The exciting part about being single is you never know who you are going to sleep with next. It can be anybody, really. Knowing me, most likely an artsy liberal from OkCupid. I’ve been on the site for almost two years so at this point “Mr. San Diego” is a seasoned veteran.Though I grew up in Pittsburgh, I moved to San Diego when I turned 17. I figured Mr. San Diego would get more dates than Mr. Pittsburgh who I envision drinking an Iron City wearing a tank top and jean shorts. Mr. San Diego at least wears sleeves.
With a few decent enough photos of yourself and a fairly witty profile, you can meet a lot of women. The problem is when Mr. San Diego, the once genteel internet dater turns into “Mr. Weeknight.” An average Tuesday for Mr. Weeknight: two drinks at home, walk to Melrose for two more drinks with someone with whom all you have in common is occasionally you both like to eat pho.
Mr. Weeknight expresses his love for Eagle Rock, and how he enjoys the music of “Mumford and Sons,” but beyond that nothing personal.
“So, do you have any siblings?”
“A brother, or a sister?”
“Just a sibling.”
It got to the point where the bartender at the Snakepit would know that I’d bring a different girl with me each week. She would pretend she didn’t know me so things never got awkward. I would tip her an extra dollar out of gratitude. Even though many of these dates led nowhere I continued on. For every lackluster first date at the Snakepit with Kelly, there was the hope of Rowie at the Surly Goat and the promise of Alana at the Village Idiot.
And then, something happened. I woke up and realized I didn’t know who I was sleeping next to. It wasn’t a woman….I sucked in my stomach then exhaled and it was what I thought it was: my belly. I felt my chest and it felt like I was forming man boobs. I don’t like to think they were man boobs, rather boobs that would belong to a lady, but still.
Was I gaining weight from all these mistake dates? Was it worth going out with someone who told me her version of camping was a hotel without room service? How about my date who saw a heavy set woman at a restaurant and told her friend she should be on the anorexia diet? Would this be my future?
I sat lounging in my living room with my feet up mindlessly watching TV when a few proud men wearing tank tops appeared on screen. “My guy friends started making jokes when I told them I joined ‘Weight Watchers for Men’. That’s okay because I’ve lost 50 lbs. Who is laughing now?”
Weight Watchers for Men, what a novel idea, I thought. I need to lose weight, and I’m a man. Plus I always liked tank tops; I was born and raised in Pittsburgh not San Diego.
I am now three weeks into weight watching. I get 35 points a day which allows me to eat all the fruits and vegetables I want and anything else in moderation.
I am counting every carrot and tracking everytime I run, play basketball and soccer. It’s fun and it’s already working. Weight Watchers is turning into Date Watchers. If Date Watchers isn’t already trademarked, I’m sure we could help other online dating addicts. Date Watchers could help you track how many emails you send and how many responses you get. Everytime you go on a date you can track how much you drink, spend and then track the outcome. Eventually you may realize for all the time and energy you put in, you probably aren’t seeing quality results. Then again, maybe you’ve found your GifelteBitch, I don’t know.
What I do know is that I’m watching how much I date because dating non-stop isn’t healthy for me. Instead of my alter ego,“Mr. Weeknight,” I’d rather be a better fit young bachelor who can confidently meet someone the natural way—in person (at a bar).
I am running during the week, eating healthier and feeling better about myself all while eliminating the mistake dates. Now who can help me trademark Date Watchers?
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