Finally, Something that Expresses How I Feel!!
I know that I shamelessly ripped this from Darren's livejournal, but after years of searching, I've finally found something that truly expresses how I feel about myself and about boys. I boo-hooed like a baby when I read this. It was as if someone looked into my heart and wrote down exactly how I feel. It looks kind of lengthy, but it's a quick read, I promise!
This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked,
who become friends 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 more
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 fish 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 friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude
comments 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 beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale
for a vomiting guy friend or 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 or too smart or too
pretty, who have been given 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 home 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 by words and kisses and touches, all of which
were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is
for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart 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 by 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 home
alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a
little too close, or standing a little too near, or 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 you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or
his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you
only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back
in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had.
This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the
sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.
This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after
you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never
realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make
you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your
female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful
and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this
is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears,
knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow
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 satisified 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 by guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question 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 next 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
mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were
you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling,
interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were
you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to
receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal,
intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she
finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and
perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or
would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker
chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her
sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make
plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the
bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you
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 intermural basketball game,
or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your
father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have
a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the
condom you were using during it.
So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up
on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in
disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or 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 teeshirt and
flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best
friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why?
Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes
those advances. You 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 you 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
congradulatory 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 you 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?)
Thank you, Darren for posting this. This truly touched me in a way that I cannot describe, during a time that I needed it most. I'm a nice girl, and I want other nice girls to read this, too. Maybe one day boys will come around, but until then, we'll still be waiting at the "finish line with towels and water and congradulatory hugs."
Always,
~Lindsey P.
I'm trying
I'm trying
To let you know just how much you mean to me
And after
All the things we put each other through...
~My Chemical Romance--Demolition Lovers
This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked,
who become friends 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 more
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 fish 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 friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude
comments 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 beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale
for a vomiting guy friend or 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 or too smart or too
pretty, who have been given 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 home 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 by words and kisses and touches, all of which
were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is
for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart 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 by 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 home
alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a
little too close, or standing a little too near, or 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 you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or
his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you
only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back
in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had.
This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the
sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.
This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after
you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never
realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make
you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your
female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful
and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this
is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears,
knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow
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 satisified 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 by guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question 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 next 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
mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were
you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling,
interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were
you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to
receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal,
intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she
finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and
perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or
would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker
chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her
sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make
plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the
bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you
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 intermural basketball game,
or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your
father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have
a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the
condom you were using during it.
So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up
on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in
disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or 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 teeshirt and
flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best
friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why?
Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes
those advances. You 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 you 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
congradulatory 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 you 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?)
Thank you, Darren for posting this. This truly touched me in a way that I cannot describe, during a time that I needed it most. I'm a nice girl, and I want other nice girls to read this, too. Maybe one day boys will come around, but until then, we'll still be waiting at the "finish line with towels and water and congradulatory hugs."
Always,
~Lindsey P.
I'm trying
I'm trying
To let you know just how much you mean to me
And after
All the things we put each other through...
~My Chemical Romance--Demolition Lovers