Never, ever be a Nice Guy to women

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never
become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bi*ching about what a**holes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores.

This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate  moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.

This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male
population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give
them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but  somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when
you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two
sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she
shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing
spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically
linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world.

And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more
disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should.

And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have
observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other
schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls
are just illogical, manipulative bitches. (AMEN TO THAT!!!!!)

Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.”

Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in
the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom.

I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You
know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as
ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience
in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting
services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy,
insane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the
faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved
vindication is coming.

“What Happened to All the Nice Guys?”

I see this question posted with some regularity in the personals section, so I
thought I’d take a minute to explain things to the ladies out there that haven’t
figured it out.

What happened to all the nice guys?

The answer is simple: you did.

See, if you think back, really hard, you might vaguely remember a Platonic guy
pal who always seemed to want to spend time with you. He’d tag along with you
when you went shopping, stop by your place for a movie when you were lonely but  didn’t feel like going out, or even sit there and hold you while you sobbed and told him about how horribly the (other) guy that you were f*cking treated you.

At the time, you probably joked with your girlfriends about how he was a little
puppy dog, always following you around, trying to do things to get you to pay
attention to him. They probably teased you because they thought he had a crushon you.

Given that his behavior was, admittedly, a little pathetic, you
vehemently denied having any romantic feelings for him, and buttressed your
position by claiming that you were “just friends.” Besides, he totally wasn’t
your type. I mean, he was a little too short, or too bald, or too fat, or too
poor, or didn’t know how to dress himself, or basically be or do any of the
things that your tall, good-looking, fit, rich, stylish boyfriend at the time
pulled off with such ease.

Eventually, your Platonic buddy drifted away, as your relationship with the
boyfriend got more serious and spending time with this other guy was,
admittedly, a little weird, if you werent dating him. More time passed, and the
boyfriend eventually cheated on you, or became boring, or you realized that the  things that attracted you to him weren’t the kinds of things that make for a
good, long-term relationship. So, now, you’re single again, and after having
tried the bar scene for several months having only encountered players and
douche bags, you wonder, “What happened to all the nice guys?”

Well, once again, you did.

You ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without
reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy. You laughed at his consideration and resented his devotion. You valued the aloof boyfriend more than the attentive “just-a-” friend. Eventually, he took the hint and moved on with his life.

He probably came to realize, one day, that women aren’t really attracted
to guys who hold doors open; or make dinners just because; or buy you a
Christmas gift that you mentioned, in passing, that you really wanted five
months ago; or listen when you’re upset; or hold you when you cry. He came to
realize that, if he wanted a woman like you, he’d have to act more like the
boyfriend that you had. He probably cleaned up his look, started making some
money, and generally acted like more of an a**hole than he ever wanted to be.

Fact is, now, he’s probably getting laid, and in a way, your ultimate rejection
of him is to thank for that. And I’m sorry that it took the complete absence of
“nice guys” in your life for you to realize that you missed them and wanted
them. Most women will only have a handful of nice guys stumble into their lives,
if that.

So, if you’re looking for a nice guy, here’s what you do:

1.) Build a time machine.
2.) Go back a few years and pull your head out of your ass.
3.) Take a look at what’s right in front of you and grab hold of it.

I suppose the other possibility is that you STILL don’t really want a nice guy,
but you feel the social pressure to at least appear to have matured beyond your
infantile taste in men. In which case, you might be in luck, because the nice
guy you claim to want has, in reality, shed his nice guy mantle and is out there
looking to unleash his cynicism and resentment onto someone just like you.

If you were five years younger.

So, please: either stop misrepresenting what you want, or own up to the fact
that you’ve fu*ked yourself over. You’re getting older, after all. It’s time to
excise the bullshit and deal with reality. You didn’t want a nice guy then, and
he certainly doesn’t f*cking want you, now.


A Recovering Nice Guy


PS: I picked this blog from reddit. Efforts to trace the real author have been in vain. But I will restate, that it is not my original work.


Good bye grandmother, all about this blog and biggin’ up my readers

“My child, where are your people,” asked my grandmother in her deathbed after recognizing me from the tens of relatives hanging around the hospital room anxiously.

“By your people” she basically meant a wife and children if possible. It is an elderly and euphemistic way of telling you that it is getting late and if you occupy a special position in the family, the pressure can be unrelenting.

She was hurting. With multiple complications and an assiduous diabetic complication, she was indeed on her last days on earth and every word she said was extremely premonitory. The family, relatives and friends had been gathering around her hospital bed for almost nine months and the desperation was growing.

“I just finished school, and I am tryina getting’ me a job and then I can consider marriage,” I said pensively trying to be meditative with the prevailing mood that was hanging in the rather spacious room. It was palpably sour and the bitterness was understandable.

“You don’t need all that. Just marry and everything will fall into place.”She said, more of a command than a request.

“Make peace with your paternal uncles; invite them to your graduation and don’t forget where you have come from…Hold on, you are almost through and in my prayers, after your tumultuous life all will be well.” She was growing weary. She slipped back into sleep and those were the last words that I ever heard from her some date in mid-November.

Mid-last year, I called her after I had heard some complaints from her that I no longer talk to her and she was bitter that I had never gone to visit her, ever since my grandfather had died April. In a relatively long phone call, she spoke like death was beckoning on her. She kept promising me her best prayers and insisted that I should go visit her.

I was to be swallowed in Nairobi’s murky scheduling and consumed with my travel abroad that I never quite got the time to visit her when she was a little stronger.

On this day in hospital, late in December when we visited with the big family surrounding her, she had not spoken a word for hours and was in an unusually quiet sleep with pained breathing, an ominously swollen face and all the faces in the room had an apprehension only possible when expecting the worst. And it just happened.

She quietly made the transition and we were left completely bereft. As the female members of the family let out the traditional screaming that signifies death, the male members were stone quiet trying to distill the reality that Mama had gone. I was left in heightened nostalgia about the special bond that has always existed between me and her. I wish I had heard just one more last word from her, even if it is about marriage.

See, ever since my mum deserted us some 15 years ago, my grandmother was a special person in my life. I loved her from deep within my heart. Ever since I was a kid, we always visited her and she loved me and my sister in an exceptional way. She was always generous with stories, foods and money.

Her love is a love that I have never seen, nor will ever see elsewhere. I always sat with her in the smoke hut as she prepared supper and she never could go wrong Ugali and always served me with sour milk with my departed grandfather even when the commodity was scarce. She was like a shrine that I turned up whenever I was down on inspiration.

I thought of those days when getting high school fee was a little problematic and was occasionally chased and had to go to her place. She would sit me down and give words of encouragement that no one could ever tell me. She was a wise woman and the success of hher family speaks volumes for her. She always said a prayer for me and I believe that she had a direct line to God for me. She is the one who encouraged me to pursue school along with my uncles even when my morale could be so down and suicidal thoughts creeping up in my mind.

Now she is gone. There is something unbelievable when someone close to you dies. Someone you had a close and personal touch to. You feel cheated. You feel how unfair life is. You feel empty. You hate it. But the finality of death is something that all of us must find a way of dealing with.

I hope she is in a better place. Rest in Peace Granny. You were the best. You were the greatest.

                                                      All about this blog
It was an explanation that inevitably I was going to give to the few readers of this blog.

Sometime in 2009, my friend Uhuru whom I shared office space with advised to start a blog.
“It is free and you will be the boss.” Uhuru, the rather extroverted nerd who also doubled as my IT assistant told me. I never gave it too much thought. I was preoccupied with the insensible responsibility of being a student leader at the university that I had thought of shelving writing all together. It was not going to pay my bills and I had to find something else. Politics? Well, there was some quick money there, but I loathe lotteries and quick money.

At the time, I was not getting enough space in the media for my fledging writing career. I had had a dozen articles on men, women and relationship published in Saturday Nation’s pull out-Saturday Magazine. Having twice or thrice had my column run for the popular Oyunga Pala’s Mantalk section, it means I had close friends who believed I should keep my fingers at it. Friends kept asking me what had happened to columns and it was rather disappointing telling them the truth that the opportunities had grown fewer by day.

I met Mr Pala about the time at the Story Moja Hay festival and had father-son like brief chat in which he told me,
“Writing is hard and you don’t have to give up on it when it gets harder. You keep on writing every day. It is like a form of exercise and the more you keep at it, the better you become, Ni kama tizi!” I took his word seriously and I convinced myself that this is what I love doing best.

At the turn of 2010, I took up blogging and started at and named my blog Random Thoughts and started posting my unpublished articles while writing new ones. I wanted to keep up with topical issues. But I discovered that I was limiting myself and discovered that was rather difficult when it came to getting  statistics and navigating in it. Then Uhuru once again saved the daywhen recommended
In June 2010, I switched to WordPress formally and assumed an eponymous blog that was going to be autobiographical. I wanted to document my life in campus. I assumed the role of a struggling male student who is unloved, trying to get on with fast, mad campus life. In the blog, I was to bank on self-deprecating humour. I love when someone pokes fun at me as long as there is no malice. I don’t mind being told that my head is shaped like an onion or I am thinner than a beanstalk.

I was to document the struggles of the average campus man, and woman. Over time, I won friends, mainly from Facebook who turned up weekly for regular shenanigans from me and my campus friends.

I began with 30 or 40 readers. It improved 60.Then 80. Then I surpassed 100. Given my Facebook friend population, that was as good as it could get. The blog was like an inside thing. A family sort of thing, whereby only those who knew me could get the context of the anecdotes.

Whenever a blog clicked the 100th read, it was already a success with me. At 60, that was satisfactory. Below 50, I had to take it on the chin and write something interesting in the following week. I discovered stuff on women and sex had the most clicks while whenever I tried to be intellectual, I had the least number of clicks. More importantly I learned to balance.

I love this blog. So much. I write it spontaneously. I treat it as my gym. I just create time during the week and punch the keyboard whenever I get a computer, be it in the office, in the cyber, my laptop or anything that can type including a phone. It is always a liberating experience, because I am always pouring it straight from the heart in the most truthful way. I think all along the week and monitor about anything worth blogging. If I have been having a bad week or slow week, I opt for a topical issue.

But, if there is a particular incident, especially alcohol related or ‘relationshipwise’ I always try to narrate it. My aim is normally to get someone laughing about the absurdities around my life and if they have similar absurdities nod along. I have a gang of friends whom I test the ideas with to confirm and even get the extra anecdote to ‘juicen’ up the story.

I have big plans for this platform and within the next few months I hope to unravel, an alternative media, all inclusive, less sexist or at least offer all the various voices for guys between 20-40. Watch this space.

                                          Biggin’ up my readers!!!
While I average around 75 reads per blog and two comments in each blog, one thing I have learnt is that there are people who sneak upon the blog and disappear. Some will text. Some will chat me up on Facebook or inbox me but the majority would rather keep it to themselves and ask me when we meet. 30% will have difficulty logging in to leave a comment. Another 30% will be too busy. And the rest will read and dismiss everything I said or just ignore believing that if they said something, especially when I write dirty, they will be associated with my usually dirty mind. But there are friends who have the kept the blog alive and here are my top ten readers.

                                                  1. Jackson Letangule
A campus classmate and friend all the way from Pokot is  rated by the stats as the most consistent reader and commentator in the blog. Jack likes the simplicity and practicality with which I deliver the content.

Jack, we gotta toast in the soonest time possible, you can tell me your choice of whiskey( And I mean it). For comradeship, readership and keeping me on toes when I took so long to parch up the words. Just holla! If you are a teetotaler, too bad, straight men don’t buy fellow men lunch…But your readership is greatly appreciated and keep it here, let us all grow together.
2. Paul Omondi
The Luos are known for their sparkling intelligence, outspokenness and the quick political mind. Paul embodies all of this and more. He has the unusual quirky mind that wittily examines everything before offering something exceptionally insightful into the debate in context. I once listened to him analyze politics with another friend and I kept wondering, where do the TV stations get all those mediocre political analysts?

Paul once while laughing at a woman who had cheated on me, told me that I should not be offended… “A man does not get annoyed by sharing a toilet with his in-law”(Toilet by no means does not allude to the woman, rather the context).
Paul offers the intellectual critique into the blog and can never shy away from telling me a mistake, an oversight or pointing out when I make a complete ass of myself. He is a forthright speaker and often if you see an intelligent thought or remark, even though not credited to anyone, chances are it came from Paul.

Baba, some Gilbeys’ on the way. Get yourself some lime and let’s keep doing it.

                                                            3. Ndeda
I have come from far with this son of a woman. He was my first campus friend. I remember as we walked through the corridors of the Communication department of the University of Nairobi. He was vibrant and full of life and guided me through the registration process and we ended up picking the same courses and thus begun a long friendship full incidents, both brilliant and silly, but mostly silly.

We have walked together. Almost my age, we have been able to come up with some really insane things like vibing young campus girls old stories of the 1982 coup as if we had born. We always start the stories that we have worked in the military(early 80s), drove trucks to Namanga(late 80s) and worked in some timber yard in Timboroa(in the early 90s). It is all funny as we spin the yarn until the younglings start believing us and we discover we are losing.

Whenever, there has been a contest between me and him about a lady, I always lose. He has some inexplicable magnetism that attracts women. I hate him for that. I mean, why do women always make wrong choices. Like why will a beautiful woman support Manchester United or abandon me for Ndeda.

Anyway Ndeda is the source of the numerous juicy and funny anecdotes in this blog. If you read something particularly funny, chances are that it emanated from Ndeda. Together we have amusing anecdotes that we always generously share with friends and get them laughing. Ndeda, let us do it again this year. Tunaenda KBC Friday baba for ol’ time sake.

4. Flex
Two years younger than me, this incredibly talented great friend is another credited reader of the blog. He often thinks that my ideas are heretical and my theories in relationships untested. He often speaks his mind and thinks, even when I am being a sheep, I make some interesting reading.

                                                        5. Ezinah
My lovely sister is part of the gang who regularly read and comment whenever necessary. Sometimes I write really nasty things that I wouldn’t wish my mother to access but she presses skip. Ezinah, is the fuel that feeds my writing. Thanks Sizy for believing that I can do it.

                                                                   6. Justice
All the way from Texas, this distant relative was last in Kenya in 2006. At the time I was girl-shy and he once ridiculed me that I couldn’t face up some girl I had hots on. He keeps threatening me that when he comes back, he will snatch all the girlfriends from me because he is simply irresistible. He normally tweets me to ask for a new post and thinks that the blogs do make sense in spite of me.
7. Cousin Duncan!
A late entrant into my blog, he is one of my most avid readers. Keep on reading bro. Keep on.

8. Fareed Abungu
I am privileged that funniest man in the University of Nairobi at the moment is tunes in here regularly. How lucky can I be? He is witty, insightful and we often share a word and I greatly admire his sarcasm and satire. Always well put, always delivered timely and with some punchy.

While in charge of the largest polling station during the last SONU elections, I worked with him and he kept us laughing the whole night with his shenanigans. At some point in the long cold night, he indulged one of us excitedly in a story then exited mid-way telling the eager story teller that he was not interested in the story and left us to another part of the hall. And another incident…well that would be vulgar.

Abungu could regularly show up at my room in campus, while with guests, often a lady friend and he will pose as someone lost whether my room was the toilet without any hint of humor or sarcasm…And yeah, he dated the hottest thing in campus in my time…Hopefully he won’t be offended with this.

9. Stella
Our relationship never consummated because she thought that I am what I write and she judged me rather harshly by this blogs. She concluded that I am player, women-hating chauvinist with little regard to relationships and dumped me on my birthday and she left the country. She occasionally pops up on Facebook chat asking how I am holding up. She believes that I have issues. What could be further from the truth?But Stella, keep reading, that crush is still intact, don’t break my heart by bringing photos of your baby, please…
10. Phanice
Once in a while I need a naughty female friend with whom I can turn and talk dirty with. I don’t mean naughty in the sexual sense, but rather someone who can talk dirty and look me in the eye or my male friends and tell them loudly that they are ass****. Phanice is just the one.

See, there nothing like a sexist joke, either male or female to complement my day. Phanice, though lately unavailable  has that fetching, sparkling personality that is all too admirable. I made the global blunder of the last decade by letting what we had slip into friendship zone, and where we could have made the best of lovers, we ended up making the world’s best platonic friends.

To date I don’t know whom she dates. We only meet occasionally for some coffee date (boy, this chick can soak up coffee.) and that is it. But my mind normally has this feeling that she normally shakes her bum in a cotton white towel once from the shower to the boyfriend in the morning, rather cheekily, before telling him “… You are not having any moaning glory…better wake up sweets you will late jobo.” Naughty Phanice.
By stats, these are the top readers. I know there some more avid but for beginners, this is what we have.

All the best for the year. Let us do it again. We will grow bigger, better, wiser. Keep it here