Former sorority girl Rebecca Martinson (does "cunt punt" ring a bell?) has some blunt advice for those of you agonizing over texts, or a lack thereof: "NO SANE MAN GOES TO THE BAR TO NOT TRY TO STICK IT IN. HE IS NOT THERE TO GET TO KNOW YOU. HE IS NOT THERE TO HEAR YOU TALK ABOUT YOURSELF AND HOW MUCH YOU LOVE YOUR NEW SHADES OF NAIL POLISH. HE IS THERE TO GIVE YOU THE D FOR FREE."
To most drunk guys a wet hole is a wet hole, and with each cranberry vodka the two of you slurp down you're both less likely to remember what either of you talked about. You could tell him that you won the friggin' lottery and the morning after he wouldn't know it.
Yeah he might go home with someone else that night, but the morning after he's going to remember the girl that proudly displayed her thong on her back like the Mona Lisa at the Louvre while rubbing it on his junk, not the nice Communications major that like, is so like into like, something he doesn't remember because it didn't relate to getting his D wet.
Seriously, if you meet someone and you're both drunk do you think they're going to remember you in 3 days? I've been sober for 3 days and I have no idea what even happened that long ago. Like I said, I've never had someone wait 3 days so I don't think this rule even exists, but just in case you think it does, it doesn't.
Personally I try not to get my spread eagle on until at least the third time I meet up with him. That's usually how long it takes for a guy to realize I'm not some sugar twat that's down to be pumped and dumped, and by then he usually finds talking to me to be amusing to some degree.
In all honesty: I'd watch her guest-host Millionaire Matchmaker.