Great thread idea.
This is some time ago. (Forgive the long post.)
I had just come out of a semi-beta LTR in which I had wasted some valuable salad days. I had very little game, had moved in with my mom to save loot, had an ugly wardrobe, couldn't dance for shit, my hair was lopsided, I had ugly fungus on my toenails, I had 87 dollars in the bank, I was out of shape, I was in debt, and I had barely convinced my bitch-ass ex to let me keep an old beater car (because, unfortunately, she technically had the title) that required the use of a screwdriver to shift from park to drive. I was at rock bottom.
I had a basic understanding of what I needed to do to rectify all of this deferred maintenance, but I knew first step was to get laid. I was backing up quickly, and the rest would fall into place with time. I had some vague idea about how to go about this, but not really.
At the time, I had competent opening game and could maintain a good conversation--despite everything above--but I had terrible closing game. If I'd joined the forum then (needless to say, it didn't exist), I would have been the guy starting threads like,
"How do I get the girl into the bedroom??!" or
"I live with my parents. Where can I bring girls?" I was opening chicks, but didn't know how to push it sexually right away. My experience had been fish-in-a-barrel, college-style, war-of-attrition, holding-hands game. You meet a girl today, and maybe in six months you two eat lunch in the dining hall together. I'm exaggerating, but you get the point.
Where else does a guy like this go? Online, of course.
I wasn't about to open an account at an
actual online-dating site, because that felt too lame, even in my state. Instead--get this--I trawled Craigslist. To this day, I'm convinced I'm the last guy to pull a non-fatty, psycho, or tranny off of there.
I corresponded with
several chicks, surprisingly. In those days, most chicks didn't include pictures in their posts. They'd describe themselves, you'd write them, and then you'd
exchange pictures. I exchanged with several, but the conversations died out, or they turned out to be time-wasting tire kickers. A couple were fatties, which came out during the picture-exchange phase.
Two of them panned out, and I scheduled dates with both of them
in the same week. I was optimistic, but nervous about what they'd really be like.
I laugh at the dozens of mistakes I made on those "dates."
(In fact, I will place an asterisk next to each mistake I committed.)
Date 1: Francophile Chick
I drove way the fuck-out to meet this chick.* I was a little nervous because the (one!) picture of her I'd seen had one of those gummy smiles I dislike, though she seemed to have really nice tits. She claimed to love French stuff, so I tried to find some place (in her neighborhood)* that had the kind of thing she liked.* I was trying to get there before her,* but luckily I am an inveterate late arriver and didn't. We met at a French cafe for an evening coffee date, far away from anything else.* She looked pretty good in person, but was like 6'0" (a bad thing in my book), had a lousy attitude, and was pretentious and full-of-shit, like you'd expect a girl who likes French shit to be.
I figured it was a bad sign that she was already sitting, reading some pretentious book, and drinking a coffee when I got there. I did my best to loosen her up,* but she ended up being equally as uninterested as I was. We got a dessert "to split," which she paid half of. After some 90 minutes* of low-quality small talk, we walked out together, hugged goodbye*, and I noticed she was walking toward a red Mustang. I clowned her for it, saying something like,
"You drive that?! That's gotta be the most exciting thing about you" [Note the glimpse of nascent game]. She got pissed, got into her car, and peeled out.
![[Image: lol.gif]](http://www.rooshvforum.network/images/smilies/new/lol.gif)
Date 2: Freckled Mexican Girl
I want to say it was the very next day that I had a first date with basically the opposite of that other chick. She was 5'0" and dwelled deep in the hood. Her messages had been nearly incoherent, packed with oblique Internet misspellings and hieroglyphs. We agreed to meet near her "new job," after she got out,* and grab a "beer or something around there." I was
really nervous about this one, because the pictures of her were at weird angles and poorly lighted. This was before we fully understood the techniques of SIF-ing and MySpace Angles like we do today.
I pulled in front of the designated area. I'd gotten there early (a rare occurence) and decided that I'd hang back till it was time. I saw some chick standing there, but knew it wasn't her since she looked way different. I looked down at my phone for one second, and then back up, and the chick from outside was poking her face into my car, with big enthusiastic look on her face. She looked good. Tight little body, titties popping, nice legs in a pencil skirt, pale and freckled. Her head was a little large, but she was easily a 7 on the forum scale.
Like an idiot, I suggested we go to nearby Starbucks.* I was still a little thrown by having her look better than I expected. She was super bubbly and laughing and touchy from the beginning. I bought her a coffee (she ordered a small) and we sat down. We had a good conversation, and I had no idea what to do next.* Since getting another coffee wasn't really an option, I said,
"Let's get out of here," not realizing that was actually tight game. We walked around aimlessly* and eventually ended up at her pickup truck, which was fortuitously parked in a kind of dark, isolated area. I said goodbye,* gave her a hug, and said we should hang out again.
I started to walk away,* she started to get into her truck, and I came to my senses. I said,
"wait up, I forgot something." I walked back up, caveman-grabbed her, made out with her in the street, and pushed her into her into her truck. There, we made out for a long-ass time, she sucked my dick, and jerked me off.
I ended up hanging out with that chick, intermittently--as my game rapidly improved--over the course of the ensuing months. The $1.30 or so I paid for her coffee was the only cash I ever spent on her.
The last time I spoke to her, things were looking up: I had a better haircut, lived in my own shithole apartment, had fixed the shifter in my car, had $500 in the bank, was taking medication for my fungus, and was taking private dance lessons.
It was the beginning of a long ascent.
True story.
