Date #18 Breakfast Coffee with a Bodybuilder

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.

Hallo, nice to meet you. You look just like my daughter.

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.

Get it?

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?

You look pretty…I look pretty…why don’t we go home and stare at each other?

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.

That was so weird. I’m sorry.

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:

What’s a trap?

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.

Fun fact: Missy Elliot is 44 now.

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.

Screen Shot 2015-11-14 at 3.59.46 PM
I’d rather see you up there shaking dat thang.

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.

Job check, Hot bod check, anything else?

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”

Urgh, Come on.

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!

Why is there more vowels in your name to prove a point?

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!

Date #16 Drinks…and then Dinner with a guy from the Hutt

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?

Nice to meet you

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.

Hmm.

P.S You had good reason to be mad at me that night. I wasn’t just flirting with the bartender, I pashed him outside the bathroom at Matterhorn. You know you love me xoxo Gossip Girl

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!

“Sorry I’m late, I was looking at pens with feathers on them”

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.

Holla at me sister

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.

I must have forgotten to text back. My bad

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:

Ow!
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.”

Date #4 Coffee with a Cynic

Date #4 was assumingly a frequent flyer on Tinder as we had matched every single time I had signed up since I joined beginning of 2014. Tinder and I had an on again-off again relationship. Like Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee. With less Hepatitis C and hopefully less leaked sex-tapes.

Even though I don’t recall ever having a conversation with Date #4 worth remembering, I thought it would be a fantastic opportunity for Tinder to hopefully surprise me. He seemed quite good-looking and looked great in his photos with zero selfies. This was a good sign that he has a life or that he had his tinder perfected by the women in his life (which is also indicates that he’s also been friend-zoned by these women). First picture was him and a friend wearing a black t-shirt and sunglasses. The second photo showed him alone wearing a nice shirt and tie. The third, the same outfit ( let us hope it was the same day as the first photo otherwise he must really love that look). The fourth photo showed him once again, in a shirt, tie and this time a jacket. Bonus! He was next to a friend also wearing a suit and tie and one would hope it was taken a few years ago as he looked younger in this picture than he did in the first three shots (unless I’m about to date Benjamin Button?). He had two more photos which depicted him in the exact same outfits as two, three and four. In three out of six photos, he’s holding a beer.  In five out of six photos, he’s wearing the same tie. The last photo had him posed next his friend with his butt pushed out and his friend squatting on him at either at the races or a wedding. A classic photo to show that he has a sense of humour.

Fucking hilarious

Date #4 started off the conversation with a winning opening line.

Date #4: “Hi:)”

Melissa: “We’ve met before”

Date #4: “We’ve matched before. But not met:)

Date #4: “And I’d be happy to change that if you are.”

Melissa: “Ok. Guess you haven’t had much luck”

Date #4: “Define luck? 🙂 no I just realise we’ve matched twice now, and have intended to meet, but never did. So would rather cut the mucking around and find out if you’re keen or not!”

Melissa: “Yeah I’m keen”

Date #4: “Cool 🙂 free this weekend?”

Melissa: “For you I could be”

Date #4: “Provocative 🙂 and I’m assuming that’s a yes. Cool, I’m free all day Sunday”

We then agreed to meet at Midnight Coffee on Cuba Street at 11am the following day. Surprisingly, I was running 20 minutes late and rescheduled at 10.41am to meet at 11.30am which he was fine with. At 11.42am, I sent him a message saying “I’ve just done the world’s best or worst parallel park – see you soon” and at around 11.49am, I finally arrived. 19 minutes late is bad form and I could tell this was becoming a habit I would struggle to break.

Richie and I arrived at Midnight Coffee to quite a handsome dark young guy sitting down with his gym bag. We realised quite quickly that this establishment wasn’t dog-friendly and I suggested we went down to Dukes to grab a coffee.

When we finally sat down at Dukes, I finally got a decent look at him. He wasn’t bad-looking and definitely would look fantastic with a Dad-bod in years to come. He had nice features, strong dark brows and had a nice smile. For some pathetic reason, I couldn’t overlook the fact that his t-shirt had piles in it. He was also obviously semi-unenthused about Richie, something that I immediately couldn’t understand since he said he liked dogs.

Date #4 was a baby corporate in the big bad world of boring occupations. After about three minutes of conversing with him, I figured out why he was single and it wasn’t because of the piles in his shirt or his inability to be excited around Richie. I mean, I’m not asking for much. Just pat my fucking dog in a way that doesn’t look begrudging.

Richie was, needless to say unenthused about this lacklustre pity pat and refused to associate with Date #4 after that.

How every guy should act around my dog

Date #4 was a self-confessed bogan who listened to a lot of Rammstein growing up. Perhaps this was the reason why everything he said had such a negative undertone. The struggle was real to converse about anything without it resulting in something negative. He seemed to put a lot of blame on the fact that he was a middle child ( Lulz I’m a middle child too) and seemed to hate his job and was discontented with life.

Best Douche Bag moment of the day went to Date#4  when he made the brilliantly generalized, and sexist remark “Of course, you’re a girl” as a way of explaining why I was so excited about materialistic things.Which obviously meant that every single woman has a tendency towards shiny brand things. I was mortified. I just told him I was looking forward to upgrading my laptop?! The moment was emphasized when he started to go on a tangent on how we work to please other people and that he didn’t see the point in new things and that he just wanted to save money. He even sold his car because he didn’t see the use in it.

“Right? I just love the bus so much!”

It was getting to the point of the conversation where I was starting to feel bad for the guy. Possibly I was being too harsh? Maybe he made one stupid remark generalizing women loving shiny things and I over reacted? When we united over the fact that there was no step by step book and paint by numbers way of dealing with life once you graduate and get a job,  I started to really feel like he was deeply unhappy without even knowing he was and will be forever unsatisfied with life. When I tried to suggest that he needed to do things to make him happy, he made the comment that I just work hard to show others that I’m working hard.

SRSLY?

It reached crunch time during the date where I was starting to become genuinely offended by his incorrect psycho-analysis of me. I didn’t tell him that I found him to be an angry anti-feminist who hates shiny things, with piles on his shitty t-shirt but I did lie and say that I had to do other things in the afternoon (like stare at a blank space on my ceiling memorizing the lyrics to Gangster’s Paradise) and wrapped up the date. I offered him a ride to wherever he was going which he thankfully declined and got a bonus awkward hug to really seal the deal. He was off to the gym to get the best value for money out of his bus fare and I was off to look at shiny things and to show people how hard I work.

Did I ever hear from him again? Well, 22 minutes after we parted ways, Date #4 send me a message on Tinder “Hey was nice to meet you – sorry I meant to ask for your number if that’s cool? :)”

Needless to say, we never spoke again.

Date #2 Brunch with a Londoner

On my Tinder profile, it says that I like “Brunch and Dogs”. I only really started to appreciate brunch in it’s full glory four years ago when my boyfriend at the time introduced me to Marsden Village Café in Karori. We went there every couple of weeks when we lived together and it had the perfect brunch menu for those who liked big breakfasts and rugby. We also loved that it was dog-friendly – I literally used to dream of going to brunch with my future dog ( big life goals, I know). Last year when I started using Tinder, I used to take Tinder potentials to MVC for a third date only if they were considered worthy of my favourite brunch establishment. Sadly, the ownership of the Café changed twice since I started going there four years ago, the creamy mushrooms became less creamy and more grilled and they changed the type of hash browns they used.  After the last time I went with … I can’t even remember who, I decided that it was time I closed that chapter of my brunch life. Fruitless dates there with lacklustre banter and grilled mushrooms proved inferior to those fond big breakfast memories once shared with the guy who went halves on a dog with me.

Date #2 and I chatted on the first night that I reinstated Tinder. He was a self-proclaimed fellow brunch lover from London and needed to find some good places to eat as he had only been back in Wellington for a few weeks.

Ah, fresh meat! Delightful. This means that it is highly likely I haven’t been near any of his friends. When I’m stalking future prey on Facebook, seeing mutual friends and recognising one from an intimate grinding moment on the dancefloor at The Establishment always somewhat dampens the mood. I responded to Date#2 with

Melissa: “If you like dogs, then you can take me out for brunch over the weekend. I’m Melissa. I’m employed and not too weird”.

Date 2#: “Then brunch over the weekend it most certainly is.

Melissa: “We can resume talking over here. Or you can ask me for my number. What do you do?”

I clearly lied about not being weird. Over text, Date #2 further questioned what my ulterior motive was with Tinder and I said that I was genuinely here to date which, was not a lie as it’s totally the truth. I knew that if I had mentioned that I was going on 30 dates in 30 days he may not have wanted to meet me. I couldn’t risk letting my game plan slip within 24 hours of starting the challenge.

On Friday at 2.34pm, Date#2 messaged to ask whether we were still doing brunch the following day. At 9.50pm, he messaged me again since I had not replied. I hadn’t saved his number at this point and had already forgotten his name!

On the Saturday morning after I finished some work early preparing campaigns, I realised I had to get a date sorted for the day and vaguely remembered Brunch boy from London. I finally messaged him back at 11.14am and asked if 12pm would suit, at Arthurs on Cuba Street. Date #2 replied exactly 10 minutes later saying that he was walking back from the gym but that he should be home in 10/15 minutes and that 12pm was good for him.

I ensured that I was running late to pay homage to all my former Tinder lovers and pushed the date time to 12.15pm since I wanted to kill time by going to Animates. After a good 45 minutes of browsing, Richie and I departed with $27.86 worth of dog treats and off we drove to Cuba Street.

I chose Arthurs as it was dog-friendly and had an English breakfast influence to it so that I could appease my date (Plus I didn’t want to spoil Pre-Fab for myself on Date #2 if it was utter shit). By the time I got there at an appropriate Melissa time, it was 12.30pm and my date was already sitting down outside waiting at a table.

First impression of Date#2 was that he probably wasn’t joking when he said he was tall as he was over 6ft 4 which made him taller than anyone I had ever been with. He had an English accent, obviously and was relatively easy to get along with. He had a good looking face, a kind smile and a full head of hair ( with what I could see!)  Not skinny and erred slightly on the Dad-Bod band wagon *wolf whistles*. He lived here four years ago to work in New Zealand and loved it hence why he came back for another year. He had just got a new flat to move into and our chat mostly revolved around that and living life in New Zealand. He said that he wanted some ‘stability’ for a little while and thought that the life here was good.

Richie was immediately a fan of Date#2 as he jumped on his lap within the first five minutes and curled up on his lap. The conversation was relatively free-flowing which naturally tipped in his favour when he admitted his Dad-bod and said that he loved dogs. I ordered the Big Breakfast, like the tiny small Blonde girl I am and 6ft 4 Date#2 ordered Eggs Benedict, which came out with Eggs, Bok Choy and Crumpets. When it came to the end of the meal and we walked towards the cashier, I got my wallet out intending to pay (because I’m Beyonce) to find that he already took care of it. Like a perfect English Gent.

Because everything was going well we ended up walking up to the Pukeahu War Memorial to check it out and walk Richie before it started raining. This is where the date started to take a turn…

We were heading up towards the inside part of the War Memorial when I saw a friend from school with her beautiful newborn and her entire extended family. Because I hadn’t seen her in a while, we stopped and had a chat where I cooed over her new baby. When it came to introductions, I introduced Date #2 as “My friend, *insert Date#1‘s real name*” without even realising. Date #2 took it really well and still shook the hands of everyone he had just met and didn’t correct me in front of them. As soon as they were out of ear shot however he said:

Date#2: “You so owe me!”

Melissa: [Assuming it was because I introduced him to people he didn’t know in the first place!] “Oh, I’m sorry!”

Date#2: “Who’s *insert Date#1‘s name*?”

After that, I came clean about my Tinder challenge and admitted that it was the name of the guy who I previously dated the night before. Date#2 took it pretty well, probably because I later found out that he assumed I was joking about the Tinder challenge at the time.

Still, surprisingly the date was going really well. As we walked back towards my car, Richie paused to do what dogs do and took a massive shit. Usually, when my dog poops it’s embarrassing in the sense that immediately afterwards I have to pick up warm poo during a hot date, but it’s part of owning a dog and I try not to resent it too much. This time however, little Richie happened to get diarrhea and I had no choice but to attempt to pick it up. It was sloppy, runny and by far the hardest thing I’ve ever had to pick up. Ridiculous, strongly scented and mildly unfortunate.

The weather started to pack it in after this particularly bleak moment and Date#2 had said during brunch that he needed to buy a new bed. I offered to drive him to Thorndon due to the weather and offered him advice since I had recently bought a new bed within the last month. Neither of us were really that keen to round of the date at that point and I felt obliged to recover from my memory lapse and Richie’s explosive diarrhea. So for the next two hours I ended up accompanying my Tinder date on his bed shopping afternoon. We walked around different bed shops and lay on different beds , finalising the four that we thought were good on the price and comfort.

Three hours and forty-five minutes late into the date and on the way back to the last furniture shop where he decided he wanted to buy his bed, he leaned in for the kiss in the Barina. Naturally I obliged since a) he wasn’t horrible b) he was really nice and c) because of my overwhelming commitment to this blog! His nose was cold and a little runny but overall the kiss was sweet. Clearly not as passionate at the night before, but a kiss that suggested he had enjoyed the time we had just spent together.

After he bought his bed, I offered to drive Date#2 home as my best friend was coming around later that evening and he had a night planned full of supporting ARSENAL and going to the rugby. He invited me around to his apartment as I dropped him off, to which I declined (because I’m a classy bitch) but made the arrangement to him again the following Saturday night, where the night ended in drunken tears and my spew. Consecutively and at the time.

I’m all class.

Date #1 Spooning Session with a Bearded Shepard

Shit Tinder chat has got to be amongst one of the worst things ever in the category of First World Problems. Nothing is more tedious than a “Hey, how are you?” At this current time, 39 individuals have approached me on tinder with this opening line. For all 39 people who didn’t get a reply from me and still want to know: I’m mostly fine, a little cloudy with a slight chance of rain. I’m a little windswept and hungry. Most of all, your initial interaction is so disappointing that I’m assuming that any further communication with you won’t improve the mood situation. How are you?

Just to clarify, I’m not here to empower myself, make a statement for all of those single ladies out there, or try to reinvent the wheel. This is just an experiment to prove that one guy who shared my bed wrong.

Luckily for those who love detail, believe me I’m not one to shy away from it. I’m always the one over sharing in the queue at the supermarket, in line for coffee, to my staff members, and to my superiors about what intimate details I did on the weekend. Nothing really holds me back. Sadly for the unlucky ones who date me, they know my entire sexual history before they’ve even asked me if I’d like a second drink. Which only proves beneficial on public holidays.

Date #1 had approached me on the Tuesday, the day after I joined Tinder, and by Friday we had arranged to meet. His first message was guaranteed to get any dog-lover interested.

1#: ” Heya stranger, I just bought a puppy yesterday. I’m the happiest boy in the world haha. You work with Shaniqua*?”

I had to check his Tinder profile to see what he looked like. I was being incredibly open-minded about this entire experiment, and had very loose requirements as to who and what I was matching with. Generally speaking, I prefer tall guys with broad shoulders and Dad-bods. I’m not overly fussed other than that in terms of appearance. I like guys who have good chat, great humour, are easy-going and self-assured.

Date #1 had carefully selected his Tinder pictures as he clearly has some amateur photographers on his Facebook friend list taking some Snapstar-like photos of him out and about. He wasn’t smiling or looking at the camera in any of his pictures, and was completely tattooed up. Photos showed that he had an impressive, slightly ginger beard and seemed slim but not too skinny without the athlete bod. No Dad-bod meant that there was going to have to be some fantastic chat to make up for it. I wasn’t joking about having a thing for them.

I’m exhausted after a work week and the idea of going out on a cold, windy Friday was by far the worst one ever, but I knew that three days into rejoining Tinder I had to get out there and start hustling up these dates, otherwise it was going to get harder. I decided to break every single safety rule ever about meeting strangers on Tinder and somehow ended up inviting date#1 over to my house. I felt relatively confident in this decision because I did confirm with a mutual friend that he was harmless (phew!) but mainly because I was too tired and too lazy to put on make up and be “dated”.

It’s 8pm when date #1 asks whether I’m cute enough for red-wine wielding ginger bearded visitors after I had just explained that I was already in a pink onesie and settling in for the night. After a bit of flirting and confirmation that he would leave if it got weird, we agreed that he would come over to mine and we’d drink wine and watch something puppy related. This was perfect, all I had to do was provide the wine and arrange a movie. I put on minimal make up, got changed into a t-shirt and jeans and even had a shower as a bonus for my date. Forty-five minutes later, there was a knock at my door.

First impressions of Date #1 was that he was pretty similar to how his pictures portrayed him except he was actually looking in my direction. I felt somewhat comforted that he was a little shorter than I had originally thought, and immediately commented on this.

“You’re a lot shorter than I thought!”

Luckily for me and unfortunately for Date #1, my flatmate Mon was at the dining table ready to grill this guy and evaluate whether or not he was a serial killer. He had brought expensive cider and one of the new Whittakers blocks with him which meant that if all else fails and this date was utter shit, I was at least enthused about trying this flavour of chocolate. Date #1 was relatively easy to talk to, seemed genuinely nice and easy on the eye. He and Mon even managed to bond over designer necklaces and she showed him a designer that he hadn’t heard of on her phone.

About half an hour into our wines, cider and chocolate, Mon decided that being a third wheel on a first Tinder date was getting boring and was wanting to go to a party in Aro Valley to have her own Tinderventure. She asked if I could drop her off since I had only had a glass of wine at this stage. Date #1 was relaxed and chilled (surprising, given the amount of exclamation points he had written at the end of every sentence) about the entire situation and we all hopped in my Holden Barina to head to Aro Valley

Poor Date #1 got to experience my terrible taste in music (Too Little Too Late – JoJo) and my erratic driving skills, all within an hour of the first date. I felt like I was the one who was supposed to be judging him but already he was beginning to know more about me than I was wanting to let on in the first date of 30.

Once we got back to the flat, we were home alone and decided that this was a good time to settle in and watch the dog-related movie that we had agreed on. I knew that watching a movie in bed was a bold move for a first Tinder date, too bold for a classy bitch like myself so I had arranged for the movie to be on my laptop and prepared our gigantic beanbags to ensure maximum opportunity to initiate the dreaded friend-zone and zero opportunity for whatever it is that could happen under the bed covers for those bold girls on Tinder.

I chose the classic “Marley and Me” since Date#1 hadn’t seen it and we settled in where there was a grey blanket shared between our two gigantic bean bags. By 25 minutes into the movie we were cuddling – I lied about being a classy bitch. His spoon is something that is seriously worth mentioning on this blog as it was up there with the Best Spooners of ALL TIME in my entire spooning history. He had this firm but safe grip on me and held tightly, but didn’t make me feel uneasy or unsafe. It was incredible and I felt extremely comfortable in his arms. By this stage, I wasn’t even focused on the fact that we had just met an hour and a half ago. Nor did I care. The only thing I really cared about at this point was that I didn’t want him to let go.

After 30 minutes of spooning and watching “Marley and Me”, I went in for the kiss. It was soft and gentle but I could tell he was holding back as it was our *~first*~ kiss. He used minimal tongue (Because we weren’t in The Establishment) and he just softly massaged my bottom lip with a little bit of his tongue and sucked gently on it. 10/10 would pash him again, I was genuinely stoked.

After our pretty amazing first kiss, we were about 34 minutes into the movie. By this stage, I was completely over this movie and struggled to stay awake. Marley was still a puppy at this stage and I fell asleep in Date#1’s arms for the next half of this movie. I forgot how long this movie was and it felt like I was asleep for at least an hour. I cannot recall snoring but I realised when I woke up that I definitely had drooled all over my arm. Classy. I think I mentioned it to my Date who was once again not phased by drool, nor this entire experiment and just laughed it off, realising then that he scrunched his nose up when he laughed.

I was borderline ready to throw this entire experiment out the window after I saw that nose scrunch as everything about Date #1 was incredibly natural and relaxed. Nothing seemed to phase him, which is a good contrast for my crazy bitch personality. But alas, I was committed and I still had 29 dates to go.

Best moment of the night occurred when my Dad arrived at midnight to drop off my dog before he went to work. When I walked back down the stairs into the living room with the dog, Date #1 was re-adjusting his pants after our semi-hot and heavy spooning session. I only got a glimpse, but I will say that it enhanced my opinion of him and the night in a positive way.

With that, it was getting late and for the record Date#1 was not going to stay the night. After a few more PG rated kisses to end the night, I walked him to the door and asked him to message me to let me know that he got home alright.

*Shaniqua is not her real name. Unfortunately.