THE FUCKENING has not happened.
It could have happened on Sunday, May 7, 2023, with Erin, not the same one from 0.09, no, there are so many Erins. None have brought about the fuckening, though some have tried.
This Erin is an attorney, and has had a hard time finding a partner, while her siblings and friends all have had no trouble doing so.
What’s different?
Erin spent time in Miami, for school and work, and discovered she didn’t like Cubans, and so her politics drifted to the right. She considers herself moderate.
Erin writes, edits, and publishes healthcare polices along the west coast of the United States, from San Diego up to Seattle.
Should I say yes, Should I say no?
All above the heading was written in May. It is now nearly October. I considered deleting it, but decided to continue, instead. Listening to Nu Shooz, BTW.
Erin and I met at a tiki bar. She claimed to know what she was doing as she downed more cocktails and glasses of wine than I think she should have on a first date.
Nothing else about the date is interesting, except how it ended, and the following day.
After some time, Erin went to and returned from the bathroom and proceeded to interrogate everyone that would listen to her about the whereabouts of her missing phone.
She went so far as to grab at the back of my shorts, reaching for my wallet, thinking it might be her phone. I removed my wallet, showed my phone (which she then attempted to unlock with her passcode, in case I’d snatched hers and switched out the case), and assured her I was not trying to steal her identity.
“You must hate me,” she said. “You want to ditch me.”
“I don’t hate you. I hardly know you,” I said. “Do you want to make out?”
She did, and it was terrible.
Is kissing an emotional intelligence test? She had no emotional intelligence, and it was clear, far before the kissing, but the kissing made it undeniably and unbearably obvious. I’m not proud of any of this.
Eventually, maybe thanks to my emotionally intelligent make-out attempts, she calmly asked me to look for her phone. I did. It was not at the bar, not around our stools. The only place I didn’t check was the women’s restroom. I asked her to check there again. She did. She didn’t find it.
I remember thinking I should have gone with her. She didn’t find it. She was drunk and terrified and I was attempting to manage her.
I told her, “People lose phones all the time. They’re OK. You’ll be OK. Here’s what you’re going to do: You’re going to tell me your address and I am going to get you an Uber. I’ll monitor it on my phone and if anything seems off I will call the police. Once you’re home, get on your laptop and request a replacement device. I will help as I’m able.” She went along with it.
The next day, I got a text from the tiki bar asking if I was Tom and if I knew an Erin 1. They had her phone at the bar. It was in the women’s restroom.
I found her on Linkedin2 and messaged her to tell her she could pick up the phone. She thanked me and told me she’d really like to see me again.
I may have seen her again while on a date with my now partner. I think she looked at me and we made eye contact and then I quickly looked away and asked my partner if she was ready to go.
More about the partner and how that’s going is coming soon. Short version: Nothing is fucking easy, except maybe fucking, but to any who cared, the fuckening has happened and the five-year sex-drought has given way to an adequate and healthy deluge.