Depends on your definition of "sex."
Number of times I have been in love:
Too many! I have "loved" 4, but only "in love" with one.
Number of times I thought I was in love but was wrong:
Number of times I have had my heart broken:
Gee, once? Joye came pretty close, but I wouldn't let myself feel that over her. We really were friends. And no, not sexy friends.
Number of hearts I have broken:
Shit, man, how many women are there in this world? And some guys, too, I'm sure. Honestly, probably not many. I have come way too close a few times.
Number of months I have been single:
In my whole life? Uh, three, carry the one, plus the last 8, geez. Assume 20 out of my 21 years, or about 239 months of my 253. Umm... subtract another 12 months if you count my girlfriends in Kindergarten and the first grade.
Number of boys I have kissed in my life:
Not nearly enough? Ha! Really kissed? None. Pecked on the cheek? Dunno, maybe two for laughs. I hate razor burn, though.
Number of girls I have kissed:
Chronological, like Tom (I know it said how many, not who, but bear with my aged memory): Megan (when I was 5), Cara(6), Patricia(6), Mia(10), (big gap), Alice(16), Jillian(17), Amanda(18), Becca(20), Chrissy(20, but she kissed me!), Michelle(21).
Say 10. I may have forgot one. That's what happens when you are a KISS SLUT. :\
Number of people from high school that I stayed in contact with:
Define "in contact." We have a mailing list; no reason to use it. There are people I will hang out with when in town (Ashwani is a must; he's such a cool guy and we just get along). Ryan, always. That's two... I see whoever else is around when there's something doing. We live all over the county and now we've graduated so it's like totally not happening that we see one another.
Number of cd's that I own:
135? 140? I just bought Extreme's Pornographitti, so that brings the total up. But tell us, Dark, how many LPs do you have? Oh, I'm glad you asked. I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 gentle reader, bringing my TOTAL COLLECTION up to somewhere in the fucking two hundreds.
Number of tattoos:
Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper:
Does it count if I wrote it in? And how big of a paper? County-wide, two or three times. Locally, dozens, but they have lots of announcements.
Number of scars on my body:
I don't know. I can't see half my body, so there's probably fucked up shit all over there. Probably nothing that could be used to ID me, and if there was, I wouldn't print it. Cause hey, you never know.
Number of times a person has made me scared of what they could do to me physically:
Shit, man, what else was school for? Eventually, I just got tired of it. One time, I just shrugged off the bully's full nelson (he was too fat to do it right, so it was more of a half) and just walked home, pissed as hell. I was like, don't follow me. He didn't. Then later, I got a posse together of kids, and we went looking for this one dude who was supposedly acting kinda drunk and disorderly, harassing kids. Man, there must have been twelve of us, with wood planks, metal rods, whatever we could lift. We patrolled the hood for like, two hours, but the dude never showed. We probably would've fucked him up pretty bad, those of us who didn't piss our pants and run.
It just got to the point where like, ok, some dude can mess you up, but usually they're all about the threats. If a dude can mess me up and I can't stop him, there's no use sweating it. If he wants to fuck you up, he's going to. Fuck him. I got shit to do. He can make up his mind and call me up when he's ready to kick my ass. It's really weird, but that attitude has kept me out of some shit.
Number of things in my past that I regret:
Not much. Sure, I wouldn't have been as shy around the girls, or I would have worked harder in school, but fuck second-guessing, too. I have a fuckin awesome girlfriend, and that's what's what. Everything else is shit; no use wonderin how it would've tasted if you'd spread it on a cracker.