"I ain't afraid of no ghost..."

Guess who’s back…back again…(not so Slim) Shady’s back…tell a friend…

SIDE NOTE:Please, please, PLEASE tell your friends, I want people other than my Mumma to actually read my blog…hi Mum! * waving *

Where to begin? What to fill you in on? What shall I talk absolute nonsense about this time? All equally good questions and all have alright-ish answers, but I’m not sure why my brain decided to ask them at 10:30pm on a Wednesday night? This is going to end up as badly written as the time I had to write about the Caste System in my AS History exam…(still don’t have a clue what was going on in India and I spent an entire year studying it).

No, I know what has made me want to write again. I have been binge watching Sex and the City re-runs and seeing as I want to be Carrie Bradshaw (TBH, I’m probably much more of a Samantha really, I have no filter) I began to wonder if my life would ever be like hers, you know, #LivingTheDream.

üBuying shoes she didn’t need with money she didn’t have….(do that on the regular.)

üConstantly wanting to drink a cosmopolitan…(story of my life, want one now.)

üChasing men round NYC, go on fabulous dates only to be ghosted by said men and never hear from them again…(no defo not…oh no wait…ah shit.)

I realised, at this point in my life, I related to Carrie quite a bit. For sure the excessive clothes and shoes purchases have been a staple in my life since the age of about 12 but the whole dating thing for me is very new and besides from the whole New York part....we was the same...ish.

Although, until last week, I’d never been on “A Date”. Made very clear by the fact that a whatsapp group was created by my friends to send me GIF’s of good luck’s and don’t fuck it up’s on the night. And now when I look back at it, rose tinted glasses firmly off, was it even a date? Or was it just a polite guy showing me round his hometown with me smiling like an idiot the entire night whilst downing drink after drink? 

I’ve been out with guys before so I’m not a total hermit. My best friend is a guy so we frequently hit up a Nandos (Lemon and Herb Butterfly Chicken with Chips and Halloumi, deliveroo me babe), oh and then there was the 38 year old fit AF PE teacher who I used to work with who I kind of was married too for a year (That needs a whole blog post to itself people and it will come), we would hang out, go to the cinema, go out for dinner, go to Ikea on weekends….yeah that was an odd year looking back at it. But I’d never been on an actual ‘date’ and especially not with a guy I had never met before. It was new territory. What do you do? Do you stroke him at regular intervals? Flip your hair like you’re in a Loreal advert? Laugh all the time…even when there is nothing to laugh about? 

I was nervous. Really nervous. Like dancing competition nerves (although I do slightly put that down to the North of England’s water…tastes different).

It was agreed that we would meet at my hotel for about 5ish, so of course like any sane person, I was ready by 1pm and sat staring at myself in the mirror for the next 4 hours just wishing I would turn into Bella Hadid at any given moment.

5pm rolled around and I got a text:

“Hey I’m down in the lobby…but just come whenever you’re ready! No rush!”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, mate I’ve been sat here sweating my tits off for the past 4 hours in a leather jacket and baker boy hat…I’m think I’m more than ready, perhaps I was too ready?

Left my room, trotted down the hall in boots that were so freaking uncomfortable and didn’t even make my legs look good (Fail number 1 and I suffered for nothing) saw a cleaner having difficulty with her hoover so naturally thought it would be a good time to ask her if I looked okay and not like a hooker, I don’t think she understood what I meant because she motioned to the stairs and said ‘This way my dear”… Liverpudlians are so lovely.

After having a mini breakdown on the bottom stair (I hadn’t turned into Bella Hadid, or even Gigi for that matter) I braved it and walked out into the lobby.

“Oh shit, he’s actually here….oooh he’s very handsome, really handsome actually…ah RiRi don’t fuck it up…okay, smile, he’s stood up, wait he looks a little disappointed…no, hold up, hug time, oh shit I’ve kissed his cheek, I’e peaked too soon,…he smells good though….usual pleasantries, he seems really lovely…still that face when I came over…hmmmmm, I know I look better in a picture online but still…I did my lipstick all nice and everything…maybe he’d have preferred Ruby Woo rather than Russian Red ”.

We walked over to the docks (cobbled streets + high boots= less smile, more grimace but it was cool), chatted about Liverpool (we was in Liverpool so this isn’t as weird as it sounds), chatted about ourselves, had a little flirty banter…and you know what…I was enjoying it, really enjoying it. 

Conversation flowed over dinner, we laughed, we got a little deep on some topics and then we laughed some more, it was as if we had known each other for ages and I felt so comfortable, any doubts that I had before were long gone(except for that hat, I still don’t know if the hat was a good look), if I was enjoying it this much he must be too right? We finished dinner, we went Dutch at my continued request, as I’m a strong independent woman who don’t need no man (although might be nice to have you Mr.T…what?). 

He showed me round some more of Liverpool, giving me suggestions of places to go for the rest of my trip, we got a little closer on the walk than before, the odd brush arm past you know (keeping in PG13 and classy innit) then he suggested we go for a couple of drinks (side note, he doesn’t drink so in my head I thought…I’D FUCKING SMASHED IT, HE DOESN’T DRINK BUT HE WANTS TO CARRY ON THE NIGHT, outside of my head..) “Yeah for sure, that will be cool, let’s go”.

We had fun in the cocktail bar too, we carried on with the flanter (Mum, that’s slang for Flirty Banter, just keeping you up to date with the kids), we found out we both have an extra bone in our body (Oi, keep it clean you lot). He picked a drink for me and the conversation never faltered, it was cool. Really cool. 

7 hours later he walked me back, yeah 7 hours, I can barely deal with myself for 5 on a good day. We sat in the lobby for a little while, neither one of us really sure what to do with our hands and feet, nervous energy I think, we said goodbye, a slightly longer hug than before and he kissed my cheek back this time (we basically made a baby). I knew he had to walk back to his car so as he got to the door I said, “Just give me a text when you get back yeah?”, he smiled and said “Of course” and off he went.

I bounded up to my room, high on the thought that I had smashed this whole dating thing.

When I say bounded back what I mean is, my boots came off in the lift and I slowly walked back to my room only to miss the key card hole 9 times (never drink anything with the word Zombie in it kids). 

When I eventually got into my room, I text…

“So I know I’m meant to wait a while before I text but this is lols…just took me 9 attempts to get my key card in the hole...I’m blame the zombie!”.

Nailed it. It was short and sweet, I didn’t gush about how wonderful the evening was (it kind of was), it was funny and left it open for him to reply saying he had got back safely, boom. Dating expert over here, smashing it again.

Except the text never came. 

It didn’t turn up the next morning either.

Or the one after. 

I caved.

I then sent the whole I had a really great time text, blah blah blah, please love me. 

(I didn’t put that last bit…promise).

But nothing. The little noise pings that came from my phone before didn’t come (except from Domino’s offering 2-4-1 on Pizza…how did they know?)

No reply.

Gone.

Like a ghost.

And that’s when it hit me…I have been ghosted. And let me tell you something…it sucks. I think it would have sucked less had he have sent 

“I had a great time but I didn’t really feel a connection, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Or even,

“U R UGLY AND UR CHOICE OF BAKER BOY HAT SUCKED, NOT INTERESTED”.

At least it would be done. Like a plaster, ripped off. Whereas at the moment my date plaster is sort of hanging off, a few hairs are still intact holding it on, but I don’t know whether to push it back on and hope it sticks back down or go through the pain of ripping it off completely when it’s already been started slowly.

But then I got to thinking, was I so far into my own vibes that night that I forgot to check in with him. Was it really going as well for him as it was for me? Did he give off signals saying, “This isn’t for me, I’m not feeling this at all” that I ignored? Are we so programmed to finding our own happiness that we forget about other peoples? I think this happens more often than we perhaps think. Not just in dating but in home life, work, within the friendship groups we have. 

Maybe ghosting isn’t so bad at all, maybe it’s just people’s way of protecting themselves, which I understand. Maybe it’s his way of finding his happiness whilst thinking he is protecting mine, “If I don’t tell her how I feel, then she won’t be upset”?

Or maybe I’m just making excuses for him...and for myself to believe. Now I really am like Carrie Bradshaw.