Tag Archives: Irish

eHarmony, the Irish, and Tinder

28 May

I was supposed to go on a date on Sunday. He cancelled on me. This is probably no bad thing since he was from the same part of Ireland as my ex, and had almost exactly the same job. Hmmmm. Anyway, I was almost relieved that he cancelled. He had apparently met someone else. My only issue is that he cancelled with only a few hours to go, and had I known I could have gone to Ikea that morning and bought boxes to help me sort out my flat a little. Well, maybe I have one other issue. But it’s not with Irish Four. It’s with eHarmony.

eHarmony. The root of all my problems. Had I never met my ex, I would never have had to go through this cycle of love and grief and pain. Admittedly, I chose to rejoin following the pizza of doom. But why eHarmony insists on matching me with endless Irish men who work in finance is beyond me. Although I’m thankful for the introduction to Irish Two who has turned out to be a strange but special friend.

Instead, I’ve now joined Tinder.

I’d heard horror stories of guys sending penis selfies, and messages that amount to sexual harassment. But, so far, it’s been good, clean, fun. And 154 matches is a nice little ego boost. The people are way less intense than on eHarmony. And they seem to have better chat. I also like the fact that they are forced to write their own script rather than resort to sending me screening questions or (worst of all) ‘Must Haves and Can’t Stands’. I have to ask eHarmony whether they have any cases of people who actually self-screen against these. Imagine. Imagine thinking, “Oh well, he looked hot and we seemed to have loads in common, but unfortunately I have poor personal hygiene, terrible manners, I lie, I cheat, and I’m a massive racist.” Seriously.

(To clarify, I take personal hygiene very seriously, I have beautiful manners, I hardly ever lie, I’ve never cheated, and I have no bad feelings towards any races (even the fricking Irish).)

So Tinder it is. And tonight is my first Tinder date.

I’m impressed already as he’s booked a table for cocktails at a nice bar in East London. Oh, and he’s not Irish.

Paws crossed.

Third time lucky?

19 Mar

I’m off to Paris in the morning. It’s been a crazy busy week.

But just thought I’d let you guys know that I’m going on a date this Saturday.

With Irish Three.

Making my peace with the Irish

30 Dec

My ex was Irish. Is Irish, I suppose. I don’t know why I talk about him in the past tense. After all, nothing about him stopped when he broke up with me. It was me who stopped.

I stopped feeling. I stopped sleeping. I stopped dressing properly, wearing makeup or drying my hair. I stopped eating (Christmas has seen me put all the weight back on through my love of cheese, don’t you worry). I stopped reading. I stopped getting out of bed for a while.

Amongst every other emotion I’ve been through in the past few months, I stopped liking the Irish. I would hear Irish accents on the bus and wonder why they had to taunt me like this. During the X Factor final, one of the boys from Westlife was on giving his expert musical opinion (kind of risible, anyway), but he said the word “amazing” with exactly the same intonation that my ex’s family used. I spontaneously sobbed like a mad woman. Maybe worst of all, when I could finally face reading again, I couldn’t read anything by Marian Keyes – one of my very favourite authors. She’s Irish.

I started her latest book, ‘The Mystery of Mercy Close’, yesterday. I’ve nearly finished it. It’s brilliant. And the Irish sayings, the language, the places she alludes to, they’re actually helping me to make my peace with everything.

Incidentally, the book is about a woman around my age suffering from depression. I know depression is a devastating illness, and I’ve only brushed with it over the past few months, not been pulled mercilessly down as some are. But the vivid descriptions of her hopelessness. The matter-of-fact distress. The sadness. Those are the elements of this book that have me turning the page corner and putting it aside for a few minutes just so I can cry.

The Irish? The Irish I can cope with.

In fact, I’ve been talking to a guy on eHarmony. Irish.

So we will call him ‘Irish’.

He’s from the other end of the country from the ex, so that’s good. He really makes me laugh and we’ve been sending each other crazy long emails. He’s back in London next week. Irish used to live in Japan, writes stand-up comedy, loves animations, and lives really near me. I am a big fan of all these things.

Maybe Ireland isn’t out to get me. Maybe I just had the wrong Irish man.