comment #1

Rashad says ...

I can't help but think that throughout this well minded piece about the true virtues of Valentine's Day, it was just a cool way of dropping how many women you've been with.

175?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgoXUzIwXk0&NR=1

comment #2

CitizenKaned4Life says ...

I know I can be a bit of a dick sometimes, but I gotz nothin' but pure respect for you on this here thread (not to mention its timing).

175?! And over 25 years ago, at that??? You are the fucking man, homey. Literally.

comment #3

Jeffrey Wells says ...

Did they not ask the question? Did I not steer things in a more interesting direction? Eff you, Rashad. Missed the '70s...is that it?

comment #4

Krillian says ...

I'm extremely happy in my marriage and I pity you for being unlucky in love..... heeeeey, is this a trick?

I do still think about my girlfriend from college every once in a while. She found out her dad was a child molester while we were going out and her trust of men rapidly disintegrated from there. Hope she's okay, whereever she is.

comment #5

Kristopher Tapley says ...

If Wells can net 175 on the tang meter, then yeah, I wish I'd been there for the 70s.

comment #6

George Prager says ...

MIssed the 70s? Come on now, young Rashad missed the 00s.

comment #7

Kristopher Tapley says ...

By the way, I lose count of anything over 50 when it's not right in front of me. So it's funny to me a) that you were able to settle on that number and b) that you remember what year it was when you settled on that number.

Oh you. Don't go changin'.

comment #8

Ray DeRousse says ...

And today Jeff is at 176.

Get it while ya can, kids.

comment #9

JR says ...

How many men / trannies in that 175? Just sayin'...had to been a slip up or two...

comment #10

ModernLifeIsRubbish says ...

175. Oh, a Syndey Pollack anecdote...175, wow...oh, where was I? ...175?!

The number definitely overshadows any other sentiment expressed here.

And he's made a living writing about movies.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tejkhFyjoGE

comment #11

Mr. F. says ...

Jeffrey Wells: the Wilt Chamberlain of movie bloggers.

comment #12

Mr Hooper says ...

When you bag on NY Mag for asking - "Classy! And about as far away from the spirit of Valentine's Day as you can get" - and then immediately follow it with your number, that's pretty crass, and a glaring act of narcissistic bragadocio. And not in a good way. As for the 175 - how many of them was with your left hand and how many with your right?

comment #13

Vaudezilla says ...

In the interests of hijacking this thread back to where Jeff seemed to want it to go, I don't exactly have one of those "one that got away" stories of my own, but coincidentally enough, Quentin Tarantino's Jackie Brown popped into my head today. That one was a stellar example of "the one that got away." I was begging Max Cherry to go away with Jackie at the end. The final shot of him walking away from his desk afte turning her down, going out of focus, and finally dropping his head in sadness and regret is one sublime piece of heartache and heart break.

comment #14

LexG says ...

4.

Wait, BJs don't fully count?

3.5.

comment #15

Jeffrey Wells says ...

Another resentful basement dweller who missed the '70s, eh, Hooper? Why am I sensing that if I'd reported a lesser number (like 5 or something) that you'd be okay with that and not ragging on me?

I was trying to say that everyone has their tally but none of it adds up to much without perspective, and unless there's real some real lingering want and hurt and afterglow memories that seem as vivid as right this minute.

Most of the posts here (including poor Hooper's and Rashad's) indicate a profound ignorance and/or misunderstanding of what it was like during the '70s. It was a whole 'nother time and mood. It was I, Claudius and I Love My Wife and Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice and MASH and Shampoo with the occasional quaalude.

I was pretty randy, okay, but I was just swimming along with the cultural current like everyone else. I wasn't some carnival freak trying for some kind of mention by Sports Illustrated. Nobody was. It was just one day at a time, just one luscious/lucky/thank-you-God moment on top of another, and then another and another and another until it all blended together. On top of which I was poor and struggling and uncertain what to do with my life until '76 or so, and even then it was all about fear of failure and/or not being good enough. It was no picnic.

Obviously this thread has been hijacked and no one is going to discuss the "one that got away" Sydney Pollack idea....whatever.

comment #16

The Thing says ...

It's rather unfortunate. I'm of the age where all I've had is unrequited love or meaningless short-term relationships. So I really don't have a "one that got away" story. Just a whole bunch of "the one that doesn't feel the same" stories.

Also a good note to Lex (and, after Friday night's events, myself) - alcohol only makes you feel better if there's a girl involved, so don't drink tonight. It'll only make you sadder

comment #17

LexG says ...

When I hear "it was the '70s, man" stories like Jeff's, I'm always, always jealous, an era where i picture every dude in a wipsy stache who looked like Dennis Franz buying some Mr Furley polyester and not doing a damn THING to tame his body hair or baldness issues, rolling into the nearest disco and still having to fend off Donna Pescow AND Karen Lynn Gorney. I remember it in my earlier memories, having been five or six and totally soaking in that chill, yacht-rock swingin' atmosphere and those Slap Shot-type clothes...

But a little bit it also reminds me of Altman movies, just this big canvas of everyone smelling like bong resin and hopping into bed popping Valium and nobody really showered fully and like Stephen Bishop singing ON AND ON on the stereo and dudes who looked like BOB FROM HALLOWEEN having sex with Sally Kellerman tyoes in some unflattering burlap sack. I don't know, when I watch Altman, the main thing that strikes me is everyone looks like they smell bad, and that the sex looks depressing. Even Woody Allen movies of that time; Now we're used, in real life and the movies, to everyone with a gym physique and shaved down to look like Powder and everyone trained on porn and Skins to have multi-act porn sex.... In the 70s it's like the Woodman popping pills in a bad T-shirt next to Diane Keaton smoking a Virgina Silm in some dreary apartment.

One that got away? One one-time virginity loss, one one-time BJ in a car, one brief run with a cougar, one long-term relationship. No one else, really...

Never relate this ONE WHO GOT AWAY shit where some dude's romantic life is a THROUGH-THE-AGES ROLL CALL of various types and ethnicities... Even leaving aside my own suburbanized monogamous then asexual since life, MOST dudes I know are pushing 40 or beyond, and half of them have still never had a single serious "girlfriend." Pretty sure I know three full-on 40-year-old virgins.

comment #18

Kakihara says ...

Dunno why, but I've wanted to hear what Lex had to say about http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7-glnSlIjM . Also, I probably could've found "The One" by now if I wasn't a pussy and/or demoralized by my mom's cancer and my dad being a dead-beat. The 90s sucked indeed.

comment #19

DukeSavoy says ...

How many men / trannies in that 175? Just sayin'...had to been a slip up or two...

Remember, movie blog -- keep it in the argot of the endemic:

"How many The Crying Game moments in there, Jeff?"

comment #20

lbeale says ...

I don't have a personal regret - although I often wonder what happened to the high school sweetheart who dumped me, and was one hot chickie-poo - but if I had to choose love regrets in movies, I'd definitely go with Jackie Brown and...The Bridges of Madison County.

comment #21

Kakihara says ...

No mention of Chasing Amy-i.e., the last time Smith actually gave a fuck about a movie?

comment #22

Mr Hooper says ...

Funny how if it "all blended together," as you say, Jeff, that you were able to keep a scorecard. If you'd written what you just wrote in the comments (with or without the number), I wouldn't have thought twice about it and would've gotten the place you're coming from. But read your original post - from Valentine's Day to bagging on the question to bragging about the '70s like it was Caligula. That's not the same thing, not even close. And no, I didn't miss the '70s.

comment #23

SolarTheSign says ...

In The Age of Nookie, every one that got away was The One, or at least potentially The One.

The best description of this came from the Nookie King himself. You quoted it, Wells, as coming from Biskind by way of Dustin Hoffman, after he'd asked Warren Beatty why he hit on any attractive woman who passed through his field of vision:

"He was thinking. He was searching for the right words. 'Because...you never know.' I thought that was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard a man say, because he was talking about spirits uniting."

comment #24

lebowski19 says ...

My wife won't let me try banal

comment #25

Brendan says ...

Cue up "Baby You're a Rich Man" and have Jessie click refresh 10 times...Sorkin was channeling Pollack, not Welles.

comment #26

QualityGibberish says ...

Dang, and what with taking only 7 for that degrees of separation thing, that means that right now, you're all banging Jeff.

But I think he means no one over 175 pounds.

comment #27

dino velvet says ...

One that got away? Um, a girl I went to bed with in college. I say WENT TO BED WITH because we didn't actually do it and then afterwards she got all weird and it never did happen. Other than that, umm, my total is pretty much in the LexG zone, but I am married so at least I get it regularly. You know, once a month.

comment #28

Movie Watcher says ...

Jeff, I'm 52, so you're probably close to my age. The 70's were great! I was in my early 20's, and the women were everywhere. It was a great time. I can't remember my count, what with the alcohol and the blackouts, or being at many parties, so I don't think much about it. The one that got away...I dated her before I married my wife. I sometimes wonder what happened to her, but as time goes by, not much.

comment #29

QualityGibberish says ...

You have to be a masochist to reflect on "the one that got away." A happier thought is the ones you got away FROM.

comment #30

Eloi Wrath says ...

175 women in the era before safe sex was invented means that Jeff probably has more children than most rappers.

comment #31

Rashad says ...

I just hope Jessie stays with Celine.

comment #32

actionlover says ...

Not to be graphic, but the thing that makes me NOT regret having missed the porno-thon fuck-fest that was the 1970's is the thought of wild, scary, untamed, mammothly furry, hippy shrub down around the underneath.

Not that I require baldness....far from it... but a little tidying up is much appreciated.

So now you know that.

comment #33

coxcable says ...

175?

I said goddamn! That's like a million to a Gen-Xer.

Well... I've spent the past five weeks having marathon sex with a girl who looks like Amy Pond from Dr Who.

But I am a tall, good looking trust fund baby.

But 175?

I said goddamn!

comment #34

LFF says ...

>"Funny how if it "all blended together," as you say, Jeff, that you were able to keep a scorecard"

Can't believe no one restated the old saying? Something like... You always lose count at the orgy, then make your best guess at the VD clinic.

I am also Gen-x, & while I don't know anyone with those numbers, i know a few for whom 30-40 wouldn't be outlandish. (sadly, not me.)

It helps enormously to be, shall we say, ethnically unusual in your local social population in your early 20s. That way, you're not just a lay, you're a life experience.

comment #35

Billy says ...

How many of the 175 are names we would know?

comment #36

Gabe@ThePlaylist says ...

I have crossed everything off my (or anyone else's) sexual bucket list. I don't think sex has ever made me happy.

Happy Valentine's Day.

comment #37

CitizenKaned4Life says ...

@Billy: At least one -- Vinessa Shaw.

comment #38

Eloi Wrath says ...

DRUNK GABE TORO POWER.

comment #39

Gabe@ThePlaylist says ...

I've regretted so much, eloi. so mcuh.

comment #40

Eloi Wrath says ...

When you say you've crossed everything off anyone's sexual bucket list, does that include Stefan Postma-style activities and whatnot? That's quite a confession.

comment #41

Gabe@ThePlaylist says ...

Which one is postma? Because probably.

comment #42

BobbyLupo says ...

"Obviously this thread has been hijacked and no one is going to discuss the "one that got away" Sydney Pollack idea....whatever."

Jeff - yeah, I think it was hijacked by the guy who said "I'm not going to tell one of those one that got away stories, but I will post a number that I came up with randomly as my answer for how many women I've boned". Post #00.

comment #43

BobbyLupo says ...

Also, for all the people insulting Jeff, remember that the man was 75 by 1983, so the numbers average out a bit lower than 175 would for most of you. I mean, the guy was 76 years old.

A hundred and thirty-seven years old!

comment #44

Krillian says ...

I like the "got away FROM" one. I had one girlfriend I was in the car with shortly after I broke up with her and she was speeding down a dark, curvy road crying about how hurt she was. Thought for sure she was going to take us both out in a suicide cliff-dive.

comment #45

BobbyLupo says ...

No offense, but if she had killed you both, you kind of would've earned it through your own poor sense of timing. You don't break up with somebody at a point when they still have to drive you home down a dark curvy road.

comment #46

hunterd says ...

test

comment #47

Fortunesfool says ...

I'm pretty sure I haven't even 'met' 175 different women and i'm 37.

comment #48

hunterd says ...

Here's something I wrote during my senior year of college, I think it fits with Wells' idea.

Lowest Common Denominator

Another night of staring at the stars
listening to moonlight sonata,
the bars.
floating into inky blackness of the sky
already aching from mourning,
so am I.

Got another spot for a horse in your stable?
I'm ready and amicable and able.
I got a little dirt on me, but I'm generally friendly
and I could use a little shield from the storm, see?

You know what?
Fuck rhyming, I need to be straight with you.

I want you to know that I never cried a single tear over you.
But I did smoke a lot of pot
And I did drink a lot of alcohol
And I did inhale a lot of nicotine
And I did stop wearing condoms

Because I'm lost without you
and I'll never have you read this note
because I could never bear to have you know
that even though we're through
I still define myself by you.

And this was supposed to be sincere
not self-aggrandizing aesthetic fare
but I'm still standing here,
wearing your jeans
(which look better on me)
trying to decide if I should return your panties
or keep them as a trophy
like your virginity.

And this was supposed to be the pretty one!
the one where I say things eloquently
where I speak my piece and feel at peace
and finally sleep soundly.
Why does it have to be another one of inarticulate rage
where the words don't ooze off the page
but stick with misogynistic fervor
I swear I still love y--

I'm not supposed to say that.

I'm supposed to say that I never did
and that I only hung around because of low self-esteem
and that I'm doing better now
and that there is some evidence
because the new girls have been prettier

But a phone call,
that's all I get?
I went with you to get a SART kit!
(No Exit)
and I don't even deserve a face-to-face split?
Shit.

But then, when it gets down to it,
the lowest common denominator in all of my relationships is three;
failure,
heartache,
and me.

And when it really, really gets down to it,
I called you up,
I brought it up,
I dragged it out of you.
And maybe I wanted it a little bit too.
And maybe I had my eye on a few.
And maybe I thought about them when I was with you.
And maybe I'd felt this way for a year.
And maybe I'd begun to practice in the mirror,
focusing on parts where I knew I'd have to cry,
punctuating points with a solitary tear.
And maybe all it really is
is that I wanted to be the one to do it
I was supposed to break up with you.
I was in a stronger position.
And I was wrong.

And I was wrong
and I never took you seriously,
And I was wrong
and I never took and interest in your hobbies
And I was wrong
And we've always been incompatible sexually
And I was wrong
but we weren't happy.

But sometimes,
sometimes we'd lay in bed
and you would curl your toes around mine
and I would feel like a human being

For all the big talk,
I'm an afterglow kinda guy.
Sleeping with you in my arms
is all it ever needed to be.

comment #49

hunterd says ...

You Were So Mysterious.

When we first met, I liked you immediately because here I was, this skinny little twerp just out of high school, and you were so ... college. You were this swagger filled girl with dyed red hair and big funky sunglasses who ran around in jackets with homemade back patches exalting the virtues of 1920's German arts movements. You were this fully formed figure of weirdness and I couldn't even figure out how to shave my head properly. Plus, you had this whole androgyny thing going on and even though you would never admit it was intentional I thought that was kind of hot.

In fact, the first time I saw you, I thought you were a boy. I did. And I was still attracted to you. And I didn't know what that meant, but I figured, "Hey, it's college."

You can imagine how relieved I was when I finally saw you up close. But really, most of all, it was this -- you were not at all nice. You were so mean and wry and full of piss and vinegar. It made me feel special that you liked me and it played into the worst parts of my ego.

We spent 6 hours talking that night, spending Halloween in the god damned commons room. You liked me too, I could tell because you lied through your teeth about your interests, seemingly saying just about anything to keep the conversation going, even if it meant wholly fabricating a deep knowledge of the local San Diego punk and Ska scene. You told me later that for the first two hours you hated my guts and thought that I was a complete asshole, only later would you realize that I was a complete asshole who would pick up the phone at 4 AM when you were alone and needed help. All in all, it was the best Halloween I'd ever had.

A few days later I would take you out to the bluffs, to the spot where I usually went to smoke pot with my friends. Tonight it would play the role of wouldbe lover's lane. It was sunset and the tide was fantastic, I knew this was the place where I was supposed to make my move, and no doubt you did too. But as I looked out of the horizon, I got scared. I really, really liked you and I hadn't even considered the possibility of rejection until this moment. So instead we just stood there, shivering in the cold until I awkwardly segued into our return to the dorms.

The next day I would take you out again and ask permission before I kissed you saying --

"You know, if this were a romantic comedy, this would be the part where I'd kiss you."

"What's to say it isn't?"

And I felt like a virgin when our lips touched because my senses overwhelmed me and my knees buckled and I completely forgot how it all works. I could barely stand, much less work my way through the bases with any tact. And as I reached my hands up under your shirt, under the auspices of warming my chilled fingers, I was overjoyed to discover silky, soft skin of a delightful ivory palette and hips so carefully hidden under layers and layers of androgynous, ill-fitting clothing. We went back to my room that night. We had to be careful not to wake my roommate.

A few trepidation filled days later we would walk to the dinning commons and I would take your hand, you noted the gesture --

"I like holding your hand. I was walking along and I wanted to hold it, but I wasn't sure if that was okay."

"Of course it's okay."

-- I think we both understood the implied second half of this answer was, "I mean, how many times did you sleep in my bed this week?" But I'd also like to think that both of us understood that the reason I took your hand had nothing to do with the reason why it was socially acceptable to do so.

Not long after this, and eight days after our first kiss, I would come up to your dorm room to pick you up for dinner and you would tell me an anecdote without realizing the implication --

"Oh my god, lemme tell you a story before we go. This girl in my anthro class said the weirdest thing to me today."

"Oh yeah?"

"She said to stop smiling so much."

"What?"

"She said that it was annoying because, 'Only two kinds of people smile like that: idiots, and idiots who think they're in love."

-- And your eyes went wide and you dropped your jaw and covered your mouth, as if to shove the words back inside and simply chew them up. You backtracked --

"But I didn't, no wait, I didn't mean it like th--"

-- I interrupted --

"Well, I have a question for you."

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna maybe go out some time? Because I think I love you too."

And I should have taken it as a warning sign because it's embarrassing to even write it down, but I did, in fact, already love you.

The next weekend we went thrift store shopping to fix up my wardrobe. Soon you even began to do my laundry and cook for me occasionally. It would be years before I would really understand why you were overcompensating for character flaws you didn't actually have.

And as I got to know you, you peeled back the layers of disaffected armor and revealed a soft underbelly. You'd curl up next to me and nuzzle me, more like a kitten than the spitfire bitch you'd made yourself out to be. And before long we'd speak almost exclusively in-jokes and gibberish: feasts, and liquids, and buttermops, and lubsters, and Omani.

It was a very stupid time and a very long honeymoon. And I loved you from the first minute.

comment #50

LexG says ...

Mad props to the 49 commenters who managed either the monk-like restraint or the pathological fear of banning required to not make the oh-so-obvious "175? That explains why DZ has free reign here" jokes.

comment #51

Jeffrey Wells says ...

Wells to hunterd: Now that's what I meant. Thanks. Well-written and real. If only you'd omitted the "curled your toes around mine" line. I instinctively recoil whenever any guy for any reasons mentions his feet or toes. That stops it cold in my book. But otherwise, nice.

comment #52

Jeffrey Wells says ...

Wells to Tapley: It simply hit me one day in '83 that I'd been lucky -- blessed -- over the previous 12 years but that it wouldn't stay in my head forever so I'd better start compiling names and stories as best I could while I was still relatively young and the memories were semi-fresh, and so I did. I thought about it all the time, and it took me at least two weeks to gather it all together.

comment #53

cangefilmfest says ...

Ok, I've been with 1,2,3,4,5.......24,25,26,27, like, two, I think would be the final tally. Yeah, two. But they were sisters! Sisters to each other! No, not my sisters! So I get a high-five, right?

comment #54

Chauncey says ...

Now we're talking. It's just just the numbers, it's the arrangement.

comment #55

Chauncey says ...

*not* just. Damn.

comment #56

Chauncey says ...

It's *not* just the number *of notes*, it's the arrangement. Motherfucker.

comment #57

Chauncey says ...

Somebody left the cork out of my lunch.

comment #58

hunterd says ...

I won't reveal my number on an account with my name attached, but I will say that my number can be discerned by removing one of the digits of Wells' 175.

RE: Wells, the toes line makes you recoil for exactly the reason that it is important. It's just about the most intimate physical moment I can think of. Almost amniotic.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, how many women have slept with me on "spec" because I can write pieces like the one I did above and perform them real well? I'm moderately good looking, but the vast majority of my flings were almost certainly girls who slept with me because of my writing. That's how I know if a piece is good -- she bats her eyelashes differently after I finish reciting it.

That said, I sincerely meant and mean every line of the two poems/pieces above. None of my good work is designed to get me laid. It just does, sometimes.

comment #59

MDOC says ...

There was a great line from a book review in this past weeks wall street journal, "Unrequited love is the only love that last forever".

comment #60

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