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The Niceness: Confessions of A Confidence Fairy.

Prior to 2011, I’d given my number out to a total of two strangers in my life – both of whom I was not the least bit attracted to. The first time was at Mission Rock, most likely during my college years. The guy was cute, but I’m heightist and he wasn’t tall enough to ride this ride. I gave him my number anyway, because he was polite and we remained friends long after that.

The second and LAST time, was in front of Trader Sam’s. Again, I gave him my number because he asked nicely, and seemed “fun”. Doesn’t everyone seem fun when you’re drunk in front of a bar? Not so fun when he called me the next day at 2am, and left me a voicemail with his obnoxiously drunk friends in the background. “Aye was sup, why don’t you come over and get some of this cock diesel?” That’s what I heard the next morning in a sleepy stupor, but in hindsight I’m sure he said “sour diesel,” which I guess would’ve been more appropriate. What.fucking.ever. The point is, you don’t call someone you just met at 2am! Shit is fucking rude son.

Ever since then, when a man would ask for my number I would say “No. The last time I gave my number out the guy ended up being crazy”. True story. Fast forward to a few years later at Temple when a guy asked for my number and I grilled him. “Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? Where do you work? Where do you live? Do you live with your ex girlfriend?” By the end of it all, I’m sure he thought I was crazy.

It went on like this for years, until one day in 2011 I got shitface at Matrix and gave my number out to two guys, which I soon learned were three when I got a random number that wasn’t saved onto my phone the next morning (this is why my contact list is filled with names like “Do not answer,” “Nope,” and “Annoying bar guy”). I only remembered the other two guys because they were so unattractive that if I did go out with them, onlookers would for sure have assumed I was a gold digger. What can I say? I am a sucker for NICE. I told my boy the story the next day, and  he said I was handing out confidence like lollipops that night and *poof* The Confidence Fairy was born.

A month or so after that I returned to Matrix, and gave my number out to another guy that was “nice”. Let’s call him 50.  And holy shit, I must’ve been feeling really charitable that night, because … well, let’s just say he was REALLY nice. I am also REALLY naive, and think that these men ask for my number with the sole intention of being my bestie. 50 definitely let me know otherwise when he proceeded to call and text me for the next two weeks from the Virgin Islands even after I told him I was only interested in being friends. It’s this naive thinking that got me into trouble recently, and the reason I’m going back to my pre-2011 ways.

After the Giants vs. Marlins game where Kaepernick threw out the first pitch, I took Caltrain back to my moms by myself. On the train was a ridiculously drunk guy who looked like he could’ve shared a trailer with Eminem in 8 Mile. Although wasted, he didn’t seem too much of a threat. I don’t think he could tell his left from his right hand, what more try to kidnap me with them. Sitting to my right were two other guys named Alex and Chris that I quickly made friends with. Guess what they were? NICE. So when one of them said I should take his number down, I did. When I got off the train, I told them to get home safe and to make sure their drunk friend got home safe too. “I think he wants to go home with you,” Alex said. As soon as he did, the drunk motherfucker hopped off the train with me. Long story short, this douchebag follows me to my car and tries to get in. Fortunately, I got home safe. Unfortunately, I thought it was safe to text Alex and share the story.

I knew I was never going to date him, but I may have went out on A date with him because he was – you guessed it, NICE. Until he called me at 3am the following morning. And proceeded to call and text me for the NEXT TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT AFTER THAT at all times of the day, even though I never responded to a single text. While all of his texts were laughable, my favorite one was “You’re with that guy huh?” You fucking moron. Yes, yes. I’m with the guy I almost called the cops on. In second place was, “Cum over”. Oh, the eloquence.

For the most part, this has just been a (hopefully) funny story about how shallow I am, but I swear there’s a point. A few of them actually. One being that just because someone is “nice,” it does not exempt them from being FUCKING BONKERS. Also, just because someone gives you their number, it doesn’t mean they’re interested (how fucked up is that though?) Lastly, some men won’t get the picture even if you raised Picasso from the fucking dead to paint it for them, so when in doubt, pretend like you can’t speak English if someone asks for your number. Needless to say I’ve clipped my confidence fairy wings and exchanged them for a pair of horns. Bitch is tired of being “nice”.

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