I am guessing this will be an ongoing series of posts because there is altogether too much that I don’t understand. I’m hoping that by putting it out here on the Internet, I might be able to a) let it go or b) get a damn answer that makes sense.

In this first edition, the issue at hand is simple: What the hell does “hooking up” mean?

I’ve literally wondered this for years. And by years, I mean, maybe a couple decades or more. Let me give you a little background: my first kiss was in seventh grade and was the product of a particularly embarrassing game of “Spin the Bottle.” No one wanted to make out with this gal:

After that, it was pretty much a life of piety bookended by awkward advances toward boys who were either wholly uninterested or gay. Or possibly both. I have a very poor sense for these things.

What I’m saying is I didn’t get any action until I was 21, and that was with my ex-husband, unless you count that one drunken time at a house party in college with the comic-con nerd that tasted like Apple Pucker who I made out with for 10 minutes, and who called me, inexplicably, “Zibot” for the rest of the night. Was that “hooking up?”

I have no frame of reference, you guys. Whenever someone tells me a story in which they “hooked up” with some guy or gal, I always, ALWAYS do the same thing: laugh uncomfortably, nod my head and give a look of “cool, man,” when in my head I’m saying, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” I’m not entirely sure anyone knows for sure what “hooking up” means. I’ve literally had people use that term to refer to fully-clothed makeout sessions, sweaty backseat handjobs, full-on sex, an occasional blow-job and, I’m quite certain, naked spooning. IT CAN’T BE ALL THOSE THINGS, CAN IT?

I’m saying I’m confused. I don’t understand. I wouldn’t mind knowing what this really means so that when the time actually comes when I do get some action again, I can saunter up to my friends and say, with confidence and swagger, “I hooked up with Justin Timberlake last night.”

Yes, Justin Timberlake.