Tag Archives: Tinder

The thoughts that wake me at 3am

7 Sep

I’m awake in the middle of the night.

Someone in my building is having a party. The music is loud and obnoxious.

I was dreaming about a presentation I have to give at work on Monday. Not some crazy dreamworld presentation where you imagine you are presenting in your PJs to the cast of Friends about some random topic like the use of broccoli as a pizza topping. No, no. Just plain boring real-world stuff. About branding. Even at the weekend, my brain fills itself with work.

Because what else is there?

Going into hospital for a day next week to get my cervix checked out following a weird smear test?

Which yoga class to go to tomorrow?

How I’m ever going to clear enough stuff from my flat to get a new carpet fitted?

Why a certain friend ignores me these days?

Or the thought that reverberates. And only intensifies after a look on Tinder or eHarmony.

I am never going to meet somebody.

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I want to feel wanted

17 Aug

Irish Two and I went out on Friday night. As friends. Which is what we are these days. It’s actually nearly six months since we decided we were destined to be friends and stopped trying to be anything more. And stopped having sex. Sigh.

I don’t regret that we ended things. There are oh-so-many reasons that Irish Two is not right for me. Not least, he’s a sociopath. But when he started telling me about girls he’s been dating/having sex with, I felt a strange urge to scratch his face. 

Tinder has been good to him, delivering all manner of women who want to send him sexual pictures and meet up for sexual times. No big deal. He’s a dude. I get it. 

But then he told me, “I thought I’d met a nice girl.”

Emmm. Hello. You told me we weren’t compatible because I’m “too nice” and that you “didn’t want someone who’s nice to you.” Now you want a nice girl?

I told him this while knocking back a Negroni and trying to conceal my anger. 

I don’t want to be with Irish Two. But I don’t like feeling rejected. 

At least he had the good sense and sensitivity to say, “Sorry, do you not want to hear about this stuff?” Also, the “nice girl” he thought he had found then sent him a load of naked pictures and told him she’s sleeping with four different guys and doesn’t want a relationship.

I told him I don’t mind hearing tales of his dating mishaps. I guess the more I know about what he’s doing with other people the more it cements our relationship as “just good friends” which is all it can ever be. I need to be with someone who appreciates me for being nice. He is not that guy.

But why is it that when I know every reason we shouldn’t be together, I still want him to want me? Because I think that’s really what it boils down to. I want to feel wanted. I want to feel like someone of the male variety can look at me and think, “Wow, she’s so pretty and smart and funny and lovely. I want to have sex with her and also hold her hand and stroke her face and be with her forever.”

That’s what I thought my ex was thinking the whole time we were together. That’s what he told me he was thinking. But, as it happens, he just said those things. 

I have a date on Tuesday night with a dude from the eHarmony. 

At least I’m trying. 

 

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Datecation?

9 Jul

cat-on-beach1

I can’t be bothered with men.

At our company conference on Friday I gave our CFO access to my Tinder account. In fact, I let her play on it for a good thirty minutes or so and hook me up with lots of men. I would like to say “young, hot men” or “eligible bachelors”. But I’d be lying.

It gave me a kick start, though. I’d not been on a dating site in a couple of weeks, and suddenly I had ten guys messaging me. But why does everyone want to talk on the phone, though?

It’s not that I can’t hold a conversation or worry about talking on the phone. I think my voice is nice enough. I can chat away to anyone. But I’m really, really busy right now.

I have no time to spend evenings speaking to men I don’t know. I’m busy learning Italian and going to awards ceremonies and visiting friends and doing yoga and eating olives.

I guess, if I was really interested, I would make time. I do allocate a fairly generous number of hours to my favourite television shows.

So maybe I’m just not ready?

In fact, if I consider what would happen if I actually met someone. Well. Wait. I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine liking anyone right now. Not in a sad “ohmygodI’llbealoneforever” way. It’s just I’m enjoying getting to know myself again. Because I’ve changed. And I’m so fun to hang out with. It’s nice to rediscover how happy I can be in my own company.

I do want to meet someone one day. Of course I do. But for now I might take a datecation and relieve myself of the boring text chat and ongoing requests to talk on the phone.

Or maybe I’ll just wait for a dude with some decent manners who can muster up the energy to actually ask me out.

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Adventures on Tinder

16 Jun

Wow. What a sh** day.

Let me cheer everyone up by sharing my most recent Tindering news.

There’s no shortage of hot(ish) men on there. And plenty match with me. Plenty. But, holy smokes, are they all insane?

I’m going to break it down into four categories. As it happens, I don’t seem to attract the type who send lewd messages and penis pictures. No, no. Not the perverts. For me it’s just four categories of plain old crazy.

1. The Borefriends – they are quick to message as soon as we match. Keen to make a good impression and spark conversation they start with provocative statements like, “Hi!”. The more verbose stretch to, “Hi April!”. Or even, “How was your weekend?”. Indulge them in a response and you can be stuck in boring conversation for days which never, ever leads to an invitation for drinks. They seem to want only a chaste pen pal.

2. The Douches – they ask what they need to know up-front. Usually, “Just how small are you?”. Charming. This is followed up with the unfortunate and inevitable news that they live in South West London. Then, rather than ask me out, they say something like, “We really should try and grab a drink sometime.” Hmmm. Must we just try? We could actually do it.

3. The Stalkers – oh man. I thought the dude who sent me prerecorded voice messages was odd. I had no idea. A dude started messaging me on Friday. Pretty hot. Alright chat. By Saturday morning he had recounted every aspect of every relationship he’s ever had. He asked me about mine. Call me stupid, but I actually felt a sense of relief at just being honest about my poor broken heart. And he was super understanding. And kept telling me how pretty I am.

Then the photographs started. Photos of his flat. His kitchen. A room full of pianos. His car. His face. His face. His face. Each time looking less attractive and more like a f***ing serial killer.

Then he asked to hook up on Facebook. I actually responded, “Woah woah woah. We have never even met.”

After that I ignored all his messages last night detailing his trip to the gym.

But, damn me and my loneliness, while going through the worst of days at work today I messaged him and told him how awful I felt. Cue a barrage of messages and photos. And the revelation that he doesn’t actually have a job right now.

I don’t expect much these days. But a job, yes, that you need, potential boyfriends.

4. The Stupid Interrogators – I guess it’s supposed to be a chat up line. But what are you supposed to say to the guys who message, “Why are you still single?”

I find when you respond, “Nobody has ever loved me enough to want to stay with me,” you don’t get much back.

I know. I’m being a meanie. But Tinder is so spectacularly unrewarding past that little PING when you match.

At least if the perverts were interested I could maybe have some sex.

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The return of Fit but Flaky

1 Jun

Well, here’s a surprise.

It was wayyyyy back in December that I dated B. We met on the eHarmony. He was the first person I dated after the ex. And I couldn’t work him out. It took two (good) dates to get to the kissing, and then he flaked out, randomly sending me texts every few days that lead nowhere, and exhibiting extreme passive flirtatious behaviour. I christened him ‘Fit but Flaky’.

In the end, I texted him early in January and said that it had been nice getting to know him, but that he obviously didn’t want to meet up again and that was fine, but that I hoped 2014 would be good to him. He texted back almost immediately to say he’d been busy. And I ignored him.

So I wasn’t sure what to do when his picture popped up on Tinder on Friday night. The beauty of Tinder is that you can swipe right to say you’re interested and the person at the other end won’t ever know unless they are interested too. Now, B is incredibly attractive. So I’d be off my fricking head not to swipe right.

What do you know, B had swiped right too.

He started the conversation. And it was a good conversation. He apologised for being flakey, but said he’d had a lot on his plate and was just being rubbish, but that he really liked talking to me (and kissing me) and was really glad that we’d met. I said not to worry – that compared to most men he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. I told him about the ex and that back in December I probably wasn’t really myself anyway. He was really nice about it. I told him about the Tinder date last week that lasted a whopping 40 minutes. He was nice about that too and swore it couldn’t have been my arms that put the dude off. He even went as far as to say that I don’t have sausage arms. Which was nice to hear.

In the end I said, “Well, we got on so well, it would be a shame not to be friends. Do you fancy a coffee sometime?”

To which he replied, “Cocktails and I’m in, but you must forgive me if I make a pass at you. You do have the cutest outfits.”

He’s right. I do.

I said that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but that – regardless – it would be nice just to catch up.

And so we’re going for cocktails next week.

He’s still one of the most curious cats I’ve ever come across. He’s also the most ridiculously good-looking person I’ve ever snogged.

What on earth is life going to put in my path next? I’ve given up trying to guess.

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The Leftover Men

29 May

leftover_pizza1

So last night’s Tindertastrophe didn’t make me feel great about myself. If we had enjoyed at least a couple of drinks and over an hour of conversation, I could understand. Sometimes it’s just not for you. But to decide so quickly and come down with an illness so mysteriously. Well, it made me wonder. Was he put off by my fat arms? (I do have sausage arms.)

But also – sausage arms or no sausage arms – who does that? It’s like something out of a bad movie. He scampered off to the toilet about thirty minutes into the date and then emerged and declared that he felt desperately unwell and would have to go home. And then had the cheek to say, “See you soon!” when we parted ways. What kind of an individual does that? Did his mother teach him nothing?

Honestly, since the pizza of doom things have just been getting worse and worse. There was fit but flaky B. Then there was Irish Two with his total lack of emotion. Then Irish Three who didn’t feel a spark. Sunday’s Irish Four cancelled on me. And now apparently I possess the ability to repel men in record time. Go me.

It leads me to believe what I have feared for a while now: when you’re single in your thirties you are dealing with the Leftover Men.

Leftover Men. Ugh.

Nobody wants them. They are deficient in some way. For some, they are incapable of feeling anything or connecting to other human beings (like my dear friend Irish Two). Some set their standards too high. After being alone for so long it’s going to take someone really special to make them want a relationship. Some have no doubt been burned by heartless women who have made them into leftover shells of what could have been a perfectly good guy. And it’s not their fault. But it also doesn’t make them a charming or at the very least polite date.

So here I am. Aged 32. Surrounded by nothing but other people’s castoffs and the ones that nobody wanted in the first instance.

Bl**dy great.

And, no, no no no no no. I am not a Leftover Girl.

Something’s just gone horribly wrong somewhere. I guess I have to wait until the Non-Leftover Men start getting divorced. What a happy thought.

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F*** tinder

28 May

Met Tinder dude. Attractive.

I thought all was well.

Until 40 minutes in he decided he felt violently ill. Less than an hour later I’m on the bus home.

I guess he was instantly repulsed.

At least he paid for my drink.

I suppose.

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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.

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Nine good things about being single in your thirties

17 May

marquee number - 9

So, I’m on my way home from Florida. Which is sad news. But I’m sipping a Bloody Mary in the business class lounge. Which is good news.

In the past nine months, since finding myself single, I’ve tried very hard to find some positives in being all alone in my thirties. It hasn’t been easy. But since it’s nine months since the pizza of doom and all, I’ve made a little list of nine good things about being single when everyone around you is married and producing children.

Here we go:

1. Flying business class. Why not treat yourself? You have nobody else to pay for. Let me tell you, skipping all those lines for check in and security, swanning through to the lounge and pouring yourself a drink… it’s nice. Really nice.

2. Flowers. Buying yourself flowers means that you always get the ones you want. In May, that means peonies. In fact, buying yourself flowers means that you always get flowers. I don’t care what kind of flowers. I like having them.

3. Tinder. This is new to me, but hilarious and thrilling all at once. I’ve been playing while in Florida. I can’t meet any of the guys, but it’s still fun. And what an ego boost.

4. Garlic. Eat as much as you like. Nobody cares.

5. Sex And The City takes on a new level of relevance. I’m going to watch the whole thing again when I get home. Now I actually understand.

6. If you want to eat nothing but olives for dinner, you totally can. Same is true of Maltesers. There’s nobody to tell you to eat like an adult, or watch your sugar intake.

7. You join some pretty great company of other hot to women who have been single in their thirties. “Who on earth?” I hear you ask. Well, Cameron Diaz, Jennifer Anniston, Sandra Bullock.

8. Let’s be frank. While in the summer months you do need to shave your legs, there are other body parts that you can pretty much disregard from the grooming routine for a while. Some of the trickiest of body parts, in fact. Some of the most painful to take care of.

9. You can plan your next holiday as soon as you’re done with the one you’re on. Or even before. I’m so ready to come back to Florida in a few months, and there’s nobody to get in the way of my plans or that sunshine.

Now, you all know as well as I do that all I want is someone to love. Someone to love me. And yes, of course, a cuddle can be worth a lot more than a Sex And The City marathon, while eating garlic olives for dinner, on a business class flight, to go on holiday, not having touched my bikini line for weeks, safe in the knowledge that I am just like Cameron fricking Diaz (although I can’t confirm her bikini line routine), and there are beautiful peonies sitting on my window ledge at home. But I gotta find some reasons to smile. It’s not a bad start.

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