Tatiana Talks

It Gets Better, Preston

The post from the other day got me thinking – no, not about how I’m setting myself up to fail – but about young men in general – and no, not that way you perverts.

Clearly, Preston (the author) is hurt. His girlfriend got tired of sitting around the house with him and out of the blue dumped him for an older guy who has to wear a suit to work every day. Preston didn’t see this coming and so after a night of heavy drinking, he took his pain out on his keyboard.*

I’ve been there, Preston. I get it.

Poor Preston. He considers himself a good guy, and you know what, all that misogynist crap he posted aside, he might be. Pain makes you say and do some strange things. And because he is young, instead of wondering what he could’ve done differently, he is blaming his girlfriend’s new boyfriend – well, him and his girlfriend and then all women in general – setting him up as the asshole to his hero.
Maybe the Duke grad is an a-hole. Maybe Preston’s girlfriend likes a-holes, in addition to being taken out for dinner.

But this doesn’t mean all women like jerks.

And because I've been seeing this a lot lately, I feel it needs to be addressed. For Preston and for all the nice guys out there, convinced they are doomed to finish last for the rest of their days.

Women don’t like jerks.

Or bad boys.

Or assholes.

Not all women, anyway.

And saying we do is tantamount to women decrying men only date crazy women. Or bitches.

Is that true, Preston? Do you only date crazy bitches? Because if that’s the case, you are setting yourself up to fail, sir.

Yes, most women have a bad boy (or six) in our past. When we are young and don’t know any better, some of us find ourselves attracted to the challenge of an asshole. All our friends tell us he’s bad news, but we argue they don’t know what it's like when it's just the two of us. When he can’t make plans because he’s just so busy, we feel extra special when he does call to come over – even if that call is a text message at 1 a.m. on Saturday morning.

But, just like, eventually, you outgrow the women who kill your pets because they shouldn’t have to share your affection, eventually we start to resent how rude he is to us in front of his friends. We realize being someone lowest priority doesn’t make us special and we move on. We grow up and go looking for someone who doesn’t cut us off in the middle of a story. Someone who doesn’t answer his mobile phone in the middle of dinner. Someone who compliments our clothing, not criticizes it. Someone who, when asked if he wants to do something this weekend, responds, “Sure.” Not, “Well, if my buddies go down the shore, then maybe.”

In short, someone nice.

However, Preston, I must warn you. I don’t know any woman, bitch or not, who wants to sit around and watch their boyfriend play Call of Duty, or watch TV, or clip his toenails or whatever it is you are doing when you are just being lazy. The 19-year old you spoke of so highly at the end of your piece might hang around for a bit – especially if you buy her and her friends beer. But, eventually, she will turn 21, and want to rub her ID in a bouncer’s face. She will want to see a movie or get a meal. And because all her friends are busy seeing movies and eating meals with their boyfriends, she will turn to you to do these things. So, yeah, you’re going to actually have to do stuff your girlfriend wants to.

That will never change.
*I don't actually know Preston, nor do I know if this is really how it all went down. He could be a troll just desperate for attention for all I know. But since I'm sure there is someone out there a lot like the Preston I imagined here, let's just go with it.

Year Four

So, Sunday, my blog turned three and I was too hungover to mark the occasion as I had planned. In fact I was too hungover to do much of anything. Seriously, I was at graduation party in Port Richmond and all I could do was laugh at everything that anyone said to me. At one point my part time husband looked at me and asked if I had a case of the giggles because he knew his friends weren’t that funny.

I had to tell him the truth. It wasn’t a case of the giggles. I was just so out of it I wasn’t capable of comprehending anything so I was laughing, hoping his friends were trying to be funny.

But I had planned to announce a reinvigorated effort to blog more often.

See, once I got tired of blogging about terrible guys, I had a bit of a case of writer’s block.

Actually, that isn’t entirely accurate. I made the decision that I wasn’t going to blog about terrible guys, but then I couldn’t think about what to blog about since my life isn’t all that interesting, and then I started to freak out that without douchy guys in my life, my life isn’t interesting and what the hell does that say about me as a person.

But then I was home and my parent’s were pushing me about babies -- my mother mentioned the words “sperm bank” no less than four times in 24 hours and when I mentioned that it would probably be a lot cheaper for me to just go to the corner bar, pick a guy up, bring him home and let him stick it in me, she thought about this for a minute and responded, “well, you would want him to get tested first.”

She thought about it! She thought I was being serious.

That is when I decided something needs to be done. Not only do I have to make my life worth blogging about, I have to blog it so that my parents can stop thinking my life needs a baby in it.

So, welcome to year number four. I promise there will be lots of blogs, some good stories, and I will try to keep the stories of jerks to a minimum.