If anticipation heightens the experience, the collegiate pastime of casual sex must be bleak…. If anticipation heightens the experience, the collegiate pastime of casual sex must be bleak. Sex is becoming expository to dates, a kiss before the handshake. But who’s to blame? Casual sex is a process easier to learn than anything taught in class: I want you, you want me, stop using your mouth to speak, I’m not listening anyway.

Most of us have either dabbled in impersonal hook-ups or made them our M.O., yet a common ground lies in the flavor of the blasé act accompanying the taste of alcohol. Our good sense is paused and urges take over, fueling the separation of head and body.

I’m unwilling to label myself a party girl, but I’ve found many a night at the bottom of a bottle, feet aching from the dance floor, memory gaps from points A to B. And yes, I’ve woken up, horrified, next to a few someones I wish I could undo. The first time is an accident, the second time is approached with narrowed eyes, but the third time means, “Girl, you got a problem.”

But to every problem, there is a solution.

Somewhere in the midst of my inconsistent bouts of therapy and making the very adult, anti-me life decision to turn over my leaves and start anew, I fixated on the idea that it was necessary to take a vow of celibacy.

I am not religious, but now my metaphorical promise ring shines just as bright as the next Bible thumper saving their you-know-what for you-know-who. I don’t have a system of principles that dictates my life; I have always believed there’s what you do and what you don’t do. I’ve disregarded the concept of consequence, letting every spark that moved me to catch, grow into a flame.

Past tense.

Presently, I am immersed in this celibate, weekend-shattering scheme. There are no more of the “Sure, you can have my number, but only if you put it in my phone and spell your name out, because I have no idea what you look like in the light” scenarios. I now know real people with real names, no more of the Hair Color + Height + Any Discerning Quality equation to help with recognition. Funny how long it took for a proper introduction when your body parts were already acquainted.

But my resolution of abstinence isn’t a perpetual thing. Instead, it’s made up of conditions and rules aimed at eradicating the practice of self-destructive behavior. Once/if the stipulations are met, you guessed it: game time.

In the preliminary stage, there is the five-question system put in motion at the commencement of every new encounter. To avoid revisiting past or incurring future mistakes, I suggest everyone pose these inquires:

“What’s your name?” — There’s nothing more telling of your character than if you have to extract your face from someone’s mouth to ask their name. The vow of celibacy is based in the want to be a better person with better people. Failing to ask or remember the single proper noun attached to the person you’re talking to generally means this situation won’t lead to a product of distinguished quality.

“Do you live in the state?” — I don’t know what it is with me, but I have an out-of-state magnet; my emotional unavailability decided it needed literal mileage. If this question receives a “yes,” the proceeding move is not toward the bedroom or someone’s couch.

“Are you in a relationship?” — By now, I’m sure several of you have experienced the terrible sex fiends who lie about their relationship status in order to pursue a hook-up. According to my track record, I am kryptonite to relationships, having involuntarily relation-wrecked upwards of seven couples. Any time you begin to doubt this new friend, stick with your intuition, because they are, more than likely, lying just to get into your pants. Also, the “We’re about to break up” answer roughly amounts to “We’re fighting and I have no soul.”

“Am I sober enough?” — A self-imposed time-out for internal questioning means: No, it’s time to go home.

“Do you have a car?” — This question isn’t as necessary as the other ones, but if you receive an affirmative response and the interaction turns into something, laundry and grocery shopping will be infinitely easier.

After the informal interrogation — use those social skills to tone down the creep factor — the next stage is to genuinely get to know the person. This includes conversations, not making out, dinner instead of sex and maybe even a snuggle session.

My main conditions for this celibate state involve seeing the same person in several consecutive romantic situations until I either like them or hate them less than everyone else. My public school education thinks I should call this process dating, but I can’t commit to that quite yet.

These requirements seem simple enough to fulfill, right? It has been five months since I pledged celibacy and, minus a few grey area hiccups, I remain sexually inactive. Unfortunately, I’m beginning to border on the phase of celibacy in which the act of sex is disturbing — the mashing of genitals and clumsy hands, someone touching your private areas to elicit and take pleasure, the taste and smell of sweat.

Bright side: At least the physical aversions incite an opportunity to like someone for who they are, not their face/body/mouth/eyes/hair/nose.

I have enough reasons for why I’m doing this, but the question remains in the value. —Is abstaining worth it? I don’t mind waking up alone; it’s better than waking up beside someone I regret.