I came across this post from a blog ; Note: the formatting of the text has been edited for ease of reading and emphasis. Well, when you think you have figured women out!!!!
this is fucking it, you are in love with me
Tonight I am thinking about love. More specifically, love lost. Not even lost, really. Love not realized. Or at least not realized until it was too late.
I have a male friend, Kyle. Kyle emotionally exploded on me tonight. Told me that he’s sick of finishing last, he’s too nice a guy for that. And he was so infuriated that after all these years I hadn’t given him a chance.
This is what happens when you give the guy who doesn’t drink that often a few Buds and a shot of Fernet.
He spoke to me about how he was always there for me, always providing a shoulder to cry on or a bar tab to pick up. Anything I needed, because he was being a caring and good friend. Kyle talked about how he respected everything about me, especially my imperfections. He said my imperfections were what made me perfect for him.
“I even know you’re an alcoholic,” he said. “And I don’t care, you’re still perfect.”
You want to know why nice guys finish last? It’s because they aren’t willing to take a chance, they’re too tied to their rules. They see their girl at her most vulnerable moment, and instead of doing what they perceive as a dick move, they put their arms around her and they hold her. They listen to her weep and they don’t take control of the situation. She’s too precious to cut off. Let her weep.
Let me tell you this:
……..nothing makes a broken woman feel more beautiful than to have a man swoop in and push her up against a wall to tell her how much better she is than that. To kiss her, I mean really kiss her, regardless of what she might think about that.
You know why nice guys finish last? It’s because when a guy named Bayne leaves you for no good reason and you feel like you’ve been reduced to nothing, my nice guy won’t come over and say the things I really need to hear to understand that he loves me, I mean really loves me.
Us ladies, we know we’re beautiful, we know we’re intelligent, we know we’re worth it and we’ll find “him” someday.
What we really need to hear and more importantly feel (at that moment — from you, the nice guy)) is that we’re sexy, that our inner organs that separate us from you guys are actually worth something. That we’re so beautiful that you can’t and don’t care whether or not that kiss you’ve so desperately wanted to plant on us is going to ruin our friendship. We want you, the nice guy, to rebel against your rules and just do what feels right. Take control of the situation and tell us that this is fucking it, you are in love with me. You are so in love with me that you are so unbelievably ready to ruin our friendship for a chance at love.
That you are willing to pick up that bat and attempt to hit the ball out of the fucking stadium. Because either you strike out or you hit a home run. No one wants to sit in the dugout. But you don’t. You sit in the dugout and you tell us that we’re pretty, and not fat. That we’re worth it. And that Bayne is just stupid and doesn’t know what he’s missing. You’re too nice. You’re too good of a friend. Be a man. Make the call. Try your best to force us to love you. Because in the end, you’re right. Nice guys do finish last. So how about you buck up and become something else. Because otherwise you’re going to lose us, you’re going to lose me.
Nice guys finish last because they’re pussies.