Occasionally, even a Nice Guy gets tired of over-Nice shit. There is a such thing as being too nice, ferfucksake.
This is a piece that I wrote a few years back when I had a Myspace page that I kept active. I received it as one of those sappy-ass forwards from a guy on my motorcycle board who was 18 or 19 or so, and it just made me want to puke.
After a few years’ retrospective, I look at this now as being a textbook example of a guy who tries too hard. Dollars to doughnuts says that anybody that’s doing all this stuff is doing it because he thinks that’s what his fair lady wants, not because it’s what he really wants to do. And ultimately that’s not in anybody’s best interest.
Anyway, I was in a snarky mood that day, so I did a little deconstruction work and passed it on along. I was hoping that my version would see the same sort of daylight that the syrupy original did, but nope, nobody passed it along again…although one of my friends did email me to tell me congratulations, I hit the nail exactly on the head.
OK. I just got this as a bulletin over the weekend. And it makes me laugh. So, I’m just going to go ahead and say it: I ain’t that guy.
The original quotes are from this dumbass chain letter, and the things in italics are from me, [TB]. I was bored, so sue me.
On to the bullshit:
I’m the guy who will text you every single morning and tell you good morning and every single night to tell you sweet dreams.
I don’t text shit. I call people. Who the hell wants to begin and end a day with “I luv u QT,” anyway? Please.
I’m the guy who will text you and tell you “i love you and wish you were here” just because.
Again, I don’t text shit. And any guy that ends a sentence with “just because” is leaving off the 2 words “I’m horny.”
I’m the guy who will blindfold you, take you to the beach and let you run your toes through the sand then make you guess where we are.
And clean out the puke from my car after driving you for 13 hours blindfolded through the fuckin’ mountains. Actually, I think it would be awesome to blindfold somebody, take ‘em to Phoenix, and play ocean sounds as you lead ‘em out into the fuckin’ desert. “Now keep walking until your feet get wet. Oops, hang on, gotta tie my shoe. Just keep going in that direction!” *screeching tires*
I’m the guy who will make you smile when you are sad.
Having been in relationships with women for more than 30 days, I find it statistically FAR more likely that I’m the guy who’ll piss you off for no discernable reason.
I’m the guy who will show up at your games (or competitions or meets) without you knowing just to surprise you.
I know that restraining order was just you trying to get my attention.
I’m the guy who will pick you up when you fall.
Ain’t that romantic. I fell down in a mosh pit once, but I didn’t think the dude that grabbed me off of the floor was showing how totally crazy about me he was.
I’m the guy who will hold you when you’re crying and wipe away your tears.
“I said, I don’t think you’re that fat!! C’mon, what’s the matter?”
I’m the guy who still thinks you’re beautiful with no makeup on, wearing sweats and a big t-shirt.
For those of you guys out there who aren’t married, it’s the word “still” in this sentence that will get you cut off from sex for two weeks or so. Your sexile will begin with the words, “What do you mean, still!?!?”
I’m the guy who will send you roses in front of all your friends, letting you know I love you.
Because I know you’re with them right now, telling them about how I fucked up last night, and this will make them tell you “Aw, look, he’s so sweet, maybe you should give him a second chance.” Of course, my wife had the better answer: Because if you dump me, they’ll all remember me as the guy who sent you roses, so one’a them bitches will definitely be down.
I’m the guy who won’t pressure you to do things you don’t want to.
Unless it’s have sex. Whining doesn’t count as pressure, right?
I’m the guy who will show up at your house with soup and a movie when you aren’t feeling well.
The movie will be Where the Boys Aren’t 6, and I’ll explain to you the healing power of fellatio.
I’m the guy who kisses you on the forehead.
Because that’s not at all condescending or anything. Nope.
I’m the guy who doesn’t kiss and tell.
But I do fuck and tell.
I’m the guy who actually listens to you when you talk.
When you call me from your cell phone after midnight, that is. Because that’s either booty call time, or drunken dialing time…and maybe I can use the drunken dialing to blackmail you into some booty later.
I’m the guy who’s excited all day because I’m looking forward to our date that night.
So excited, so excited! SO EXCITED! …oops. “OMG, I swear that’s never happened to me before! Wait a minute, baby, I’ll be OK in just a minute…why don’t you try going down for a second, see if that helps?”
I’m the guy who is content to just be able to hold you and wants nothing more.
So ignore me as I grind against your leg. Or, if this sentence is for afterward, then it means “nothing more than to get out from under your leg and out of that door before my wife calls the bar.”
I’m the guy who can’t help but smile when you walk into the room.
“BWAHAHAHAH! You bought THAT!?!? Wait, baby, where’re ya goin’? I…wait!! Dammit, no booty again tonight.”
I’m the guy who’s perfectly content with staying in and watching movies and cuddling.
If said movie is Where the Boys Aren’t 6. Look, baby, I rented us a chick flick!!
I’m the guy who won’t lie to you about where he’s going or where he’s been or who he’s been with.
Fuck it, I’ll tell ya straight up. I’m going over to Paulie’s, we’re going to sit around watching football and farting, talking about all the chicks we nailed (that we didn’t), and all the badass football games we played in in high school (that we didn’t). I’m coming home around 11, reeking of beer and with a big BBQ sauce stain on my Favre jersey, and I’ll clumsily try to talk you into some booty. You’ll banish my ass to the couch. See ya later, babe!
I’m the guy who gets butterflies when he hears your name.
“Damn, every time I hear that chick’s name I remember how drunk I was that night I went home with her, and damn, my stomach just churns.”
I’m the guy who’s not afraid to tell his friends he loves you.
At least not while you’re standing there, having said “Hey, baby, I love you” and now you’re looking at me expectantly and tapping your foot. In that case, I’ll try to save face by tacking on “and stuff” to “I love you.”
I’m the guy who isn’t always trying to act like a hard ass around you.
As long as there’s nobody around, and you’ve cut me out for a few weeks…
I’m the guy who doesn’t care about your imperfections and loves you more for them.
BWHAHAHAHAHAH. I can’t even come up with a witty retort for this one, it’s so full of shit. Ladies, imagine the reverse. You’re sitting around with your girls, and you’re talking about your guy’s imperfections. “Sure, he’s fat, he drinks too much, he wants sex all the time, but when we do it he can only manage 6 minutes, tops…oh, and he has three balls. But that’s what I love about him!!” Doesn’t work, does it?
I’m the guy who will hold you while we watch the sunset.
Ook ook. Romantic moment. This is it…this is my chance to paw the boobs. Paw the boobs, mmm. Huh? “What’s wrong, honey? Why are you slapping my hands away? What do you mean, ‘ruined the moment?’ Aw, c’mon, honey…”
I’m the guy who will be there for you whenever you need me, no matter what or how far I am.
Insert the words “for sex” after “you need me” and you might have something here. If you ever really want to see if a guy will always be there for you, tell him to go buy you a box of tampons and bring it to you over at Cindy’s house, where you’ll be having some wine with the girls. Watch his face.
I’M THE GUY WHO REALLY WANTS TO MAKE YOU THE HAPPIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD.
Notice how this is in all caps? This is because it’s being shouted up to you from the street, after you dumped him for being the TOTAL WUSS described in all of the above items. He’s shouting up at your window, where you’re probably inside, busily sexing up some guy who acts like he has a pair.
Girls if this is your perfect guy repost this with the title “I want this guy.”
You will then be mystified by how you can never find this guy. You’ll constantly think you’ve found him, then he’ll either a) screw up, or b) you’ll realize that he disgusts you. Then you’ll dump him for another. Rinse and repeat, until you decide to have reasonable expectations.
Guys if this is you repost this with the title “I’m that guy.”
I hope you and your boyfriend are happy together, and I fully support your right to civil unions or marriage.