What's in a Text?

Ah the mighty text machine. It makes life so easy...or does it? I frequently find myself in problematic situations because my fingers tend to do the talking. Take the other night for example. Somehow an innocent thank you for the coffee text turned into something fair seedier and unintended.This actually embarrasses me as I am not one to endorse 'text flirting' or 'text sex' as referred to by some. Anyway as a bit of background:

I have recently begun to wonder if the reason I do not have a boyfriend is because I like to have boys doing things for me. I mean I could easily go and buy lollies or a coffee myself- but I prefer to have them brought to me so I do not have to leave the library/house/room. It is rather a skill of mine to successfully coerce members of the opposite sex (who are not romantically involved, nor ever will be) into doing things for me- all without sounding like a wanty/needy cow. All in all, I have created a sort of harem whom I can call upon in times of need, or just down right laziness.

Thus, the other night in the library I get a coffee delivered to me from Broadcasting Boy (who so owed me after texting me on a Sat night for a wine AFTER he and his girlfriend had broken up as mentioned earlier). He looked cuter than I remembered. Anyhow, after a nice text from yours truly to politely thank him for ferrying a coffee to me at a university he does not even attend- I get a reply querying whether I am still at the library and that he had packed in the documentary he was working on to watch Go Girls on demand. I would have been invited but he was naked and in bed. Now, instead of either taking the piss for him watching such a female themed show or not replying at all- the delirious me jokes that maybe I would like that. HMMMMM. The ensuing texts all went on rather suggestively from this point, until I got bored and went to bed.

I have not heard from him since. Go figure.

Other scenario's I am sure many are familiar with, include the inappropriate texts sent after a few wines...and after a bottle they tend only to get even more inappropriate. Mine are inappropriate in the fact the tend to be blatant booty calls to inappropriate men. In fact, I had a certain booty call boy where it would get to a certain time on a Sat night if neither of us had picked up and the text would be sent- 'Out?' Seriously, what a joke! Not a 'how are you' or anything showing an actual care factor. Straight to the point.

The cell phone- like facebook, is a tool for one to portray themselves in a manner they otherwise would not and to aid in picking up. I think it may be time for me to put some restrictions on my technology use, yes? Or stop encouraging creeps. Either or.

S

Alone in the Big City

Location: Sydney

B moved over to Sydney, alone, 4 months ago after a painful breakup. The plan was to get snapped up immediately by a dashing, tanned, Australian man in a nice business suit. The plan of attack had to be tweaked somewhat after learning that Sydney is the 'gay capital of the southern hemisphere.' Though have met many lovely gay men friends, the dating pool has been extremely limited - and quite a blow to the ego.
The(limited)options so far in Sydney run thus:

Numbers 1, 2 and 3: All attractive, witty, well-dressed and generous. All gay. (To my untrained eye these seemed like options at first).

Number 4: Mitch aka Bus Boy. One month into my move over and feeling single and alone, I decided to dress up and meet a girlfriend for dinner. Taking time for once on makeup and hair, I missed my bus and ran to wait at the bus stop for the next one. Serendipity. Enter scene: tall, tanned, blonde and muscular Australian hottie. Instead of blushing and avoiding eye contact as usual, I used my womanly wiles: took out my compact mirror and applied lipstick in an alluring manner. It worked. Bus boy, clearly wearing a watch (bless) sat down next to me and asked me the time. From there began a wonderful conversation including such a range of subjects as NZ's Next Top Model, long-term relationships and jandals vs thongs. Our bus was caught in traffic for a whole hour. By this stage I was smitten with Bus Boy, who turned out to be 24, finishing his second degree, a painter and coach of children's basketball. I cheekily got his number, and also a kiss on the cheek as he sauntered off.

I sailed through my dinner on a high, sure that I would hear from him the NEXT DAY. This is where the fairytale ended. After several sporadic texts over the next 2 weeks I began to feel like a stalker - had I read the signals wrong? Did he have a delayed reaction of repulsion? Was he gay? In a relationship? Unfortunately my flatmate and I decided over 2 bottles of wine that the clear solution would be for her to call him "just to check if his phone is working." I still feel the burning shame as I write this.

After one phone call from Bus Boy saying he had been going through a hard time with his ex-girlfriend (alarm bells) and little else, I have given up on that most perfect option, with relief. Confusion still reigns. Did I get it all wrong? Is there any way I could have reeled him in? Or was it just meant to be a beautiful chance encounter, to prove to me that good single men are out there? The perfect Aussie man slipped through my fingers...

Next post: Will, the British traveller

B