"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.

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Mustang, just a product

backseatjuan

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I just watched a video about 2014 Roush Mustang stage 3, hoping to see the car. Instead I felt something which I haven't felt for a long time, a pair of hand cuffs on my soul. Because in that video I saw America the way I experienced it for all those 15 years, 15 years in the desert. Just the traffic lights speaks volumes to me, as America is regulated like that, you can't go anywhere without a stop at a traffic light. When the light turns green all the cars launch forward like mad men, like caged men, even Roush Mustang has to press it to get ahead of all those office plankton zombies. Exiting freeway he turns onto exit lane like a saluting pioneer from Soviet Union, trained like a zoo animal to strictly follow traffic law. Then stop at a stop sign, look both ways, and only then drive. My God, the entire America is regulated to the point that freedom is not pictured as wild green pastures, but a barbed wire at a cattle ranch with cattle hurdled into one direction -- look at them, they're running to get fed.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhqOxak4D6Y



There is something magical and soul freeing about certain level of lawlessness. Of course the mad cattle thinks of lawlessness as a scene out of mad max movie. But I assure you, man has a nature to self regulate and live by his morals and principals. Lawlessness then, is not punks driving like crazy on bikes and marauding people. Lawlessness is the absence of regulation and pampering. Lawlessness is freedom, wild green pastures, where you could breath.
 

"The Coffee Shop Girl You Never Spoke To"

You've replayed it a hundred times. She stood three feet away, scrolling her phone. You had an opening. You composed the perfect line — after she was gone.

For all you know, she's married now. To some guy who said something. Anything.

Openers are cheap. Almost any sentence works when it's delivered within three seconds. The expensive part is the standing there, drafting and deleting, while the window quietly closes.

The "22 Rules" stripped out my hesitation. What to open with, how to keep it alive, and the one habit that costs guys more women than anything else: waiting for perfect.

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backseatjuan

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frontseatjuan said:
Is it lawless in Russia?

There is law, but there is no sense of its presence. In terms of murder, rubbery it's rather quiet. In terms of traffic, cops watch solid dividing line, if you cross it, it's license suspension. I just don't cross it, and the law don't mess with me.

I can literally go anywhere, anytime, do anything and not see a single cop. At that I won't get robbed, or murdered.

In Miami, I remember, I better be not driving past midnight, or I will get stopped by cops. I better not be out walking down a street past midnight, I don't know about robbed or murdered, I think not, but I would get stopped by cops for suspicious activity. I better not be drinking a beer in public or it's jail. I remember we lived in an apartment with security. You do your grocery shopping and come home, park next to front door and go get a cart, and they would chase you, you can't park there. Then I remember we couldn't fish past certain hour. It's just can't, can't, can't -- that's all I remember.

You can't breath in America.



TheStig said:
backseatjuan = frontseatjuan?
Buddy, how do you want me to answer that?
 

"She Laughed All Night. Then She Ghosted You. Here's Why."

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.

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Fatal Jay

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I don't even care about cars anymore, I use to in my younger days when I was caught up in what people thought of me. Now I feel as long as it drives, have cold ac, and the engine is top notch, I wouldn't care at all.
 
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