Let's go back to "E___", the man who I met at a party a few weeks ago who was chivalrous enough to walk me to the door after fucking me but not enough to get my contact information.
A couple weeks passed, and the sex was still on my mind. It was good! So good, in fact, that I became depressed about the thought of returning to mediocre sex with some man who I had minimal interest in. I have had a decent amount of partners in the last two years, and only a few of the men stand out in my mind. He was one of them.
I rationalized that he would have gotten my number had he wanted to see me again, but then I remembered that this is Seattle. Men don't ask for phone numbers here! They sit at their computers, reading through dating profiles with their plastic rimmed glasses and send out messages like "Hey, I listen to NPR too. Let me know if you want to grab a microbrew and discuss which local farm has the best organic kale."
So on the off chance that he had been interested in seeing me but didn't have the basic social skills to ask for my phone number, I got his number from our mutual friend, swallowed my pride, and sent him the following text ten days after I'd last seen him:
"Hey, this is R____. Want to hook up?"
The reply was immediate. "I would. I'm out of town until Saturday. I'll text when I'm back."
He contacted me at midnight that Saturday, and I headed over to his apartment. When I arrived he offered me a drink, and we tried to have a conversation.
"How was your week?"
"Good, I got promoted at work," he responded.
"Oh that's cool, what's your new job?"
"Basically I manage a larger server for the data processing of the PDF bitmap file that links to the interface of web user bandwith."
Okay, I may have paraphrased a little, but the point still stands. I stared blankly. "What's a server?"
"Wow," he said. "We have nothing in common... Want to hook up?"
I absolutely did.
Moral of the story? Here it is, absolute proof that men in Seattle have a serious problem asking for phone numbers.
A couple weeks passed, and the sex was still on my mind. It was good! So good, in fact, that I became depressed about the thought of returning to mediocre sex with some man who I had minimal interest in. I have had a decent amount of partners in the last two years, and only a few of the men stand out in my mind. He was one of them.
I rationalized that he would have gotten my number had he wanted to see me again, but then I remembered that this is Seattle. Men don't ask for phone numbers here! They sit at their computers, reading through dating profiles with their plastic rimmed glasses and send out messages like "Hey, I listen to NPR too. Let me know if you want to grab a microbrew and discuss which local farm has the best organic kale."
So on the off chance that he had been interested in seeing me but didn't have the basic social skills to ask for my phone number, I got his number from our mutual friend, swallowed my pride, and sent him the following text ten days after I'd last seen him:
"Hey, this is R____. Want to hook up?"
The reply was immediate. "I would. I'm out of town until Saturday. I'll text when I'm back."
He contacted me at midnight that Saturday, and I headed over to his apartment. When I arrived he offered me a drink, and we tried to have a conversation.
"How was your week?"
"Good, I got promoted at work," he responded.
"Oh that's cool, what's your new job?"
"Basically I manage a larger server for the data processing of the PDF bitmap file that links to the interface of web user bandwith."
Okay, I may have paraphrased a little, but the point still stands. I stared blankly. "What's a server?"
"Wow," he said. "We have nothing in common... Want to hook up?"
I absolutely did.
Moral of the story? Here it is, absolute proof that men in Seattle have a serious problem asking for phone numbers.
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