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.
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.
When I first started this Tinder challenge, I had this overwhelming desire to go on a date with a Wellington Hipster. Big life goals, I know and so hard to find in Wellington! Where would I even find one? Little Beer Quarter? Golding’s? Dukes Carvell?
Because I’m lazy and a massive loser, its unlikely you’ll ever catch me at Meow listening to some unknown band having a good time unless I was so drunk that I thought I was listening to Kanye West. This is said with some conviction because I a) have been so drunk at Meow that I thought I was at a Kanye West concert and b) have been semi-drunk and been to an actual Kanye West concert.
I’m trashy yes, but at least I admit it. I haven’t spent the last eight years with cleavage spilling out of my Lippy dress and wearing heels I can’t walk in from Wild Pair to suggest that I was anything out of the ordinary. I own like three black “2 for $30 cardigans” from Glassons for fucks sake.
Upon first impressions and close inspections, Date #13 was by all sense of the word: a Wellington hipster. They’re even more hipster if they deny it. He had dark hair, brooding eyes and a big fucking beard. Oh baby. I really feel like his Tinder photos need step-by-step analysis to ensure we’re all on the same page with what hipsters look like:
1st photo: Front angle, close up of his beard taking up 40% of the camera real estate. Nailed it.
2nd photo: Him wearing a denim shirt and a striped t-shirt taking a photo of the person taking his photo. Artistic… I think I get it?
3rd photo: Him and a friend wearing Fay-Bans all suited up with a few buttons off his shirt. Sultry.
4th photo: Him wearing a plaid shirt and blazer at a premiere of a New Zealand film. So cultured. I can’t even deal.
5th photo: Him against a Subaru Leagacy on the beach. Hipster on beach?
6th photo: (Seriously, can anyone even find six good photos of themselves? ) Him holding his surfboard, on a beach walking towards the camera. Hipster on surfboard?
There was something attractive about him that I couldn’t place at the time (I think its because he looks like a younger, hipster version of my Dad). He wasn’t my usual type of blonde hair, blue eyes and Dad-bods – he was tall, dark and handsome. I was borderline intimidated and didn’t want to make the first move because, like I said in my previous post, I can play a long game because I’m crazy and date 29 other people.
Then Date#13 uploaded a moment. Of him and his dog.
All attempts to have played it cool were immediately thrown out the window. I LOVE guys who have dogs, I literally can’t even deal. I used to pretend to get jealous when my dog’s baby daddy held his leash and girls would give him the eye. I’d jokingly say in a cute way, “I’m kidding” but really…
I felt like I had landed the Tinder jackpot by matching this babin’ hipster who had a small fluffy dog. I couldn’t wait until we moved in together, got married and our dogs became best friends. Even though I was freaking out, I tried to play it cool and talk dog:
Me: “Your dog?”
Date#13: “Yep. That’s my little man!”
Me:”My dog is the second one in photos.“
Date#13: “Cute. What breed is he/she? Name?”
Me: “Italian Greyhound Cross. Richie McPaw.“
Date #13: “That is amazing.“
We started going backwards and forwards on this chat for a wee bit talking dogs and it took five responses for Date #13 to suggest we get our dogs together. Such a cheap line, I fell for it, hard. It took two days for Date #13 to get my number and we vaguely aimed for a dog walk on our first free weekend together.
We met the following weekend, I’d immediately texted him after I was full of brunch with White Jay-Z. Date #13 was chilled and free after his shower, though he warned me he was feeling pretty shady, had gotten locked out of his flat the night before and lost his wallet. God, hipsters are so unorganised. I guess that settled who was whipping out their Westpac Debit Plus card to pay for the first date.
We organised to meet up on the waterfront near Te Papa. I had Richie and he had his little pooch too. It was a windy afternoon and I was pretty sure I was ill-dressed for the cloudy weather.
Date #13 was immediately recognisable. He even walked like a hipster and kind of scuffled his way towards me in a semi-smooth way, wearing flip-flops, camel-coloured pants and a plaid shirt. He was dressed part hipster crossed with an arborist armed with a tiny fluffy dog (he did warn me that he was from the Wairarapa).
The conversation was casual and free flowing from the get-go. He was friendly and either relaxed or incredibly hung-over. I was surprised there was even an injection of personality since his face was 50% beard but he was pretty animated with his eyes and had a strong brow game.
The conversation was kept pretty light as we got coffees. Richie was yet to hump his smaller new best friend and they happily co-existed walking together. Being the responsible dog-owner that I am, I usually don’t mind having to pick up faecal matter especially when it comes from a six kilo dog, but timing is everything. Richie held our little dog-squad up and I picked up his tiny poo with two fingers and walked 10 metres in the opposite direction to put it in a bin. When I returned, Date #13 politely pointed out that there was a bin right in front of us.
We sat down at Kaffee Eis and I was paying so much attention to his dog since he (the pup) was so chilled and we discussed dog-lyfe, the balance of parenting and having a social life. Date #13 had already done some travelling overseas in his early 20’s and we had a few connections through a marketing agency that we had both done some work through. Half-way through the coffee, I was already forgetting that this was the first time we had ever met since there was very little filter to our conversation.
The biggest, burliest man came over during our coffee and I (assuming because Richie is kind of a big deal) that he was wanting to pat my dog. But no, the big, burly man was wanting to pat the tiny dog. I literally couldn’t believe it and Date#13 was not bothered by the attention his dog was lapping up.
After about an hour the weather started to turn, it kind of stunted the date and I had to eventually get home to be taken out to dinner by a previous conquest. He suggested having a beer at Black Dog as it was dog friendly and I was having a great time with this Hipster.
This is when the conversation got deep. I admitted to him about my 30 Day Tinder challenge and he had the chilled out “you do you” attitude and didn’t seem to mind that I was going to write about him. This then escalated to a woman’s right to her own sexuality and doing whatever the fuck they wanted. He was clearly a feminist. He spoke about his love for his younger sisters and how annoying it was when guys walk past him and call his dog a ‘faggot dog’ since it’s not the dog who can respond. “He’s defenceless! He can’t stick up for himself!”. [ Edit: I found out six months later when I met some people who he used to live with and read this particular post, they enquired who his sisters were as they were under the impression he was an only child. Decided not to probe this any further as surely people don’t lie about having siblings and he had previously confirmed that they were only ‘half’ when I asked him. The mind boggles.]
Urgh, I was already crushing on Date#13 and dreading going on another date with a previous conquest in a few hours (Which I can comfortably say, since previous conquest has since deleted me on Facebook because I’ve been dating other guys and writing about it). I had this feeling though that because I was too casual and open about my Tinder situation, I felt like I had immediately got the dreaded friend-zone. I didn’t really mind all that much, it was too early in the game to get caught up in one guy. I guess though, that I just wanted to marry this feminist Hipster and have 10,000 of his babies. Or in other words, have sex with him.