“Are you sexually active?” inquired Dr. Nancy with her beady eyes judging my contraceptive-popping self. What the hell are you supposed to say in that situation?

“Well, you see Nance, I did hook up with my ex-hook up two weeks ago but other than that it’s been quite the dry spell…” Nobody really wants to delve into their complicated lust life with a complete stranger.

This got me thinking, how does anybody really know if they are “sexually active”? To me, activity isn’t all-or-nothing; there are several levels to be aware of. Dr. Nancy, for instance, would abide by the criteria of “hyperactivity.” In other words, if you have ever touched a boy or even really thought about it, you are sexually active for the rest of your life and probably well after you’re dead.

Now no offense to my good pal Nance, but I personally prefer to look at sexual activity like geologists study volcanoes. By this definition, an active girl is one that is currently “erupting” or at least hooks up regularly. What constitutes hooking up is up to you and the righteousness of your moral code. What also is up to you is how you define the term “regularly.” For the sake of escaping the scrutinizing eye of a university nurse practitioner or a Catholic priest, you may choose to equate “regularly” with “every day.” That way you can have no qualms with looking into those judging eyes and confidently stating, “No, as a matter of fact, I am not sexually active.”

For those of you that are like me and (sadly) haven’t gotten any in a while, you may fall under the classification of dormant. You have hooked up in historical times, but you are not currently sleeping with anybody. But not to worry ladies, there is always the promise of future sexual eruptions (thanks, Snoop Dogg). Even the experts say, “The eruption that follows long dormancy is violent.” Hey, you may just be the next Mount Saint Helens of the bedroom.

The rest of us fall into the category of extinct. By definition, extinction implies that there is no evidence of any activity within recent memory. Contrary to common belief, however, this group is not just for the virgins. It may also include those that tend to hook up in any sort of intoxicated state, impairing any and every memory of activity.

No matter which category you identify with, the choice is yours and yours alone. And no matter what, don’t let anyone make you feel insecure about your frequency of eruption, not even your own Dr. Nancy…

Likey? Want some more, you saucy vixen? We got it.

He may not seem all tough and cool, but it’s that complexity that makes us totally wanna eff him.]

Ed Norton. Mmmm. There aren’t many 39 year old guys we wanna eff, but boy do we have (naughty) dreams about Ed Norton.

The star is as talented as he is sexy. He has played all sorts of roles, from a sociopath to a card shark to a quarky Priest in New York City. And no matter what kind of part he has, he pulls it off flawlessly…and makes us wanna jump into the screen and eff him. Yes, even in the church get-up.

Norton isn’t your typical sex symbol. He doesn’t have killer abs or really defined arms; he just has a sweet and kind demeanor that makes you wonder if you want to hug him or tear off his effing clothes.

Which is why we wil be first in line for tickets for his latest police flick, Pride and Glory. Guys in uniform are always sexy, and Ed Norton will be no exception.

What I didn’t realize was that I was being brainwashed about sex.

I grew up in a liberal household, but that didn’t stop the subconscious warnings of the Catholic church from snaking inside my head and making me feel strange about sexuality. I could never place it when I was young, but there was always something. Something in the back of my mind that told me being sexual—with myself or others—wasn’t a good thing.

Maybe it was the idea that God was always watching. The priest would continuously tell us that He saw everything, leaning on the everything and seemingly staring straight at me. Week after week I would hear about being pure, being good, and what the consequences would be if I wasn’t. God wouldn’t kick me out, He’d just be very, very disappointed.

Because of this strange, subconscious guilt, I was always slightly ashamed of what I looked like under my clothes and even when I began dating. By the time I went out with my first boyfriend, I was no longer a part of the church, but I was still caught up in the thinking. I told people I wasn’t religious, that I was done with being Catholic, but when you’re urged to think a certain way for fifteen years, it’s easier to shake the label than it is the thought process.

These days, I’m much more at peace with my sexuality and God. I no longer feel he’s watching me buy a vibrator and shaking his head up in heaven, or tsk-tsking me every time I hook up with someone I don’t plan on making my husband. But to say I’m completely alleviated of all guilt would be lying.

Every once and a while I can still see that priest, leaning on his pulpit and staring into the crowd, pointing at someone who might be me, and urging us all to keep our minds and hearts pure, because God is always watching.