Feeling good as hell

A month has passed since I got ghosted.

Not once, but twice.

The first one got busy and just fell away.

The second one got busy and blocked me.

In the days since this happened, I’ve had time to reflect.

Time to wonder what the hell is going on and if I should really take it personally.

Do I (emphasis on the I) need a time out?

Is there something going on with ME?

Ultimately, I think ghosting says more about the ghoster than the ghostee.

It says, “I can’t face our incompatibility head on so I’m just going to be indifferent.”

That’s the NICE version of what I think it means.

Because I also think it means, “I’m self-absorbed and can’t communicate my feelings like an adult.”

The good news is that I didn’t take the ghosting personally.

Oh sure, my feelings were hurt for a hot minute, but also?

I took some time to reflect on what a bad ass bitch I really am and I’m feeling GOOD AS HELL.

Without a man.

Between my friends Michelle, Barbara and Nadine, and my sister, I’ve built quite a support structure around myself and what could have been a real setback emotionally for me has turned out to be a blip in an otherwise pleasant 2019.

Part of me blames the online dating culture for the rudeness that runs rampant on dating sites now.

It’s so easy to just drop someone and move on when you have a deck of cards on your device with people eager to meet you.

However, as I reflect on this, I’m just as easily reminded that this is also why I am feeling fine.

Because I too have a deck of cards on my device and a new love interest is only a swipe away.

Which is why I’ve deleted my profile and the Tinder app.

Maybe I’ll go back to it.

Who can say?

But for now, I’m feeling good, strong, and powerful and I don’t need a crutch to carry me through the tough times.

I can do that all by myself (with a little help from my friends) <3.

Cut Throat      

Ever since my renewed experience with ghosting, I’ve become a menace at swiping left on Tinder and closing dead-end connections.

I’ve developed a method for weeding out inappropriate men:

  1. Do I want to swipe right when I see their picture(s)?
  2. If yes, then I review where they are from.
  3. If they are 25 miles or less from me, I read their profile (if there is one).
  4. If they are married, polyamorous, ethically non-monogamous, in an “open” relationship, not looking for a LTR or looking for hookups, I swipe left.

I’ve been feeling like a cut throat dater lately because I’ve been REALLY GOOD at closing connections that are dead ends (see above list).

One guy called me a pet name RIGHT OFF THE BAT, which I hate!

I am ‘sweetheart’ to my friends and family but a stranger has to earn the right to call me that.

Forged intimacy is a no-no in my book.

I closed the connection with him.

Another man clearly lived WAY TO FAR AWAY (don’t know how he missed my filter), but I quickly closed our connection as well.

It pays to filter your connections post swiping too.

Sometimes you wind up with someone who is just visiting the area and looking for an easy hookup.

Their profile looks good but they’re not local.

I close those connections too.

It’s not as if I need MORE ENCOURAGEMENT getting involved in long-distance relationships, despite the fact that I’m really looking for someone local.

Everything is closer than Sweden, however.

Now, as soon as the first red flag goes up, I cut bait and run.

Pics with guns.

Donald Trump supporters.

Flaky texting.

Dick pics.

All these things set off my radar and I exit quickly once I’ve beentriggered.

I’m not being bitchy, I’m being efficient.

I’m a cut throat when it comes to internet dating.

Ghost

The new guy is gone.

For those of you who were happy to see me with someone, who sent kind messages of support, thank you.

It’s been a nice two months.

But it has come to an end.

I wish I could give an explanation as to why.

Maybe we were not suitable for each other.

Perhaps someone else entered the picture.

I could hazard a guess but the bottom line is the same.

The new guy is gone.

The last I heard from him, he was struggling with the fallout from the Garlic Festival.

He is a Gilroy native, a former festival organizer, and an attendee, so I can understand his suffering.

And given that his near miss was also my near miss, I can relate to some of the survivor guilt I know he is feeling.

The good news, if there’s any to be gleaned from this, is that this has nothing to do with me.

For once in my life, I can look at a situation and recognize that it’s all about him or the shooting, or another woman, or something else.

But it’s not about me.

I’m not gonna lie.

Being ghosted hurts.

I am trying to remind myself, especially during these last few weeks when I’ve been struggling to keep my head above water with all the waves of loss rolling over me, that ghosting says more about the ghoster than the ghostee.

And if he’s comfortable with a legacy of indifference then so am I.

Ghosting

IMG_8498My first experience with ghosting was this past holiday season when The Israeli ghosted me.

One minute a guy is cumming all over your face, the next he’s disappeared on you.

Our split was inevitable, in my mind.

Mostly I missed having someone to do fun things with.

He wasn’t my soulmate, but I thought he was cool.

He talked me into doing two things for him – the aforementioned facial, and spending the night.

As far as the facial went, it was nothing special.  He got his spunk in my eye which burned.  That was about the extent of it.

Cross that off the bucket list.

Spending the night?

Well, that felt way more intimate.

We fell asleep tangled in each other and woke up looking into one another’s eyes.

But in 6 short weeks, I was ghosted by him.

So there I was, stretching myself, trying new things, and playing outside my comfort zone and he can’t even muster an “it’s been nice but…”

I might not have been his dream girl.  Hell, I might not have even been LTR material, but I’ll tell you this. . .

If you cum on a girl’s face, you better say goodbye or else risk being remembered as a total and complete ASS HAT!

Which is ironic, because his name (his honest-to-goodness Israeli name), spelled phonetically, sounds just like ASS HAT.

My first clue that things would end badly. . .