So on my other post this week I received quite a few comments. Here is one of those comments…
What makes someone a not nice guy? And, do you have those not nice guy qualities? Dig deep, Dawg!
So to answer Poppy‘s question, I will now provide a list of qualities that relegate me out of the “nice guy” category.
Workaholic - No big secret here, my job comes first alot. There are times I hate it because of that, and other times I love it because of that. Although recently, I’ve found myself drifting out of the enchantment of the adrenalin rush, it still needs to come first most of the time. In that aspect, a bad day for most people is getting yelled at, losing an account, or losing a gazillion dollars… a bad day for me is someone losing their life. It takes a toll.
Affection Needy - I’m an affection needy person. I need to hold hands. I need to be hugged. I need to cuddle. If I can’t get that, then there’s really no hope because then I’ll just become detached.
Emotionally Detached - Because of a combination of my previous heartbreaks, my job and my PTSD, I become emotionally detached. It’s not right, nor pretty, nor pleasant. I don’t think there are warning signs. One minute I can be lovey dovey… and the next I’m disengaged and in (for lack of a better word) a zone where emotions are non-existent. This can commonly happen when I get (again, for lack of a better word) a scare of emotional attachment that will be potentially devastating or if I feel that I have given and not received the emotional or affectionate support I need back.
Eternally A Toys R Us Kid - I know there are adult things to do… like going out to adult parties, adult bars, adult restaurants, etc. The truth is, I’m a social hermit and would rather go to Toys R Us, McDonald’s, and spend the night watching a DVD or reading a book than doing adult things. Wanna go to a dance club? Ha! Have fun… I have white man’s rhythm (which is to say I have none) so I’m no use there. Of course, when forced to go, and you dance with someone who puts their hand on your ass… yeah… I’m going all immature and there’s gonna be a slugfest.
Understanding Frustrated - I get easily frustrated when someone doesn’t “get” me. My frustration leads to a shut down… meaning I’m not going to explain myself, I’ll shut my mouth, and look off into space with a screwy look on my face. Oddly, only one person has ever called me out on it… the girl who I gave my soul to and she gave me a lighter. On New Year’s Eve she came out with some crap about whether I wanted her to whisper “sweet nothings” in my ear. Instead of saying, “No, I want you to whisper sweet SOMETHINGS in my ear,” I got frustrated. After two minutes of silence, she called me an asshole and got out of the car. Oddly, I trace back to that as a moment where I actually began to ponder about myself, and I realized all the things above and that she was indeed, right. I was an asshole… and while I consciously have tried to stop being one… it still happens subconsciously.
No apologies. No regrets. - Is a philosophy I adopted back in the ‘90s. I still try to maintain it as best I can. It’s kinda the glue that binds everything else together. If I actually do apologize, it will most likely be a written apology or in the form of a dozen white roses. I’m pretty bad at saying “I’m sorry” in any situation other than work.
So all in all, am I a nice guy? Sure… I’ll go shopping and sit outside a dressing room, I’ll listen all about your douchebag boyfriend who is a jealous freak (which of course then I am totally going to antagonize him by sending you stuff), I’ll listen for hours on the phone while you let loose on what you perceive to be earth shattering stuff, I’ll hold the door for you, I’ll go to weddings and parties with you so you don’t go alone, and I’ll even get you a card from the drugstore to leave on your car in the middle of the night to make sure your day starts off better than the last one ended. It takes much more than that to be a “nice guy”.
Honestly, I know why I suck… and yet I find it harder than anything to change that. It’s me, and who I am. Accept me or don’t accept me… it doesn’t really matter… because that’s how I roll.
I’ve already accepted that.
