Anyway, my social life in high school was pathetic, so when I started college I was determined to re-invent myself and leave the old me choking in the dust. I shortened my name from Robert to Rob. I had considered something more dashing like "Skip", but thought that might be too over the top. And I started using any excuse to talk to women. This turned out to be easier than I thought because almost no one from my past had picked my school to attend and everything was a clean slate.
Despite this, my social life was less than ideal. The few dates I had were disastrous, and I had to fall back and reassess the situation. During the time I was regrouping, I accidentally fell into a circle of friends hailing from one of the local Catholic high schools. This was a lucky break because they felt sorry for me and started setting me up with people they knew, which built up my confidence, and so on and so on.
The women I met were all very nice and I would classify none of them as horrid nasty bitchy sluts, except maybe one, and of course she was the one I stayed with the longest because I must have been going through a self-destructive period or some psychiatric bullshit like that.
I went though dating "phases". Two in particular were "dating girls in the dorm" and "dating girls that you know should never have agreed to go out with you". The first phase was during the waning puritanical era where no men were allowed to enter the women's dorm rooms, so you had to have the receptionist call up for them and then go wait in the lobby with a bunch of other guys for your date to come down. The wait was usually interesting because I saw the following happen more than once: A girl would emerge from the elevator and look around. She would stand there for a minute, still looking around and her emotions would range from confusion, to annoyance, to anger or despair, depending on the girl. And then she would turn around and walk back into the elevator. Not more than 15 seconds later, one of the guys I was sitting with would stand up and bolt for the door. I found this to be particularly cruel, but fascinating at the same time.
The second phase required me to check my ego at the door. I would deliberately ask out women who were too good looking to actually want to go out with me. If you didn't mind getting rejected nine times out of ten, this strategy would pay off big time. Getting a date with a pretty woman who will never go out with you again is fantastic because you don't have to be nervous before hand and you don't have to be concerned about asking her out again, because it is a given that she never will. On one of these dates, we went to a party at a friend's apartment and I had a great time because all the guys kept calling me an asshole and all the women would take me aside and tell me how "cute" my date was. Toward the middle of the evening, I was suckered into playing "drop the quarter from your nose into the toilet paper tube stuck in the front of your pants" game. Being a sucker, I went along with it and ended up with my pants full of beer. Even though I walked around the rest of the night looking like I had experienced a major urinary malfunction, I was happy because all the guys were jealous and for that matter, the girls too.
So, sure ... I guess this was all fun, but I'd never want to do any of it again. I'll leave the dating to the young and adventurous among us. I'm perfectly happy to be right here where I'm at.