I started to realize at about 25. It would have been earlier but I was a hardcore alcoholic so I was too drunk to notice I was having a shyt time. Having cleaned up my act, the idea of spending more than fifteen minutes in a nightclub fycking digusts me. I worked at one while doing my degree. It's a cesspit of people with literally nothing more worthwhile to do. Harsh view, but having spoken to a lot of club goers, they're fairly vacuous and uninteresting people. My view as an alcoholic (I'm reformed but you honestly never stop being an alcoholic, see Craig Ferguson discussing his drinking problems for more information) is that weekend warriors are purely in it for the escape drugs, booze and sex gives them. They get to run away from their life for the night. I enjoy my life, I don't want to run away from it.
"How I Made Sure No Woman Ever Friend-Zoned Me Again"
She calls you when her car breaks down. When she needs help moving. When some guy she's actually dating treats her badly.
You're the listener. The reliable one. The guy who would treat her so much better, if she'd just open her eyes.
She won't. You trained her to see you as the low-effort option — the friend who requires zero risk and zero investment. Every favor dug the hole deeper.
The "22 Rules" break the pattern. You'll stop auditioning for a role she already cast and become the man she chases instead. It starts with Rule 1.