Even my oneitis has oneitis.

This may have been mentioned before.  Oneitis, aka fuckmylife-itis.  Beta males in rehab sometimes regress on their journey to becoming an alpha male. It all started here:


I chew on that last part quite often.

This is the text that I sent to an ex, Pearl, who had rejected me, as referenced in the last episode:

Bigloseritis.  It’s shameful.  Pearl was not just any ex; this was the girl I dated following my breakup with the wife.  She was also the last girl I was ever in love with.  In my vulnerable state at that time, I truly believed that she was the one.  She’s not; none of them are.  It’s an ingrained truth/logic by this point.  But she did help me to see that the wife and I were not such a good match after all.  And I’ve never escaped that feeling of curiosity or wonderment of meeting her again, and maybe even going out on my terms.

However, sending a text like this is always, always a dumb play; one of my many talents, in fact. I’ve stopped comparing others to her but I guess this means there’s still some old wounds here that won’t go away, which must serve some kind of function.

And then there’s the rejection stuff (and wanting another crack at some more)…My time with Pearl was short and magical: She came on a spaceship one day to rescue me from my post-separation marital funk, only to mysteriously leave on that same spaceship exactly two months later, never to return to my orbit.  February 2016 was the last I had seen or heard from her.

Flashforward to May 2017.  Pearl contacted me on Facebook and followed up with a text, only to promptly ghost me just the same after that.  You’d think I’d learn from the pattern and other experiences, but my propensity for getting burned is obviously high AF, which explains equally both the text above and the blog you’re reading.

Lisa and Meg really let me have it for giving in:


The denial is strong with me here.

So, when Pearl texted me on my date with Litaly, it obviously made things confusing (and interesting).  So, the provocative text I sent to her…

…was a tactical move, since it went outside the range of what I figured she would predict I’d do (she last remembers David “let me tell you how much I love you” Beta Male Shepard).

I now get off on that part, the tactical part, and the game of it all.  This triggered a larger, more in-depth conversation with Lisa, who questioned what is ever real in this dating world:

It is all a game, a game in the sense that the pedestal has little to do with the actual tangible qualities of the girl per se, but, rather, the excitement of the chase.  Every guy is the same: We’re all just trying to get laid, just taking different approaches to do it.  But, unlike Dave 1.0 or 2.0, this new Dave, Dave 3.0, is just interested in being a much savvier player of the game than the previous iterations were.  Plus I know what I want now: I am not interested in marriage, commitment, nor even substance, and knowing this time around to not be deluded into thinking what is happening is anything more than just play.  Because having anything but those thoughts puts me in a losing proposition: If I am not playing games, then someone else is.  Fighting games with games.  And Dave 3.0 is never going to not have the upper hand in these games.  But before I can even fathom what Dave 4.0 might be like, if that fella even exists, I have to openly acknowledge that the presence of this individual, this one, is preventing me from evolving any further.

Without belaboring the philosophical, the question at hand is, Did I play the game correctly in this instance with such a bold stroke?  I reached out to my friend, Blart, a brilliant, older gentleman who knows all the rules, simply because he’s probably written them.  We all need our lifelines sometimes.  And this lifeline was not a fan of my strategy:

Blart said that my ploy to capture Pearl’s attention with the arousing text, which the message I was hoping to communicate was “I don’t need you”, was not going to work because she is aware that I’ve been infinitely available all along.  Contradiction noted: Actions speak louder than words.

However, just when it was looking like I did not please the dating gods, in a plot twist, Pearl took the bait and texted me back.  Blart now looked for an alternate take on her possible agenda, which I clearly wanted my oneitis here to be spoonfed:

And feel it out is exactly what I will do.  Because I want these games in my life, I want the hunt, and the conquest.  There’s a little more to the oneitis here than meets the eye, and Bumble and Tinder are just a bit too bland for my taste anyway.  But, until I sort all that out, it’s time to fill up on plenty of distractions.


I’m a divorced dude living and dating in New Jersey. This blog is my story told through a first-person view of my text messages to my friends and/about my dates.