mister nice guy/mister motherf**ker
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| hi there. i'm the young man. |
that picture up there is from eric roberson’s 2011 CD “mr. nice guy.” it is a great collection, and the young man suggests you check it out when you get a chance. however, i chose that picture because that is a picture of the young man. that has been me for (at least) 33 of the 43 years I have been here. and frankly, that shit has got to stop.
dont get me wrong - i have always been nice. nice to a fault. so nice in fact that as a youth, i had to endure the “oh, tym is too nice... he’s more of a brother to me...” excuse me while i barf. and weep. being nice has gotten me (very limited) respect, and a reputation for being a nice guy. (and a doormat. more on that later.) i have been so nice for so long that i actually like to be nice to people. or should i say “liked.” i have been in the customer service industry for over 20 years, and when i started, i thrived because im nice. so done with that.
lets go back. waaaayyyyy back. picture it - cicily, 1942... wait... dayton ohio, when i was the younger man. i remember walking to the neighborhood store one day, when i witnessed 2 girls, not too much older than me at the time, standing next to a cadillac, going on and on about how nice it was, im like “whatever -who cares?” and i go in the store. as im leaving, the girls continue on about the guy driving, and how they’d do anything to get with him and ride in his car. confused, i went home.
fast forward about 5 years. im in middle school, geek, no girlfriend, but lots of girl-friends. dont get me wrong - i wanted a girlfriend, but i was always “a brother to them,” as i stated earlier. so they’d always complain about how their boyfriends “dog them out”, or don’t want to spend any time with them, blahblahblah. so i decided that if i ever got a girlfriend, i was going to be the ultimate boyfriend. i was going to be the antithesis of all of the basketball team/football team guys, and be what every woman wanted. (i distinctly remember making this statement to myself while walking through the streets of downtown dayton one day after school. i could swear that the theme from superman was playing and the american flag was flapping in the wind behind me as i put my hands on my hips like a superhero).
so i got a girlfriend (whom i later married, grew to despise and divorced) and i treated her portly ass like a teenage queen. bought her flowers, bought her candy, stayed on the phone with her til the wee fucking hours of the night, missed the PREMIERE of purple rain just so i could see her summer youth program put on their rendition of michael jackson’s thriller (my sister had sneak preview tickets, the night before the official opening...), lip-sync serenaded prince’s song international lover to her in the cafeteria at lunch one day (during which time i got a standing ovation from the crowd)... i did all of this to prove i was the man. and she played me. hard. i won’t go into it, but just read my earlier blog entry “the m factor” for more details.
fast forward again. had several different girlfriends, all with the same results, more or less. a little further, married, 3 kids, marital problems, edge of a 2nd divorce... then, two years ago, i was going through it, stressed over my marriage, etc., and i got some sage wisdom from my boy nikondon. he said “first, get your balls out of her purse and put them back on, and second you have to be mr. motherfucker. i know you just want to be nice and live a nice life, but trust me - you become mr. motherfucker and she will completely tone down the way she treats you. mr. motherfucker says ‘i love you, but you will not talk to me like im your fuckin’ dog, your fuckin’ child, your fuckin’ subordinate, anything but what i am - your husband’.” in my mind i said ‘yeah right - im the ultimate husband. the ultimate husband wouldn’t say that shit to his wife!” i blew off the advice, but it never left me. then, i posed a question to a few women i worked with, whose opinions i trusted. said question went like this:
“okay, say we’re a couple. you come home from working/shopping/10 year ninja reunion, and you are exhausted. i’m on the couch watching tv, and i’m hungry. which of these two scenarios would you rather have happen?
- i look at you and say ‘hey babe, i know you’re tired, but i am really hungry, and you make the absolute best grilled cheese on the planet. why don’t you make me one of those? i’d really appreciate it. thanks.’ smack you on the ass and go back to watching tv. or...
- i look at you, realize how tired you are and get up from the couch and make myself a grilled cheese. then i ask if you’d like one too.”
I sat there with the most smug expression ever, because i knew the answer. of course it would be 2, because 2 is the nicest, non-sexist, non-objectifying choice. what woman would want to have to come home tired, cook for a perfectly functioning man and get slapped on the ass? i know what women want. i been to the movies. i watch law & order:svu... i watch OWN and lifetime on occasion...
the answer that stood out to me the most was basically all the answers that i got, wrapped up in a neat little package:
“well, it depends. it could be both.”
um... what?
“it depends. it could be both.”
what the fuck do you mean ‘it could be both’? did you hear the question?
“i heard the question. i mean, sure i like it when my significant other does things for me, but i also like knowing im capable of being that chick who gets told what to do and smacked on the ass sometimes... its about balance.”
at that point, this woman got quiet because she could see the look of confusion, sadness, anger and utter dismay that was taking over my face. the rest of my dialogue was filled with stammering and stuttering.
so... women don’t want to be treated like the center of the earth? like nothing at all is more important than them? this is the shit you say you want! on movies, tv, reality shows, talk shows... you don’t really want that?
silence.
i was no good for the rest of the day. that day, i realized just how much time i spent trying to be that funny, attentive, generous dashing motherfucker they said they wanted. i wanted to be will smith in hitch, eddie murphy in boomerang and john cusack in say anything, all rolled into one short, sexy chocolate package.
then i realized how much
time
i
wasted.
over 28 years i did this.
it became second fucking nature. i dated a bunch of the wrong people. i sacrificed a lot of shit. shit i will never have access to again. i was pissed to say the least. even though i wasn’t really speaking to mrs young man at the time, i went home and told her what i’d found out, and that i realize now that because i was so hell-bent on being what women wanted that it may have screwed up our relationship, and how blown away i was to find this out. you know what she did? put her hand on my shoulder and said:
“oh, sweetie.”
even she knew. where had i been, and why didn’t anybody ever set me stra--
nikondon. fuck. i didn’t listen. i hear you now, don.
to quote chicago, being mr. nice guy is a hard habit to break. fast forward to this morning. the mrs and i had a candid conversation that resulted in me being told (again) that i am too passive, and she is too aggressive and how she hates being that way. i told her about mr. motherfucker, and how it seems that’s what she wants. reluctantly, she agreed.
be careful what you wish for.
thank you for your time,
-the young man aka mr. mf
p.s. all of the anger and confusion and sadness i had over this had to come out in some kind of creative way, so i am going to put together a documentary called...
wait for it...
“no more mr. nice guy - what men want, what women want, what men think women want and what women think men want”
-tym/mmf
p.p.s. purple fu*king rain...
posted by the young man @ 10:00 PM
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