That sentence contains at least five follow-up questions she WANTS you to ask. Where in Florida? What brought you here? How long have you been in the area? What do you miss? How does it compare to here?
She handed them to you on a silver platter. And you said, "Oh cool. I come here every week. I love this band. Ummm... pretty crowded tonight."
She smiled politely. Nodded. And never texted you back.
I was that guy for years. Talking too much. Listening too little. Panicking about my next sentence while she was literally feeding me the answers.
Then I found 22 rules that fixed the whole thing. Rule number one: shut up and listen. She'll tell you exactly what to say.
Three seconds. That's how long it took. Your shoes. Your posture. The way you held your drink. Whether you looked at the floor or looked at her.
She already filed you away. Interesting. Boring. Safe. Bold. Before you even opened your mouth.
Everything you say after that is just her confirming what she already decided.
So stop rehearsing lines. Fix the first three seconds. Stand tall. Look up. Smile like you mean it. Walk like you belong wherever you're standing.
The words come later. The impression comes first.
and the problem with keeping the body and apartment clean is .....? Unless ur just trash, I dont see the gripe there, however, ..........................2c2bt said:There are straight meterosexuals, and there are gay meterosexuals.
I am straight, but I do keep my body and my apartment very clean. I don't really consider myself a meterosexual because when I hear the term, I think of guys with girly voices and gay demeanors.
Oh, so your talking about the RSD group huh? Lol, oh man, I'm gonna get flamed and I deserve it.Metrosexuals are guys who live in big urban cities talking on their cell phone all day,wearing pink shirts, flaunt their money, shop like a bunch of girlies, try to keep up with the trend in clothing, and have absolutely no idea of how to be a REAL MAN.
You paid for dinner. You drove. You said "whatever you want is fine" every single time. All the effort, no expectations.
And she left anyway — probably for a guy who makes her pick up the pizza.
Painful. Also predictable. Her mind quietly concludes that anything requiring zero effort from her is worth exactly zero. You became a free sample, and free samples get taken for granted.
The 22 Rules flip the dynamic. Small shifts that get her investing effort, money, and time in you — until SHE'S the one afraid of losing YOU.
Dinner ran three hours. She laughed at everything. You walked her to her car thinking this one's locked in.
Then: nothing. Two texts. No reply. What happened?
You did what most men do on a great date. You filled every silence, answered every question, and left her with nothing to wonder about. No mystery. Nothing to sit with when she got home.
Rule 3 of the "22 Rules" changes the ending: tell her a little, hold back the rest, and let her imagination do the chasing. The ghosting stops too.
Dude, if you aren't a metro, then the word doesn't exist.MetalFortress said:I've been told I look metro (clean hairstyle, nice clothes) but I don't consider myself one. I mean, I can color coordinate almost perfectly, I can dress myself very well, I can dress girls very well (for some, almost better than they can dress themselves), I work out, I lay out when I get the chance, whatever. But I don't consider myself metro. My look is the "clean cut salesman" look.