Getting Ghosted

I got ghosted! Which, I know, it’s pretty ironic since I was on a mega-ghost trip in 2018, and now it’s come back to bite me in the ass. I’ll admit – I do not like it. In fact, I’ll admit that I woke up in a bit of a rage today because, ugh, who ghosts me? Me?! So I did the adult thing, and I texted the obligatory “u ok” text after ten days of radio silence because I’m a lady, and I’ll do the proper thing, i.e. turning a ghost into a proper break up via text message. I got the typical “I’m busy” text response eight hours later, which basically translates into “I didn’t want to make time for you” which in my heart means “you’re not that important to me” which is a huge jab at my ego. I tried my very hardest to be kind and vulnerable and sexy and available and interesting and all those things that Cosmo tells me I should be in order to win the love and affection of a man.

I took the “I’m busy” text in stride and said “I had fun w u” and kept it moving. Polite, right? No big scenes, no, “Why didn’t you text me back!” Didn’t key his car or leak his dick pics on line or smear him on the feminist corner of the Internet. Just calm, cool, collected, and then I shot him the “peace out” emoji because I’m classy like that. I’ve never broken up with someone for ghosting me – usually I’ll accept a mutual ghost and call it a day. But sometimes you just know that you’re going to see the other person around, and also I work in bars, and I kinda do this thing where I claim every bar in the East Bay and part of San Jose as my territory, so keeping things neutral and open seemed like the best idea for the situation. Again: maturity. From me. Shocking.

Now I know that the problem with getting ghosted is that you don’t get any feedback on why the relationship has ended. After four months, you’d think that I’d be interested to know why I got ghosted, but…I am not interested. The last time I saw him before he ghosted me, he told me that he loved me and that he was in love with me, which I took as a total victory. But the next week it was total silence, and: I don’t care. Sometimes you bring your A game, and your A game isn’t appreciated. I didn’t bring my A game, but my B game definitely wasn’t appreciated. Ehhh, I mean, sure, it’s convenient for me to feel callous and cynical about someone who just ghosted me because me ego’s hurt, but I got a lot going on right now. Sure, there’s a part of me that wants to totally trash his dick game on the Internet just for my own amusement, but…I already didn’t give him shine on my sex blog, so that’s probably rude enough as it is.

Anyways, the reason I don’t care is the same as the reason I got ghosted in the first place: Gangsta Boo is back, monopolizing my attention, and I’m pretty content with this new normal of chaos. Not sure how long any of this is going to last, but I’m riding this crazy train until we all go up in flames. And be “we all” I mean, yes, all of us. You’re included in that, too. Of course, *somebody* tried to jump off right at the last second, but guess what, asshole! Too late. I feel mildly bad that he had to find out I was fucking someone else just because he read my blog but c’est la vie. I was completely transparent about the fact that Gangsta Boo was back in town, and *somebody* didn’t try to lock it down, so. Here we are.

I am still incredibly angry that I got ghosted, but I’ll find a way to work out that anger. Eventually.

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