Sorry for my absence, I have been really busy. By that I mean I got Netflix, Neon and Lightbox, ate a lot of food and have all of these extra curricular activities like ‘dog agility’, ‘pilates’ and ‘belly dancing. I’m so sorry that it’s been six months since I’ve posted. I…just…struggle with the concept of asking people to read what I write, when I get around to writing it. This draft has just been loitering for the last six months like a frequent flier on Tinder (like Geoff – ladies in Wellington, if ya feel me).
The options were very limited, but I was determined/slightly desperate with five final dates to go before I put it to bed (with every single Tinder date in it – boom). Before I rustled up my date with the Paraplegic Philosophical Sailor, I also hustled this country boy in Mount Maunganui for a back to back date, something I had not undertaken since Date #12 and #13. Unless I planned to make various stops in Putararu, Levin or Foxton the following day, I would be unable to date on the drive back down to Wellington.
Date #25 had a big bushy ginger beard and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. On Tinder, he wrote in perfect English, was pleasant and didn’t ask me to have sex with him within two minutes. Naturally he surpassed all expectations. He also reminded me of Lionel off Shortland Street, or Sparky off Outrageous Fortune, with his impressive ginger beard that covered almost half his face.
During my date with the philosophical sailor, I was desperately not trying to be rude and text another guy during our time together – an all-time low. I made an excuse that I was off to meet some friends (given I know no one in the area who isn’t a blood relation) before driving to my next date. It was impossible to be organised so I drip-fed short messages to him during the date with the sailor before inundating him afterwards insisting that I’ll pick him up in 15 minutes and drop him off later. In hindsight, I must have seemed like a massive creep and he should never have agreed to meet me.
He was at his house with his flatmates, having drinks on a Saturday night when I picked him up. This was the second time I had arranged for a guy to meet me whilst I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my Holden Barina.
I am really uneducated when it comes to dating in Mount Maunganui so was unsure how I felt about Date #25’s choice of attire to go to a cocktail bar: a brown Grandpa jersey that was well-loved and pants that weren’t from Area 51. He had the hipster beard to go with his authentic hipster outfit but as opposed to hipsters in Wellington with their beard-oil and Ralph Lauren Polo to mask the smell of their damp flat in Aro Valley, this guy smelt like cooking and homeliness (not to be confused with homelessness).
Date #25 was genuine, seemed a little introverted and suspicious of my intermittent Tindering. I talked incredibly fast, explained my challenge and zoomed to get to the ‘town’ area of the Mount from his residence (which took like 3 and half minutes going 50km an hour… provinces!). I parallel parked the Barina like a boss before my Date suggested we go to the only date-like place in the Mount that didn’t have a Hamilton bar vibe.
We ended up at this place called Vaudeville. If you’re ever in the area – I would recommend it. I had a great drink and they had some swagger Jazz music. This is where the non-existent hipsters of Tauranga would go, if they had any in the first place. On that note, I hope they haven’t gone out of business…
Because I am a strong independent woman, I paid for the drinks. It was clear this date was a one-time thing and I’m not one to lead any one on*. Date #25 nice to a fault, which led to very little material for this blog. My favourite thing he said about himself, was that he was ugly underneath the beard. I wanted to reassure him that I’m sure he looked great underneath all that stubble, but all I could do was remember Lionel from Shortland Street.
After about 20 minutes of conversation I found out what people in provincial areas (read: not a city) do for a living (he works for a Greenhouse company doing technical stuff that my basic bitch mind could not comprehend) and what people in provincial areas do on weekends – they go to one pub and spend all night there. Date #25 was super nice and invited me to meet his entire Facebook friend list at said one pub and I hung around for an extra five minutes with them to be polite but ultimately felt like it wasn’t a good use of my time given I had to drive down to Wellington the next day.
Date #25 gave me a bushy peck on the cheek and a hug with his grandpa jersey before I went home to google whether Tauranga was an actual city.
Before I get into the real reason why you’re here which is to read about my dating life, I just wanted to clarify for the millionth that this blog wasn’t intended to go viral and I don’t want to feel guilty for not posting but then obviously want to explain it to the 500-1ooo people a day who visit my blog the reasons behind my recent radio silence (Hi! Nice to meet you!). For those who don’t know me in real life, you wouldn’t know that one of these guys I have already written about has since passed away. He was one of the best ones. He referred to me to someone as the “best kind of crazy”, was hugely supportive of the blog and I have the bestest and fondest thoughts of him with me always and am so pleased that I got to experience his crazy, beautiful self with a few pashes in between. Needless to say, it wasn’t the infamous crotch-grabber. I don’t really have much more to say on the matter as I don’t want to take away from the glorious guy I met below but I personally feel a lot more comfortable having acknowledged it on the blog without pretending like it never happened.
And so.. we continue!
The day after I met the lawyer, fate (by that I mean my mother’s predisposition for birthing small humans) saw my sister and I driving up to Papamoa for my little brother’s birthday. I was a week and a half away from finishing 30DaysofTinder when I had to interrupt my dating schedule of brunch, beards and hipsters to visit …the Bay of Plenty.
This was seen as labour intensive and a chore initially (Sorry Mum!). I had to make small talk after a seven hour drive with numerous guys by being adorable and flirty, all whilst securing a date or two within a 48 hour period. Believe me, the pool was extremely murky and it was a foreign land full of baggy pants, Waikato Draught and a lot of “hwa u”. I almost missed hipsters and ginger beards after three conversations with various Humans of Tauranga that went a little something like this.
Fun Tinder story: A year prior when I was in the Bay of Plenty, I was panicking and calling emergency medical clinics in Tauranga for an appointment after a Tinder boy in Wellington called to tell me that he thought that I had given him the clap, even though we had always used protection and hadn’t had sex in months.
Naturally, I confided in a doctor on Tinder (or at least, someone who claimed to be) who was rather relaxed about my possible diagnosis. After four days under some serious stress, sans clap, I was relieved of such accusations. Tinder-boy with assumed clap didn’t actually have the clap and we never slept together again. It killed the mood. Forever.
Anyway, flashback to me lying in bed at my parent’s house swiping right late in the evening due to my short time-frame and low-key desperation. Being the second-favourite sister meant that I had the privacy to get an actual bed in a room all by myself and not a bottom bunk in a room shared with an eight year old (Shame favourite sister!).
I had a birthday party to attend on the Saturday where I got told off by the supervisor for riding the children’s toy cars and zooming around on the toy motorcycle fit for four-year olds. During this, I was in two minds about the whole dating-lyf in The Bay of Plenty thing and struggled to explain the whole concept to my Mum who understood my pain of trying to meet someone up here.
I was unsure of coming off too forward to these Humans of Tauranga as I was only in the region for one night which could possibly lead to some assumptions.
I didn’t want to be a snobby hipster Wellingtonian but babes, believe me it was pretty fucking bleak when it came swiping in the Bay. So many unknown hand gesture signs in photos with confused (or perhaps constipated) facial expressions to score da babes.
I swiped across this guy who had written a paragraph to describe himself with some great, purposely chosen photos of various stages of life demonstrating travel, employment, friendship and random ‘questionable’ ones for enquiring about. I love it when people have photographic evidence of friendship on Tinder, it gives us hope.
Date #24 was a sailor, a writer and a philosopher. There was no way this guy was from Tauranga. I was almost questioning why anyone would be free to meet me on a Saturday night, as I’m never ultimately going to be a good choice for anyone wanting to meet or date me at short notice. I regularly get too drunk given the opportunity and never put out before drunkenly demanding Burger King and falling asleep immediately after eating said Creamy Mayo Cheeseburger and talking/slurring up a huge game of how I was going to rock your world.
Date #24 had a boat, that he sailed and lived on (in?). Because we were in Tauranga I was realistic about what kind of boat he probably had.
His boat was somewhere in between. Date #24 and I agreed to meet up at the dock at 8.30pm on a Saturday night. I decided to not take my guard dog Richie in case it scared my date and he was much happier snuggling up to my Mum who was at home watching/sleeping through Bridget Jones Edge of Reason.
As I was driving to the dock, I started to have very real fears about my safety despite telling my Mum where I was going (“Going to meet a stranger who owns a boat! BYE”) possibly because it was dark and I was heading towards a dock to my impending doom. I felt like I was really overcommitting myself this whole dating concept for my friends and families enjoyment.
Thankfully, Date #24 seemed relatively normal and wheeled towards me with long curly hair, the most impressive beard and ultimately looked like handsome Jesus in a wheelchair. So saintly. He also had an accent, this beautiful brazillian one where he said said ‘darling’ and ‘yes darling’ at the end of every sentence. If I wasn’t so overwhelmed with the situation, I would have been very taken, very quickly with his humble swag. I’ve never felt so basic after talking to someone after five minutes like I did with this guy. He was in his mid 30’s but you’d be forgiven for thinking he was mid 40’s due to how much life he had condensed into his. He was a trained sky diving instructor based in Queenstown for years before his accident. He switched himself and his passenger at the last second to ensure the safety of the other guy who had a young baby and his wife watching him. He broke his back, is now in a wheelchair and is the first paraplegic to sail across the Pacific Ocean. I think.
This guy had serious swagger and ultimate game. After about 20 minutes of our stroll across the dock, I felt like he was literally too old for me and was telling me the tales of his youth. I was almost disappointed in myself that I wasn’t the adorable girl he swiped right on. I mean, I’ve kinda travelled, I have a good job and a cute dog but after speaking to him I felt like I had the most sub-par life. He dated an FHM model back in the states for fucks sake.
It got to the point where I silently started to compare him to my Grandpa because he was worldly, wise and kinda starting to lecture me (he’s also writing a book on Philosophy amongst being super swag and sailing everywhere). I ultimately just couldn’t deal anymore. I adored talking to him but in the same way I liked talking to my Grandpa (in small doses, twice a year)
I made up some adorable excuse about meeting a friend (another Tinder date) in Mt Maunganui and we had this peck on the cheek where I had to bend down – stoked.
Edit: Usually, I don’t like to discuss the post-dates but in this case I met up with Date#24 again for a drink when he was down in Wellington. He kind of started to allude whether something more was going to happen (which I didn’t think we were ‘there’ yet/not at all) and said that girls who don’t put out after two dates are insecure with themselves.
Mum, I talk about small penises in this blog, don’t read it!
I wanted to write about this before I talk about the date with the guy in a wheelchair (also known as Date #24). The reason why is because no one explained to me what a “fuckboy” is and no one ever seems to want to talk about Girl Politics: How to deal with your ex’s ex unless you’re drunk and talking to your friends from high school about it. My Mum was relatively liberal about explaining safe sex, teenage drinking and talking me out of dating homeless guys (“Just remember , the guys you want to be with aren’t doing nothing and hanging on the streets, they’re out doing stuff… which is why you’re single. You haven’t met them yet!”) and never taught me how to deal with girls who have been out with your boyfriend in the past, online dating and this new term “fuckboys” which honestly, I still don’t understand the concept of.
The inspiration for this blog came from standing in line behind this girl at Farmers who was the ex-girlfriend of a guy I ‘kind of’ messed around with dated from over a year ago. Like the self-obsessed person I am, I wondered whether she knew who I was. I knew who she was courtesy of Facebook stalking and this guy was quite horrible about her when he reflected on their relationship (which is super crass). I remember I had to call him on this once for being so awful and derogatory about her. This didn’t affect my opinion of her because when you badmouth another person it says more about you than it does about them (Thanks for that one too Mum!). This guy didn’t exactly live up to the big expectation he unnecessarily created for himself during our brief, but relatively glorious fling and I was sure her and I could bond over this small fact we both knew about. (Sorry Mum!)
When it comes to relationships, flings and the things in between, there are pros and cons to being young and naive vs. being older and wiser. It was literally the best time ever pashing guys when I was 16. I had this boyfriend who I had met on the train going to school who after 6 months cheated on me and pashed another girl, so I pashed another guy to even things out. I think we went to the movies once and we used to hang out at my Mum’s house two or three times a week for six months and he’d watch me eat my dinner. He made the crucial mistake of telling my Mum that he wasn’t a fan of avocado and needless to say, regardless of who cheated on who first – that’s the crux of the reason why it never worked out.
I mean, this story is of course unrelated to my entire blog, I just wanted to share how life was glorious and innocent before I used the internet to source my love life and run the very real risk of becoming vag-in-laws with my friends unknowingly.
Like, case in point – a few weeks ago I was Facebook stalking an ex of mine that I had met on Tinder (way before 30DaysofTinder) and he had gone up and done the Tongariro Crossing with this girl. Naturally, I facebook stalked the shit out of her and found out that she had also done date-like adventures in Wellington with Date #2 and Date #3 and documented it on the internet. What are the odds of that? I mean, of course it’s entirely possible she didn’t have sex with any of them and it’s not like I’m commiserating when it’s clear it didn’t work out with any of them but ugh, small world.
I guess this is the part when I need to make it very clear that I’m not jealous of other girls or guys getting into people I have. With the natural exception of the six month – one year grace period you’re allowed to reserve for long term relationships and heartbreak, I’m blissfully under the impression that these girls who get with the same guys I have would actually make really good friends. We could laugh and joke about how awkward it is and I could give them actual useful advice other than “He’s a fuckboy, you deserve better” and it’s not like I’m going back there for more so I’m a better friend than anyone really!
When you’re young and I suppose, slightly more insecure about yourself it is easier to hate the ex’s of the people you date as opposed to understanding the very real possibility you’re not the first person in their life. Social Media has made us experts in stalking each other through so many platforms and the invention of selfies have allowed us to filter ourselves to portray us as the mini-Beyonce’s we all clearly are.
One time when I was going out with a guy at a party, his ex-girlfriend was there too since she was friends with his friends. Because I’m fairly easy going with a tendency to get inappropriately drunk and not understand the social situation I’m in, her and I ended up hanging out. After that I realised that she was extremely awesome, hilarious and just as pretty as my Facebook stalking had concluded. Her and the guy I was dating broke up about a year before we started going out, but they had been together for a long time. I came to the realisation that these girls who go out with the same guys as I have must have some sort of common ground with me. Well, in this case I hoped so because this girl was better than me in almost every single way. Side note: I understand that people have crazy ex’s and I’ve probably been really lucky/unlucky where I’m the crazy bitch ex that people refer too.
In relation to Tinder, dating becomes harder when you’re swiping a pool of people based on location and in some cases, the pool water becomes murky very quickly when you find your ex boyfriends, previous tinder conquests and Facebook acquaintances every ten or so swipes.
The term “fuckboy” was first introduced to me by my flatmate who used it to describe a guy she had sex with from Tinder who had this amazing body and clearly worked out all the time but lasted little over two minutes and even managed to slip off the condom during their brief encounter. Needless to say, she was massively disappointed.
This concept still confuses me because apparently it is used to describe a guy who is only good for a fuck and nothing else. Urban Dictionary have some more elaborate definitions probably written by some hella-scorned women but to sum it up – it’s used to describe the guys who don’t want relationships with you for whatever reason therefore: They’re “fuckboys.” Back in my day (last year) I just assumed they were babes when I was drunk and daworst when I was sober. Do people go back for more with these fuckboys?
To conclude this very unrelated blog post, I’m not trying to open myself up to friendship with every single girl that every single guy that I’ve been has also been with (but I want this to happen. I want a vag-in-law party and you’re all invited!!) I just wanted to share my theory about being best friends with your boyfriends ex’s and educate myself and my Mum (if she read this far) on what a fuckboy is.
Apologies for the delay in uploading. I thought that I would take a break to prevent myself from selling out or writing weak content because some people on the internet were offended at the idea of a girl going on 30 dates in 30 days. Crazier shit has happened in the world but hey, if a girl shows confidence, boredom and a desire to go on dates then she is a self-obsessed slut.
Anyway, I’m back and I’m a little sassy. Just like when I met Date #23.
I was quite enthused about this guy. He was a lawyer visiting from Christchurch, (something I found out after a few on and off messages) and he had flown up here for a case. One out of two of his Tinder pictures was a head shot that he clearly took off his work’s website from a crappy phone because it was distinctly low-res. I feel like there is something concerning about anyone with two Tinder pictures. They’re either lazy, non photogenic, a scam, or they’re incapable of uploading pictures to Tinder. None of which are compelling or endearing.
I must admit, I was intrigued to meet him. He was staying in a fancy ass hotel (of which Wellington has like, two,) and working long hours that weren’t compatible with my schedule. I decided to put some effort in and work around him more than I had with previous dates because his chat was quick, to the point and interesting. We were having paragraph-long conversations with sly flirtatious banter which was enough to mask the whole him-being-a-lawyer-thing.
Let me clear this up really quickly: I am in no way against lawyers. I mean, good for them for loving da law and I’ll almost certainly need one in case I get sued, divorced or taken to court for indecent exposure (any of which might happen at some point). I think it’s because I’ve been to enough social events with law students with my best friend (who is now a lawyer) to collectively write them off as potential luvvers.
I would turn up to these events, relatively drunk and they would try and have serious conversations with me which would just force me to drink more as they asked questions about what I planned to do after graduating (with my Bachelor of Arts with a Major in getting hammered).
I mean, sorry to offend all the male lawyers that don’t read this blog, but when you were students, you guys were unnecessarily cocky. It was so unwarranted and I was just trying to have a good night at these events as a sassy gal in her early 20’s who liked tequila and table dancing. Young Professionals (Yo-Pros: “yah-prahs”) can be so obsessed with making sure that it sounds like they’re killing it in their early 20’s with their fabulous jobs, and hiding the fact that they’re barely over minimum wage.
Anyway, luckily for me – this lawyer was in his 30’s with great grammar, a full set of hair and hopefully spent his time doing grown up things that didn’t include getting drunk at Ponderosa with young pretty girls who are too drunk to see their bald spots.
He was at Court all day on the day we were supposed to meet and said he was going to let me know whether or not he could make it since it was possible it was going to run late. I had a back up plan in case I was ditched- go to after work drinks at an actual official Young Professional network where people drink and talk about how successful they are with their current ventures, while getting the House Red and adding it to their student loan debt.
Date #23 gave me about an hour to text my friends to tell them I wasn’t going to make it to the baby wanker Yo-Pro event so i suggested to Date #23 that we meet at Dockside, not Foxglove, where the baby Yo-Pro event was being held to avoid confrontation.
For fear of being the first one there, I timed my trip accordingly so that I was only five minutes late to meet the guy who probably earned my yearly wage in a month. From our brief but relatively captivating conversation, it didn’t seem like he was all that bothered to meet anyone off Tinder given his intense schedule and therefore he wouldn’t be too impressed if I was more than 15 minutes late. Also, maybe I was wanting to make a good impression! Maybe.
He told me he needed to go back to his hotel after Court to shower and change before we met.
I had not afforded him the same courtesy … I’d just finished work after eight, long, hard hours of sitting at my computer being young and professional.
This guy smelt great and looked great and the only effort I had made was putting on perfume and red lipstick.
He was sitting outside Dockside waiting for me where he had a drink (seriously, I was only five minutes late! Lawyers) and when I ordered my G&T, Date #23 waved away my wallet when I went to pay. Suave.
Conversation was as you would imagine it to be with someone who was clearly successful, but he gave off the impression that he was the type who never went to these Yo-Pro events; he spent his time at work not socializing with the outside world and working his butt off for seven years of minimum wage before BAM paying off his loan and buying an apartment.
His work was definitely his life but he had other redeeming qualities, like his family and sports that he played on the weekends and not watched on the TV .
Do all lawyers end up like this?
After about 15 minutes with Date #23 I started noticing all these Yo-Pros I knew by association filtering into Dockside. (What? I thought it was being held at Foxglove?). Too many people started saying ‘hi’ to me – and all five of those people remembered I’d worked at the trashiest bar in Wellington – leading my date to make a slightly awkward joke that I was famous.These kids were everywhere!!
The weather dropped and Date #23 suggested we go inside and have a second drink. The night was going well and he was still smelling good. We went inside where it was overly busy and the Yo-Pro event was being held out the back. A good friend came up (which I have to say, in case he reads this,) who knew about my excessive dating habits, and he introduced himself to my date like the good networker he is. I got the impression that Date #23 was trying to figure out whether I was good enough to go on a second date with, since he began asking me the most thought-provoking questions I’ve ever had to endure in my entire life – and I took a philosophy paper once in third year.
I failed it. I’m so basic.
For fear of this guy re-using these questions on every other girl he dates, (a likely case,) I won’t repeat them. Some of them were normal, like who would you invite to dinner out of anyone, living, famous or dead etc. I said my Opa, who I’d never met and my Dad, because I’ve never seen them together. I must have thrown in Britney Spears in there for good measure and to make the whole hypothetical dinner situation awkward if it was 2007 Britney. Regardless, it made me sound like I was super into my family, super humble and not too obsessed with celebrity. Date #23 then asked if I’d like another drink. It was like a prize for not sounding stupid.
We continued with the thought-provoking questions for another drink, but as it was nearing 8pm, it was getting late and I was getting hangry. Hanger isn’t something I ever try and show people I barely know, so I always just make up excuses to justify leaving that doesn’t end in: “this situation has outlived the are-we-getting-dinner question, so I’ve gotta go”.
Regardless, the night was kinda ending and I was too lazy to walk to my car in the rain “I wouldn’t get there in time!“(even though I paid for all-day at 8am in the morning) so I got an Uber 1km up the road. Best $5.30 of my life!
Date #23 walked me to my Uber, held the door and kissed my cheek before walking into the rain. He insisted he was going to walk back to his fancy ass hotel, in this ridiculous rain even though I offered to drop him off in my Uber.
Lawyers! Why so cheap? Did my three drinks reaaaaallly set you back?
As Date #23 lived in Christchurch and was leaving the next day, it was unlikely a second date was on the cards anytime soon. We continued to text and snapchat for a while until he started sending me half naked snapchats.
Have you ever met Tintin in real life? Well, I think have. With the exception that he was bearded and didn’t have a dog.
Other than that, here’s the image I’ll leave with you with so that you can picture Date #22 as you read:
[Edit: I mean the blonde Tintin, not the ginger one as it seems like there are two.]
I swiped him knowing that I recognized him, but I decided to skip pretending like I actually knew him since we had never talked, I’d just Facebook stalked him (I do that quite a lot, actually – pretend I’ve only just met someone when really, I’ve Facebook stalked the shit out of them). I had seen him before, sitting down working hard at a co-working space where we were both based. From a distance he looked inoffensive, shy and the blonde beard gave him a bit of street cred. Yes, another bearded young professional in Wellington.
I believe he made the first move, I can’t actually recall, and since editing this blog he has deleted his Tinder profile and re-joined a few times. Typical bearded men who overthink their Tinder presence…
He had pretty good chat through Tinder, though I had built up this image in my head that he would be extremely awkward and shy in real life. His photos depicted a very blonde, very bearded big kid with blue eyes and a baby face. He wore a lot of checked shirts in various colours according to his Tinder profile. Another classic lumberjack look alike, AKA Date #13. So Hipster. So Wellington.
After some above average yet still mediocre chat, we agreed to meet for coffee at Stories on Cuba Street. I was running strangely early for my coffee with the blonde-bearded hipster and decided to go and check out more Coachella-themed stationary at Typo to kill some time. I spent about twelve minutes in a store that was hardly bigger than 3 meters wide on either side. I’m embarrassed at how often I’ve mentioned a shop that I haven’t actually spent money in. People must assume I just loiter in Typo in between all my Tinder dates. Which as it turns out isn’t far from the truth.
We arranged to meet during the morning coffee time frame and I made up some excuse at work about meeting a friend early for coffee as a way of taking an early lunch break. Although my dating exploits were hardly a secret to my colleagues (with my casual slutty work attire and the pash rash,) I didn’t want to admit every day that I was meeting a stranger for my caffeine fix.
On this particular occasion, it was a cold morning and my frequent Tinder dating meant that my care factor for how I looked was decreasing at a rapid pace. On this momentous occasion, I thought it was an excellent idea to wear black ponte pants courtesy of the Gla’sons with some brogues I had picked up from Hush Puppies. Not the sexy comfortable footwear that is made fashionable by Taylor Swift or the Kardashians, I’m talking about these bad boys with straight black pants:
It looked terrible, but I didn’t care, and it wasn’t like checked shirts were making me feel intimidated.
Date #22 was on time and weirdly enough, we were communicating solely through Tinder. Usually I try and upgrade to personal texting devices as soon as possible as a way of storing my conversations for dis blog, but I had clearly dropped the ball this time. He was waiting for me, on the street, in the cold, unaware that I was purposely avoiding him so that I wasn’t the one waiting on Cuba Street like a weirdo. He offered to get me a hot beverage before I had even got there. 10 points to Gryffindor! Take note, Date #7.
He was shorter in real life than I had anticipated. Maybe I imagined this blonde hair, blue eyed guy to be Nordic in all aspects, but he fell short of expectations. We had a few mutual friends according to my Facebook stalk. This stalk also revealed that this guy is/was/formerly engaged within the last six months.
Call me crazy, but this merely intrigued me. One of our mutual friends also told me that he was a left-wing self-righteous twat but this didn’t really set me back either, just made me more excited to meet him. As the icing on the cake, I later found out that a previous conquest of mine told Date #22 that he had dodged a bullet which I found a) so fucking rude and b) so fucking accurate.
What do you even mean “dodging a bullet”?
Date #22/Tintin talked fast and immediately gave off this non-flirty vibe. I think that was his style. It was as though I was immediately friends zoned, or I was having sex with his brother and he was trying to suss me out to see if I was worthy of his bro while politely tolerating me at the same time.
I don’t expect my dates to be drool and crotch-grabbing, but I enjoy a false sense of security when I’m on a date and am constantly reassured every three or four seconds about how great I am.
During our caffeine fix I found out three things about him.
He was engaged VERY recently. I was totally a rebound Tinder date.
He was previously a journalist and worked in media. This pissed me off. He was definitely going to be a better writer than my uneducated, barely comprehensible self and he was going to judge anything I wrote.
He was smoother than I expected. By that, I mean he had a quick wit and talked fast. I liked that about him.
From first impressions, I thought Date #22 would be quiet and unassuming (read: boring loser) but he was a lot more put together than my Tindersumptions had led me to believe. I didn’t expect this and after 21 dates, you would think I’d have it sussed.
There wasn’t much disagreement between (from my perspective!) but I felt like his body-language and chat had friend-zoned me before I could even bring out my adorable-slutty charm on. That, or he took my previous conquest’s advice seriously. Regardless, I wasn’t too gutted.
My free coffee finished after we walked around Cuba Street making small talk about everything and nothing, therefore my time for him expired and I had to get back to work. He invited me later to attend a work event with him later on that night (my adorable slutty charm must have worked) but alas, I had another Tinder date lined up.
Edit: I had written this blog thinking I was so clever for referring to him as TinTin. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one who thought he looked like TinTin. Go figure.
This was such a hard entry to start writing since I want to make it very clear that going on a date with a girl was not a token effort for this blog.
I have always been open-minded and if I could be satisfied that people weren’t going to misinterpret this, I’d leave it at that and keep writing. The thing is though, people are dicks and misread things. Even though I’m all about over sharing; it’s nice to be on a platform where it’s all on my terms.
So to clarify: I am probably straight. I can’t categorize my preferences any other way as I feel like it’s not fair to people who are genuinely bisexual or bi-curious if I claim to be something that I am probably not. Not that it matters, but can I sum up my sexual preferences with the analogy below (that I like to think I made up):
“I eat a lot of curry and sometimes, every once in a while I like to get a vegetarian curry. If I eat a vegetarian curry, it doesn’t mean I’m a vegetarian, it just means I like vegetarian curry.”
So that’s how I like to describe my sexual preferences. I’d also like to bring in a quote from my favourite girl Mindy Kaling: “I hate it when people say ‘girl crush’. No one is going to think you’re a lesbian if you just say ‘crush’.”
So basically, I’m just normal, open minded person. Obviously I think that love is love and I change my Facebook picture to be colourful as a reflection of this (and as a token effort), but I don’t want use my sexuality as some sort of defining point. I’m a fun person to play ‘Never have I ever’ with, but otherwise I like to leave it at that. 😉
I love swiping on girls on Tinder. Unlike guys, they’re so much better at uploading nice photos of themselves, with good angles and appropriate facial expressions (and the occasional duck face). Girls have this natural gift for being able to tell which photos best show off their derriere, whereas guys are mostly too stupid or lazy to change from their default profile pictures. Like, we know that you’re not Steve Hanson or Richie McCaw holding a World Cup or a weird meme that no one gets, so why you upload it as your profile picture on Facebook and Tinder? No one will swipe you and you will be forever alone. Some free advice.
Needless to say, Date #21 had the best Tinder profile that I have ever matched, and was the best looking date I have ever been out with. She had a sassy bio with six photos showing various hair colours, close ups, long angle shots displaying her nice figure and only one selfie. Perfecto.
There was a bit of back story with her as well. I don’t know if I explained this to her very well at the time since I was actually really nervous, but I recognized her from a few years back when we were both in a bar. I was with my boyfriend at the time and drunkenly told him how attractive I thought she was. He encouraged me to confront her (like the supportive boyfriend he was) and to invite her to back to ours (like the very supportive boyfriend he was) and I remember drunkenly slurring at the time that “I didn’t want to share!” and that was the end of that. Then we stopped going to that particular bar since I got elbowed in the nose after my nose was only recently broken. Woe is me.
I also didn’t admit this to her, but I had Facebook stalked the shit out of her after that night and there was something about her which was different than the crush I have on Taylor Swift. I found this girl really endearing.
Luckily for me and unlucky for my now ex-boyfriend, she recognized me from that bar, that night too. When we matched on Tinder and she talked to me first, I was totally stoked.
When she said that she remembered me, I admitted that when I’d first met her, I’d had this wild crush on her. She was so sassy and said: “What shall we do about this? I’d love to meet you”.
We chatted a little bit and then she gave me her number without my prompting. She was so much better at this than me and – unlike the communication I was exchanging with useless dudes – I was interested in what she was saying.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I was so excited that when I sent her a text and she didn’t respond I messaged her on Tinder saying ,“Hey I texted you, I haven’t heard back?”.
She definitely knew how to be cooler than me, that was for sure. Not that its hard to be cooler than me.
We agreed to meet for wines on Monday at 5.30pm and she suggested the General Practitioner, which was great since I hadn’t really been there much (and certainly not within the last 30 days) and it was within perfect walking distance for both of us.
Unlike the minimal effort I like to put in for my usual dates, I decided to actually be there on time. I even topped up my foundation and lipstick as girls tend notice these things, boys don’t. Whilst I was waiting for my ‘crush’, Date#18 happened to walk past. We hugged and he told me I looked great and I said I was meeting a ‘friend’ for a wine. Obviously he wouldn’t have assumed it was a date if he saw that I was with a girl, but he most certainly would have assumed it was one if I was having a wine with a guy. We lied to each other saying we should catch up soon, before he went the opposite way.
Then Date #21 showed up and she was adorably apologetic as she had just finished work. Man she was so much better than me at everything, including being late. She was as gorgeous as I drunkenly remembered just with darker features and we went off inside.
As it was my idea to meet up, I bought her a wine. I think we got chips too, I can’t remember. She nailed this wild and free vibe with this driven and determined attitude. We sort of got our sexuality out of the way and I fessed up that this was my first girl date. She defined herself more as bisexual but had recently got out of a relationship with a guy. Even though she was three or so years younger than me, she struck me as mature for her age. I was so intrigued by her background and was just so interested in whatever she was saying. It was bizarre. I never usually care that much but there was something about her, or the situation we were in where I seemed to hang onto her every word. It was getting cold and I had to cook dinner for my flatmates, but before we finished our second wine, she wanted to go out onto the balcony to have a smoke.
Even her smoking was attractive, despite the fact I find smoking rather repulsive. She looked like bad Sandy with her brows on fleek and giggling away.
It was so nice leaving that date, as we could finish the date like old gal pals whereas with some guys you don’t know there’s this element of awkwardness. You don’t know whether they’re going in for a kiss on the cheek, the pash, the handshake or the bump n grind. I could have had a ferocious pash like Date #10 or a crotch-grab like Date whichever that one was, I was just pleased to have finally met her.
Don’t tell my most recent ex-boyfriend this, but I met a better version of him with Date #20. After the horrific experience of Date #19 (Don’t lie Melissa, you loved it!) I decided I needed to cut weirdos if they said anything offensive, stupid or creepy and not to meet anyone who looked suspiciously tiny. My Tinder prospects immediately dwindled.
Enter Date #20. I have zero recollection of actually swiping on him but since I was notified at some point on Sunday that I had a match, I guess we had done so during one of my mindless swipe sessions.
Date #20 went for the bold first move and said “Hi Melissa, how’s life going?”. His Tinder profile made me think that he looked like my most recent ex (which wasn’t disastrous, just a solid meh of 10,) with the exception that he was Canadian.
AND REMEMBER HOW MUCH I LOVE CANADIANS?!
Since I love Canadians and hate chatting on Tinder, my first reply was: “Good. Would you like to go for a coffee or a drink now?”. He seemed a little taken aback by me coming on to him at 5.30pm on a Sunday evening and said “Just please don’t be an axe murderer, that would be the fastest request to meet on Tinder.. so yes”.
S u c k e r.
I assured him that I would leave my axe at home before proposing we grab a hot drink and walk along Oriental Parade (so that I could take my dog for a walk… I was becoming really resourceful with these Tinder dates!).
I insisted that I pick him up in the Barina in 20 minutes, before asking what sort of drink he would like. He said he wanted something good for recovery, so I chose some sort of fruit juice to ease his hangover.
After I initially messaged him at 5.26pm, he was sitting in my car by 6.43pm. Now that’s what I call efficient! (And potentially desperate).
Date #20 was quite similar to my ex on quite a few fronts. He was a little shy, rather lovely and seemed like the kind of sensitive soul who would find love at the end of a movie but whose scenes would end up on the cutting room floor, so no one ever found out.
I learnt that he worked in I.T and was here on a working holiday, just like my previous lover. It was nice that he had travelled, it meant we had a little more to talk about than basic bitch topics. We tried to find our common interests, and at this point there wasn’t a lot to go off.
Things got interesting when I found out he wrote poetry. I take back what I said about finding love at the end of the movie which no one cared about, this guy was smooth. He was real. I like the idea of a man who can express his feelings in more ways than the post-coital chat.
He was sweet and genuine, I’ll give him that. I don’t think our spark went off because I was talking too much about myself to make the time go by. After our moonlit walk along Oriental Parade which was a cute setting for any first date – until Richie went for a wee poo – we walked back to the Barina and I must have driven him home. I was busting to pee by this stage and could barely string sentences together.
He messaged me at 7.47pm to thank me for the spontaneous weekend. I said that it was so lovely meeting him as well and then never met up with him again. Although he did suggest it four more times after that.
During my month of swiping, I matched with a guy who often used to upload selfies which hinted at a six-pack to his Tinder Moment, along with pictures of his fancy looking red car. I made the choice to give him my number early on in the Tinder game based on the prospect of excellent ab selfies. I could only imagine how the conversation would go.
He messaged me the day I got Tinder. He sent me five messages in a row before saying “Ok I will stop boring you. All the best to you”.
Stage Five Clinger alert! God forbid I’m allowed to be too fucking busy to respond to a complete stranger on a phone app. I replied saying that I had been at work quite early (true) and that I go to sleep quite early (massive lie) as an excuse for not responding. He was somewhat happy with this response and sent me two emoticons in the next message telling me how cute I was. The conversation continued on a five to one message ratio, with him telling me that I was ‘so beautiful’ and ‘also you like dogs’ (clearly, that’s secondary to being ‘so beautiful’).
I asked him vaguely if he would like to meet for coffee, so that I could rip off the band aid and get this date over with. He then bombarded me with messages, saying that he was free at 4.30, whether that was okay, what I thought about this, sending a singular question mark, then telling me that “he would really like to understand what’s in my mind and that it is so rude of me.”
Looking back on this crazy exchange, I was clearly too focused on this 30 day challenge to stop and cut my losses. I felt like if I had invested my cellphone number and a small portion of my time, I had to at least try and make amends. I faked an apology and he asked me to respond to his texts in a timely manner, since the two hour lag between my texts was simply too much for him.
That week we texted on and off:
Date #19: “Do you have any time to meet me this week?”
Me: “When do you want to meet?”
Date #19: “Saturday will be great. But I’m scared whether you will reply to me on Saturday :(”
Me: “What do you want to do?”
Date#19: “Movie or dinner? Really want something quiet.”
Me: “Dinner would be good.” [Sidenote: I hate movies on the first date].
Date #19: “Cool! I can’t believe it but am looking forward to that.”
Me: “Give me a chance! What do you do in Wellington?”
Date#19: “No worries, I just don’t like games and I’ve had enough of girls’ games! So let’s start it again! I live here I have two jobs actually, I told you about that, wbu?”
Oh he hates games?
… I should have broken it off before it started.
On the Friday I had asked him whether he would like a drink that night. He then bombarded me with about eleven messages and told me to stop “playing with him“.
I was so sick of all his shit and I hadn’t even met him yet. I decided to CALL him as I was so agitated that I was contemplating yelling. I really wanted to tell him that I didn’t actually owe him anything since a) we didn’t know each other and b) he was coming across like a serial killer
When I did call, I kindly explained that I wasn’t texting him back because I’m a massive Tinder whore who is dating the entire Wellington population I was simply busy, but I was free tomorrow night and was able to meet up for dinner. I mentioned that I’d just had a big week of work and dating the entire Wellington region.
[Side note: I was so frustrated by this point that when I called him, I was reversing my car and accidentally rear ended my neighbour’s car. If you’re reading this, fellow Northland resident, I’m not even sorry.]
After this phone call he sent me four love-heart smiley emoticons and four love-hearts. Red love-hearts too. Is there such thing as a Stage 6 clinger?
On Saturday, he sent me a text in the morning telling me how much he was looking forward to that night. Being the cock-tease I am, I responded with a “Me too, x”. He then messaged me saying that he just saw me out with a black dog. That was true, but what he probably didn’t know was that I was off to Memphis Belle for a coffee with his predecessor. He told me then how beautiful I was with another red love-heart emoticon before asking if 7pm at Bluewater Grill on Oriental Parade suited me.
I don’t think anyone really realizes how exhausting dating can be when you have two jobs, a small dog, a big mouth and a huge appetite. You have to put in effort to be funny and adorable. My brain was full of nothing and yet I was exhausted and not even thinking about what I should and shouldn’t say to these Tinder potentials.
Anyway, because of the exhausting life I was leading, Richie and I had a nap on Saturday afternoon at around 4.30pm when he texted me. Experts say that naps should be around 20 minutes otherwise you’re technically just asleep on a Saturday afternoon. Because I was napping for two hours, I was technically sleeping an hour before meeting Date #19 at Bluewater Grill.
I’m a bad person.
Instead of jumping out of bed and urgently getting ready like a good person, I just texted him asking if we could push that to 7.30pm and (naturally), fell back asleep.
I woke up again at 7.11pm when I realised that I was going to be late again, so I texted him asking if 8pm was going to be okay, since I was “getting ready and running late, x”.
This guy sent me back four angry emoticons followed by a smiley face. I asked whether he had left already. Sure enough, he had and I was barely dressed and basically mucking around. I’m notorious for being late (less so since people have constantly mentioned it after reading my blog) but this was just pure bad form on my behalf. At 8.10pm, I got a text asking if I was still coming.
I was, I just hadn’t left yet. Appropriate YOLO.
Finally, at 8.23pm – about an hour and 15 minutes after the original time, I showed up looking like Ariana Grande since I had watched a YouTube clip while I was getting ready for some inspiration. I went for the adorable look and pretended like I was so clumsy and cute, claiming that parking was so hard (given the 100 options I had outside Oriental Parade in the middle of Winter, how could I even choose?).
I expected him to react along these lines, since I was technically an hour and a half late:
But instead, he stood up and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.
When he stood up I had this horrible realisation:
He was a lot shorter than his Tinder pictures had led me to believe. I mean, I enjoy a bit of dramatic exaggeration, but come on, lie about the size of your dick, not your height!
He was barely taller than me and I’m 5ft! Ladies, never trust a man on Tinder that only has face shots, with no pictures of him and his friends because it either means he’s a tiny little man trying to hide it, or a loser with no friends to take pictures with. No wonder he had abs, there was only 20cm of real estate to tone!
I’m not one to get awkward but this whole night was just too much for me to grin and bear. I found out that Date #19 didn’t drink because he was religious and into his (20cm) abs and ordered a coke when I ordered a wine.
I was so excited for that wine.
I tried to be as sweet and innocent as possible and tried not to act like myself at any point. The guy was telling me how much he loved this restaurant (which has a 2.4 average rating on Zomato, FYI) and was so excited to finally meet me. He was from South America, loved his Mum and talked a lot about meeting a nice girl. He was in his mid 30’s and I could see why he was a little unlucky despite having a six-pack. He was relatively good looking, I was just shocked at how small he was in comparison to how he looked on Tinder.
I decided to get the same meal as him as he ordered a plate of grilled meat with a side salad. The conversation progressed slowly, to the extent that I checked my phone four times before our meals came out. I forgot to mention that we were the only people in the restaurant, so this poor guy was waiting for almost an hour and a half along in the restaurant sending me emoticons.
When the mains finally arrived, the only other two people in the restaurant came out (staff), one carrying the food and the other carrying a small white teddy bear and single rose.
Man, this was actually the worst thing that could happen.
I was mortified that he had done this. I know that he was sincere but this was also kinda creepy. I couldn’t deal. I thanked him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, genuinely blushing before resuming my plate of grilled meat.
I thought that things couldn’t possibly get worse that this, but they did. When I was eating my salad (that had far too much cheap dressing flooding it), I noticed there was a moth swimming between the sauce and the lettuce.
Of course there had to be an insect in my food. This date couldn’t get better otherwise!
I didn’t want to bring up the moth situation to Date #19 because he seemed emotionally ill-equipped to handle it. However my disgusted face betrayed me and he began panicking and thinking that he had done something to offend me.
“What have I said?” “What have I done?” “Tell me Melissa, what have I done”.
He was so quick to overreact, I would hate to see him in an actual disaster.
I finally told him about the moth and he was kinda just like “Oh okay“, as though it was completely normal to have an insect in your salad, and then he kept on talking whilst I decided that I was full and that I needed to leave. ASAP.
When I told the waitress/only other people in the restaurant that there was a bug in my salad, they offered our desserts for free as compensation. There was no way I could stomach more food after that and, luckily, Date#19 wanted to maintain his ab real estate.
When we went up to pay (I REALLY wanted to pay half), they offered us 15% off since I dined with a moth and Date #19 blocked me out of the way to pay for my (much-needed) wine, his coke and our two mains.
Turns out he had walked to the restaurant (of course he had) so I offered to drive him home and he graciously accepted. After a five minutes of driving, we got to his and he invited me inside to watch movies.
“Sorry I’m not that kind of girl” I insisted before he pashed my face and I egged him out of the car because I was ‘tired’.
When you decide to go on 30 Tinder Dates in 30 Days, you figure out really quickly what your type is because you’re swiping through the entire single population of Wellington.
“Oooh, older, light hair with a Dad-bod? Yes please!”.
Having such a type limits potential Future Boyfriends, and you may find yourself with slightly younger versions of your Dad, whose ‘Dad-bod’s might correlate to health problems later in life. Throw in a few inappropriate jokes and a German accent and I may as well just date my Dad.
With that a very real fear in the back of my mind (I’m pretty sure that most girls fear they’ll end up with a guy exactly like her Dad) I decided to broaden my horizons.
This wasn’t a token effort, despite my relatively relaxed attitude and low standards for Tinder prospects. I had to at least find them attractive and my rule was that I found them appealing enough to go on a date with them regardless of whether I had a 30 day quota or not.
Enter Date #18 who was the oldest Tinder date I’ve dated to date.
Yet it still felt as though the age gap wasn’t a deal-breaking barrier. He had a kid, was from the Hutt and according to his photos, was a body builder. So basically, he was still similar to my Dad, with the exception of the whole six-pack thing.
I’m not sure whether I was attracted to the idea of going out with a body builder, but I definitely had a crush on Johnny Bravo growing up and I was open minded to someone having a rock-hard version of a Dad-Bod. Who’s to stand in the way of potential true love with someone who is guaranteed to spend at least two hours a day leaving you alone honing his hot bod?
Initial contact pleasantly surprised me, as Date #18 didn’t succumb to this horrible stereotype that I unfortunately was beginning to create in my head that built guys would have personalities like Johnny Bravo. Date #18 seemed sweet, was employed and loved dogs and kids. His kid looked cute in photos too, so at least I knew in advance that he would bring some cute genes to mix with my womb.
Every time I go to the gym (so, twice in my entire life), I see these guys at the gym who have conversations with each other about their massive traps and I’m like:
With all of these factors in the back of my mind, Date#18 and I agreed to meet for coffee. He suggested Memphis Belle as it was his local and we confirmed a Saturday morning time of 11am. It wasn’t until the morning that we met that I realized I needed to wear something that hid my fat six/overweight eight frame that was growing rapidly with all of the free beverages and free food I was going through.. Date #18 was also a personal trainer, just to add a slight amount of pressure. I went for tight jeans and a puffer jacket to pretend like it was made to look as though I had a cute face, chubby waist, thick legs, in shape. I’m not usually one to get insecure but for someone who puts a lot of effort into their figure made me realize why I’m in preference of the Dad-bod.
I was running slightly late because of my slight outfit insecurity and ended up being at Memphis Belle before Date #18. One of my favourite things about having a dog is pretending like you’re never alone in public. I ordered a Trim Flat White and sat down on a wriggly chair, at a chipped wriggly table outside Shot Shack whilst I mourned my 17 year old self.
When Date #18 finally showed up around seven to eight minutes after me, he sort of gestured to the Barista to demonstrate that he wanted his usual, before asking me if I wanted anything. He used some sort of G-Unit hand gesture to signal this, which I wouldn’t usually relate to ordering a coffee.
We decided to move to the dirty hipster couches right outside the door and I started to realise we hadn’t engaged in much conversation other than the basic facts. It’s hard communicating with so many fucking Tinder potentials and talking to at least 80 out of 500. Getting past the basic greeting with me was anyone’s success story since I refused to communicate with anyone who said anything douchey, boring or weird.
I won’t lie, Date #18 was slightly fresh, but a lot more eloquent than I expected. For one, he didn’t seem to have a comb on him to manicure his cartoon quiff and he didn’t really seem to be overly indulged in himself. Great sign. He had grey bits in his beard and I joked that it looked like Richie’s. We talked about Tinder, life in the Hutt, and my dog. He was also a big fan of dogs and had a pitbull that is currently with his ex. He didn’t really bag her in front of me, though it seemed like it was an incredibly messy breakup that I respected him for ( not bagging her out I mean, not for a messy breakup!) He loved his son, his friends and his job, it seemed. I was getting to the point where I would start saying douchey things to see if he would succumb but he didn’t seem to take the bait.
Me: “OMG do you train girls that you find are hot????”
Date #18 “Haha, sometimes”
Although I wasn’t overly into it, I felt like he wasn’t either. I imagine this guy usually gets with teenage bottle-blondes who wear a lot of tight dresses despite being in his thirties. That, or my puffer jacket hid my chest and he was disappointed that my cleverly angled Tinder photos were clearly a ploy. Sorry babes!
I wasn’t completely off the mark with my assumptions, Date #18 must have only planned an hour for our encounter as at 12pm his friends rocked up to pick him up for some sort of sport in the afternoon and parked next to Dreamgirls yelling at him. These guys all seemed like they were 10 years too old to be driving crappy cars and living for the weekend but I guess that’s what YOLO was invented for.
Without being too critical, I was pleasantly surprised that he wasn’t actually Johnny Bravo, but I don’t trust a guy who spells his name wrong for whatever reason. I can’t deal!
I ended up running into him a few days later when I was meeting up with a girl where he suggested we needed to catch up again, then the next weekend too whilst I was in da clubs with another guy from Tinder. Turns out, he’s a bouncer on the weekend but let me in anyway despite holding hands with another guy. Thanks for the coffee and for letting me skip the queue!
I had planned on a quiet one for this particular Wednesday. This dating game was tiresome. Do you all even know how hard it is to find casual slutty work attire (slasual dress) to then have to socialise after work and attempt to flirt?
I’m definitely not an expert at guys or dating. All I seem to know in life is how to talk too much and drink too much, too quickly. I seem to open up the second I meet a guy, refuse to put out and then wonder why they think I’m crazy.
Date #16 was a friend of a friend who’s friend I had already pashed when he came over once to watch Fight Club. I was 17 and if it wasn’t already obvious with me writing this blog in the first place, it didn’t work out. I remember meeting Date #16 at a pre-drinks for the races, with my fake I.D, white blonde hair and Dove overly-summer glowed skin.
We had talked a few times over Tinder having previously matched a few times. He was a couple of years older than me and went to a catholic boys school. From memory, he always seemed to be one of those guys who had a girlfriend, but judging by his current Tinder status, he was available, and I was on the lookout for new prey.
The conversation was quick, fast and to the point. We must have had some banter during a previous Tinder life.
Date #16: “Hello again… so what are your motives? Trying to catch out a boyfriend or a friend’s boyfriend? Haha
Me: “Take me out and I might tell you. In saying that I don’t put out on the first date”
Date #16: “Sounds like a deal. After work something? Or the weekend?
Me: “After work sounds good. Where are you based?
We agreed to meet at Matterhorn, which is a relatively chilled out establishment where you can dine or drink. I’ve only ever had consumed their gin and tonics. I had been there a few times on dates with guys who were usually way older than me, so it could be widely used as a stomping ground for older guys to pass the time with younger girls and then after a few weeks or months, wonder why they’re on different levels.
We agreed to meet there at 5.30pm after work. I had every intention of arriving on time, since I had left work at quarter past five. Naturally, I got distracted by the huge sale sign outside Typo and ended up spending fifteen minutes looking at Coachella themed stationary for tweens at pocket-money prices. Whoops!
When I finally got there, Date #16 had patiently waited for me and hadn’t even ordered a drink. Obviously my stationary perusing wasn’t keeping the guy from staying hydrated for too long, I was simply adding to the mystery that is me by being courteously late (10 minutes and under). I ordered a gin and tonic, he ordered a beer and we started off the conversation with our mutual love of the Hutt and other common grounds – not that there was lots of that.
I planned on having a relatively early night. Mainly because this dating game was becoming more tedious and I was having the best time ever by myself.
After two drinks and reasonably B grade chat (not enough to get him laid, only A’s get the A) he suggested the idea of dinner. I was hungry and had no real food plans outside the fantasy ofBurger King, so we settled on Mexico, since it was close and a classy first date location forclassier-than-usual Hutt people. I had to move my car from the parking lot so Date #16 got to witness my terrible parallel parking skills as a bonus.
Mexico, in my mind is a bit of a funny place. It’s an Auckland restaurant in a Wellington location with a Wellington crowd where the music is too loud on a Sunday night with a lot of darkness and red hues covering the place. I’ve been there on three dates with three different guys. Two out of three of the guys I went with ended up profusely sweating due to the spicy fried chicken. Gross. I think I slept with one of them after dinner there one night regardless… I don’t know, I can’t really remember.
The fried chicken was good though. That I do remember.
I’m somewhat hesitant to regurgitate what was said during this date. Some of it was so cringe-worthy. He was impressed that I ordered a beer and I got ‘points’ for that. We ended up playing a silly game where we got date points for things that we liked about each other… putting that into words makes me more embarrassed as I type this. What is my life? Why am I such a loser? Is this why no one loves me? Date #16 was lovely though. I felt like he was boyfriend material. Not necessarily my kind of boyfriend, but he gave off that kind of boyfriend vibe. I don’t know how to explain this in words, it was just a vibe.
We started to transition into the friend-zone towards the end of the night. I think because he was playing it cool and I was just on automatic flirt-mode where I transitioned from outrageously forward, to overly-forward-clearly-putting-them-in-the-friend-zone, to being that girl that your friend is currently sleeping with so you maintain cool conversation and stick to the basic facts. I was being really open with this guy since he was cool with the idea of 30 Days of Tinder and I kinda felt like he wasn’t fazed that this wouldn’t progress into anything more. I paid for dinner to win against the points system. It was a $50 or $60 something ploy that I paid for to get some feminist snaps.
He send me a text the following Monday asking how my weekend was.
He sent me a text the following Monday asking how I was and that my mutual friend mentioned something.