I’m quite possibly the world’s shittest blogger and I am sorry. I see some people posting daily and I’m just here dawdling along, posting every so often with no consistency or regularity. I used to post loads but the last 2 months have been hectic. Work is really busy, and I just have moved house. They say that moving house is more stressful than a relationship breakdown or divorce and now I really understand why. I’ve moved a few times before but I have never had to start from scratch like this. The whole process has been time consuming beyond belief, from searching day and night on Right Move, going to endless viewings, finding somewhere, going through all the estate agent palava, to actually moving, purchasing all new furniture, having nothing but a bean bag for a week and a half, and generally making the place into a home, it has been LONG. Sorting out Wifi, council tax, contents insurance, it’s all so fucking boring, and something always goes wrong with something, failed deliveries or missing parts. I’m only just starting to feel settled, although I am still living out of boxes because my wardrobe has not yet been built. I can’t find anything, I’m wearing the same three outfits constantly, just washing and rotating, I have been to Ikea more times than I would like to remember and I have been building flat pack furniture for what feels like years. I wasn’t able to take anytime off work so everything has had to be done in the evenings. I am exhausted.
But I am happy. Soooooo happy. I love my new home, I am feeling grateful and positive, and I am finally settled enough to open up my laptop and get back to this. About 6 weeks ago I did a poll on Instagram asking people to vote for what they wanted my next blog to be about and the voters chose ‘That time when I accidentally dated a 20 year old’. I probably shouldn’t do anymore votes on Instagram because people are just not going to take me seriously anymore if I keep saying ‘Shall I do this or this?’ and then not doing either of them for months. So that is what today’s blog will be about, dating a significantly younger man, but let me just get the life updates out the way first.
Those of you who follow my Instagram will know that I gave my number to a guy who worked at a hospital where I had a meeting. He was good looking, but not completely my cup of tea, light skinned, beard (but it was slightly too long for my liking), nice eyes with long lashes, quite short, but he was decent enough for me to not think twice about giving him my number. He was dressed smartly and he spoke very well. He looked like a very good prospect from the brief conversation we had in the hospital car park. My phone died a few days ago, literally conked out, never to be awoken again, so sadly I have lost all of my numbers, music, but also all of my conversation history with everyone, so I cant actually show you real examples of his messages but he was texting instead of whatsapping, and the messages that were coming through were like my Instagram captions. Long as fuck and kind of irritating (the long as fuck bit relates to my captions, not the irritating bit I hope), like:
‘Well hello, what a marvelous thing it was to meet such a fine specimen of a woman as yourself. It made my dull day rather glorious. Today was a difficult day because I had a report to complete and I had to sacrifice the quality in order to get it in on time, I could have kicked myself for procrastinating all week. So how has your day been? Responding to e-mails, and writing reports I guess? Tell me more about your job? How long have you been doing it? What motivated you to get into that line of work? I love my job, I get so much job satisfaction. A man who loves his job is a happy man! How are you planning to wind down this weekend? A cruise to relaxation land? A SPA day to wash away your stress? Or just simply a duvet day to recover from the harsh week?’
Obviously, it is lovely to meet a man who is articulate, literate, and who is interested in me. I prefer his long, well thought out messages so much more than ‘So wen am I coming to yours for dinner babez?’ but I find big long paragraph texts a bit overwhelming, because you have to answer all the questions and respond with a massive paragraph, which you don’t always have time to do, and it just starts to feel like an effort. I persevered though, I came back with long replies and I made an effort to answer all his questions, and ask them back, which generated streams of texts back from him. His messages were cringey though, like he was trying too hard to come across as being a grown up. The final nail in the coffin was when he said ‘So madame, one is clearly maturing like a fine wine, how young are we if you don’t mind me asking?’ I felt like I was 70 years old and he was trying to make me feel like a spring chicken. ‘How young are we?’ is just the creepiest way of saying ‘how old are you?’ that you could ever come up with. He was annoying me, but I was also annoying myself for being annoyed with a man because he was making too much effort and for trying to write in a sophisticated manner. He had a great job, was clearly intelligent, clearly interested in getting to know me on a non-sexual level, and I’m just there thinking urgghhhhhh, leave it out.
I decided to ring him. I was surprised at how nice his voice sounded on the phone, he sounded London like me and he didn’t speak with the pretentious tone that I had been reading out his texts in my head with. He was out with friends and instead of telling me he would call back later he actually went to his car so that he could focus his attention on me. We had an OK conversation, it didn’t flow with ease, after I would say something he would always go ‘OK, OK, cool’ before saying his response, like he needed to buy himself thinking time. I noticed a few red flags during the phone call. Firstly, when we met in the car park, he told me that he lived in Mill Hill. When we were on the phone he said that he lived in Ealing. I queried this and he said that he moved back to his Mum’s recently, so recently that he forgets where he lives. Hmmmmm. He said that he had been renting but moved back to save up for a deposit on a house. Hmmmmm. The hmmmm is especially relevant here because shortly after that I asked him if he had children, and he does, one is 3 and one is 5 months old, both with the same woman. Hmmmmmm.
He explained that they hadn’t been together for ages but that he wanted to have all of his children with the same woman, so that society didn’t view him negatively as a Black man who has children all over the place. It all seemed a bit fishy. Forgetting where you live, only recently moving out, having such a new baby. Plus, he didn’t have any social media, apparently he thinks it has ruined society and he hates it (it has, and I do too, but you have to move with the times) so he doesn’t use any form of social networking. You know my feelings on a man saying he has no social media, 90% of the time its a lie, constructed to ensure that you don’t see his social media and figure out that he has a partner, and also so that she doesn’t figure out about you.
I searched for him on Whatsapp but couldn’t find him, which meant that he either didn’t have it, didn’t have my number saved, or he had blocked me. Attached men often have their partners in the profile pictures, especially if she has caught him talking to other women before, so they use those tactics to ensure that we don’t see their DP. I asked him about it, told him that I found Whatsapp easier than texting and he said that he didn’t like all the stress of blue ticks, he didn’t want the stress of seeing that I had read his message but not replied. He said that he does have Whatsapp, he just doesn’t share it with women until they reach a certain level in his life. The whole thing just smacked of ‘I have an on off relationship with my ex, right now it’s off but who knows’. That, along with his terribly boring messages, and the fact that he’s not even that hot (when I say hot I mean hot to me, I don’t care whether he’s a model type or what anybody else thinks, hotness is in the eye of the beholder) made me realise that this man was not my soul mate. He messaged me a few times since the call, but I would take ages to reply and I told him that I was super busy because of the move so wasn’t really in a place to be thinking about meeting up.
I hadn’t heard from him for a week but last night he rang me. I didn’t know it was him because of the whole devastating phone death incident, and so I answered. We had quite a long phone call, but again it didn’t really flow, lots of ‘OK, OK, sounds good’ murmurs to bridge conversation gaps. He spoke a lot about work and so I asked him what kind of stuff he did for fun, he told me that he liked art galleries and exhibitions, but that he did not like smoking, drinking, raving, taking drugs, loud parties, or anything much else really.
He said it in such a condescending manner though, like people who party are immature, I think he wanted me to be impressed that he goes to galleries. Art galleries are brilliant, but go to them because you enjoy them, not to be sophisticated. I told him that I smoked in the evenings, and that I like festivals and dancing, and he said ‘We all have our vices’, so I asked him about his and he, after thinking long and hard, said ‘Going to the sauna and steam room a lot’. Not even the ‘massage parlour’ sauna, the actual healthy sauna and steam room at the gym. How boring do you have to be for that to be your vice? He’s probably got no vices because he has a 5 month old baby to look after. I didn’t have any vices when I had a 5 month old baby, apart from eating enough food for 12 people everyday. The thing is, that without the fishy stuff, this is exactly the kind of man I want, calm, cultured, interested, making an effort, but I also want him to have a little wild side. I need balance and I also need to really fancy him, hospital guy is not at all hot enough to overlook red flags (not that you should do that, but it happens). So another one bites the dust.
Another thing that has happened since I last blogged is that Corey came round for a cup of tea. I actually went to the length of making and sharing my own quote meme warning women not to get zombied (when they reappear from the dead after ghosting) on Halloween and lo and behold, that is exactly the night that Corey reappeared from his moldy grave. Turns out that he lives at the end of the next road from mine. I unblocked him a while ago, and he had been messaging sporadically for a few weeks after noticing that he was unblocked. I messaged him on Halloween weekend, a few days before Halloween, I was out and I was in a drunken stupor. So much so, that when I returned home and couldn’t open my front door I became convinced that someone had broken into my house and changed the locks while I was out. I called my mates for help, I nearly called the Police, but about 10 minutes later I figured out that I was using the wrong key and managed to get in. I messaged him at about 3am, some hey stranger nonsense, and he didn’t reply until the next day. We spoke and established how close we lived and he said he would come over on Tuesday. I didn’t hold my breath but the Halloween zombie vibes must have been strong because he was true to his word.
He looked hot, although I have realised that he is really not very good looking, he is very attractive to me but if you saw him you would probably laugh. I have always fancied him though, but this time there was no mad chemistry. We get on well, we know a lot of the same people so we never run out of things to talk about. We chilled, chatted, and caught up but I didn’t feel a spark, or any urge to jump on him. He was here for a few hours and he left without anything happening. No kissing, except a longish peck on the lips as he was leaving. I just feel pretty MEH about him. There are no feelings, no desires, he was just someone to hang out with. He knows about the page, he doesn’t know the name though, and I told him about the Insta live group chats, he said that he wanted to do an Insta live with me but it was too late to do it by the time we got on to discussing it and so he said he would come over a few days later.
He messaged in the week and it was all arranged for Sunday, but of course, in typical Corey style, he didn’t get in touch for the whole of Sunday. I did an Insta live on the Sunday anyway and he messaged during the show and said ‘Corey is in the house’ but he wasn’t available until later, and it was already late so we rescheduled for the next day. I messaged him in the morning asking if he would be coming. At about 9pm he text me and said ‘I’m going to call you in 10 minutes, just finishing up at work’. Sadly, I think Corey might have fallen into one of his comas because I have not heard from him since. A coma is the only explanation. I wish I could convey to you how little I care. I used to care when Corey pulled these kind of moves, but that was because I actually made plans around him, shaved my legs, expected to see him, now I do not expect to see him, and I am not at all bothered whether I do or not. He doesn’t interest me, his flakiness his off putting, it’s very disrespectful to play with someone’s time like that, but I don’t take it as a disrespect from him anymore, it doesn’t hurt me, I take it as him being a massive weirdo. Which is exactly what he is. A hot weirdo. A hot dog if you like.
Hot dogs are a problematic breed, we know they are shitbags but they are incredibly sexy and that makes us overlook red flags. This week I uncovered the world’s biggest hot dog after posting on Instagram about a guy who I hadn’t spoken to for ages who was snapchatting me at the weekend. He was being very sexually suggestive and I was entertaining it because it was fun, we didn’t meet up but he was trying to. I just knew how I would feel if I had casual sex with him, the snaps were enough to satisfy me. A couple of days later I saw him post a video on Snapchat of him on holiday with a woman who was clearly his girlfriend and so I messaged him to tell him that he was a vile piece of shit. He responded in textbook fuckboy style by telling me that I shouldn’t say things without finding out the facts first and that I was wrong and I needed to mind who I was calling vile. I posted that on Instagram and a woman DM’d me saying that she was having the same problem this week, she asked if it was Joe Johnson (fake name) and lo and behold it was, she had been speaking to him for a year and had recently started seeing him.
So I posted that on Insta and another woman came forward asking if it was Joe Johnson, she had been seeing him a few months ago but he had got in touch over the weekend telling her he missed her. In fact, he used the EXACT same lines on her as he did on me. Then I told my friend who he was and she was in shock because her friend has been seeing him but was recently caught out by his Baby Mother. I was feeling quite overwhelmed by all of this, if I had found out about 5 women he had been involved with, including me and the BM, then how many more must there be?? How can one extremely hot, but also extremely thick, man have such an abundance of women? He snapchats himself doing balloons with his mates, and when he’s not doing that he’s snapchatting himself at the gym, or laying in bed topless, he spells again AGEN, he has a lot of money but no job, and he lives with his Mum. How can so many women overlook all his flaws just because he’s pretty spicy? We need to do better.
Unbelievably TWO more women sent me DM’s asking me if it was Joe Johnson but I didn’t even open the messages. I began to get paranoid that too many people were being given knowledge of my real love life, it would have been easy for one of them to go back to him and he could have fucked everything up for me and so I freaked out a bit and left the messages unread. A lot of women said that I should expose him, but it’s too much mess and drama, and I would prefer to stay low key. That man is a walking case of HIV waiting to happen. He’s an absolute moron, but he’s a really, really sexy moron. The red flags were there from day one for all 3 of us women, we spoke about all the things that should have put us off but didn’t, all because he is extremely hot. A hot dog is tasty when you are eating it but it is so unhealthy and so we need to make better choices when it comes to what we put on our plates. The only reason that I entertained contact with either of those two, Corey and the super jumbo hot dog, is because I find them attractive. It’s as simple as that. If you know he is a hot dog then you must only talk to him if you are not going to develop feelings, you shouldn’t really entertain them at all, but if you do, keep your heart at a distance. They will let you down, they will lie, they won’t change, if you are cool with that and they cannot hurt you then it’s all good, pointless, but all good.
So now you are all caught up, let me tell you about Lawrence, the just post-adolescent. Lawrence and I met on Instagram about 3 years ago. I don’t know how we came across each other’s pages, but we added each other and started mutually liking each other’s pictures, and a DM exchange soon followed. Do I have to describe what he looks like? I’m sure you can guess. He didn’t have a lot of pictures up, mainly pictures of his two sons, but the pictures he did have up depicted a very, very good looking single Dad. I had assumed that he was about my age, which was 33 at the time, so I was surprised when he told me he was 28. A 5 year age gap wouldn’t bother me so I didn’t dwell on the issue. We got on well, had a lot in common, and lived pretty close to each other. He was a really sweet guy and I was very up for meeting him. Our first date went well. We went out to eat and then sat in his car and had a smoke. I was talking about a TV programme called Heart Break High that was really popular when I was in my first year at high school and I was really surprised when he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. The same thing happened when I mentioned this amazing kids programme called Rainbow, with Bungle, Zippy, and George. If you are from the UK and around my age, I would expect you to know about Rainbow. Man like Bungle was a significant part of my childhood.
We talked daily after our first date, then had a second at the pub, and a third date at the cinema, we sat at the back and we kissed a little, and he felt me up a lot. You know what, as I am writing this story I am realising that it’s not actually that interesting, especially as you guys know the punchline already, that he’s 20. I should have saved that bit and been like TA DA at the end. But anyway, I have started so I’ll finish. I liked him, but the same thing kept happening where I would make reference to a film, song, or event in time and he would be completely blank, with no idea about the subject matter. He would also get excited about twitter beef between rappers, and he hadn’t heard of any of the old garage or drum n bass raves that I would talk about. We kissed loads in the car when he dropped me home, he was a good kisser but he was very over excited and he spent a long time touching me over my trousers by rubbing my bikini line, not my vulva or anywhere near my clit, the crease between my leg and my knickers, and he was squeezing my boobs like he was honking horns, it was all quite teenage.
I decided to google him when I got home because I was getting the sense that something was a miss. He used to play football so I found him easily from a local newspaper’s cup day coverage. He was born in 1994. I was born in 1981. I was in my second year of high school when he was born. A 13 year age gap is far too big for my liking. Each to their own, but for me, age is more than just a number. It is an indication of where you are in your life. There are many very mature 20 year olds who have had more life experience than some 80 year olds, but that doesn’t mean that I want to be in a relationship with them. How would it work? I couldn’t invite my group of 30 – 40 year old friends out with his group of 18-21 year olds mates. 20 year olds are at the start of their adulthood, they should be free, running wild, whilst carving out their career, not settling with a woman who has been raving since they were 2 years old and who is ready to settle down.
I confronted him with my findings and he said that he knew I wouldn’t have given him a chance if he had told me his real age, which is true, but it was a dumb thing to do. If I had fallen for him and got into a relationship I would have been really pissed off. Now he wasn’t just too young for me, he was also a liar. Not a good sign. He spent the next few weeks begging me to give him a chance, and he was hot so I enjoyed the attention, but that was that for me. No more chances. A few months later I took my son to tots week at Butlins with my friend and her kids. We went to the pool, and as I was bobbing around in the water I noticed a mixed race guy at the other end of the pool with a child, I couldn’t see much because he was far away and mainly underwater, so I purposely drifted closer, like a creepy seal, as I was doing so the guy got out the water and I saw that he was really fat. I like the look of chubby women but big men are not my bag. I know several women who love a big tonks guy but my preference is on the slim side, and this guy was really over weight. I saw him walk over to a woman and they both got back in the water together with two kids.
Suddenly I realised that it was Lawrence, 20 year old Lawrence was now 200 stone and he was on holiday with his children’s Mother. I could not believe my eyes. He must have spotted me without me realising because when I got back to our chalet that night I had a message from him asking if I wanted to meet up after the kids show. Did I fuck!! He tried to convince me that he and his ex were co-parenting and not in a relationship but there was no way that I was going to be sneaking around behind a woman’s back with a man who could just about be my son (if I had started very young), and who now looked like he had eaten the man that I first started talking to on Instagram. He still sporadically contacts me now asking whether he’s old enough yet. He never will be, and he’ll always be a liar, so no.
I was going to talk about another time when a similar thing happened, but I think I will leave that one for another blog, one marginally interesting story about a 20 year old fuckboy is enough for one day. Before I go though, I would like to speak about the 24 hours of negativity that I experienced yesterday on Instagram. I’ve mentioned before that I have been really happy and surprised by how overwhelmingly positive the reaction is to my blog, Instagram, and Instagram live group chat. In the 9 months since I have been doing it I have received thousands of really positive and amazing messages and comments from both men and women and only a handful of negative comments, 99.9% from men. I can deal with that. I find most of the negative comments mildly entertaining, they really do not bother me. But over a 24 hour period yesterday I had more negative messages and comments than I have had in the whole time since I started put together. Maybe there was something in the air. They did not bother me, but what did bother me was the people who messaged me to tell me that they thought my page had lost what made it great (female empowerment apparently) and that now it was just a man bashing page.
One of them actually said that I need to do more about race equality and less about fuckboys! I just want to clarify that it is not, and it never has been, a man bashing page, quite the opposite in fact. I had a look over my recent posts and they have not changed. My theme has always been the same, this is a blog about dating, men, fuckboys, having faith that there are good men out there, spotting red flags, loving yourself, making better choices, staying woke to the way that women are portrayed online and by men, it’s about being a woman in 2017 and tackling all the shit that life and relationships throw at us. I do not expect everybody to like me, but I expect those people who don’t like me to unfollow me, not try to advise me to change my content to please them. How entitled and self-important do you have to be to think that you have the right to say ‘I don’t like this anymore, you really need to change what you are doing’? I am writing books about Fuckboys, telling me to stop writing about Fuckboys is like e-mailing MAC to tell them they are doing too much make-up. It’s ridiculous. If you do not get it then go away. If you do, then stay around and keep getting involved with it all. I learn just as much from you guys as you do from me.
The passive aggressive commenter mentioned that they think I am angry, miserable, and really hurt. That baffles me because that could not be further from the truth. I started writing this blog because I reached a point of high self-love, strength, and having absolutely no stored up feelings of anger or resentment against any ex. It makes dating a lot easier because I don’t internalise everything, I don’t feel like there is something wrong with me because I keep meeting shit men, and I don’t let meeting lots of shit men make me hate all men, I am trying to teach that to other women. I talk about a lot of different fuckboy scenarios in my captions but they don’t actually relate directly to my life. Some of them have never even happened to me, they are just examples of fuckboy behaviour. I don’t sit around constantly thinking about, and obsessing over, fuckboys, I lead a very happy and normal life, I am just simply writing about fuckboys because I have a talent for it, knowledge on it, and there is a market for it. I cannot allow the opinions of a few people to throw me off track. You have to become quite tunnel visioned when you do something like this, you have to believe in it so strongly that random opinions don’t unduly influence you. So yeah, if you ever feel like giving me ‘constructive criticism’ then have a good think first, because the chances are that I am just going to think that you are a narcissistic, disempowering weirdo, and I will probably block you, unless you’re hot………