I got the obligatory ‘apology’ message from Fuckboy Kieron this morning after he ghosted on me last night and didn’t respond to my messages when we were supposed to meet up. He said ‘I know you must be pissed off that I let you down but if you knew what happened last night you’d understand.’ I replied ‘Cool story’ and carried on scrolling thorough Instagram while doing a poo. I do not give a shit about him. It’s a one strike and you’re out policy these days. No more forgiveness because I like someone and I want it to work. Forgiveness of minor misdemeanours in the very early stages shows a willingness to tolerate major fuck ups further down the line. I’m trying to set standards for myself and maintain them and in this case I feel proud of myself for doing it very successfully, which is extremely rare for me.

I wavered about an hour ago when I was lying in bed feeling fucked off about my wasted wax and I was about to send a message to Kieron saying ‘I need my pussy eaten’ but I stopped myself. I do need my pussy eaten but not enough to let this disrespectful dimwit have my cake and eat it. The reason I was going to go with that particular statement is because I felt like it shows that I don’t really care, I’m not angry and I only want you for my own pleasure. Like SUCK MY DICK – You are no longer invited for an interior tour of the palace but you are welcome to have a wander about in the grounds. I get the pleasure without him getting any satisfaction, winning. But as I said, Kieron was given an ASBO for his behaviour last night and so he is banned from coming within 150 feet of my vagina for the next 5 years. I made the rules and I’m sticking to them. But I might as well take a positive from this and use it as inspiration to write a ghosting blog.

A few years ago I went on a date with a guy called Marcus who I met on Tinder, come to think of it, he was also an ex-footballer who, like Kieron, had retired with an injury and invested wisely (I googled them both don’t worry, I’m not stupid, they weren’t lying). He lived really close to me and had a son the same age as mine. I met him not long after I’d got over Mark/Martin (the guy from my Why the fuck you lying, why you always lying?’ post who ended up having a long term girlfriend) and so I was on high alert for any signs or signals that he might have a Mrs. I would make him Facetime me when he said he was at home alone and I’d get suspicious if he stopped messaging in the evening. I probably wasn’t ready to be dating, looking back I was still clearly a bit fucked up from the preceding Fuckboy.

If you focus your thoughts on something long enough then I believe that it will become something, that’s why I believe in positive thinking now, I’ve learnt that if you believe that good things will happen then they will. The same goes for negative thoughts. If you think that all men are Fuckboys then I suggest that you stay away from all men for a bit while you work on that, because they’re not ALL Fuckboys (I promise you that, my faith in that is why I keep going, despite all these Fuckboys I have encountered). A good man doesn’t want to date an insecure woman who hates men and thinks all men are cheating, why would he? Would you want to date an insecure man who hates women? Fuck no (I hope not). So if you hold that mentality about men then only Fuckboys will come your way, it’s the law of attraction. If you think negative thoughts about men then only men who think negative thoughts about themselves (those are the dangerous ones) will come your way. You have to get over being fucked over, you just do, and until you’re over it don’t expose your vulnerable heart to the hard core world of men, it’s definitely not a good idea.

Anyway, back to a time when that was exactly what I did. Marcus and I spoke for a while before we first met. He was smart and witty (and good at spelling for a Footballer) and when we first met I was extremely impressed by his presentation. He had major swag. He wore blue jeans with a white shirt, Grey Blazer, and Balenciaga shoes, he looked expensive. He smelt expensive. His watch was expensive. He had all the necessary qualities for me, mixed race, 6ft 2, tattoos, plus he was a couple of years older than me and he was all gentleman. He was flirtatious in the most charming and respectful manner, he made me feel like the most spectacular woman in North London. Marcus was major husband material. He was clear that he was looking for a long term relationship and I was fully up for exploring that as an option with him. The first date went really well, there was no doubt in my mind that we’d have a second.

Messages and Facetimes continued after the date and we arranged to meet a few days later for dinner. We were going to a nice restaurant and so I made an effort and got a blow dry and a new outfit, I wanted to look hot for Marcus. I was buzzing to see him. He messaged me at 6pm to let me know that he was just dropping his Son back to his Mum’s and that he would pick me up at 8pm. It takes a good 2 hours for me to achieve my peak levels of hotness so I started getting ready. At 7.45pm I got a text from Marcus telling me that his son had fallen off his bike on the way to the car and had smashed his head on the pavement, they were now in A&E. I was disappointed (and slightly pissed off that he hadn’t told me earlier) but I didn’t begrudge him at all. If you are dating a parent then you have to accept that their child must come first, at all times, no questions asked, and if you can’t handle coming second to a little human who comes attached to someone who your man has had sex with, then dating a parent is not for you. And if you’re dating a parent who doesn’t drop everything for a child related emergency and who is not supportive of their Baby Mother when necessary, then you are dating the wrong DILF. There is nothing less attractive than a shit Dad.

Marcus and I arranged to meet a few days later and it happened again, this time his son’s Mother had apparently got stuck at work and wasn’t able to collect him and so, disappointingly, our date was cancelled. Again, I couldn’t begrudge it, he was clearly a devoted Dad, but I was becoming irritated by it, we carried on talking nonetheless. It was close to New Years and I had made a loose plan to go to a house party that I didn’t fancy so when Marcus suggested that we spend it together I was up for it. He said he wanted to make it up to me. He said we’d have a major blow out night, rave, party, stay at a hotel, neither of us had the kids for a couple of days and so we’d have a mad night of fun, it sounded right up my street. He asked me to get the tickets and he said that he’d book the hotel, I didn’t hesitate. On New Year’s Eve morning Marcus and I were messaging back and forth. He told me that he was going to be tied up until 2pm and that he’d call me then to confirm times for when we would meet that night. 2pm came and went and I didn’t hear from Marcus. I messaged him at 3pm but it didn’t get read. I had a blow dry appointment at 5pm and I needed to know what was happening so at 4pm I called him. His phone was off. I called him approximately 117 times after that and it never went back on. I had my hair blow dried just in case, like a dickhead, and I sat there for the rest of the night with the most volumised bouncy hair and nowhere to go. I was gutted. Don’t even get me started on the £80 I’d spent on tickets for Egg. What kind of devilish fun killing psychopath purposely ruins someone’s New Year’s Eve like that? They only happen once a bloody year.

That one properly upset me. I never got my head around why he would do that. I blocked him of course, I didn’t want to hear the explanation because I probably would not have got the truth anyway. The truth is highly likely to be that he was still with his son’s Mother, that he really never was single and that he only went on Tinder for an ego boost and a blow job. Whatever the reason for why he didn’t want to link up, the part that I find the most confusing is why he didn’t just tell me. Why did he lead me to believe that he was taking me seriously? Why did he arrange an elaborate night out? Why do they do this? It’s actually cruel you know. Cruel, misogynistic, woman hating behaviour, I believe that the freaks who drop these kind of moves are taking pleasure in the stress, confusion and anger they are causing us. I think they sit there with their mates while we’re calling and texting them with abuse going ‘This girl can’t get enough of my dick man, look how much she’s on me’. Drop these ones out IMMEDIATELY.

I once met a man named M. I don’t know what he was doing on Plenty of Fish (POF), he was far too perfect for POF. M was my type to a tea. He had the most beautiful face, a kind and smiley face, his face made me smile. M was not a Fuckboy. M was deep and intelligent, spiritual and insightful, he was a feminist, a socialist, and a Junglist (think Shy FX not Borneo). He was charming, bright and witty, he was everything I could ever want in a man all rolled into one beautiful looking package. I thought the Universe had delivered me my soul mate for sure. M was a senior stock broker for a large firm in the city but he wasn’t about that life anymore. He had a passion for Boxing and he had made the brave decision to pack in his job and pursue boxing as a career after doing well in a few amateur fights. He had only recently left his job and he was focusing on training for his first professional match. He didn’t live that close to me and as we were both busy we decided to have a virtual first date on Skype. The date went on for 8 hours, neither of us got any sleep, we had so much to talk about, and if we hadn’t both been shattered we could have gone on for hours more. You know when you just click. We carried on having Skype dates every night for a couple of weeks. I was becoming deeply attached to M and I hadn’t even met him in person yet.

M had a lot going on and because he was training for a fight he was on a really strict regime and diet but we were desperate to meet each other so he decided to have a night off, as we were both foodies he wanted our first date to be a nice restaurant that neither of us had tried so he took me to Sushi Samba. It was the most relaxed, easy, love inducing, feeling provoking date I have ever been on. I felt M and I knew he felt me too. As we were walking up the stairs a guy passed us by and said to M ‘You are one lucky guy mate’ M said ‘I fucking feel it mate’, that was one of the best moments I’ve had on a date ever. We went for a drink after and that was when we kissed, we were alone in the smoking garden and he took the opportunity. His kisses were perfect, gentle and passionate, it felt like he meant it when he kissed me. He put me in a cab at the end of the night and he told me to get on Skype when I got home. And so things continued for another few days, all good, still mad intense, even more so since we’d met. Sadly, M’s Father who lived abroad and who he was very close to had fallen ill. His Father was flying to the UK to see a Doctor and M was anxious and worried about it. Our interaction died down once his Dad arrived which I completely understood. M text me the morning that his Dad got his results and told me that it was very bad news. I text him back with a supportive message and told him that I’m here for him etc. I thought it was best to give him some space, it’s nice to know that people are thinking of you but when you’re going through that big stuff it can get annoying to receive constant ‘How are things? xx’ texts.

After about a week I sent him a ‘Hey, how’s it going?’ message and he gave me a short reply. I could feel the vibe and so I didn’t pursue the messaging. His boxing match was coming up the following week and I knew that he was really trying to be focused on that, so with that coming and his Dad’s illness, I wasn’t offended by him not wanting to talk. But it did upset me a bit. I wanted to say ‘I’m that girl who can support you, make it easier to get through times like this, I understand you need your space and I’m not trying to crowd you, I just want to make you happy’, but I didn’t. I think if I was going through some stuff I would have wanted to see more of him not less, but everyone is different and I respected his reasons. I was holding out hope that I’d get an invite to the boxing and I was disappointed when I didn’t.

After the fight I messaged him to ask how it went, M didn’t have Whats App, and all of our communication was on text so I couldn’t see if he was online or not, M didn’t respond to my text and I thought that was rude. A few days later I messaged him again, I was fucking feeling this guy and I had the distinct impression that he liked me too, so I text him and told him that I understood the circumstances but that I wanted to know what was going on because I was feeling mad confused as to why he had so drastically changed and started blanking me. He blanked me again. A few days later I sent a final message just saying ‘Fuck You’. He had hurt me. I stopped following him on social media and I moved on, baffled as fuck, I always thought about him on and off but I had too much pride to contact him again, he knew where I was.

About 2 years later I had a dream about M and I woke up with him on my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about him for 2 whole days, I remembered all those feelings I’d had for him and how it had all ended so weirdly. I rang his number as I still had it in my phone but it wasn’t in use. I put his name in Facebook to see if I could message him on there and I looked at his profile picture as soon as I clicked on his page. I forgot how beautiful he was, I wanted to read the comments underneath to see if there was any indication that he had a girlfriend, I cannot describe the gut wrenching feeling that ran through me as I read.

‘RIP M the most amazing man on the planet’
‘I cannot believe you’re not here, I miss you mate’

The comments went on. M had tragically died. M had sustained an injury during his boxing match and he had fallen into a coma in the ring and later died. The tragic, tragic irony of that. That he had left his job to find freedom doing what he loved and it had killed him. Nobody should die young but M was one of those people where you really felt there was a big future ahead, this was a loss to the planet. He was one of the few people that make this world a better place. He was a Buddhist and he lived by his teachings. He was just pure love. And I’m so, so sad that he died. I’m so, so sad that HE died, and not one of these violent, disgusting, criminal Wastemen. After reading the news I spent 2 days in a state of shock. I had sent him a text saying ‘Fuck you’ for not replying. I felt awful and guilty and sad and devastated and I felt gutted that I hadn’t googled him at the time. I hope that M is reincarnated into the happiest most peaceful life imaginable and I hope that my reincarnation meets up with him, or maybe we’ll meet in heaven, who knows, it depends on what you believe. All I know is that I felt like we were soul mates and I’m sure that extends outside this physical world that we live in. Rest in peace M. I hope we meet again.

Now that I’ve cheered you all up I should probably end with a final story to lighten the mood. Back to our theme of men who ghost. I was about 16 when I met Anthony Fox. I grew up in North London and a lot of the people that I knew were either involved with, or connected to a certain London gang in some way. We had all gone to school together and as the local area where I lived was small everyone knew everyone and everyone’s cousin. The boys we hung around with made money from the streets. I was a teenage idiot and I thought it was all wildly glamorous, how sophisticated I thought it was to have to run from gun shots in raves, or to get bundled out of a party by your friend’s man into a car outside while all the ‘Mandem’ are putting on bullet proof vests and storming in (this happened, in Brick Lane during a day rave in 2000, I was off my tits and it was extremely terrifying).

I was a big massive raver, I started as early as I could. I had huge boobs that I was able to use as ID aged 15, things weren’t as strict back then. I first raved to Jungle music and then I became a big garage raver. There was a whole scene, everyone knew or sort of knew each other on that scene and the gang culture was a part of that so you got to hear about who the big names were and what was going on pon the streets. I don’t know why me, a 16 year old, middle class, school girl, felt that I needed to know what was going down on the streets, but I did.

Anthony Fox was a one of the main guys connected to a gang in a neighbouring borough, he was high ranking even though he was only 17. He was skinny and short, he looked like a little rat, he was good looking but he looked sneaky, he wore off key Moschino suits and he had 3 little lines shaved into his left eyebrow. Obviously I was impressed with this. My Mum wasn’t, she nearly had a heart attack when I first bought him home, but in my head when I was 16 my Mum was an absolute idiot, she didn’t even know who he was, he was big in the game, how could she not appreciate his status? Her daughter had made it. Weirdo. My teenage years were hard for my Mum, and for pretty much any sane or normal person who came near me. I was difficult to say the least.

I met Anthony Fox at the drive through McDonald’s in Elephant and Castle. It was so romantic. Anthony and his boys pulled up in a car next to me and my girls in a car driven by 16 year old me –  as I had stolen my Mum’s car, she was asleep and had no idea that I was out, let alone that I’d gone on an adventure to South London in her little B reg Vauxhall with the driving skills of a fucking mole (and she will never find out because she will NEVER read this blog, please, I beg you don’t ever show my mum this blog), I’m lucky to be alive. I had a lot of freedom as a teenager because my Mum raised us alone with no financial help from my Dad so we were broke, my Mum worked 3 jobs, and for one of them she had to work night shifts so she wasn’t always there (FYI Mum is now financially comfortable, she’s finished her mortgage and the house is now worth about 20 times what she bought it for, my Dad is living in a bedsit. Karma?). We had babysitters, young Italian or German girls, but I would run rings around them and in the end everyone pretty much gave up.

Back to the car park, we knew who the boys were from the raving scene, we were excited to meet them properly, they were faces. We hung around in the car park with DJ EZ and CKP blasting through the speaker’s of Anthony’s VW Golf (with tinted windows, so that he didn’t look too obvious), we smoked weed and threw our McDonald’s wrapping on the floor even though there was a bin next to us because we were fucking thugs. Why didn’t anybody arrest me? I should have been arrested, for my own good.

Me and Anthony exchanged numbers and we met up the next day. A date back then involved listening to slow jams whilst smoking weed in a car and driving around London eventually stopping somewhere with a view to kiss and get fingered. That was the height of teenage roadman romance. Rumour had it that being taken back to their Nan’s yard to bang while she was at church was the sign that you were wifey. Me and my friend’s reveled in the opportunity to get into dangerous situations with Anthony and his friends. I’m lucky my Mum’s house never got raided and we’re lucky that we never got raped or killed. I was a naïve little idiot. I don’t know what I was thinking.

One time, me and my best friend Tania had been taking e’s and smoking weed in Anthony’s Uncle’s house. Anthony’s Uncle was creepy as fuck. He was in his 40’s and we were 15/16, 40 was old as fuck to us then. Nearing death in fact. He was Jamaican and he wore a black, gold and green string vest. He had a gold tooth and he was going bald. He was drinking cheap cider from cans and smoking the grottiest smelling bushweed in the world. He thought he was hot stuff, and he probably thought we’d been brought round for his pleasure. He was scaring us. Making sexual comments and then standing up and shouting things like ‘Ah BUMBACLART MI YARD DIS’ when we didn’t submit to his advances. We were terrified. At one point Anthony said ‘ Allow it Delroy, that’s my girl you know, my ride or die for real’ Those words filled me with joy, despite that fact that I was being terrorised by a sex crazed, crack head, Yardie who was starting to foam at the mouth, I was happy beyond belief. I was now certified wifey.

We took Anthony into the hallway to ask him to take us home, Anthony couldn’t understand why we wanted to get out of there, he appeared to think it was perfectly reasonable for us to be subjected to aggressive sexual threats by a smelly lunatic because ‘He’s like this with everyone’. We argued with Anthony until he agreed to take us home but his Uncle grabbed his car keys and said that he couldn’t go, not unless one of sucked his dick. Tania and I grabbed each other’s hands and ran. The door was bolted like a prison and we were shaking as we undid the locks. The Uncle was trying to follow us but Anthony was telling him to let us go. We managed to run out into the streets, it was 5am. We didn’t have phones or money so we decided to call the Police from a phone box. The operator spoke to us like we were pieces of shit and said that the Police were not a taxi service. The Police are lucky that nothing happened to us two Year 10/11 girls on the way home. We had to walk about 6 miles.

Mine and Anthony’s relationship progressed for a few weeks in a similar haphazard roadman manner and things were going well I thought. But in Road relationships things quickly change and so we had a minor argument and he stormed out my house, I later realised he had stolen my TV remote. What kind of kleptomaniac nutcase does that? Every time I had to travel the 2 feet between my bed and my TV to change the channels I got so angry about that sneaky little rat. Anyway, he blanked all my calls, of which there were hundreds, one after the other (he had recorded a voicemail of himself saying ‘Hello?……….hello?……..You got got again, how about that!’ and every time I heard it I’d start shouting at it thinking he’d finally answered, I wasn’t that bright back then). I was calling him every day for about a week and he never picked up once. The argument was so minor, I think it was over me ripping the last Rizla, I didn’t think it was the end of the world and I couldn’t believe that he’d disappeared. I was devastated, I used to listen to Toni Braxton ‘Unbreak My Heart’ over and over again until I couldn’t breathe through my tears, but in the end I gave up, I couldn’t sustain harassing him long term. He could keep my remote if it meant that much to him.

About 2 weeks later I sat down to watch my favourite programme (at the time) Crimewatch, and lo and behold, who do I see holding up a post office in an armed robbery in Kilburn, but Anthony Fox. I wanted to turn the sound up immediately but I couldn’t because I didn’t have a fucking remote. The fuckwit didn’t even try to hide his face. I got a million phone calls and messages on my pager from all my friends and one from Anthony. He called me to see if I’d seen the show and he wondered if he could lay low at mine for a couple of days. ‘Can you FUCK Anthony’ I shouted ‘You stole my fucking TV remote, you are a wanker, I’m not putting myself on the line for you.’ Had he not done that and had we still been on track when this all went down, then it’s highly likely that I would have harboured his Wasteman arse in my Mum’s house for no apparent gain.

‘Sometimes God works in mysterious ways, sometimes shit happens to stop other shit happening, so try not to get upset about shit – Princess Layla 1998’

I wrote that quote in my diary after it all happened. Deep. But I was right, I might have been borderline psychopathic back then but I had figured out some important life lessons. I look back and thank the Universe that Anthony Fox didn’t make me a teenage Mum, and that I didn’t end up in prison as a result of any of our interactions. Imagine what my life would be like now if I had stayed with him long term! Anthony ended up in prison, several times over so I hear. I think he’s probably still there now. So the moral of the story is this, if your Fuckboy goes ghost and disappears it’s usually for a good reason, and that reason is usually that he is not meant for you, he’s not the one, the one wouldn’t do that. Don’t be sad about it, celebrate that you found out when you did and that you are now liberated from his shit.