Background here.
(REDACTED) asks:
Hey Cornelius,
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.
Basically.”
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.
delicioustacos 
Great post, man. It seems like you have game with girls you meet online. Why not try it approaching women in real life?
Just go meet girls in real life? Just like that? Just approach them in real life? Sounds good. Let me go strap on my approach helmet and climb into the approach cannon that will shoot me over to Hot Girl Land where the Hot Girls just grow on Hot Girl trees.
I like Always Sunny too!
Stuck so bad even if you found a chick that broke the mold, fulfilled all the necessary requirements and still managed to be more, intellectually, physically and emotionally, you would still fuck it up. B/C it is not that easy to simply stop this lifestyle. Eventually you will feel resentment and a loss of control if said unicorn came into existence….Or Maybe I’m just projecting my own shit on you.
Most people probably don’t know the feeling you describe.
Most dudes are like starving African babies, flies in their eyes and all, basically given up on even the fantasy of having some sexy piece of ass in their lives. That’s probably why they’re all zombified chumps, white knighting their way through life, whilst doing that (so super gay) male bonding thing.
And it doesn’t matter where you live, you got to control everything. In most of the world, you better do, or you end up married with a fleet of babies – in the U.S. you just need it to get pussy.
YEAH!!! PUSSY! obviously that’s the answer.
I do occasionally get out and I suppose pussy might be the be all end all on those nights for me too. Usually I get cocked blocked by one of my friends..Just trying to look out for me. You know, those dumb bitches who have my best interests at heart, when I am about to score with some drunk slut.
Do you mean an actual pocket square? Please tell me you have an actual pocket square.
It’s incredible, but Jessica has managed to take your place as the most idiotic and annoying commentator.
Dreams do come true.
I bought him that pocket square for his birthday a few years ago.
the actual one or the scarf? It is nice but I’m just saying. A pack of pocket squares are only 15$. It’s like the packs of emergency chones at walmart.
You want shitty pressboard furniture, you go to Wal-Mart. You want bespoke hand-carved massive oak furniture, you go to the Amish. It is a bit silly to complain that your furniture keeps disintegrating and looks flimsy when all you want is a dresser you can live to your grandkids, when you keep shopping at Wal-Mart. Likewise, seeking love/romance/a meaningful relationship at OK Cupid or any other outlet supplied by the female outputs of US pop culture-what do you expect, dude? Them bitches is pressboard with a thin veneer of plastic or cheap lacquer.
Quite so. Genuinely top quality women aren’t to be found on dating sites because they don’t need them.
If cold approach is too much to face, why not try some other avenues of meeting high quality girls socially – enrol in some classes in the arts such as psychology and philosophy. In addition to being female dominated, a high percentage of the attendees should necessarily be more intelligent than average, and by the law of averages at least a few will be hot.
>enrol in some classes in the arts such as psychology and philosophy.
Yes, if you want to pay to meet some women with their heads full of total solipsistic bullshit, whose (slightly) above average intelligence is dedicated completely to spinning crazy narratives about the world and their place in it, the humanities are definitely the place to go. Who wants to buy shitty furniture for cheap at Wal-Mart when you can pay a bit more and buy the same pressboard/veneer with a more pretentious design at Ikea?
Now then, who’s a bitter misogynist who’s been reading too much manosphere?
If you walk around with a head full of negativity like that, then that’s all your going to see everywhere. Women never even attempt to pull any of that shit with me after an initial meeting, simply because my sense of masculinity and social dominance completely overwhelms them. They only behave like that with men that permit it. And the few that are real hard-asses just get ignored.
If anyone is getting treated like that, then I suggest they need to look at themselves honestly, their own personal boundaries, develop a stronger self-identity and get on top of their emotional state.
I stay away from the manosphere, and am happily married. Having dated/banged/whatevered women from all US classes and cultural areas, I came to the conclusion that their priors are all fucked up and that I needed to go elsewhere, so I did. Worked out OK. But in any case, the average chick you find on OKC is not significantly different in her basic assumptions than the average one you’ll find in a psych class. She might (maybe) be dumber or poorer or come from a lower-class background, but her basic thinking about her role in a relationship, life goals, and relationship to her pussy are about the same.
B, please tell us about your wife who is not from a poor Asian country.
Oh, she’s not from a poor Asian country. She’s actually from a religious family who are better off financially than I am. And she is most certainly not a tub of lard whose cats will one day eat her body in her lonely apartment. Time to go get some cheeseburgers, you’re gonna need to fill that gaping void.
The moon is so full and beautiful right now.. on the east coast,