My Romantic History: A Timeline

While you’re all reading about my current romantic foibles, I have come to realize that most of you really don’t know how I got here. In other words, you don’t know where I’ve been on this path toward finding The One.

Many people have asked me about my personal dating history. They probably didn’t want to know this much, but here it is.

Spoiler alert: I’ve been in bed watching Netflix, which is why I’m still painfully alone.

What you should know first-off is that I never prioritized dating. At age 5 I told my mom I didn’t want a husband – I just wanted to live with roommates. As a 23-year-old Los Angeles newbie, I work hardest at my career. School was always my main focus. Now my life is dedicated to getting a great job and learning to be an adult by cooking and going to the gym. Perhaps to find happiness in companionship, I need to put energy into finding love the way I put energy into everything else that I do. Will that work? Maybe not, but at least it’s a start. If this aggressiveness I have could get me into the Ivy League and onto the West Coast post-graduation, it could probably get me wifed up. Maybe.

So now, I present to you: My Life In Love. Or Like. Or Hookups. Or Whatever.

Preschool: I had my first “boyfriend” in preschool. His name was Ben. We were best friends and somehow we dated at this precious time in our childhoods. My most vivid memory of Ben was when we were sitting across from each other at circle time. Without warning, his nose opened the gates and let forth a massive amount of blood. It looked like his upper lip had been cracked in half. I don’t know if this nosebleed was a turn-on or if this is what ended our young relationship, but it was certainly a lasting memory. Here’s what he looked like, bowl cut and all. He’s standing next to my brother. If only I could find a romantic photo of us together, but nope.


Elementary School: No relationships to speak of. Because I looked like this:


Middle School: No relationships to speak of. Though I do remember a friend of mine was dating another friend of mine at the time. She is now in every single one of his Bar Mitzvah pictures, sitting on his lap and kissing him on the cheek. I bet they haven’t even spoken to each other since sometime in high school, yet she’s probably hanging on the wall in his suburban basement, cuddling him while he wears a yarmulke and tallit. I am relieved I am not that forgotten 7th grade girlfriend who is forever in someone’s mother’s photo collection. At the time I was probably jealous, but now? Definitely not. But here’s a photo of me at my own Bat Mitzvah, just for kicks.


9th Grade: This is when things got terrible. The mean girls (plus one mean boy whose voice was pitched higher than mine, so he kind of counts as a mean girl) at school started making fun of me because they thought I liked a boy who happened to be in a bunch of my classes. The most “romantic” gesture these bullies created between said boy and I happened in one of our shared classes. Of course, the teacher of that class hated me and put me in a group with the boy and one of the worst bullies. The female bully decided to borrow my calculator and brought it over the the squealing male bully. They returned it and had written on it, “KELLY + [BOY’S NAME] FOREVER”. Why, you ask? I have no idea. I probably never will. But it’s okay because I graduated from college and don’t know if I can say the same for the majority of those people.

10th Grade: No relationships to speak of. Unless you count studying for the SAT every single day as a standing relationship.

11th Grade: No relationships to speak of. Unless you count touring colleges as a romantic dating life. Also, I went to prom by myself. So there’s that.

12th Grade: No relationships to speak of. Unless you count college applications as going steady, because I was certainly spending a lot of time with those. I also attempted to go to prom with a friend who I’d spent a lot of studying time with. He ended up asking someone else. Then I told my best guy friend that he’d be going with me. Little did I know he would be going with another friend who he’d been secretly hooking up with. By “hooking up”, I mean making out next to his car in his driveway. So I went to prom by myself. Again. But damn, I looked good in that long black dress.


Freshman Year: College was when I finally figured I’d get some experience with relationships. I kissed my first boy my first semester of college (don’t make fun of me. As you can see, I was very clearly a late bloomer.) He was on the lacrosse team and he was black-out drunk at a party. I wasn’t. And he licked my whole face and spilled a drink on my friend. I still felt good about it though. Wonder what ever happened to him.

Sophomore Year: My first relationship! Yes, really, it happened! Max and I met through a mutual friend over the summer and started dating at the beginning of my sophomore year. We lasted for a year and a half and we only ever fought over what shows or movie to watch. He usually won and for that reason, I can never watch Tim and Eric ever again. We were cute though.


Junior Year: The year I lived in a fraternity house. Max and I broke up in December of that year. Not because of my frat house living situation, but because we were simply ready to move on. That didn’t stop me from crying for a million days, though. Later in the year I met a dental student and unofficially dated him for a few months. It didn’t work out though, probably because he liked his model cars more than me. I also met a boy over the summer at a music festival who I developed some feelings for. I haven’t seen him since, but we keep in touch via Snapchat. Not the sexy kind though.

Senior Year: My dry spell year. I can count on one hand the number of heterosexual men I so much as touched (homosexual men are a different story). First was an athlete who never called me again. Second was a drunken tongue-biting incident during an event for the super elite senior society that I was in. And third was another drunken hook-up with one of the students I TA’ed. To be fair, he was the same year as me. So it isn’t that weird. Right? Louie was playing in the background. That’s mainly what I remember. I also fell for a Drexel student (which is a huge taboo at Penn, whoops) who didn’t return my feelings. So that happened. Or didn’t happen. Whatever.

And now we come to the present. I moved to Los Angeles and started online dating. You all know the majority of my stories from here on out.

Perhaps this was too much information. Maybe you didn’t even read it. Or maybe you did. Even worse, maybe you recognized yourself in one of these tidbits and got really mad. But I only speak the truth and I hope you all realize that too. You may also believe this post is far too personal to put in print. That’s where we differ. As someone who hopes to make a career of writing personal stories, there is nothing better than writing about relationships and sex. Boundaries don’t exist for me. My friends could tell you that, because they have to hear all these stories in much more detail.

But alas, single life isn’t so bad for right now. At least I don’t have to share my take-out with anyone.

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