Dating and Relationship Advice – Is the Number the Girl Gave You Real or Fake?

Getting the phone number of the cute blond across the room is what we shoot for each time we go out, but even after we go over and get her number, sometimes we’re left a little unsure that the number we got was actually real.

We don’t find out until two or three days later when we get around to calling that we find out she pulled a fast one over us.  Besides from making us look like a horse’s ass, it’s just a waste of our time.

Why spend the time calling up fake numbers, when you can be setting up a date with one of the many other girls whose number you got that night.  That’s why we don’t leave anything to chance.  Now it’s easy to just ask her, “Is this your real number?” but you always come off looking like an ass and it kills whatever sexual chemistry you were able to create with her to get her number in the first place.

Plus, girls lie, and they’re great at it, so they ‘ll tell you straight up to your face that it’s their number.

So next time use this little trick.  If she tells you her number and you either write it down or punch it into your cell phone, repeat it back to her, but as you are repeating the number back, mess up 1 or 2 digits on purpose.  If she really is giving you her number and really wants you to call, she’ll correct you on the spot.  It’ll look like this:

Her: “My number is 688-5170.”

You: “Got it, 688-5270.”

Her: “No, it’s 5170.”

One innocent misplaced digit, but it shows just sincere she really is.  If she doesn’t correct you, guess what, she could care less about you and doesn’t want to talk to you, so call her out on it and move on.  Being able to call her out can spark her interest and she may reward you with her actual phone number.  Also, do not rearrange the digits either, so if she gives you “688-5170″ do not repeat back, “688-5710.”  Those are to close together and it doesn’t always register in the brain that the order was mixed up because she heard the correct digits, and in a bar or club scene it can be loud in there, making it even harder for her to catch the little mix up.

If she writes her number down for you, same thing, read it back to her, purposefully messing up one digit.  You can banter her about her poor handwriting to cover it up.

One last thing, if you want to ask the cute waitress or bartender for her number but not quite sure how to do it, ask her if she has a pen and piece of paper you can borrow, they always do.  When they bring those two items to you say, “Ok, now that you got those, write your phone number down for me.”  It will get a smile out of them and it’s definitely one they haven’t heard before.

Also… if she gives you her number and you put in your cell, immediately share your contact info to that number via text. If you see she got your text, you’re good to go. (That’s my move)

I hope this was helpful. I’d love to hear your feedback on this subject.

 

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Suzie – The Date From Hell – Part 1

So this date was so bad (and in hindsight, absolutely hilarious), I felt the need to tell the story. It happened several years ago.

So, first, I feel the need to present how we met and the red flags surrounding that, that I shouldn’t have ignored. She adds me on Facebook. 30 minutes later, she sends me a message asking about a topic I posted in a status 2 MONTHS AGO (my posts are NOT public, mind you). I gave her the benefit of the doubt here, because who doesn’t Facebook stalk a bit if they’re looking into someone they’re interested in, right? Probably don’t MESSAGE them to put it out there but that’s precisely what you’re doing, but whatever.

So I reply, “Got it taken care of, but thanks. Blah Blah Blah…”

She say’s, “Okay good! Well if you have any more questions about that, let me know. BTW you’re cute winky face!

Winky Face?

So I start looking at her page a bit. She looks maybe on the wrong side of 30, but still cute. I’m 54, mind you, so age doesn’t really scare me off that much anymore. hmm….I’m a gentleman, so I’m not about to ask her age. Oh well. She’s cute….fuck it.

She messages the next day saying she’s going to come by the salon to meet me and hang out. She sent this at like 1PM that afternoon. I say “sure, that’d be cool”.

5:30 rolls around and she still hasn’t shown. So I message her asking if she was still coming. She says “Oh I’m just now painting my face, when are you leaving?” I explain I have to leave at closing, but offer to come back afterwards to take her to dinner. She says “It’s actually my birthday, so I already have dinner plans…maybe tomorrow?” I say “sure!”

She messages like 45 minutes after that, saying “Is it bad that I’d rather blow off my plans and spend my evening letting you babysit my soon-to-be drunk ass?”

“Well, I can’t speak on behalf of your company, but I’d be fine with that.”

“Okay, I may just be hitting you up at 10 or so then!”

At 8, she sends “OMG come save me.”

“Is your company that bad already?”

“He can’t get in his apartment cause the app on his phone isn’t working…come get me! I’m so pissed! All my stuff’s in there!”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, drive as fast as you can!”

Keep in mind I’m now home, which is about 20 miles away from her.

So I hit the road, she messages me and says “okay, we’re in now, but he won’t give me my ID! I’m calling the cops!”

“Uhh….how much have you had to drink?”

“Enough to know I’d rather be with you tonight!”

“Well, a new ID is like $13, and if you’re drunk, you’re probably going to catch a PI….”

“I just took it and left….I’m out in front of the theater. Hurry!”

I pull up, and she’s sitting on a bench in front of this theater with an obviously homeless guy, talking to him. I get out, and she says “Glenn, this is the guy coming to save me!”

So….she knows the name of this homeless guy….what am I getting into???

“Charles, this is Glenn, a new friend I made that’s been protecting me while we waited for you to get here!”

She gives him a hug, and I get her in the car.

I circle the block to get back to a main road. She’s going on about how horrible this DATE was that she was on….says he threatened to kill himself, wouldn’t give her ID back so she could leave, so finally she acted sweet to him to get it back. She says “He was the sloppiest kisser EVER! I HATE sloppy kisses…well, let me just show you!” She takes my head and turns it toward her….WHILE I’M DRIVING….and starts literally LICKING MY FACE TOP TO BOTTOM. I’ve known this woman for all of 3 minutes now…and she’s licking my face.

As I’m gaining my composure and wiping booze slobber off my face, she asks where I’m taking her. I realize at this point I had no plan, and really aren’t familiar with any bars in this town, or anything to do in general here. So I ask “Well, it’s your birthday…what do you want to do?”

“I want to go see my friend’s band play at (insert grotesque redneck bar here) in South Jersey!”

In my 20 mile drive to “save her” I go through at about mile 20 in route….so she’s asking for me to double 30 miles back there, then take her home at some point, then go 30 miles home myself. Fine. Fuck it. Whatever. I get on the interstate to head there….she asks “where are you taking me???”

“Uh….to see your friend’s band play at the bar, right?”

“Oh…I don’t know if he’s playing tonight. Let me text him.” She picks up her phone, stares blankly at it for 5 seconds without touching it, puts it back face down in her lap and says “I hate rap, turn on the radio!” Then she starts poking my  radio all over not knowing what she’s doing.

Now, as a former car guy AND music enthusiast who doesn’t care for country, taking over my radio is a HUGE no-no. BUT, it IS her birthday….and I kind of got the vibe from her that if I didn’t allow something she wanted to happen, it’d probably cause trouble and maybe even physical abuse…who knows, I don’t know this woman besides what her tongue feels like in my nostrils at this point. I don’t know what she’s capable of. Gotta pick your battles, right?

So I turn it to the radio….now, being the music enthusiast I am, I always just listen to spotify, pandora, or what’s saved on my phone, so I didn’t even bother getting the antenna adapter to plug the antenna into my radio, knowing I’d never be in a position to be stuck listening to the radio. So she dials it into a station that’s snowy as fuck…you can barely tell there’s even a song playing. She somehow recognizes it though, and starts belting it out, off-key, obviously. We get to about 3 miles away from the bar, and she says “I really have to pee…would you be mad if I pissed in your car??”

“Uh…we’re almost there….please…don’t….”

“Well, I REALLY have to pee!!” I start driving completely recklessly to get us to the bar in time. We go in…OF COURSE there’s no band playing and there’s all of maybe 6 patrons there. She goes to the bathroom….I’m considering just leaving her there….the bartender completely reads that on my face, and looks back at me like “Don’t you dare fucking leave that hot mess here for me to deal with!” He’s bigger than me….I nod sadly. She comes back out and even though there’s NO MUSIC PLAYING, she asks if her friend Tyler’s band is playing…the bartender looks at the empty stage, looks back at her, and says “no.”

“Let’s get out of here…”

Tune in tomorrow for the grinding, painful conclusion.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day at 8am & 12pm EST.

Instagram: @phicklephilly    Facebook: phicklephilly