Proud Parent of a Blogger

Let me set the record straight - I DO NOT prefer assholes. I've been accused of this in the past, typically by nice guys that I'm not interested in that need validation for my rejection. When said nice guy accuses me of this I can't help but think - you're destined for a life of disappointment, resentment and possible restraining orders. Sure I'm enamored with a sweet fella who sings my accolades, cherishes the very essence of all this crazy, and reassures me that telling my dogs about my day is totally normal. The problem with this situation? That's what I've got my mom for. She's been feeding my ego since birth. When I was rocking multi-colored leggings, eight scrunchies, a hearty dose of electric blue eyeshadow and some pre-pubescent "baby fat," she unhesitatingly told me I was pretty. As I refined my musical prowess, furiously puffing into my flute while balancing 6th grade music sheets in my lap, my mother assured me the lightheadedness was normal for musicians of my caliber (Mom: Honey, you're doing so great and I love your commitment, but why don't you try practicing in the closet. I think you'll find the acoustics quite something in there.) My confession of wanting to be retired because I had really envied my Grandparent's lifestyle when I was 9 years old was just another one of her daughter's cute witticisms (and in no way indicative that I would become a habitual afternoon napper and stuff Kleenex up my sleeves). So you see, with a fan base like this, additional commentary on my aptitude is hardly necessary. Thanks mom, for all the grandiose delusions of my beauty, talent and charm! Moving along...
I'm going to go out on a limb and say most little girls' fantasy of Prince Charming does not include such attributes necessary for a man to be considered an asshole. Such characteristics include:

• CONDESCENDING - Which really just proves you're not only an asshole but also insecure; perhaps harboring gay tendencies or a baby dill.


• THOUGHTLESS - I don't expect you to remember the time, location or weather pattern when we had our first kiss, but I don't think I'm demanding too much when I ask that you momentarily pause to reflect on whether or not I want to fall into the toilet. I'd almost prefer sitting down on a few renegade droplets of your pee than frantically swim in the entire bowl of your kidney's secretions you forgot to flush.


• SELFISH - This would encompass bedroom behavior, willingness to share financial expenditures, and your time.


• MAN-WHORE/FRAT BOY INCLINATIONS - I expect you not to grope, fondle or say perverse things to me in public. Ogling and disrespectful commentary of other women will also not be tolerated. You sound/look ignorant and childish. If you feel compelled to stare at the tits of every woman that passes by I suggest you subscribe to Big Jugs or similar publication to get it out of your system and allow you more freedom to act like a grown up in public.

I did not add "physically abusive" because this does not make you an asshole, this makes you an abhorrent felon. The aforementioned asshole characteristics are obnoxious yet tolerable in small doses. The only place I will make an exception for tolerating physical abuse is from Bubba in cell block D when he practices his brand of love on your little butt star.

So there you have it. Of course sometimes we find ourselves in the presence of such assholes, maybe seduced by their arrogance confident charm, but most self-respecting women eventually see through the bullshit and move on. If a woman continues to indulge the asshole she's chosen then she's an asshole too and that's 2 less assholes to worry about getting stuck with. That's just basic Advanced Algebra/Trig...which I happened to pass in the 10th grade...which confessing, now makes me an asshole too. Dammit.

Now that I've undoubtedly convinced you that I DO NOT prefer assholes, let's explore the opposite end of the spectrum - the nice guy.

The nice guy is the one your mom immediately envisions you marrying and producing a soccer team of little nice tots with. The nice guy probably has been in 2 or 3 serious relationships that ended up breaking his nice little heart. He feels justified in being overly sensitive because after all, he's the nice guy and some girl who justifiably thought he was a pussy tart damaged him. The nice guy is apt to bouts of weeping, commentary on sunsets, and is proficient at spewing nauseating doggerel from his personal poetry collection. Indeed, the nice guy is what most little girls desire. The man whose sensitivity and kindness reminds them of their favorite childhood kitten. I applaud you if the nice guy is the man of your sugarplum and rainbow dreams. For he is not mine.

I get bored with nice. My 3rd grade teacher was nice. My mailman is nice. Hell, even my freaky neighbor can be nice in an awkward, I'm going to start taking the stairs, sort of way. I like someone who's a little rough around the edges. I want to feel that I'm as lucky to be with you as I know you are to be with me. (Ha, there's that inner asshole again.) Of course you still need superb manners, flawless delivery in your tasteful compliments, the ability to turn your clandestine sycophant on when appropriate, and the expert application of making me feel needed without making me feel utterly responsible for your well-being. So...be nice, but not tooo nice.

I'm the type of girl that if you give me an inch, I'll take a mile. I can walk all over you if you let me and I probably will because I like having things done for me. (ie. I've been known to hold against their will snuggle my dogs in my lap simply so you'll have to get me a soda, the remote or my Sudoku because I couldn't possibly disturb the little angels.) This is not one of my more endearing qualities but we're friends right? And I can tell you these things in full confidence that you won't judge or expect me to change, 'cause that's what friends do! [Silently hopes I didn't rush into this whole "friend" business too quickly. Must remember to play it cool in the future.] I like a man who takes charge and doesn't require constant monitoring. It wasn't an accident that I didn't pursue teaching, nursing or any other trade that requires patience or TLC. If you haven't been in a coma since birth I expect you've had a life before me. In fact, I expect to see some indication of this. Like some shelter to live in, maybe a means for providing food for yourself, an interest or hobby of sorts, perhaps something you've done - I think they call these "life experiences." You know, anything that shows me you might be interesting if I happen to be around you sober.

I'm not your mother, your banker or your life coach. (To add to the list of things I'm egregiously unqualified for.) I told you, I'm not very compassionate, I pay someone to take care of my finances and blogging seems like a worthwhile activity to me. I will however, be your companion, sounding board, play date, and comedian. You can even guilt me into get a few personal chef experiences and throw out your stash of nudie magazines. Basically, on a survival level I need you to take care of you and I will continue to take care of me. In between, we can take long strolls along the lake at sunset while you recite sonnets about my beauty. Er, I mean we can drink beer and play video games. Either works for me.