Alexander Graham bulimia.
Food isn’t the only thing binged upon and subsequently purged here in Los Angeles – phone numbers are also taken en masse and later tossed just as flippantly. It’s a given in any town built on networking, any mecca for free and adventurous spirits, and most certainly, every bar brimming with booze soaked singles. A recent inventory of my own contact list took me on a journey back through a slew of previously forgotten encounters, a hearty cross section of social misadventure through which I may impart, unto you, guidelines towards deletion etiquette.
There are those whose advances you welcomed beneath a liquored haze and have since made your lack of sober interest subtly, but definitively known. You need not worry about them ever attempting to solicit your sexual prowess again.
Randy B@d.
Redheaded something or other.
Keith of whose last name I’m not sure I was ever aware.
Alternately, we all have a few contacts that cannot take a hint, much less a blatant refusal. Lest we get daring and answer a call from an unidentified number, these persistent pests should remain on file until at least six months have passed since their last unwanted advance.
Mario standard Hispanic apellido.
Sometimes their name is too common to be enough of a warning and is best replaced with a nickname that screams, “DO NOT PICK UP!”
Some you thought were flirting with you and you’ve since realized they’re straight (or gay, depending on your own fancy). Best to remove any temptation to test their placement along the Kinsey scale.
Piers Bosley.
Shane blonde guy.
Others are most certainly on your team, but just as obviously lacking any desire to play with you.
Vasyil ethnicity unknown.
Rahm like Emanuel.
Mark that closet door is so weathered it’s about to fall of its hinges.
Sex isn’t always the goal, well, the only goal. I’ve made plenty of platonic connections while prowling for lovers. Like romance, though, acquaintances don’t always evolve into full-fledged friendship. And if so, non-sexual relationships are rarely cultivated through verbal communication, but rather Facebook or email. Even then, we’re usually either too lazy to hunt them down or the window seems to have closed by the time we get around to typing their names into the search field.
Sarah “with an H” Wittle.
Libby ???.
Moises Muñez.
Cassie Lawharm.
Alessandria Ruskie.
Finally, there’s that handful of people of which you haven’t a clue as to who they are, where you met them, or WHAT possessed you to type in their number.
Corrin.
Julie.
All this said; should you decide to text someone from your not so distant past, don’t waste a moment by taking offense if they reply with, “Um…Who is this?” Don’t kid yourself that they’ve lost their phone, either. Almost indubitably, you have been deleted. Just as usually, though, they did so not out of disdain, but in an attempt to minimize disorder.
And if you’re the one asking for clarification, it won’t matter if they’re miffed because either you don’t want to see them again anyways, or your supposed lack in interest will only drive them to dial their way back into your call log – and hopefully your pants – once again.
