I mean, ones I slept with in real life; I haven't fucked anyone online...there was a phone call at 4:30am one New Year's Day, but...
The searching began because I couldn't remember what one of them looked like. What I had in my head was a cross between Ray Liotta and Greg Kinnear, but I figured that couldn't be right. Ridiculously, I have a relentlessly clear image of what his testicles looked like. (Yes, Freesia, that guy.) I guess that oughta explain a bit about our relationship, though. He's also the guy who said the dumbest thing ever to me, "You smell like the wind" and the one who cried because the pig ears in Costco reminded him of his dog. (If he'd been anyone else, I might have thought this was sweet, but I was beginning to become suspicious of my motives for the liaison.) To balance that out, I also behaved the worst towards him, letting him think that a bruise on my leg was from sex with someone else and x-acto knifing a page out of a book he gave me so I wouldn't have to look at his handwriting. (Although I did do both of those things after we'd broken up.)
After a bit of sifting, I found him, but no photos. I moved on to another guy...and stopped. I couldn't remember his last name except that maybe it began with an "L." The last time I tried to make a list of everyone I've slept with--a brief exercise--I couldn't remember his name at all, so no last name was an improvement. Of course, the last time I couldn't remember I was at a concert (the encore was dull; the list was a diversion); I walked out into the lobby and there he was. That'll pop names right back into your head, let me tell you.
After those two, I started doing the dishes. Everyone else I see on a fairly regular basis and have no trouble remembering their names or what they look like. They're mostly smart and talented; only one was crazy, but he surfaced during a period of Sitting in the Garden Eating Worms. So here's a piece of advice: don't kiss boys when you're drunk if the previous day featured the following email exchange with your brother:
Ida: Am miserable. Please advise.
Ian: I am unable.
Posted by Ida at January 16, 2003 08:36 AM