I recently made a post on the main TRP site about a personal blue pill andecdote. Vermillion-Rx suggested I flesh it out into a forum post.

As I wrote it out I realized it would be a lot more interesting to just write out the entire story, so here it is.

New Beginnings

Summer of ‘23 I moved out of my parents' place and started fresh in a new city. My buddy was having issues with his landlord, so we teamed up to find a place together.

I put up a profile on one of those housemate sites, used a pic from my dating profile. No surprise, I got flooded with messages from girls wanting a “roommate.”

We ended up picking two. Let’s call them L and R. They wanted to live in the same area, seemed chill, same general vibe. Papers signed, hands shaken, we all moved in.

L and R had the usual stories. Both had just dumped their boyfriends, moved to a new city, chasing some kind of fresh start. Let’s be real: they were hunting dick, dressed up as a girl-power adventure.

A Rare Glimpse

First day in the new house the place was empty. No furniture, just boxes everywhere. That night we grabbed some pizza, sat on the floor, drank, and talked until the early hours. One of those rare, raw nights that sticks with you.

What made it memorable wasn’t the booze, it was the masks coming off. The girls started talking with zero filter. Full peek behind the curtain.

They told us about their trip around Australia. Sure, the usual tourist crap - beaches, sights - but mostly wild parties and the guys they fucked along the way.

R stood out. She told us how she got alpha widowed. Met two guys on a beach, ended up getting railed in the back of a Jeep in the outback. L disappeared with the other one. As R told it, you could see she was reliving it in her head like a scene from a movie. She said he was the best she ever had.

Reminder: these girls had just left multi-year relationships. And that trip? Happened before those. Yet here they were, still mentally stuck on some guy who treated them like a quick lay and ghosted. That’s where their real imprint lies.

Then came the marriage talk. L and R flat-out confirmed AF/BB. The guys you settle with? They're for resources - money, stability, emotional support. Not desire.

R didn’t even try to dress it up. She said - and I quote - “Your first husband is to divorce and take their money.”

I wish I was exaggerating. I’m not.

Can’t remember every detail, but the whole night was a catalog of chaos, hookups, cheating, partying. Just pure, unfiltered female debauchery.

Frat House

Not long after we moved in, R started throwing signals my way - heavy flirting, lingering touches, the whole routine. I ignored it. Never shit on your own doorstep. Doesn’t matter how hot or easy she is, it always turns into drama.

My buddy didn’t follow that rule, but we’ll get to that.

The place basically turned into a frat house. Between the four of us, someone was always bringing a body through the door. Different faces almost every night. Drinking, parties, drugs. Pure hedonism.

Then R decides working is just too much. Her job was “stressful” or whatever bullshit excuse she cooked up. So she quits and starts leeching off daddy’s money.

She’d sit on the phone with her parents, talking about how hard the “job search” was going. Meanwhile, she’s spending her days lounging around or getting her back blown out by some Tinder guy.

But hey, bills got paid. As long as her rent hit the account on time, it wasn’t my problem.

The Girl Roster

Over the next few months, L and R fully embraced their “hot girl summer”, which basically meant getting railed on a rotating schedule.

As a platonic housemate, watching it unfold in real time was equal parts funny and eye-opening. You hear the uncensored stories (or the curated version, depending on the mood), you catch the aftermath, and of course, you’re the designated “advice guy” when they want to talk it out. It’s as predictable as clockwork.

Here’s how the typical girl roster breaks down:

Top tier: One or two alphas. These are the hot, detached guys. They offer nothing but a “u up?” text and a dick appointment. The girls obsess over them. Spend hours decoding texts, wondering what Brad or Jason really meant, strategizing how to “win him over”. Complete delusion, but that’s where 90% of their emotional energy goes.

Middle tier: The average guys. Decent looks, decent frame, but still a bit plugged in. These are the ones who have to take them out a few times before getting laid. They’re basically filler - rotated in and out, used when nothing better is available. High churn rate, low priority.

Bottom tier: The full-on blue pill orbiters. These guys are being strung along for free dinners, attention, and emotional support. They’ll go on 3–5 dates (sometimes more), usually without ever sealing the deal. Just walking wallets and dopamine hits.

The hierarchy was crystal clear. The girls might get lunch with a beta at noon, but get dicked down by a tier 2 a few hours later. But if one of the alphas so much as texted, every other plan got nuked immediately. No hesitation.

Then came one of our favorite running jokes. R suddenly starts waking up at 5 a.m. to go on “walks to the beach.” Out of nowhere. Me and my buddy just looked at each other. She’s 100% waking up early to get dicked down by one of the alphas before he starts work.

We started roasting her on it daily.

She swore up and down: “I just love the fresh air”, “It’s for my mental health”, “You guys are so paranoid.”

Sure enough, weeks later it comes out. Yep. She was going on those sunrise beach strolls… straight to some alpha’s apartment for a morning pump and dump.

Never fails.

Sleeping with the Enemy

I’ll keep this one brief. At some point, despite all my advice, my buddy decides to start plating R.

At first, smooth sailing. He was running amused mastery like a champ. Treating her like a convenient cum dumpster when he needed to clear the pipes. And yeah, it was kind of hilarious watching him pull it off so casually.

But like clockwork, it went sideways.

The dynamic was just too unstable. She knew who he was fucking, he knew who she was fucking, and that kind of transparency does not sit well with female ego. Her brain couldn’t process the fact that she was just another option, and it started to show.

The frame tests got non-stop. Shit tests. Power plays. Emotional outbursts over nothing. We were constantly having to check her, reel her back in whenever she stepped out of line or started making demands like she was someone’s girlfriend.

It got old, fast.

Moral of the story? Don’t fuck your housemates. No matter how easy or available they are, it’s not worth the headache. Eventually, the emotional chaos bleeds into everything.

Keep the plates spinning, but not under your own roof.

Bloopie

Winter rolls in and, like clockwork, cuffing season begins. The “hot girl summer” suddenly vanishes. Now it’s all about finding a boyfriend to go pumpkin-picking with and post cute, staged Instagram shots. Priorities shift from dick rotation to image curation.

L locks down a boyfriend. Seemed smooth, nothing to report there.

R, though? R sets her sights on a new blue pill sap.

Same old story. The guy’s been on five dates, still hasn’t smashed. She's feeding herself the usual cope: “I just want to take things slow… it feels right this time.” Meanwhile, we’re watching this guy get slow-cooked like a turkey.

What stood out this time was how she actively hid him from us.

She never brought him around unless absolutely necessary, and even then, it was straight from the front door to her room. No eye contact. No conversation. Zero interaction. The message was clear: she didn’t want him talking to us. Probably because she knew exactly what we’d say.

And while this poor bastard was playing the long game, trying to earn intimacy, R was still getting dicked down by the same roster from summer. Even after they made it “official,” she’d be heading out late at night for “coffee” with her “friends” - aka dudes who used to rearrange her insides on a weekly basis.

She even managed to spin the narrative to her boyfriend that these guys were “just friends,” so it was totally normal for her to keep seeing them one-on-one.

We called her out. Made it clear we knew the game, and told her flat out: if he shows up again, we’re telling him what’s really going on.

One more thing. Despite them being “in a relationship,” there was zero trace of this guy on her social media. Not a single pic. Not even a soft-launch story. If you checked her Instagram, you’d think she was still single, and that’s exactly how she wanted it.

The dude thought he was winning.

In reality, he was just the bloopie. The placeholder boyfriend for winter, while the real ones still had access through the back door.

The Party

Months go by. R keeps bloopie locked away, shielding him from the rest of us like he’s some fragile pet rabbit she doesn’t want exposed to the real world. No hangouts, no interactions. Just the occasional stealth visit straight to her bedroom.

The lease was ending, so we planned a final send-off to close the chapter.

Everyone shows up. The core four. Some friends. A few situationships. And, surprise of the night, bloopie himself makes an appearance.

Party kicks off well. Good energy. Drinks flowing. But then R starts slipping.

Couple drinks in, and suddenly she’s real cozy with my buddy. Flirty at first. Then touchy. Then she starts trying to kiss him. Right there in the middle of the living room. In front of everyone. Including bloopie, who’s sitting right next to her.

My buddy, to his credit, nopes out. Just gets up and walks away. But R keeps pushing it. Keeps reaching out, keeps leaning in. You could feel secondhand embarrassment ripple through the room. Everyone knew what was going down. And bloopie? You could see it written all over his face. Confusion, discomfort, and a slow-boiling rage he didn’t quite know how to channel.

Eventually, L steps in and drags R into another room to have a “chat”.

We saw our chance.

Me and my buddy pull bloopie aside, take him outside, and hit him with the truth. Told him exactly what R had been doing for months. All the late-night “coffee” runs. All the guys. Everything.

He sat there silent, taking it in. You could tell he wanted to believe we were lying, but deep down he knew. You don’t hide your boyfriend from your housemates for months unless you’ve got something to hide.

The party obviously took a bit of a nosedive after that. Tension in the air, people sensing the weirdness. But it kept rolling.

Eventually, bloopie musters the courage to pull R aside. They disappear into a room. An hour passes. We’re waiting for the dramatic exit. The slammed door. Maybe a few tears.

But nope. He comes back out. Sits down. Stays at the party as if nothing happened.

Still there. Still simping. Still bloopie.

The Saga Continues

After we all went our separate ways, I kept one eye on Instagram. Curious to see what would happen with R and bloopie.

Did he do what any self-respecting man should’ve done and walk away?

Of course not.

A few months later, they bought an apartment and moved in together. Full domestic fantasy unlocked.

Every now and again she uploads some instagram stories of her out for drinks. Not with bloopie, oh no, but with one of the guys from her roster.

Then, just recently, I saw the update: bloopie proposed.

And how did R announce this milestone?

A photo of the ring. Just the ring. Hand front and center. Her nails, her pose, her caption, her moment.

As for bloopie? Nowhere to be seen. The only trace of him is a tiny slither of his head, awkwardly cropped out of the frame like he’s a background object in her carefully curated highlight reel.

From sidelined simp to invisible fiancé. The final form.

Takeaways

1. Never fuck your housemates. No matter how easy or hot they seem, it’s a recipe for drama, destroyed frame, and constant testing. Your home is your sanctuary.
2. Women’s true desires don’t vanish with relationships. L and R were freshly out of long-term relationships, but their hearts and bodies still chased the thrill of the “alpha widow” experience. They’ll chase the high, no matter what rings or commitments get tossed in their path.
3. Women maintain a strict hierarchy with men. There are alphas for passion, average guys for convenience, and betas for emotional support and resources. Women constantly manage these tiers to maximize their own benefit. Understanding this helps you avoid wasting time being a fallback.
4. Beta providers get played hard. Bloopie is a classic example: investing time and emotion while she keeps options open with higher-value men. Don’t be that guy waiting in the wings for scraps. Don't be bloopie.
5. Women hide inconvenient realities and curate their image. They’ll actively keep their boyfriend away from people who know their true lifestyle and never show the full picture on social media. What you see is a polished mask, not the messy truth.
6. When women have zero investment in you - no fear of judgment, no risk to their reputation - they’ll drop the act and spill everything. That unfiltered honesty? It’s rare. If you can be that neutral observer, you get a clear window into what they really think and want, beyond the filtered lies they show the world.
7. This is not a victim story, it’s a lesson. Recognize the patterns, keep your eyes open, and never fall into the trap of emotional investment with women who are still riding the carousel.