The Reality of Ghosting

Just in case you were wondering, yes, I have been watching the new season of Love Is Blind on Netflix. I know that I had decided not to watch it again, yet here I am, just as hooked on this train wreck as everyone else. This go-round, due to recent incidents in my own life, I am finding that I am personally triggered by the amount of ghosting going on. One of the girls in the pods just decided to go home, not even discussing her leaving with the guy that she had a connection with. She left him hanging, saying that it was just "easier" to leave! Then, after an accepted proposal and meeting, one of the contestants said that she didn't want to move forward with the process. This was happening as her "fiancé" was going on and on about how beautiful and amazing she was. Production had to tell him that she had gone home, and when he asked if he could reach out to her, they also had to tell him that she didn't want to be reached out to and asked that they not give him her information. He just sat there looking confused...and stupid. 

In the past, I have discussed how annoyed I am by cowardice, and I am just shocked at how normalized it has become. Whatever happened to the much-dreaded but very necessary hard conversation? I am here to tell you folks that it has left the building, along with any sense of adulthood and responsibility when it comes to handling another person's feelings. It seems that, across the board in dating, people have just become very comfortable with this idea that they don't owe anyone anything, even people that they have been in partnership with. Apparently, ghosting is not seen as a cowardly custard thing to do, which it is, but has somehow been painted as a way to protect the ghoster's mental health and peace from the horrors of having to boss up and provide explanation and closure. This leaves a person feeling played and deserted and left with hard feelings and unanswered questions, while the ghoster gets to skip off into the sunset and act like nothing has happened. 

I, for one, am sick of this attitude and way of conducting business. I believe that romantic relationships aren't just about sex and date nights. If things go south, if you decide that something is not working, it is incumbent upon you to express that and put a bow on what was at one point a good relationship before you skip off into the sunset. I just feel that it is cruel that people do not do this and are okay with leaving a person they once cared about with anger and baggage. This level of self-absorption should not be legal! 

But it is. There are no relationship cops out here handing out citations and making arrests, and I am not afraid to say that I think there should be. Maybe if people had to pay up or do some time, they would find a way to handle adult matters like adults. I know that if this were a real thing, I would have a lot of much-deserved money coming my way. Okay, I am getting off my soapbox. 

Bones

I have noticed that, of late, I can not even lie down and inhale without my back cracking. When I walk around the house, I sound like a really loud bowl of Rice Krispies. I yawned the other day, and my jaw popped like a firecracker. I thought I heard my knee clap when I got out of bed the other morning. I guess it is now my lot in life to sound like a jazz band whenever I move. I guess my skeleton falling apart is yet another bright side to middle age, next to the intrusive doctor's appointments and my nerves cooking down to a teaspoon of nothing. One of my healthcare professionals is out on medical leave because she is getting a joint replacement. I don't even think she is 45! At this stage in my life, I was hoping to have a companion. I am happy to let you know that my most reliable companion at the moment is my glucosamine. I have been told to stretch, but I am afraid that I am going to stretch and then my whole body will break, and I will turn into skin-covered broken glass. Anywho, here is to being in my 40s! 

The Fantasy

I was talking to Coffee the other night and I told him I wanted him to come scoop me up and take me for a ride. I told him I wanted him to bring me flowers as well. 

"That's not too much to ask," he said, but I wasn't done. 

I let him know that I wanted him to read me a poem, then park somewhere we could slow dance to "Cupid" by 112 under the stars. I jokingly not jokingly told him I plan to wear a princess dress for this evening.

"Then are you going to throw your braid out the window so I can climb up the castle?" he cracked. 

Listen, I know that it sounds good and crazy that a 41-year-old woman would hold on to such delulu fantasies. However, since making a vow to try to date a few years back, I have to say that being in reality with these guys is no fun. It's just a Ferris wheel of lies, ghosting, dream-dealing, and exhaustion. If I am only going to have a limited amount of time with these guys anyway, I might as well start marking things off the fantasy list. If I can find a guy eager to take me on a picnic in the park or a romantic hot air balloon ride, I may have to marry him. Just to be clear, this man is not Coffee. 

"If I sent you flowers via Door dash, would it still count?" Coffee asked. 

"Yep," I answered. I will post a pic if I get them. 

Second Chance Suzie

It's another Friday night, and I am alone, single, and feeling stupid. 

Do you remember New Man? The one who ghosted me? Well, I allowed him to hit me up with the "Hey Stranger" text when we both knew, good and well, that he was the stranger here. I hadn't heard from him in weeks! But the critique is that I am hard on men and I am not soft, so I told him, AGAIN, just in case I was not clear, how important communication is to me and how I have to hear from someone I am talking to. He said he understood, but that I can contact him too. He "claims" he didn't see my text or missed call. Okay. Now, it has been a week since that call, and he has gone ghost again! Now I really feel like a simp because I allowed him to convince me that what I knew was not so. JUST SO YOU KNOW, IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW, EVERYTHING A WOMAN KNOWS IS SO! And what I did know was that this guy is a no-show. Now I really know this fact, fo' sho'. 

So what is the moral of the story here, ladies? Don't be a Second Chance Suzie. It doesn't pay. These Casper-a$$ men know what they are doing when they drop off the face of the planet. Don't waste your time ladies. Don't be a Holly. 

An Affair Not To Happen

David was my friend Carina's first boyfriend in college. She met him through a friend on Bourbon Street. He had just crossed Sigma at Dillard and looked horrible but happy. The two hit it off immediately. By the end of the night, they were holding hands and had a whirlwind romance until he eventually dumped her for an AKA. Over the years, they have kept up with each other. Now, fresh into his second marriage, he hit Carina up to tell her that he was coming to her town and needed a ride from the airport. So, Carina agreed to pick him up. They went and had dinner, caught up, and then she dropped him off at the train station to take the train to his hotel. I wondered if two people who used to be in love could casually be together after years had passed without any funny business. I mean, wouldn't the connection still be there?

"He looked at me the same way that he did 20 years ago," she informed me. "He was smiling at me, and he smelled so good. But girl, I dropped him off at the train station and sent him on his merry way."

I didn't doubt that Carina was going to follow her moral compass. I mean, David is married...again. However, I feel that putting yourself in these situations can set the table for trouble. I was happy that he was at his conference and that it all seemed to be over after a Rated G dinner. 

"Do you think he will try to see you before he leaves?" I asked. 

"No, I doubt it," she said. For some reason, I had a feeling that he would, and I was proven right the same day when Carina let me know that he had invited her to a concert. She agreed to go. 

She said that the concert was good, but that it was outdoors and people were drinking. David was one of these people, and he got a little tipsy. The performer on the stage was grinding on her female dancers, which got him all hot and bothered, and he began to get handsy. Carina politely shut it down. Afterwards, she took him to his hotel and headed back home. Again, there was no hanky-panky. She kept it cute and again, Rated G. 

When she told me this story, I thought about the arguments around adultery. A popular one is that it is not the other woman's fault, it is the husband's fault. I mean, he is the one who made a vow to his wife. That didn't stop David from rubbing on Carina's knee during the concert. I think that is why this argument is null and void. Life has taught me some things. I, like many women, have made my mistakes. But this story illustrates what many women don't learn until they are either in it, older, married, or divorced: women need to always be thinking of other women. Carina said that she thought of how disappointed she would have been in herself if something would have happened. She also thought about how hurt his SECOND wife would be if something had gone down. She was thinking of her even when he wasn't. Just sayin'. 

Not The Gram! pt 3.5

I wrote this live from the breast imaging waiting room:

The gown they gave me is musty. They don't let you wear deodorant to the appointment. I don't get a pretty pink gown. The ones in my size are gray. GRAY! I guess there is even size discrimination in the breast health community. 

The scene in this waiting room is grim y'all. The Latina lady across from me looks like she is about to cry. I'd like to hug her, but she looks like she'd scream. This would be a great time to practice my stand up. 

"So I'm here because they think they saw something in my left boob. Can you believe that? They think. Well I think when I get the bill for this sh$t, I'm throwing it in the trash!"

"I was recently ghosted by a guy who wanted our first date to be me coming to his apartment to chill. He said he wanted to watch TV. I guess there were some new episodes of '41, Single, and Dumb' coming on the Desperate Channel. Maybe I sent him mixed signals. When he asked me for a pic of my vag, I sent him a picture of a sad face emoji with a party hat on. "

"Hey sis over there giggling to yourself, you good? I'm not mad or anything. I wish I would have come here drunk too. Come on lady, sip and pass!"

I decide against doing my routine. Believe it or not, a breast imaging waiting area is the last place you want to make jokes. Nothing is funny. 

Not the Gram pt. 3

Yesterday, my mammogram results hit MyChart in the heat of the night. Maria told me to open them. She said that when test results are dropped on MyChart, they have already been looked at and they are typically good news because, if news is bad, they have to call you to discuss it. They can't leave you to try to figure out medical jargon on your own with a poopy diagnosis. This, my friends, is untrue. 

The first thing I saw when I opened my results this morning, against my better judgement, was a note that said the results HAD NOT been reviewed by a medical team. I attempted to read the first sentence, got scared, and got the hell out of there. I reached out to my doctor and she said that additional imagery was needed. This was super alarming because, after the the world's worst mammogram, I was called in again to have more imagery done. For those of you having trouble keeping count, my results suggested I come in for more images for A THIRD TIME. No bueno. Apparently, something is up with my left boob. The bigger boob. The problem boob. 

I wish I could tell you that I handled this with a level head, but I sprung into a panic and hysterical tears while my doctor patiently listened to me cry. I love her, she's a real doll. I let her know that I am broke, and if I have breast cancer, I will die of it because I have no money. I told her I just want my boobs removed but she said that was a fat chance if nothing is wrong. I cannot stress out like this annually. I'm not married. Not having a baby. Not desperate to keep my breasts around for bikini season. The anxiety is too much, take them! I can't live in this constant fear that something is wrong and that I'm going to die. I'm not ready to die! 

Winfrey allowed me to cry to her on the phone this morning about this as she drove to work. As is becoming customary with Risky Business, she was too busy to talk to me. P is not talking to me for reasons unknown and I am still dealing with that all-too-familiar sting of being ghosted. Once I got off the phone with Winfrey, I cried in between broken sleep. I gotta tell y'all, I'm over this s$#t!