This isn't an attempt to pass this مضمون off as my own. I read it and I thought maybe others would appreciate it as well.
سے طرف کی Jessica Leigh Griffith
This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become دوستوں and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care مزید than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of مچھلی in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.
This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with دوستوں and been greeted سے طرف کی a night of catcalling, rude تبصرے and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a بیئر pong tournament یا a case race, یا playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend یا a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good یا too smart یا too pretty, who have been دیا compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.
This one's for the girls who you can take ہوم to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on سے طرف کی words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, یا never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and دل and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed سے طرف کی someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned ہوم alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, یا standing a little too near, یا talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor آپ for the night his dog died یا his grandmother died یا his little brother crashed his car and آپ held him, thinking that if آپ only comforted him just right, یا کہا the right words, یا rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night آپ realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise آپ saw the اگلے morning after failing to sleep.
This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" تبصرہ after آپ read مزید into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when آپ choose friends, آپ seldom choose those which make آپ cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured آپ that آپ are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair آپ all felt as آپ sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a تکیا and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisfied with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them سے طرف کی guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit and سوال and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their اگلے conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mind games, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were آپ to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were آپ to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if آپ were to receive a call from her the اگلے دن and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell آپ that she finds آپ intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would آپ یا would آپ not immediately call your دوستوں to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called آپ and wore her دل on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, یا would آپ not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar یا club یا party scene and تلاش once مزید for this "nice girl" who آپ just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intramural باسکٹ, باسکٹ بال game, یا your anatomy midterm grade, یا that argument آپ keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when آپ can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom آپ were using during it.
So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when آپ pass us up on every step آپ take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut شرٹ, قمیض یا the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a t-shirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me. " آپ never do. Why? Because آپ only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. آپ don't want the nice girl... so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things آپ never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congratulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that آپ want at the end of that silly race.
So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what’s a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)
سے طرف کی Jessica Leigh Griffith
This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become دوستوں and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care مزید than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of مچھلی in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.
This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with دوستوں and been greeted سے طرف کی a night of catcalling, rude تبصرے and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a بیئر pong tournament یا a case race, یا playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend یا a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good یا too smart یا too pretty, who have been دیا compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.
This one's for the girls who you can take ہوم to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on سے طرف کی words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, یا never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and دل and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed سے طرف کی someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned ہوم alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, یا standing a little too near, یا talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor آپ for the night his dog died یا his grandmother died یا his little brother crashed his car and آپ held him, thinking that if آپ only comforted him just right, یا کہا the right words, یا rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night آپ realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise آپ saw the اگلے morning after failing to sleep.
This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" تبصرہ after آپ read مزید into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when آپ choose friends, آپ seldom choose those which make آپ cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured آپ that آپ are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair آپ all felt as آپ sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a تکیا and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisfied with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them سے طرف کی guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit and سوال and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their اگلے conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mind games, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were آپ to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were آپ to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if آپ were to receive a call from her the اگلے دن and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell آپ that she finds آپ intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would آپ یا would آپ not immediately call your دوستوں to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called آپ and wore her دل on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, یا would آپ not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar یا club یا party scene and تلاش once مزید for this "nice girl" who آپ just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intramural باسکٹ, باسکٹ بال game, یا your anatomy midterm grade, یا that argument آپ keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when آپ can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom آپ were using during it.
So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when آپ pass us up on every step آپ take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut شرٹ, قمیض یا the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a t-shirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me. " آپ never do. Why? Because آپ only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. آپ don't want the nice girl... so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things آپ never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congratulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that آپ want at the end of that silly race.
So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what’s a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)
