There was a special on the History Channel the other night entitled Hitler's Women. There is nothing worse than sitting home alone on a Saturday night in Las Vegas and having a television program remind you that even Hitler managed to hook up. Yippie, I'm alone and Hitler scored more pussy than Seth Cohen on spring break.
These women loved Hitler, too. One of them killed herself over him. Why? Because of the whole bad boy thing, of course. You just know they all thought they could change him. "Oh, sure, he's a brutal despot, but when Dolphie is with ME, there will be no more of this Holocaust talk."
I bring this up because I am the nice guy. I've always been the nice guy and I'll always be the nice guy. Yes, I write a filthy fucking blog that occasionally celebrates gal-on-gal action, I like strippers and I'd rather have a girl flash me than win the lottery, but it's all a front, and a lousy one at that, because I'm fucking stupid enough to tell the truth. I don't lie on this blog, except for a few exaggerations for comedic effect. What the fuck am I thinking, not lying my fat ass off on this shitrag? Anyone who's read viva las vegASS more than once knows I have a lousy job and I need to lose weight. I had the perfect opportunity to lie about my fabulous, high paying career, my sculpted abs, my chiseled features; all of these opportunities to pretend to be someone I'm not, sacrificed for the need to be honest.
This past February I got a "you're too nice" speech from someone I thought I was in love with. I had known her about a year, and when her relationship status changed, I thought there was hope. Then one night when we were drinking on the Strip, we "danced" (meaning she grinded on me and I let her), we made out, she flashed me her boobs, she told me I was too nice. What should I have done differently? Should I have pushed her down a flight of stairs at Mandolay Bay? When she showed me her taters should I have grabbed a nip and said "Okay, whistle"? I honestly (there's that fucking word again) don't know.
This is the scenario that played out oh-so frequently when I was younger: A woman enters a social gathering and talks to a guy who either offends and/or disappoints; like pedophiles to Scout leadership, she is then drawn to me. She cries on my shoulder for a few minutes and when I'm trying to comfort her she's scoping the bar for the guy she'll actually take home. To use a baseball analogy, I'm the middle reliever of love. I don't get the win, I don't earn the save, and at the end of the night all I have for my trouble is a sore arm.
These women loved Hitler, too. One of them killed herself over him. Why? Because of the whole bad boy thing, of course. You just know they all thought they could change him. "Oh, sure, he's a brutal despot, but when Dolphie is with ME, there will be no more of this Holocaust talk."
I bring this up because I am the nice guy. I've always been the nice guy and I'll always be the nice guy. Yes, I write a filthy fucking blog that occasionally celebrates gal-on-gal action, I like strippers and I'd rather have a girl flash me than win the lottery, but it's all a front, and a lousy one at that, because I'm fucking stupid enough to tell the truth. I don't lie on this blog, except for a few exaggerations for comedic effect. What the fuck am I thinking, not lying my fat ass off on this shitrag? Anyone who's read viva las vegASS more than once knows I have a lousy job and I need to lose weight. I had the perfect opportunity to lie about my fabulous, high paying career, my sculpted abs, my chiseled features; all of these opportunities to pretend to be someone I'm not, sacrificed for the need to be honest.
This past February I got a "you're too nice" speech from someone I thought I was in love with. I had known her about a year, and when her relationship status changed, I thought there was hope. Then one night when we were drinking on the Strip, we "danced" (meaning she grinded on me and I let her), we made out, she flashed me her boobs, she told me I was too nice. What should I have done differently? Should I have pushed her down a flight of stairs at Mandolay Bay? When she showed me her taters should I have grabbed a nip and said "Okay, whistle"? I honestly (there's that fucking word again) don't know.
This is the scenario that played out oh-so frequently when I was younger: A woman enters a social gathering and talks to a guy who either offends and/or disappoints; like pedophiles to Scout leadership, she is then drawn to me. She cries on my shoulder for a few minutes and when I'm trying to comfort her she's scoping the bar for the guy she'll actually take home. To use a baseball analogy, I'm the middle reliever of love. I don't get the win, I don't earn the save, and at the end of the night all I have for my trouble is a sore arm.
28 Comments:
Are we twins, separated at birth?
The problem lies with the women not you.
Either the women have serious issues, and you don't want that kind anyway. Or they are too young, and they don't know what they want.
I prefer the nice guys. There are so few left. Don't change.
I always thought you were a right bleeding bastard, if that makes you feel better. ;)
How very poignant. Sad but true, women prefer the bad boys to the nice guys, myself included. A guy who's gonna make me cry every night? I'm Hooked! Won't return my phonecalls? I'm gonna be Begging on hands&knees! I was sensible enough to marry "a nice guy" but I still long for the bad boys, and I admit, I haven't always been a "faithful" wife, by some definitions. It's just human nature, to go for that challenge, to try to fix someone, and many women find drama entertaining. I'll keep "a nice guy" around, because everybody needs a shoulder to cry on, from time to time ;-).
At the risk of negative backlash from other viva readers; I'm not sure 'nice girls' flash their taters. Just saying. Hope you're not growing a Hitler mustache on us.
Well, hey, on the bright side don't forget that the chick on Average Joe finally picked the chubby average guy instead of the hot model dude. This, of course, was after a little make-over; but he was still an average chubby guy. I think the new haircut, clothes, and smile helped him to feel more confident.
I don't think you should stop being a nice guy. Good women want a guy who is GOOD and a gentleman.
How about a little makeover and clothes shopping to bring your confidence up, YNH? We girls do it all the time, and y'know, it works! :)
Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this because it's against the Genoa Bad Boy Protocol signed in 1934, but I've read your blog and I think you have the potential to be a bad boy, so here:
When a woman wants to cry on your shoulder about something another guy did, you have to BB options:
1) You look at her with cold disinterest and say, "And this is my problem why?"
2) You look at her with cold disinterest and then support the boyfriend's actions: "Did you ever think maybe you are a great big skank like he said? Maybe you aren't enough woman for him. Maybe making out with another girl really will stengthen your relationship."
If anyone asks, you did NOT get this from me.
Ciao.
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I like my men intelligent but mildly retarded. It's a difficult combo to find, but when you've met my husband, you know I've hit the nail on the head.
Develop a "tude" Todd and you will be golden. Walk around with a chip on your should as if you were god. The chicks love this. Talk about your crack addiction while discussing your recent dominance in local triathlons.
Seriously though, change everything about you. Wait, seriously, don't do that. Be yourself. The best female advice I received was from a girl I briefly dated in college. She suggested I stop apologizing for everything. I had this problem with the word "sorry".
I realized it wasn't necessarily the word "sorry" but more that I wasn't looking after myself first. Once I took care of number one, moi, then most of the other things would fall in place. Not sure if this makes any sense, but there you have it. Best of luck.
If it's any consolation you and Os can be nice guys together. I think the Vegas trip might just be back on.
Can you come out and play?
Hun - it's not you - it's them and with that - their loss.
Please dont change anything about yourself....
smoochies
I would like to thank everyone for the advice, and I'd like to welcome L.A. back from her vacation.
My point was I'm not going to change as far as being nice because I can't. It's who I am. I have been trying to change via not being a push-over and having more self confidence (or at least pretending to).
Crystal, are you black, or is that a really amazing tan??
My advice is to get the hell out of Vegas. You live in a town full of gold diggers and silicone. Not that there aren't bitches everywhere, but I'm thinking the ratio goes way up in a town like that.
Oh..and Seth Cohen on spring break! Brilliant! I love that show.
Dena, maybe when I was much younger I subconsciously wanted the slut/bitch, but that is so not the case now, nor has it been for about fifteen years.
Kath, thanks for going to the trouble.
I have dated nice girls. Sometimes two nice people just aren't right for one another. You have to have a few things in common besides "nice".
Cheyenne or bust Todd!
I'm sorry but i'm not following along with the whole "you're doomed as long as you're in Vegas" theory. I'm sure there are nice girls in Vegas too that are in the same predicament...and are harder to find because of their own bad experiences. It just makes the "find" more sweet once discovered.
Thanks for the welcome back sweets...:*
Perhaps I'll move to Salt Lake City, where I'll be the "bad boy" at last for my unscrupulous caffeine intake.
Las Vegas is more than the Strip. There are normal people here; I just haven't found a girlfriend from them. It's not like I try to pick up strippers. I've been to two strip clubs in the almost three years I've been here.
I've been the stupid girl that gets with the bad boy and dumps the nice guy. I'll tell ya what though...some of us come around. Nice guys rule me now. Well, one nice guy I should say.
You better be careful with the SLC jokes; the mormons will sick their missionaries on you and you'll be wearing jesus jammies before you know it!
Back in Louisville, my friend's fiancee was baptized a mormon so I went to the ceremony to offer support. From the moment I walked through the door they tried to convert me. They even had a sixteen-year-old blonde girl flirt with me. Way to exploit a minor, soldiers of Christ.
Perhaps I'll move to Salt Lake City, where I'll be the "bad boy" at last for my unscrupulous caffeine intake.
Did no one else wheeze with laughter at this? You bunch a robots.
To use another baseball term, maybe you get the "hold" Todd. That could have its advantages.
Dena, I laughed my ass off when I read the SLC comment. In fact I can't stop laughing and drinking. Most be some sort of wiring issue, wiring issue, wiring issue, wiring issue.
Yours truly,
Bender Bending Rodriguez
I'm in the same boat as you. In law school, I had a friend there who was smoking hot and married to a guy who was like 40 years older than her. She always said that if she ever got divorced, I'd her transition guy ... the guy she'd date until she was ready for the real thing again. Nice guys do finish last!
Once upon a time I was the "too nice" guy myself, and it sucked.
What changed? I don't think anyone who would pull the "you're too nice" shit is worth a nice guy, that's what.
Eek! made a significant point about 20 comments back: do you really want a woman who would show you her tits in public and then tell you you're too nice? Fuck that.
I do believe in the old bromide that "like attracts like." There's a good, decent, hilarious woman out there searching for you. Chances are excellent she's not hanging out in a strip club, or some hook-up joint in Vegas.
Most of the women who respond to your blog have flat-out proclaimed their love for you, dude. Start swapping pictures and phone numbers.
In the meantime, I am appropriating "the middle reliever of love" for a poem. Thank you.
A few years ago I had a dream in which I had to choose between 2 men who were in love with me: a really nice, cute guy and Hitler. And, you guessed it, I picked Hitler.
My subconscious is not subtle.
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