Never Date A Nice Boy

You should never date someone because they’re nice. As far as qualities go, it doesn’t hold much weight, requires no discernible skill.

You know this now but you didn’t know it then. You didn’t know it on that night of the dinner party. You and your friends used to have those often because you were twenty-one and drinking too much. Making lentil salad, wearing dresses and blazers, and pouring glasses of warm white wine were all clever devices you used to make yourselves feel normal and productive.

At the dinner party, you’re talking about mature adult things with your friends when the nice boy comes in.

“Wicked spread.” He says in a stoner drawl, surveying the courtyard, the booze and the elaborate display of cheese and crackers. His East Coast slang immediately makes you want to run around barefoot in the California sun, eat avocado sandwiches and rub New Age crystals. But you can’t because you’re in a courtyard in the East Village with a boy that says “wicked” and endured hard winters and always knew New York as being a place that was just a train ride away.

As the night progresses, you drink more wine and start to care less about his slang and more about his sweet ass. It’s placed perfectly up high, toned by years of cycling. An ass is the first thing you notice on a boy. It’s the first thing you fall in love with and usually the last.

You suggest moving the party to the rooftop of your apartment. Everyone agrees because they’re drunk and They. Just. Don’t. Care. When you get to your apartment, you grab the Polaroid camera so this night can stick more than the others. While walking up to the roof, you almost fall but you catch yourself. No, the nice boy with the nice ass catches you. Ah, you love men.

You smoke pot, tastes so good. Everyone bathes in the evening warmth and oh my god, you’re just so happy. This boy makes you so happy. You take a Polaroid of him even though you just met. But you’re going to scan it and put it online and tag him in the photo. Everyone will see it and think to themselves, “I didn’t know he was friends with that boy!” But you are because the internet says so and everyone knows that it’s only a matter of time before internet starts imitating life.

This is when things get blurry, stop making so much sense. Everyone leaves except for the boy and you decide to play the movie Factory Girl. It plays for awhile and you try to discuss how Andy Warhol took advantage of Edie Sedgwick and how she really didn’t stand a chance after meeting him (LOL). At least that’s what you think you’re discussing. You’re not sure. Neither is the boy. But he smiles anyway, encouraging your nuggets of wisdom.

He says he has to go and you panic. You say goodbye but you really just want to be sober with him on your bed, talking about music or something else that could lead to a kiss. But that’s not the case tonight so he leaves. The door slams and you want to cry at the wasted opportunity. The wine tells you to chase after him like they do in the movies so you do.

You run down the hallway, turn the corner and see him get into the elevator. You grab him before he has a chance to get away. Kissing kissing kissing. Against the wall, grab his body. Feels amazing. He tastes normal, not like the wine you’ve been drinking. His skin is rough like a boy that’s been out in the sun pulling weeds. Or maybe that’s how you chose to remember it. It doesn’t matter now. He says no to sex, goes home. You really like him, you think, you know.

What happens after that is a series of choreographed moments, a nice relationship with a nice boy. On your first date, you get stoned and go to a midnight showing of The Shining. Afterwards, you make out high with your shirts off and you think this could be for real.

But it doesn’t become real-not even close. “He’s so great, he’s so nice” quickly turns into “He’s so passive, he has pudding for a backbone.” Three months later, you’re ignoring his calls and he’s texting you on Ecstasy to tell you that you’re beautiful. He calls you this after enduring three months of your bad behavior, three months of never going to his apartment, three months of your manipulation and it makes you feel ashamed. You never knew you could act this ugly and it makes you sick.

You wonder how this meanness could have lived inside of you undetected for all of these years. Gee, a heads up would’ve been nice. “Just so you know, I have the capacity to act completely evil. It’s in your best interest to start running from me screaming.” In prior relationships, you had been the nice boy. You had been the one texting sweet nothings on Ecstasy and laying there like an open wound. How could roles reverse so quickly? Which one feels better? Does it feel good to be shit on or do you prefer shitting on someone?

Eventually the relationship with the nice boy evaporates and you are overcome with a sense of relief. After awhile, you start to think about what dating the nice boy with the nice ass taught you. You think real hard and discover that he inadvertently taught you how to be cruel. And what about you? You showed him that everyone has the ability to act contrary to who they really are and that by being the nice one, you’re surrendering yourself to the asshole. You wish you knew all of this then but you didn’t so here you are. TC mark

image – Party of Five

Ryan O'Connell

I'm a brat.

Trace the scars life has left you. It will remind you that at one point, you fought for something. You believed.

“You are the only person who gets to decide if you are happy or not—do not put your happiness into the hands of other people. Do not make it contingent on their acceptance of you or their feelings for you. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if someone dislikes you or if someone doesn’t want to be with you. All that matters is that you are happy with the person you are becoming. All that matters is that you like yourself, that you are proud of what you are putting out into the world. You are in charge of your joy, of your worth. You get to be your own validation. Please don’t ever forget that.” — Bianca Sparacino

Excerpted from The Strength In Our Scars by Bianca Sparacino.

Read Here

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  • PERFECTCIRCLES

    This is about finding your own capacity for evil. The context is a romantic relationship but could just as easily be the Holocaust or an Uzbek jail.

    • Vvvvqzzzzzzz3zzz2z3

      stfu

  • JD

    This is really fascinating, but I want to know, what is the answer and who is in the right? Is it the nice boy's problem for “not having a backbone,” or is it simply that you're an asshole with emotional problems and need someone who has similar “issues?”

    • http://gearshack.blogspot.com Naked&Famous

      I think the author's in the right. Not answering a person's texts because he/she's throwing himself at you doesn't make you an asshole, it means you're looking for someone who doesn't reek quite so much of desperation.

  • Charley

    “[west] boy slang” if you're going to run around in California, no? And I hate when people are described as “nice,” it tells me nothing about them, in face it's sort of an insult if that's all people can say about you, eh?

  • Lazyroar

    I adore the writing on this one. Well done

  • shoehorn

    a very real challenge to the previously-mentioned conception of ryan o'connell as “not a real writer”.

    • Kevin

      Mostly concur, with the exception of this: “It’s the first thing you fall in love with and usually the last.”
      This sentence makes no sense, unless it's missing a phrase like “…thing you fall out of love with.”

      • maura

        it makes sense. he's saying you likely will not fall in love with anything else about the person.

      • shoehorn

        damn maura, thought it was an offhand truncation of what kevin said
        now it seems like a remark on a 21 yo's shitty romantic/sexual wiring.

  • eric

    looooooooove

  • http://pulse.yahoo.com/_FQBOL3ZHPHDYFGRD53EVFREV4A El puto

    The author needs to try dating a 'nice asshole' – very chameleon-like. We are rare, but awesome. We're very confident, but we don't cross the arrogant/conceited line. We don't treat people like scum and are very polite and respectful, but we're brutally honest and very forward with what we want. We're just… better.

  • http://vickyalways.blogspot.com vicky

    “In prior relationships, you had been the nice boy. You had been the one texting sweet nothings on Ecstasy and laying there like an open wound. How could roles reverse so quickly? Which one feels better? Does it feel good to be shit on or do you prefer shitting on someone?”

    i've been asking that last question for MONTHS

  • Nan

    and that, ladies and gentlegays, is the first step to becoming a bitter, old queen.

    • http://pulse.yahoo.com/_FQBOL3ZHPHDYFGRD53EVFREV4A El puto

      lady with 1,000 cats

  • http://twitter.com/motomouthbbx Motomouth

    so who are we supposed to date?

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