It seems we may have some visitors from The Frisky site today--so
please join me in welcoming them aboard the cruise ship U.S.S.
LIFE IN THE URBAN JUNGLE
Ah, to live in bucolic Brooklyn. 'Twas another morning on which I was awakened, bright and early, by the sound not of birds twittering (yes, they have lap-tops too, the birds here in Brooklyn) but of that ambulatory being (not to say beast) so commonly found in nature here: the car service driver.
Yes, the very one who insists on honking repeatedly outside my window multiple mornings every week.
After I was so rudely awakened--once again--despite the fact that I'd slept with a fan not next to my bed but actually ON IT, perched on the foot, in the hopes of avoiding the exact situation I found myself in--my heart began jack-hammering with fury. I got ready to give that guy another piece of my mind. I hurried into a pair
of exercise leggings that were inside-out. I jumped into my red rubber boots. Then--because I'd stripped down to nothing but a pair of granny panties in the middle of the night, because the heat was pumping in my apartment--I pulled on a red hoodie which I
could just not zip up to save my life. So I yanked a T-shirt on over it.
*Warning: If you are not a professionally-trained lunatic, do not try this look at home.*
Once I finally dashed out into the street ... the car was gone. Luckily, however, a couple of my neighbors happened to be leaving home just in time to notice my fashion triumph, right down to the sand-colored diamond of
fabric sewn into the crotch of my pants. (Hell-lou to you too!)
Dejectedly, I marched upstairs to make some breakfast. I put in a piece of toast while turning on my computer and checking my email ... and then started to notice a very strange smell. Burning plastic?
Oh, lovely, look at that: The plug of my coffee grinder somehow flopped into the toaster--where it got grilled to perfection! Two household appliances, cooked, in one fell swoop.
Also, have I mentioned it's pouring here in NYC?
THE NICE GIRLS QUESTION
Anyway ... today I'm hoping we can talk about a small matter of debate that's been on my mind (and--look at that--happens to be in my headline as well): Is it not just nice guys who finish last, but nice girls?
One of the things that got me thinking about this: the crappy experience with the maintenance dude who suddenly, out of nowhere, insulted my bod.
(BTW: I really appreciate everybody's input on his horrifying comment--and I'm especially appreciative of the reader who noted that she thinks this was his weird way of expressing a crush. I think she might be onto something, because the maintenance dude frequently asks me if I'm dating anyone, and then gives me a hard time about being single.)
A bunch of you suggested I report him to manangement, and I did considered that. But since I didn't want him to get fired for one ill-advised comment, I held off.
Which got me wondering if I'm too nice.
Because (for instance) I think most of my (perfectly nice) female friends wouldn't have been anywhere near as friendly with the maintenance guy as I've been. Was part of the reason he thought he could walk all over me--treat me badly and insult me--because I'm so nice?
Once I got started on that line of thinking, I remembered something a certain guy I was amorously entangled with not so long ago said to me. "You're a really good listener," he said. "You just seem to really ... care about other people, and to pay a lot more attention. Sometimes I even feel like you're my shrink."
Which I thought was a compliment. Except more or less the next day, he called off our little relationship.
Another supporting detail: Around the holidays, I had a drink with a police officer (did I tell you guys about this?) because I wanted to discuss an idea I had for a novel. (Something of a murder mystery would be at the center of the plot.) He was more interested in talking about my blog and my dating life. Eventually I turned the dating spotlight on him, asking about his wife and why he liked her. His response: "She was kind of an ice queen when we first met--like, she gave me the impression she was too good for me, and I wanted to win her over."
Which got me thinking: Do most guys think that way? Are most of them more turned on by haughty ice queens, because they present a challenge, than "nice girls"?
Here's another thing that seemed to indicated that the answer to both of the questions are "yes" and "yes"--a bit of evidence from the book I'm currently reading, Love in the Time of Cholera. (A fantastic book, btw--and not, to my mind, an example of "magical realism." More like the writing is just magically real).
One of the main characters in Love in the Time of Cholera is a certain femme fatale, who vicioiusly, rudely, furiously rejects the advance of the young doctor who is doggedly pursuing her ... before eventually giving in to him.
Just after they are married, we get some insight into why her young husband liked her:
"He was aware that he did not love her. He had married her because he liked her haughtiness, her seriousness, her strength, and also because of some vanity on his part ...."
So here's my question for you all: Do you think mean girls get ahead in the dating world, while the nice ones amongst us finish last?
PS: I have reported the car service twice now to the NYC government help
line--my only recourse, it seems. But ... grrr.
PPS: Check out my Facebook page.
dear commenters: it's a crazy day, so i can't respond in more detail, but i really appreciated your feedback on friday! (Camera Shy, i thought it was very cute that you got pissed off on my behalf--and Jessica, I like that you thought my salsa-attire decided the matter! Also, User Name is Boring, as you can tell from the above, i liked your insight.) ... anyway, ALL of you really helped me get over my doldrums. thanks for being on my side!