Date #12 Brunch with Harry Potter

After three Tinder dates and one Silver Fox brief affair I was hung over on the Friday and sick of my own voice.

Date #12 and I talked back in early May before I deleted Tinder to be with da1 (Da1 who broke it off after 13 or so days. I was cut deep). His banter was so good that my flatmate Mon and I nicknamed him “Harry Potter” over drinks one night when this blog was in the ‘planning stages’. When we first started chatting I asked him to tell me something about himself and he said something along the lines like this:

“Umm… well. I grew up with my Aunt and Uncle since I was little. It was okay, except sometimes my cousin used to bully me and was kinda mean. Then when I was 11, a huge man came to my house on his motorbike and told me I was a wizard. Life’s been pretty good since then.”

Possibly it was because I read this over a few glasses of wine, but at the time and to this day I found this hilarious. On the banter scale, it was a 10.

When you’re dealing with guys on Tinder with shit banter, they’re either saying something too far out of left field as though they’re trying to be different, or something too basic that it doesn’t even warrant a reply. Date #12 was the Goldilocks of Tinder chat and it seemed like there was a lot of prospects especially if it was going to be slightly dry and referencing Harry Potter at any point. Which made me curious and determined to meet him…

Turns out Date #12 was the most hard to get, cynical guy I’ve ever talked to on Tinder. It was as though he joined Tinder, knowing instantly that he would regret it and scathing everytime he got a notification from someone on there. He seemed like the type that was nice, but overly picky and hesitant that he was going to get cat-fished every time. Later I found out, that he only felt that way about meeting me.

He was reading way too much into my initial bio on Tinder which I had something along the lines of “I have ulterior motives as to why I’m here”. (Edit: I’m such a wanker for writing that as my Tinder bio.) I also once posted a snap story asking who wanted to brunch with me, after organising with Harry Potter, to have brunch the following day. I could almost forgive him for giving me the hot and cold vibes since upon reflection, I was sounding suspicious by agreeing to brunch, then publicising that I needed another brunch date for a different day. Smooth.

Regardless of his hesitant attitude towards meeting me, part of my crazy bitch attribute is that I can play a long game if required (while maintaining 30 others). Since we had arranged to meet for brunch the week before and had I not bailed to brunch with my best friend, then Date #12 would have been Date #3. Over the following week plans were made then abandoned  probably due to a combination of his catfish fear and being busy with life until the following Saturday which is when we finally met. I was too exhausted to entertain on the Friday after four dates on the Thursday and could afford to skip a day since I had already done 11 dates in the last week. I also hate Friday night dates. It leads to drinking and then, if one isn’t careful, leads to something more.

Date #12 and I agreed to meet up at PreFab. In my brunch-obsessed mind PreFab is amazing. The creamy mushrooms are incredible, the portion sizes are good but not huge and the price reflects this. I like to use the bathroom every time I go there solely to use their Aesop hand wash and I genuinely like the easy layout of their café. The waitresses wear brightly coloured lipsticks and the food comes out quickly. Above all , it’s dog-friendly and Richie loves to socialise on a Saturday morning.

Richie and I arrived, strangely to time and we were slightly early so we found a spot outside before Date#12 arrived. I was wearing knee-high socks with a black skirt and a polka-dot top that showed far too much cleavage. It was kind of cold that day and my nipples did not appreciate my choice of outfit.

First impressions of Date #12 was that he was as tall as I expected (5ft 8ish) but more muscular than I expected. None of his photos showed him smiling and one was even blurry. He was wearing the whitest t-shirt I’ve ever seen (“Sorry I’m five minutes late, was picking up a new white t-shirt from AS Colour”) with a Nike jacket and a snapback cap. He dressed like a Caucasian Jay-Z, where he could afford to dress well but still wanted to look he had street-cred. His Country Road socks are testament to this.

High-quality socks are my jam!

The conversation was pretty light-hearted and not overly awkward. He wasn’t as open as I and seemed pretty guarded but was friendly and open-minded. He was clearly really curious about what I was doing on Tinder soliciting boys for brunch, so I was pretty quick to confess that although I was genuine, he was part of some social experiment. He took it pretty well, although he asked whether there was cameras around and I advised that this was just a low-budget blog.

One of the things about Date #12 was that his Tinder line was his occupation (Who does this?!) which I won’t reveal in this blog but he works for a film studio that takes its name from an ugly insect. He was really down to earth but it was clear that he worked hard and I assumed he was good at what he did. He moved to Wellington a year ago for work and was originally from Auckland.

Richie took a liking to Date #12 and was rather happy to sit on his lap. I cannot fathom how forward Richie is sometimes with strangers, I haven’t taught him the importance of stranger danger. It took a weird turn when out of the blue, near the end of the conversation, Date #12 asked me to look the other way since he had cramp so that he could pull a face and deal with it. So naturally I looked back. The situation then went as follows:

me, silently horrified
la la la la

Despite this weird seven second moment, the date wasn’t a disaster. I asked if he could look after Richie whilst I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and then went and paid the bill,  even though this guy ordered twice the amount of eggs and that costs like $10 extra “How many eggs? Two? Okay, can I please have four?”  and because I’m a strong independent woman.

Ladies and Gentleman, I paid on the first date

When I got back to the table, he was like “Urgh, you paid” and part of the reason why I did was because this challenge wasn’t about getting free food or wined and dined and I cared enough to ensure that he didn’t leave with that impression. Also, I have an this unreasonable phobia of split payment on a date.

Date #12 walked me to my car after the date and refused my offer to drive him to his car afterwards. It was kinda mega awkward saying “Bye!” *awkward hug* to then watch him walk down the street afterwards back where we came from. Although the date went well, I got the most doubting text that night from him.

Date #12: “Thanks for brunch today, I actually had a nice time.

Me: “Should I be worried about that “actually” bit?”

Date #12: “Haha! The “actually” was incase it didn’t come across that way. If you’re interested though, I think we should “probably” do it again.”

I ain’t saying he’s on Ashley Madison, but…

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.

Take you to the mooon and back

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.

Screen Shot 2015-08-31 at 10.02.06 PM

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.

Date #11 Dinner with a Man Who Set the Standard

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!

êtes-vous de la France ou Hamilton ?

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.

Nom nom nom

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.

Date #10 After-Work Wines with a Local

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.

I dressed like this
And I acted like this

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.

Respect the Hutt, respect yo'self
Respect the Hutt, respect yo’self

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.

Still under the legal limit, just a 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.

That kiss!

Date #9 Shortest Lunch ever with a Short guy

This date that I’m about to describe was the first to occur during a lunch break. Date #9 was one of my first matches during this Tinderventure and I gave him very little information at the beginning. Cue my shit chat, from the beginning:


He suggested that before our first date that we should exchange three things about ourselves, two true facts and one lie and the other had to guess which one was the lie. I would usually save my Tinder chats for deep into the night since during the day I would be working late and in the evenings I’d be full on with my other job. My ideal Tinder chat time was 9.30pm, which obviously suited Date #9 as well, except his bedtime was around 10pm. This was fine by me since his chat wasn’t good enough to go on longer. He started sprouted off random words to get my attention since I wasn’t enthused by a lot of what he had to say. He said “Bubbles! Hah” and I responded with “How tall are you?” to which he responded with “Short yo! Like 5ft.6 :)”

Well, that settled any future long term plans. There was no way I would ever get accidentally pregnant to him.

Date #9 continued with the weird chat, which upon looking over it now for the content of this blog makes me wonder why I met up with him in the first place. He said “Ah yeh! :D” which really fucking grinded me.

FullSizeRender (4

As above, we agreed to meet during lunch time on the Thursday following the pashfest with the Irish guy in my Barina. 12.30pm, at Nikau Cafe. See ya there bubbles! Ah yeh!

He then asked if I had met anyone off Tinder before. I said “A few.”I was clearly lying. Unless he was referring to simply, the last few days in which case I was in the clear. I asked if he was strange. His answer was relatively reasonable;

“Ha I hope not but I might be depending on what your perception of what’s strange :P You’ll have to make up your own mind. :D”

I was around 6-7 minutes late to which Date#9 prompted to text me to say “I’m inside standing around like a dork lol”



Why did I even turn up to this date with a guy who says LOL? I literally can’t even fathom. When I got there, I saw him – he was clearly nailing his Tinder photos with the four up-close face shots as he was incredibly short when I got there. He wasn’t as bad Danny Devito, but he was about the height of Daniel Radcliffe who peaks at 5ft 5. It didn’t help that it looked like he was wearing skater shoes too and wide legged pants to make him look tall. He really dressed up.

For a Date in 2002

Not as bad as Sisquo was in 2002, but you get the idea.

I wish I could say that he really lifted me back up with his chat but unfortunately, that was a let down too. He was sweet but was awkward and his interactions with everyone we encountered – the waitress at the cafe for example just went to show that social interactions just weren’t his thing. It was so bad, that I feel guilty admitting that I figured this out in the first three minutes and the situation even made me feel awkward.

Date #9 still lived at home, with his Mum in the Greater Wellington region.

Me: “Have you ever flatted”

Date #9: “Um… nah”

Me: “Did you ever wish you were flatting?”

Date #9: “Err, nah its just my Mum and I”

Me: “Oh cool! I wish my Mum and I still lived in the same city… you must be saving so much money living at home all this time”

Date #9: “Erm yeh I’m saving for a house”

Me: “Cool! Where do you want to live”

Date #9: “Probably will buy in *Inserts Greater Wellington suburb that his Mum currently lives in*”

Me: “Cool! Have you been travelling?”

Date #9 “Ahh, nah I’ve been to Australia when I was a kid but nothing since then”

Oh fuck. See, I tried. I really did. I mean, it wasn’t the most awkward thing I’ve ever done (as I once tried to clean my dog’s anal glands after watching a Youtube video to save on vet costs) but it was genuinely quite bad. So bad that I offered to pay for the drinks in order to round the date up. So bad that I then faked a text message from my boss saying I needed to follow something up. It was so bad that he awkwardly told me his Dad had passed away two years ago.

How do I react to this?

Date #9 texted me two hours later, saying “Thanks for the fun lunch date! :D”

He then texted me the next day saying “Coffeeeeeeee next week! :D”

He then texted me the next day and said “Or zoo! Ha :) do you work weekends?”

I responded with “I went to the zoo over the weekend”

He said “Aww okay”

The following week he sent me a text saying that he saw the coffee place I liked.

I never responded again.

Date #8 BacktoBack Irish Episode #2

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)

Yep, this was pretty much what I imagined
Mixed with this

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.

I’m so confused. How do I not act like an idiot when someone is late? Do I pretend to be okay with this?

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.

Take me to pound town, Jerry

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”

Wait, what was that?
I got down in my underwear for the 24th Best Movie of 2013
Number 23 was Furious 6

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.

Date #7 The Back to Back Irish Episode 1

Wednesday was a hump day and for the first time in a long time, I was on time to work by 8am. Because of my excellent time management skills I was able to arrange for a tinder date at 5pm.

Date #7 was the first Irish guy I gave my number to off Tinder. I possibly had a case of overly built up anticipation for the luck of the Irish to make up for two one night stands I had on separate occasions where I was too intoxicated to even consider anything further than their Irish accents. Needless to say, I didn’t end up in a situation comparable to Gerard Butler in P.S I Love You but I held onto hope and remained optimistic that an Irish guy would eventually charm me and say just the way Gerry did in P.S I Love You “I know I should know this darling, but are you mad at me?”

Gerry, how could we be mad at you? Love, every girl ever.

Date #7 had a bio outlining that he was “Irish and new to Welly”with only two photos. One face shot of a nice looking boy and another of him with two friends holding a drink. The conversation started as most do, with a “Hello Melissa” and a smiley face on the end. I didn’t respond (because I’m a cold-hearted bitch) and he followed it up with a “I’m not very good at talking via Tinder so bear with me I’ll be a lot more charming”. So I gave him my number to be courted by an Irishman. Just like that.

Unfortunately his Hey :) on the Saturday night and his Hey :( on the Monday night got old pretty quickly with no response and the chat wasn’t getting my blood pumping but there was a possibility that his shit Tinder chat could be compensated by a stellar personality so I finally responded.

Screen Shot 2015-07-22 at 7.40.52 PM
The eggplant says everything.

We agreed to meet at 5pm at Plum Cafe on Cuba Street for an after work coffee as I was unenthused to do anything else with him based on his shit chat and a coffee can last as long as you choose to drink it. He texted me at 4.55pm to see if I was there yet and at 4.59pm I replied that I was walking there now ( lies, I was still at my desk)

I finally got to Plum at 5.09pm to meet Date #7 in the flesh. I was getting too accustomed to meeting strangers on the internet and simply said “Hey!” with a smile. He had a little bit of stubble, slightly sticking out ears and had comparatively close to the scalp short hair. He had already bought his own coffee by the time that I was there and needed to order my own. Perhaps it wasn’t an Irish thing to ask someone what they’re going to have if someone meets them there first and then sat down with my self-catered Chai Latte.

He was a Chef and like he indicated in his bio, was new to Wellington. He was currently staying in a hostel with two friends and worked nights. Within 15 minutes he had made weird references to the fact that I could drive him around Wellington since I had a car and during the 50 minute coffee date, he was looking at my chest for at least half of that time. I even asked him to look at me in the eyes at one point to which he replied “But they’re so big!”

I have big boobs, does that give you the right to stare? Bitch, please.

During my Chai Latte, I asked Date #7 whether he had been to other countries “Nah, just NZ and the US”. Such a chatterbox, I could hardly get a word in. The conversation stooped to such tragic levels that he had to ask what my favourite colour and movie was. He had never seen Mean Girls.

When we said goodbye, it was fucking awkward. Turns out he had blown his flat viewing for this tinder date and seemed ultra keen for a second date. Little did he know that the date following this coffee date was a drink with another Irish Tinder guy.

He never heard from me again. The last text he sent me was

Date #7 “So date no 2 tomorrow?”

Date #7: “Or not”