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 #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”