Dear Nice Guys

Here is my inspiration for today's rant:
http://thoughtcatalog.com/leo-steven/2014/04/dear-girls-who-are-finally-ready-to-date-nice-guys-we-dont-want-you-anymore/

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Dear Nice Guys Who Are (Finally) Ready to Date Nice Girls:  We Don't Want You Anymore.

You had your chance to ask us out on a date.  You remember when that hot girl you wanted so badly finally went out on a date with you?  You were so excited!  You went on and on to me about how amazing the date was going to be, how you were going to knock her socks off with your good manners, display of romance, and willingness to spend every penny you possess on her.  Somehow, you and she were going to be two completely different people on this amazing date and live happily ever after.  You were going to be somebody she found interesting and fun and she was going to develop depth and a personality.  Do you remember?

Do you remember how brutally crushed you were when, at the end of the night, reality came crashing down crushing your hopes and dreams into the dust.  Not only were you still you, but she was still the same person she's always been.  Only now you were seeing her for who she really was all along.  You were finally seeing past her perky 36C breasts and well displayed cleavage, her well trimmed waist that was always easy to glimpse when she moved around because her tops were barely long enough to reach the bottom of her waist, her round and firm ass that she worked to keep tight and firm.  You were finally seeing that underneath that jail bait body she was really just a shallow, self involved jerk who didn't deserve you at all.  At least, that's what I thought you were seeing.

Do you remember whose shoulder you cried on?  Do you remember the hours you spent lamenting to me that life sucked, that your life, in particular, sucked, and that you were going to be forever alone?  I remember.  I held your hand, I gave you my shoulder, I was there for you at all hours any time you were feeling down and needed to vent.  And vent you did.  The mantra of the rejected nice guy became your life.  You were going to show her; you were going to show all the girls like her!  At first I thought that your anger meant you were finally moving on and were making progress.  Maybe, just maybe, you would finally SEE ME!  Maybe now that you finally saw her, you could lose those rose tinted glasses and see me for something other than wallpaper, or a D&D buddy, a friend, a Nice Girl.  Ha!  Little did I know.  You still didn't see her for the person that she was, you only saw a beautiful girl who you believed you 'deserved' even if she didn't realize it.

In your 20's you disappeared.  We used to talk every day, sometimes all day, and you just disappeared.  You went to your college, I went to mine, and you were gone.  We saw one another on holidays, sometimes, but you were so engrossed in your studies, so determined to make something of yourself, that I was even more invisible than I'd ever been.  At first I thought that this kind of ambition wasn't really a bad thing, there are a lot of Type A personalities in the world, after all.  But then when I finally got you to talk to me you were doing it to show them, to show them all.  The driving force behind this ambition, behind it all, was still her, the 'her's of this world.  Somewhere in your mind she still existed in all her teenage glory, with her hot body and her empty mind, gazing into a mirror that would never reflect you.  It finally occurred to me that I don't want you!  Why would I want a man who is so hung up on another woman, another type of woman, that his entire existence has been devoted to her in one way or another?  Why would I want a man who, instead of developing as a person, who instead of growing and learning and maturing, has been stuck inside his own head for a decade or more still beating against the self built walls of rejection?  I am perfectly capable of being a whole and happy person, in and of myself.   I don't need you, or anybody else, to complete me or to make my life worthwhile.  I have better things to do.

But now I'm not a wallflower, am I?  I didn't know how to dress, or do my hair and make-up in high school.  I could barely bring myself to care about such things in college, though I did try, occasionally.  When I finally stopped trying to be That Girl, and instead just worked on being the best ME I could be, suddenly I'm visible.  Now that I have the self-confidence from having succeeded in my life so far, now that I know who I am and what I want and don't care what anybody around me says I should be or should want, suddenly I'm Somebody.  I don't need you anymore.  I'm not in the mood to deal with you, your issues, or your quest for recognition.  When I find a man who is my equal, who realizes that I am his equal, we will work together to be happy, we will have children if we decide to, and have the things that make us happy, together.

Truth is, I'm happy for you.  I really am.  It's about time that you matured and came to your senses about that girl and the many people that are just like her, who want what they want when they want it and don't care about consequences, the future, or even tomorrow, as long as they have fun today. But I wasn't sitting by the phone waiting for you to realize that I'm a great woman.  I wrote you off long, long ago.  You've learned some important lessons, and so have I.  In fact, you taught me one.  You taught me not to date guys like you.

Speaking for the nice girls out there, you're too late.

We want a man, not a petulant boy who still sees any choice that doesn't line up with what he wants as being wrong and misguided.  We don't want some boy who has finally realized that he was standing on the backs of the nice girls to reach for the wrong ones.  We want a man who sees that each woman is a person, not a trophy, not an achievement to reach.  We want a man who sees our sense of humor, our sense of self, and honors that and loves that.  And that's just not you.  I'm sorry if that bothers you.  Well, no, actually I'm not.  I don't even care that much.  Good luck in life.

The Nice Girl