I am not a nice guy.
Social definitions between "nice" and "kind" differ
greatly, at least that's how many of my friends perceive it. Personally, I agree
with them on a technical basis, but splitting hairs has never been fun for
me. A "nice" person is a person who will basically put on a happy
face when they're talking to you and then commence to back-biting
when you're out of eyesight or earshot- many southerners can understand this
kind of mentality. Conversely, a "kind" person is someone you can
depend on, with certainty, to be honorable, honest, friendly, faithful and
true at just about all times, making the times when he/she treats others poorly
the exception to the rule.
I am honest. I am perceptive. I am consistent. I do not change at the drop
of a hat simply because the force of my character makes someone else uncomfortable.
If someone would like me to be a "nice" person, they'd do good to
go somewhere else. I will not willingly put on some kind of social mask
because others are afraid to face the truth- and even within many jokes and
jibes there is the evidence of a grain of truth. I am all about seeing things
for what they are. And I speak in metaphors (not all the time,
but often). When tell people I speak in metaphors, I don't say it like it's
some sort of condition that sets me apart from humanity or it's something I'd
like to change about myself. I mean, Christ, I'm a writer.
A writer who communicates in metaphors? (gasp!!!)
How can this be?
Quick! Someone give 'im a book deal to shut him the fuck up!
If someone approaches me and begins to regale me with their problems, I am
not going to just sit there and smile and nod and make nice-nice with them;
if they didn't want help with their problems, then they wouldn't talk about
them so damn much, right? They're either looking for answers or validation.
Yes, I am tired of people greeting me with their BS troubles for
the day. But instead of simply removing myself from the places I
like to be, just to get away from the drama, I'm going to endure
the line of BS someone is handing me and then
I'm going to respond with the truth- the kind that hurts.
Lizzy: I am so tired of hearing about Sally bitch
about people all the time.
Me: And you're no better by talking about her. Tell me good things about your
life or go be immature around someone else.
Geoffrey: Man, I'm drunk. Girlfriend broke up with me last night. Tore one
off.... fuckin' bitch.
Me: Did she come back when you got sufficiently drunk or do you feel like
taking on the world now?
Geoffrey: Huh? No, man. I'm drunk. I can't do shit right now and
she's screwing my best friend. She's gone.
Me: Then I doubt that drinking is going to make the situation any better. In
fact, I'm sure it'll make things worse. Enjoy the hangover, 'cause you've earned
Geoffrey: What?! The lying bitch pushed me to drink!
Me: You can fool yourself into believing that, but unless she tied you down
and poured the drinks down your throat with her own two hands, I'd say the blame
rests squarely on your shoulders- especially for how you feel. If you don't
like feeling it, then stop fooling yourself and grow up. I'm sorry she left
you; I am sorry you're drunk; I am not sorry
she's gone if this is how she inspires you to feel; I am not
going to feel sympathy because you'd rather drown your sorrows with alcohol
than face them or better yourself. The state you're in now, is entirely your
own doing and I'm sure there's money missing from your pocket or account to
I am simply through trying to coddle people, dammit. If I try
to treat them with kindness and respect and friendship, I'm treated like some
sort of mystic, a man who is somehow beyond grasp. If I treat them with the
utter, complete, unabridged truth, I am treated like this world's worst enemy.
I can't fucking win with some friends. So... instead of trying to be friends
with people who don't want friends, I'm going to be a simply hard, cold motherfucker
of truth. Some people expect me to speak the truth. Now it's time I give them
truths they don't expect. Some people are afraid of what I see
in them, that I see too much of their true character. Well, guess what? Fear
is an invitation to attack; it's about time I attack and tell people exactly
what I see.
One thing's for certain: I am sick and tired of people insisting that the
lies they tell me and themselves are someone else's fault.