BLOWN OFF BY MANATEES

During the last year online – when I was just discovering the Red Pill arena and stuck in a shitty relationship with my annoying main girl, a strange thing happened to me.

I lived at the time in one of those condo/townhouse developments.  It was relatively large.  Maybe 300+ residents.

I always knew when someone lived in my development because their “distance” on the apps would read either “less than a mile” or .5 miles.

On Match, POF, and Tinder, I kept running across the same 3 women over and over for years.  All were over 40.  All were divorced.  All had older kids.  All had pretty faces.  And all no doubt were 2 notches below their photos and fat (but I couldn’t prove it).  There was always an outside shot they were hot.

Besides, I had a “main”.  The odds of one of them replacing her were slim so at the very least they’d be a solid pump and dump.  (The fact that if I did hook up with one of them they could literally be my neighbor and make my life a living hell never occurred to me.)

In any event, being in a similar life situation as them – kids, a father, mid 40’s – I figured I’d be right in the sweet spot for these three ladies.

None matched with me on Tinder but I messaged them all at one point or another on the other apps like Match and POF.  I was sure to be witty and unique.  I stayed away from boring openings of, “Hi, how are you?” or other lame crap.

All three received my message.  All three viewed my profile.

Only one responded.  She was a voluptuous redhead.  All her pictures were borderline glamour shots.  Professional looking.

Any guy new to Online Dating (OLD) would find her incredibly attractive and almost untouchable.  Her pics exuded sexuality and confidence.

I wasn’t new to OLD at that point so I sort of knew she wouldn’t look as good in person.  But I figured she had to be decent to pull off pics like that.  I’d take it if she engaged with me.

Her reply to my opening message was, “Ew.  Not my type.”

If it had been three years earlier I probably would have sulked and obsessed over that for days.  This time I laughed and forgot about it within minutes.  OLD had numbed me to criticism and judgement.

About a week or so later I am in the grocery store which is one block from where I live.

Who is at self-checkout next to me?  The voluptuous red head.

She was a fucking mess.

Her red hair that looked so silky and straight in the pics was frizzy and dry – obscenely long – splayed over her huge ass.  Not sexy round ass.  HUGE ass.  Like she waddled when she walked.

That did nothing to help her hide the fact her sundress was too short, exposing her ham hock pale legs which accentuated her yule log cankles.

To call her curvy would give a whole new definition to the term morbidly obese.  I won’t even go into her sloppy tits and the tattoos all over her neck and chest.

I laughed to myself but couldn’t help wonder what was wrong with me if this piece of work was blowing me off.

About another week or so later I was at the pool.

Slothing out on one of the chairs was another of the women I messaged.  This one never replied to me. 

Online she was naturally attractive with a touch of naughty in her dark eyes.  From her pics she was my type.  Short, Italian, and racy.

She was at the pool with a bunch of other single moms.  All were in bikinis.  All looked like manatees sunning on an ice glacier in the arctic.  They were vile.

I wish I could say I laughed it off again.  But this time I felt anger.  I was getting blown off by such low quality women.  I wanted to go up to her and scream in her face.

Instead I went in the water to literally and figuratively cool off.

And like clockwork the pack of manatees went in to cool off too.  They cackled, were loud, and wanted everyone to know they were the “wild and crazy” moms and everyone better give them the attention they deserved.  The short Italian made sure to float past me several times.

I went back to my chair to read.  This shit was starting to get into my head.

The universe is indeed strange because that same weekend I went out in town with a few buddies.  Low-key dinner and then some drinks at the bar.

Guess who sidled up to me at the bar and started a conversation?  Women #3 – who ignored my messages as well.

Women are awful at openers, game, pickup – whatever you want to call it.  She yammered on for five straight minutes – I couldn’t get a word in edge wise.

I just stood there stewing inside.  This women, who on her profile was a yoga instructor and fitness ambassador (whatever the hell that meant) – was sloppy at best, overweight at worst.  And flat out ugly.

And she had the balls to ignore my messages.

She had no idea she ignored me.  Online I was just another mook with a profile.

Three women – three different instances. All three ignoring me online. All three lucky if someone found their SMV at a low 5.

I was bummed.  Is that what I can get?  Online they didn’t know I existed.  Yet face to face they, for the most part, showed interest.  Big deal.  They were all hideous.  All of them well below my value (and not just in looks).

It was disheartening.

But it also reinforced what my gut was telling me.  To get the fuck off the dating apps.

There was no upside to being online.

And even if – even if these types of broads was all I could get, even if my SMV was equal or less than theirs, I’d rather be alone than lower myself to that mess.

But there was only one way to find out where I stood in the dating pool.

A few weeks later I broke it off with my main girl, went home, deleted every app, and never went back online again.

As of this writing I am about 1 year and 2 months Online Dating Sober.  I suppose I have those three whales to thank for that.  If anything, it solidified the fact that I can do better in person.