Saturday, January 18, 2014

Nice Guy Phobia

I was at brunch today with my girlfriends. As usual, we talked about life and one who has been single for a bit mentioned wanting a man. Meanwhile, I have been single for so long I wouldnt know what to do if I had a guy. Would I walk him? Do I change his water dish? Maybe bathe him and give him food? I forget how the whole thing works really. I have also come to like my freedom. My nights are spent performing, hanging out with friends, and alone if I so desire. I am my own woman. No man to censor my thoughts or my speech. No partner with issues to grapple and trust me they all have them.

We assured my friend she wasn't missing anything. Being on your own isn't terrible. On the other hand, we asked her what she was doing to meet a dude. She said nothing. She just wanted him to show up. Okay, while that might be awesome in theory if a dude came to my door telling me I was beautiful I would call the cops. Then we asked what kind of guys she liked. She said, "I go for guys I shouldn't want. I don't go for the nice ones. They scare me."

That is a feeling shared by a lot of women. It is a nice guy phobia. What happens to us is when we are young we dream of Prince Charming. Disney sells us a lie and we ride with it. Then after that, either one of two things happens. We either meet a nice guy who bores us to death, and we crave the excitement of the bad boy. Or we date a man who is such a horror show that leaves us with such baggage that we are incapable of being nice, and therefore that means no more Mr. Nice Guy.

I know in my experience I went through the bad boy phase. I have written extensively about the former fiance. The nature of the breakup was intense and insane as was the relationship. When that ended, I was my own woman. The problem was, my ex would make it impossible for me to date other men. Stalkers kind of do that. So I gravitated towards bad boys. When nice guys get a whiff of a psycho in the midst they don't stick around like proud warriors and fight. They run like they just saw Godzilla.

Bad boys on the other hand are damaged creatures. They don't judge. They aren't afraid to make a threat. Hell, they don't judge your behavior either. And yes, as far as companions go they laugh more easily and are a lot more fun. For the most part they were always proud of my writing and my comedy. There were people who were frightened of my male companions and I didn't mind that. No one would mess with me. And a guy getting out of jail has excellent manners. It's been forever since he had a female companion so he is Emily Post when it comes to his manners.

The bad boys have their downside. Probation means a curfew and so that means the night ends early. Plans have to be structured around a day program for alcoholism and drug addiction, which gets out around 8 pm on Wednesdays. The presents they give you, well sometimes you don't know if they paid for them. When they tell you to wait outside the eatery, you might be dining and dashing. Lest we not forget psych meds, baby mama drama, criminal records, and the adjective of fugitive. I have had all this fun and more.

The problem with good guys and myself is that I become so conditioned to bad boys I scared them away. They couldn't handle me, and I was weary of them. If we even remotely hit it off my past had a way of reappearing. Sometimes the walk down memory lane was too much for me so I ended things in their tracks fearing rejection. Or sometimes they disappeared on me, scared of what else was to be revealed. Either way, nice guys don't like me and I don't seem to mix with them.

These days I like my freedom a lot as I said. The more I hear about marriage and children the less I want those things. Still, someday the recipe might be different. Someday I might crave the Disney lie. And when I get Prince Charming, I won't be able to erase him. I won't even know what to do, partially because cartoon men don't require food. Do I walk him? Do I change his water? Does he require a cage? Does he need shots?

Either way, I have all these questions and more. That is, if I don't screw this whole thing up by running away as fast as I can first.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl


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