I confess, last week’s article about nice guys was a lie. I don’t like nice men. I was just trying to do the right thing and make some of you feel good. Big mistake. This column is not about how to have a healthy relationship with a nice man. Go to Dear Abby for that.

Who wants to have a healthy relationship? Boring, nice people, that’s who. Some of us prefer tragedy— tragic relationships filled with heat, passion, disappointment. The lows are so bad only because the highs are so sweet. When the relationship is going well, it’s like Eden.

“I’m drawn to him like a junkie,” Hello Kitty Chick says of her bad-boy artist. She’s just broken up with him, but she can’t seem to stay away. I don’t blame her. Art Boy is so fucking hot, with his unruly blonde hair, his thin, bony frame, his rock-star attitude. He always looks like he just woke up from a night of sex—and he probably has.

Some guys have that magic, and both women and men fall under their spell. Even though you sense he’s bad for you, you plunge ahead, because you are addicted to the attraction. It’s so strong, it makes your stomach hurt. You’re propelled by it day in and day out; you can’t work without thinking about his cock, about how it jumps out of his shorts when it’s excited, about how it fills up your mouth. Yeah, bad boys know how to move in the bedroom. That’s why we love them.

Saturday morning, I show up, reluctantly, for a date with a guy I met at a party. As soon as I see him, I know I should’ve canceled. I was not attracted to him at the party, but I was too much of a wuss to say no when he asked me out.

It’s not fair, but he reminds me of an ex-boyfriend whom I’d rather forget. They have the same pink-white skin, medium brown hair, and nondescript features. Not unattractive, but not sexy either. I can’t see myself giving up body and soul to him.

This guy is loud. We’re at a pretty intimate coffeehouse. The chairs and tables are close together, and anything we say is shared with the rest of the room. I wish Mr. Coffee would lower his voice. Everyone here knows that we are on the awkward first date. Nice boy seeking nice girl.

I start resenting him for putting us in this situation. I hear myself say, “Look, I think we might be too different. I don’t think it’ll work out between us.”

He twitches his mouth. Silence. “Well, I just thought we could be friends,” he says.

“I have a lot of friends,” I counter. The New York bitch in me is raging. A nice girl would say, “Sure! You can never have enough friends!” but I just can’t stand being here another moment. I’d rather end it than dawdle and make pleasantries. Before you know it, he’ll be asking me for another date and I’ll be stuck in the same situation.

Later that day, I’m at the supermarket, and I see this hot Asian guy with fringed black hair. He’s wearing a motorcycle jacket and dark sweatpants. Normally, sweatpants aren’t impressive, but on this guy, they look as sexy as leather pants. He looks at me and smiles. I freeze; I’m too stunned to smile back. Besides, he caught me while I was looking at frozen pizzas. And as soon as he smiled, I made a completely unnatural gesture with my hand. The hand went up toward my head, as if I were going to push my hair behind my ear, but it completely missed.

I feel stupid, as if I’d slipped and fallen on my butt in front of him. He walks past me, his smile cool and intact. I want to strip him and throw him against the wall.

A part of me thinks if I really want to settle down, I should be more open to guys like Mr. Coffee. Who knows, he could’ve been a good catch, and he might make lots of money later. But another part of me thinks I should follow my libido; that even though it leads me to bad boys, it’ll eventually lead me to Mr. Right, who will be bad-boy sexy, intelligent, respectful, mature, financially secure, etc. Because the thing about bad boys is that they make you think nasty thoughts. They make you into a bad girl in the bedroom, which is very, very sexy.