For some reason, I’ve had a lot of hesitation as to whether to post this.

There are a few things that I’ve chosen to keep relatively quiet, so far. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because it’s one thing to talk about going on 30 dates in 30 days. It’s quite another to talk about more than an innocent date that goes no further than a pash and crotch grab in the Barina.

There were a few ‘rules’ that I set myself during this challenge. One was, I probably shouldn’t sleep with anyone unless I had 10 dates with them. For me, that’s a general rule I try to stick to because it usually rules out the type of guy I wouldn’t want to sleep with regardless.

It’s not that I’m against casual sex. I’m all about it. Heck, sex is great when it’s casual, naked and some T.I is playing in the background. It’s just that I’m against casual bad sex. If we’ve only met once, the banter’s average even though there’s alcohol involved, I doubt I’m going to get more than six-to eight minutes (if I’m lucky) of boring Netflix and chill.

Another rule was, if I don’t want my Mum, Dad or Grandma to read about it then I probably shouldn’t be posting about it in the first place. Luckily for me, my parents raised my sister and I according to the  “you do you, babe” school of thought (although those words were never said). The bar for shocking my parents is set pretty high.  I broke my front teeth when I was 19 while completely intoxicated at a bar. Both of my parents came to the dentist with me, where my Dad is still making the joke “that’s what you get for dancing on tables.” Sure, my parents don’t want to hear about all my pashfests in the Barina, but I think they  probably understand that I’m not at home reading some Mills & Boon waiting for da one to come to me.

In short, if you’re upset by the life choices of others, you should probably stop reading. I don’t know why you even got this far. With that out of the way, I’ll admit that I totally met up with the Silver Fox from Date #11.

There was an instant attraction. This guy oozed confidence through his voice, the way he stood on the side of the road and the way he looked at me. He messaged me while Date #11 was wrapping up, and I tottered down the road to meet him. Not that I need to justify meeting someone almost twice my age, but if you really need a reason,will “because I wanted to” suffice?

The Silver Fox and I meet up and it’s late, 10.20pm on a Thursday night. I’m kind of drunk, I probably don’t look cute at this stage, but curiosity and attraction have carried me this far. We meet at D4, which isn’t my usual place to dine or drink so I suggest we go to the Green Man which is probably way more up his alley, anyway.

We drink Gin and Tonics and I find out more about him. He’s in Wellington on business and is originally from Australia. He’s married, but separated, and now has a new partner. He has two kids. It’s very clear that he doesn’t want to focus on this part of his life, so I don’t push it. Ultimately, I don’t want to know and he doesn’t want to talk about it.

After a few drinks, he suggests we go for a walk. We walk along the waterfront, it’s freezing (like 11.30pm in the middle of winter freezing) and he helps me warm up by  wrapping me up into his big suit jacket. There didn’t really feel like there was a massive age-gap between us, except for when he mentioned that he worked on a song in the late 90’s. I don’t think he’s from Savage Garden.

I put my hand on the back of his head and found that he was incredibly light on hair back there, something being short lead to me missing. Urgh, old people problems. Yet, still we started kissing along the waterfront with his hands wandering everywhere.

I didn’t go back to his apartment with him. The conversation came up and in my drunken mind, I couldn’t tell whether or not this was a good idea, knowing he had a wife, a new partner and kids in Australia. It’s so easy to pretend like they’re not a factor when there is zero mention of them other than telling me they exist. I told him that I’d love to see him tomorrow and so he put me in an Uber and asked me to let him know I got home alright.

He asked me for a drink the following night and was pretty persistent.. “Miss u want u …*sigh*” and when I told him that my friend had come over (anyone remember the Crotch grabber) he offered to send them home and pay for their dinner.

I flaked out a few more times over the next few weeks, not that I think he got the idea. It became apparent to me that there wasn’t enough of a connection to justify it to myself. In hindsight, I was probably just drunk and lonely. Realistically, it’s not a situation that one would knowingly agree to based on the likely outcome… What, he’s going to fall in love with me and move to NZ to be with me, or I fly over there and play Step Mum #3? Uh…

So with that, to those who presumed that I bedded an old dude, I’m sorry to have lead you on..

Oh, and no, I won’t say whether or not I found him in the Ashley Madison leak.

If you haven’t read blogs #9 and #10, you wouldn’t know that all these dates and the one you’re about to read about happened on the same fateful Thursday. I was exhausted and running quite late for my third and final date of the night with a glass of red in my hand, finger on the pulse ordering an Uber, smearing make up on my face, changing my dress and pretending to look ‘fresh faced’ and ‘awake’ despite being jaded, tipsy, and feeling more like Ke$ha and less like Bey.

Date #11 and I had been in conversation since April before I had deleted Tinder during which time we made the Facebook friend commitment. He was extremely nice, non creepy and had a good selection of Facebook and Tinder photos. He was also from the Hutt after being overseas working for quite some time.

Date #11 had wished me a happy birthday in May and even remembered what we talked about before I deleted Tinder as he then asked about my recent trip to Melbourne. After that, we matched again on Tinder a couple of days later and he asked me out for dinner at Boulcott Street Bistro within a few days.

Fuck. Yes.

I was overly keen (which hopefully wasn’t too transparent) as I had heard such great things and it was a bold move to suggest a sit down meal at a nice restaurant with someone you’ve never met before in real life. I found it incredibly chivalrous and I immediately respected him for it, even though I was going with the expectation that I would totally pay half at the end (because I am a single independent woman who no need no man). Date #11 seemed to have his shit together, possibly because guys in their early 30’s have better things to do with their time than getting high over the weekend and getting drunk in Apartment Bar (I’m not dissing anyone, I’ll see ya’ll there this weekend!). Never the less, despite my initial enthusiasm, I found myself becoming drained from this weird, almost addiction of setting up dates with other guys so in hindsight I was blind at how incredible this guy actually was in comparison.

I was running 20 minutes late, it was 45 minutes since I had pashed Date #10 in the Barina, and I had already consumed four glasses of wine. I was rushing across the road up the street in my baby slut heels when an older guy had stopped me, having spotted me running.

Silver Fox: “Cold night huh”

Me: “Isn’t it!”

Silver Fox: “It’s not as cold back home”

Me: “Where are you from?”

Silver Fox: “Perth, I’m just here for business.”

He had just dined at Boulcott Street Bistro with colleagues and was about to go back to his apartment. I asked what he recommended to eat. I’m naturally probably on the flirty side which prompted the silver fox to ask if I would like to go into the Bistro for a drink after initially I said I was meeting a friend for dinner. I had to then confessed that I was actually about to go on a date and since I didn’t think Date#11 would appreciate a plus one a threesome wasn’t really going to be on the horizon for that night. The Silver Fox asked me for my number, which I obliged and he suggested we catch up for a drink another night.

When I finally got into Boulcott Street Bistro I was so grateful it had this fancy dining mood lighting as my cheeks were burning from the four glasses of wine, the urgent rush to get there and the brief five minute encounter with the silver fox. Date #11 was as lovely in real life as he was online. He was tall, slim, had strong features with the sweetest smile and he seemed relatively relaxed and not offended that I was tardy for our dinner.

I hope he didn’t realise how casually tipsy I was. He didn’t seem to notice, as we had never met before. Date #11 had an interesting life and only just came back to New Zealand after living overseas for quite some time launching his business. Suuuuch prospects. It was hard to not come across like we weren’t on our first date to our waiter who seemed overly keen to judge us (seriously, he reminded me of this guy below. I couldn’t tell if he was foreign or from Hamilton). I ordered after recommendations from the Silver Fox – the Roasted Lamb Rack with wild mushroom & shallot stew, confit potato & root vegetable tian. Yeah, buddy!

The food didn’t take long to come out, that or I was remarkably quick to drink my wine and engrossed about life and love with this guy. When the food I came out, it became harder for me to maintain class since I was on wine #5 and wasn’t in any position or mood to stop drinking. I dropped my fork, then knife, on the floor about four times and scrapped my fork on the plate loudly at least twice like the classy Hutt girl I am.

We weren’t going to have dessert, but then we did and Date #11 excused himself politely to pay the bill. This guy was a gentleman. If I wasn’t doing 30 dates in 30 days, I would have been blown away by how charming he was and probably waited by the phone for him to call. He was tall, good-looking and seemingly intelligent. There sadly wasn’t anything bad to report, or I was too tipsy to even recall.

At the end of the date, he offered me a ride home. I declined and said I would get an Uber and refused to let him walk me down to the end of the street to get one (because I am an independant woman who no need no man). He kissed me on the cheek and then I tottered down Willis Street tipsy off on another adventure.

After a short lunch with a short guy, I was in dire need of a stiff drink with someone who could hold a conversation and talk about more than the Greater Wellington region.

Enter, Date#10. A bit of backstory about Date#10 is that we had actually met in real life the night that I was dressing like Britney and acting like Ke$ha. I think we must have matched on Tinder before I deactivated prior to the 30 Day Challenge as we spoke in that classy establishment that rhymes with Pish Posh.

Because I decided to ditch Pish Posh to pash that short guy downstairs that fateful night, our paths never crossed again but we matched again on Tinder and even upgraded to Facebook friends to allow for maximum Facebook stalking (he friended me obvs). Since my success rate was still at 100% and I was getting a little sick of the “Hi! How was your day x”, I decided to simply demanded Date #10 to ask me out as I felt like I had nothing to lose except wasted conversation.

Me: “Are you going to ask me out for a drink or just wait until you see me in Mish Mosh again?”

Date #10: “Haha we can defo go for a drink when you are free? Ha back on Tinder I see”

Me: “I’m free Thursday or Friday”

Date #10: “Sweet as I can do either of those!!”

The classic double exclamation point. It always ends up making me less keen to pursue them since the double exclamation point means they’re either too keen or a psycho, so I ended up finding other entertainments (with other men) until he asked me to grab a drink the following Thursday. Yes, the same day as the short coffee with the short guy. I’m such a slut.

I suggested we meet at Fork and Brewer since it was close to my work at 5.15pm. He sent me a message at 5.17pm that he was running a few minutes (and I was still putting on make up to ensure I wasn’t the first one there) and I got there at around about 5.23pm.

He was already there with a beer in his hand, a move too similar to that of that first Irish guy the day before. The exception was that when I got there, he asked whether I wanted a drink and even though I was completely prepared to pay he kinda shooed my wallet away and took care of my $9.00 House Chardonnay. Woo!

When we sat down, my sober eyes got a better adjustment as when I was hammered I had assumed Date#10 was a babe and my drunken eyes thought that he looked like the gay love child of James Dean and Pierce Brosnan.

My drunken observation was slightly exaggerated, but not far off!. He was a babe! With muscles on his arms and shit. There was strong Dad-bod potential though, he seemed like he could let it all go as he aged and rock it ( A clear criteria for any long term potential – rank their Dad-Bod potential!)

Date#10 almost came across like there was a bad boy buzz about him, the kinda impression that would cause my Mum to warn me to stay away from and the type that would have been able to persuade underage me to send flirty text messages from my Nokia 2280. (Sorry Mum!)

That is possibly a heavily exaggerated suggestion, simply from his good-looks and slightly too cool vibe that he was already beginning to give me in the first five minutes. The conversation was pretty standard at the start, he was kind of from the Hutt and we bonded over our Hutt roots – which he was immediately defensive over since he only went to school out there. I used to deny being from the Hutt too, until I realised it gave me street cred and I could pull out the classic line of “You don’t me, you don’t know where I’ve been!” It also meant that I could wear ugg boots and trackpants with a pink hoodie in public “Because I’m from the Hutt”. Side-rant: There is something actually really special about the Hutt and no, its not Trevor Mallard. I genuinely love the people out there and only like, two of my teenage lovers who are from the Hutt have been arrested on drug or assault charges…

See Date #10 why would you even deny being from the Hutt having gone to school out there?  It makes you who you are! Even though your Hutt education was from state integrated boy’s secondary school, that was really shit at debating, relatively close to a high risk security prison and I’m really hammering this Hutt part of your life up, don’t forget your roots.

We literally spoke about the Hutt for like 15 minutes since its my favourite topic of all time before we discussed what we’ve done with our lives. I talked about my degree and how my job is going and he talked about what he does for a living, how he lived in England and used to play club cricket over there and how he now lives in the Eastern suburbs of Wellington (Why don’t you move to the Hutt?) . Despite not having much to report about in terms of the conversation as it wasn’t completely deep and meaningful, but there was great banter. When he asked if I wanted a second drink, I said hell-yes because I was having a great time and I had also downed my wine incredibly quickly.

During the second wine, I offered him a lift to dinner since he was meeting a friend for dinner. I joked that he was meeting another Tinder date for dinner and he immediately denied it. I’m surprised he didn’t turn the joke back on me since I was unashamedly going on a dinner date to an incredibly nice restaurant at 7.30pm to mark my total number of Tinder dates that day to be three. See, told ya’ll that I’m such a slut!

As I had two glasses of cheap Chardonnay in the space of about an hour, I was feeling quite sassy and tipsy as a result during which I discovered as I was driving Date #10 to his next location.  I made the cute and classic girl joke that I was just adorably bad driver.

We concluded the date with him extremely confused as to which Thai restaurant he was going to and as I pulled over to say good-bye, Date #10 engaged me into this kiss where there was a lot of pace and tongue for about fifteen seconds. Words couldn’t describe it more accurately but surprisingly, I was totally into it. I then drove off and cranked up my Beyoncé loud to hide my bad driving.

Date #8 occurred 15 minutes after Date #7 finished. I had lied to Date #7 and said that I was meeting a friend for a drink and that I needed to move my car, which was mostly true – I did genuinely need to move my car. Little did he know that I was about to meet yet another Irish Tinder lover due to my weird sense of humour “Hey, do you know what would be freaking hilarious! Two Irishman back to back!”

Upon first glance, Date #8 seemed like he would deliver in terms of Irish charm and had more of a Gerard Butler vibe in PS I Love You ( except for the minor detail that he was red-headed and not Gerard Butler)

Date #8 opened the chat on Tinder with a bizarre accusation as to how I knew his flatmate ( I didn’t know his flatmate) but one thing I began to notice about Tinder since I was clearly becoming a Tinder expert was that it started to show you having lots and lots of friends in common with any potential match. This could have been disastrous as my mutual friends with Tinder potentials were 80% previous conquests. Not ideal, especially if word got out about this short blonde girl with big boobs. This was luckily just a glitch that Tinder was overcoming since it now (few weeks on) comes up with 1st connections and 2nd connections next to mutual friend icons. 1st connections meant friend of both of yours and 2nd connections was your friends who had a connection with one of their friends. Did that make sense? I don’t care if it doesn’t.

After we got over the hump that I didn’t actually know his flatmate, things went relatively smoothly and for once, it was me who was failing on the chat-game. Date #8 seemed super keen to converse with a minimum of four lines to each three or four words I was getting out – I was getting jaded by this stage of my 30 days. He had a pretty exciting job that required qualifications and was originally from a place in Ireland that was known as Stab-City. He used to live in Canada and Queenstown and used at least two exclamation points at the end of every two or three lines of text!!

Looking back on our conversation, I’m surprised he was even keen to meet. I was definitely failing at the chat and wasn’t giving him much to work with. He asked me how my day went a week before we met up and I said “Day was good. Coordinated an event and Phil Goff showed up“.

Christ, He’s from Ireland. No New Zealanders even know who Phil Goff is post-2012. How many Labour leaders have we had since him? I’m surprised he even wanted to hang out after I mentioned a political figure. Yuck.

He texted me during Date #7 and said “Hey Date#8 here, so rum bar for a drink or would you prefer cocktails at Chow or Library or I’m always keen for good food!

He followed up with a second text since I didn’t respond ( I was too busy getting my chest stared at by a short Irish guy with a bad haircut)

“Just home, what’s your plan? Do you want to meet somewhere or should we try this another night?”

We agreed to meet at 6pm at CGR Merchant and Co. He mentioned that it was upstairs if I had never been there before.

I had been there before.

I went there a few months beforehand to break up with my boyfriend at the time, and on a separate occasion  a month prior, when I took yet another fucking Irish guy home to meet my four poster bed and tiny dog. Since we hadn’t met yet, I didn’t know if it was appropriate to mention either of these stories related to our date location so I thought I would say that I’d see him there.

Date #8 was 10 fucking minutes late. I had never been the first one there before and I didn’t know how to chill or pretend like I didn’t look like I had just been stood up.

Date #8 ran up the stairs at top speed to compensate his tardiness ( I will never forgive you) and I simply pretended like I hadn’t even noticed and was okay with him being tardy (I will seriously, never, ever forgive you). First impression was that Date #8 was genuinely a similar albeit ginger version of Gerard Butler’s character in PS I Love You. He was just as charming, energetic and infectiously happy.

You could be forgiven thinking that Date#8 and I hadn’t seen each other in years by the way we energetically spoke and there was just so much infectious banter from the get-go. We immediately talked about all the things you should never talked about on a first date ( I told him about how the last time I was here I took a guy home afterwards and the time before that I broke up with my boyfriend at the time) and we bonded over our mutual love for awkward moments.

This guy seriously had the best chat. We talked about being that person who got way to drunk in inappropriate situations and I loved that he didn’t take himself too seriously. He wasn’t bad on the eye either. The conversation was going so well, we even settled for a second beverage, a rare sign that things were going well.

Which is when he dropped his bombshell.

We somehow got onto the topic of movies and I said how much I loved Mean Girls. Date#8’s favourite movie was “We are the Millers”

Apart from that bizarre choice of favourite movie, Date #8 was starting to seem like a second date was actually on the cards. I offered to drive him to his destination as it was getting late and he had to go to a Jazz thing with his friends at The Realm in Haitaitai (A tacky pub on a Wednesday?) and it took us about six minutes to drive there before we commenced pashing in the Barina, outside The Realm in Haitaitai for about seven to eight minutes. Not too much tongue, surprisingly tasting nice after two salted caramel rums before we said our Goodbyes and I tried to get over the horror of Date #8’s favourite movie.