How has the new “You should message me if…” section been working out?
Not well, but who gives a shit. I had one date. A girl I messaged when she had no picture. When it finally went up she was cute, but we had established rapport. If OKCupid’s World War Z unlaid hordes had known she was hot before I talked to her, who knows. The date was OK but we will not go out again. She is allergic to cats, and also, she does not like me.
Sent out a couple other messages, got nothing. They were my copypasta:
“I want to go out with you.
The girls were cute and seemed interesting. Their bones had been picked clean by World War Z no doubt.
But it was already over before I put up a naked plea for unprotected sex plus never speaking again. I’d been talking to people, getting some phone numbers, but couldn’t bring myself to give a shit. The girls were cute and interesting. If they were in porns, I would beat off to them, and if they wrote books, I would read them. But I could write down the date for you before it happened. I get them to come to me, a bar called El Prado on Sunset Bvd. in Echo Park. I put on the same blue blazer with the same red pocket square and the same white shirt and gray pants and the same pair of shiny black shoes. They are all in one place from my last date, on a chair in a pile with an indent of my cat in it. Show up early to secure one of just three seats in the bar where you can be perpendicular. Order a beer. Wait. The date is at 8:30 and at 8:32 you get a text that says “running a little behind… sorry!” Yeah, I know. Fifteen minutes later they tell you they are parking. Tell them where you are and when they walk in tell them order on your tab. As they stand waiting– never long since the bartender snaps to attention like a Jack Russell terrier at a tennis ball, even though he took a fucking millennium to serve you– as she stands there, appraise her visually. I know I said they all end up being fat but in my later years on OKC I actually had better luck. Girls were always better looking than their pictures. Maybe my eyes changed.
Talk talk talk. Drink drink drink. A couple smoke breaks on the patio. About an hour and fifteen minutes in say you gotta go, ask her to give you a ride back up the hill. Ask her in for a drink. Fuck, or don’t. But usually do. Couple nights later, repeat. Repeat repeat repeat.
I was looking through my old journals. I saw “maybe I should call that Indonesian OKC chick.” I have no knowledge of ever knowing an Indonesian woman. Did I date her? Did I sleep with her? I don’t fucking know. I saw a girl I knew walking down the street at 2AM. I was drunk. Didn’t remember her name or how I knew her but her face brought back some inchoate sense of “happy times” so I said hello. She just glared and muttered darkly. I remembered later I had fucked her off OKC and never called her. I kept running into girls like that. She was the only one who was mad about it but it was like Memento. I’d sort of recognize somebody in the grocery store and they would recognize me and I didn’t know if I fucked them and they hated me or what. Probably not, most of the time, but it got so I couldn’t buy produce.
It was all my own fault but I’d get mad at the girls, too, because if they had been cool enough to engage me I wouldn’t have felt the need to empty my balls and disappear. I would have wanted to see them again, get married, get the fuck out of the city and move into a nice little house. If they had done the work to break me off my track… if they had liked me enough to do that. If the rare second date wasn’t me saying hey come have chicken, it was them saying I’ve got tickets to the ballet or some shit. Who knows. I wanted it to be their fault but it was my fault. They are human beings with rich inner lives they would hint at, and I didn’t do the work to get it out of them. I thought it would make me look soft. I didn’t back off my game and open up, because I knew that would slow down the pussy. Couple times I would get off my routine; girls would coax me out to another part of town, another kind of date, and it always ended with a chaste two second kiss and money out of pocket and felt like such a disaster that I couldn’t even go home and jerk off. You have to control everything, initiate everything, never compromise, and you can never really enjoy yourself. If a girl gets you into her, you soften up, and she kicks you to the curb. I’m wrong about this probably but you think a thing so many times you can’t think something else. To be capable of being someone’s boyfriend I would have to get in one of those freak accidents where a piece of rebar goes through your head and erases your personality.
So it was “manipulative,” and “dehumanizing,” but worse, it was boring. Even the fucking was just a mechanical shuffling of meat and 24 hours of feeling pretty good ‘cuz you just got laid. I used to need that, because work sucked so bad. I used to need that 24 hour high, and that’s why I kept doing it for so long. But now the idea of going back to OKCupid feels like going back to that shitty job. Where you can map out each day to the minute ahead of time and all of it’s gonna suck. Something good happening would be surprising. After so many hours of the same shit you catch on that you can’t be surprised.
Anyway, I figured I’d concentrate on meeting girls in real life. Which is to say: not meeting girls. I still check the profile to look at three male visitors who googled this article and my zero incoming messages. And ladies: I’m still single.