Tinder and Blind

A once single Tinder obsessed bad dater London girl living in Dubai, to a step-mum who bagged a boy in Dubai, now living in London

Month: September, 2016

Ghosts Can Also Be Female


When I received the below from a friend I was relieved, because it means I don’t have to write about it. I’m known as a bit of a serial ghoster and the reason is because I’m too much of a coward to tell these guys that I just don’t ‘feel a spark’, because it sounds like such a cop out. The easy way out is to ghost someone- meaning just completely ignore them, don’t reply, don’t acknowledge their existence. It’s mean, cruel, and I would hate it if someone I liked did it to me, but I can’t face someone and let them know I’m just not that into them. It’s better for them to think I’m a bitch than to burn their ego face to face. So guys I’ve ghosted, RIP. Enjoy the below.. 

By Anon Contributor & Ghoster

‘Ghosting’ is terrible isn’t it? Only fuckboys and cold, heartless idiots ghost people, right? I’ll admit I didn’t even know what ghosting what until the author of this blog explained it to me. Since then I’ve read articles on types of ghosting, why people ghost and how to get the ‘power’ back from a ghoster (FYI, that last one is complete crap).
The thing all these ghosting articles had in common was that it presumed the ghost was male.
And then I remembered; I’ve done this. It was a year or two ago, before the term had even been coined.
I started texting and then dating a guy that I’d known from university. We had known each other as friends of friends at Uni and he’d been widely regarded as good looking, a ‘regulation hottie’ to quote Mean Girls. He’d had a long term girlfriend at the time though, and we’re good girls – mostly – so he was off limits.
But he was now single so we dated, we had a lot in common, it was fun…and then I stopped texting him back.

He’d try to arrange a date, and I didn’t answer. He’d send me cute messages asking me about my day, no reply. In the end, he text me, all fake lighthearted, full of unnecessary smilies saying he realised I wasn’t replying. He confessed he really liked me and wanted to   see me again, but if I’d lost interest then ‘no hard feelings’.

Only I knew there were hard feelings. Still I didn’t respond. So, why had I done it? He was lovely, intelligent, caring and attractive…and I didn’t fancy him. The only way I can explain it is that I think Mila Kunis is fit but I don’t want to have sex with her. I hadn’t realised when we first were dating because the concept makes me nervous and so I presumed the butterflies were 50/50. Turns out, they were 100 per cent nerves, and nothing else.

I know I should have told him something polite like we had no chemistry, or I didn’t think we were a good fit, or a total lie like I was emigrating. But I knew he’d either ask awkward questions, try to persuade me otherwise or see right through me. The truth was, I didn’t fancy him and how do you tell someone that without offending them? It’s an ego basher. I knew I’d probably never see him again so I thought it better that he hates me. Maybe ‘closure’ would’ve helped him, maybe I was selfish but next time someone ghosts you or your friend, consider that maybe, just possibly, they thought they were saving your feelings. However misguided. Or, you know, they’re a fuckboy/girl.

Never Leave your Alter Ego at the Door


By Anon- contributor 

For me and my friends, ‘let’s go out for a quiet drink’ usually turns into ‘let’s get to the bar before the club closes at 3am’. On one of these nights I was approached by a guy who was nice and polite, but just not my type. When these incidents happen, I bring out my alter ego (I give myself a different name, a different job, a bizarre back story).

On this occasion, I drove an ice cream van to pay the bills and lived in a house with my three sisters Lydia, Lilly and Lulu. I felt quite sorry for the poor guy as it seemed as though he genuinely believed me. Thankfully, though, my friends wanted to move on so I managed to get away before he could ask for my number.

As the hours ticked by, the Prosecco flowed, the ‘try not to look too drunk’ selfies were snapped and we managed to avoid getting accidentally elbowed on the dance floor. While sat in a booth, a guy approached me – he was also nice and polite but this one was my type. We spoke for what seemed like hours. He had a decent sense of humour, was very gentlemanly and had great hair. My alter ego remained locked in her box.

The only thing I found odd was that his friends were nowhere to be seen. I asked him if he had come out on his own (praying in my head that he wasn’t a gorgeous weirdo scouring clubs for women). He said that his friends had left just before he spoke to me. Again, slightly strange but I brushed it off and we exchanged numbers.

We sealed the night with a kiss and I headed home in a taxi with friends. I thought it was refreshing that he didn’t ask me to go back with him and he seemed as though he genuinely wanted to take me out on a proper date. My instincts were right as he text me the next morning asking when I was free to meet up. The following weekend we went for a drink. It was going really well – there were no awkward silences, we had a lot in common and we ended up being the last couple in the bar before closing.

As we were leaving, he turned to me and said he had to be honest with me about something. I knew the date was going too well! I stood there expecting the worst – he’s married or has a girlfriend. I was close… he actually has three girlfriends, and they all know about one another. He wanted me to be the fourth. Yes, really. He explained to me that he only has open relationships and that he and his three girlfriends meet up once a fortnight for ‘danger play’ (think Fifty Shades but with more whips). He asked me – with a straight face – if I wanted to be part of his harem. At first I thought he was joking, so I laughed, but he wasn’t. I then politely declined.

So, the moral of my story is that even if your suitor looks the part, you should always keep your alter egos close by! Although thinking about it, maybe his polygamous orgy lifestyle was part of his alter ego…

Date Disaster #54371


Remember my last post when I got all confident because my friend and I got chatted up by ‘not weirdos’ in the old fashioned way and it was great? Yeah, I take that back.

I went on a date with one of the non-weirdos at the weekend. The evening was going well, really well in fact. We had a couple of cocktails and relived how we met the previous weekend when I was just about out of the door of the bar before I recognised his friend and blah blah got talking, got a drink, blah. So all going swimmingly…until he decided to spill his life story and make me metaphorically run for the hills.

‘I’ve only been single for a couple of weeks’, he starts with a long inhalation, I knew he was about to produce a story worthy of a pity party.

Turns out his ex found some messages on his phone. Alarm bells went off for me at that moment, but I thought I’d hear him out, mainly because I had no choice. She subsequently kicked him out after reading the messages which ‘were innocent, but didn’t read well’. He goes on to tell me how she’s quite ill in a self inflicted kind of way as opposed to a terminally poorly way, and that he’s saved her life a few times.

He’s telling me all this to justify the fact that ‘if we see a crazy blonde Irish woman running towards us, just run’. Oh fabulous, because running in Louboutins is my favourite version of high intensity exercise/just what I planned on doing on a Friday night date in JLT. NOT.

She also owed him some money which she was keeping for him.. because he had a gambling addiction ‘but not made a bet for 4 months now’. Reassuring.

The rest of the evening was spent trying to resist looking over my shoulder all night for an angry blonde while simultaneously keeping an eye on my handbag. But I’m a nice person so I thought I may as well spend the rest of the night being as supportive as possible, giving unprofessional advice while trying not to down my gin.

So my date turned into a bit of a psychiatry session. I think I should start a new profession- agony aunt extraordinaire.

Suffice to say there won’t be a second date, mainly because I quite like the idea of keeping my hair on my head as opposed to in another womans hands.

The (Possible) Winning Formula


I wrote a post a while back entitled ‘Why Won’t He Chat Me up?’ whereby the only male species who did chat me up came up with lines like poor old Ryan here. I had planned to do some experiments. They would include going out with the girls, going out with a mixed group, going out on my own, dressing to the nines, dressing down, no makeup, etc etc. Unfortunately although most of these has technically been practised, I get too blackout to remember that I should be writing about it.

Since moving to Dubai a year ago, my social life has and does mainly consist of going out in a mixed group, and staying within our group. When out with the girls on ladies nights we stick together and rarely speak to men. If we get approached we usually fob them off with ‘it’s girls night, soz.’ Because we’re genuinely catching up with each other.. hashtag girlpower.

Last weekend I went out for post-work drinks with a fellow single girl friend for the first time in a loooong time. Within 10 minutes we were approached. Granted this guy knew my friend so came over to introduce himself, then I proceeded to embarrass myself by saying rather loudly ‘oh my god he was SO FIT’, not realising he had walked back right at the precise moment I’d opened my mouth. But this is just what I’ve learnt to accept, my timely shit timings.

Before long we had attracted more male attention and we both looked at eachother like ‘what’s going on, this doesn’t usually happen?!’. The following night I went out again, this time with a bunch of gay guys as my beloved friend and Editor of a well known magazine (going to miss my free review nights) is leaving the Middle East. So in full fag hag mode I was, and I loved it. It was obvious the guys I was with were gay, which meant it actually attracted MORE (straight) men. Gay guys make the best wingmen EVER. I mean, they have so much confidence that it rubs off on you, and makes you lose your, erm, inhibitions.

After the weekend I reflected on the amount of black outs and the amount of conversations with males that I’d never have had if I was out with a group of 5+ girls. In previous posts I have mentioned how my single guy friends won’t approach groups of girls because they feel intimidated and don’t want to even attempt it, the fear of rejection.

I updated my single friend about the amount of confident interactions with potentials (like actual hot guys, not chavs) I’d had that weekend, and we both agreed that going out as two females for a casual couple of drinks was the winning formula. I must also add that it depends on the sort of place you’re in. If you’re in Rock Bottoms on a Thursday night, I wouldn’t be inclined to reach for the Tiffany catalogue. However, somewhere laid back but nice, like DIFC (read: MEN IN SUITS), you’re likely to mix with a slightly higher calibre and have more intelligent conversation. I must caveat that not all great men work there, there might be some around, like, the marina and stuff.

This way you aren’t repelling men just by being in a group of females with more matte lipped pouts between them than Sephora, and if you’re not interested in someone who approaches you, there’s still two of you so you can pretend you’re a lesbo couple, which we may have done (okay we definitely did this at one point in the night, but it was to get away from a 50+ year old Arab who wanted to take us to meet his dogs in his Land Rover, with a view to going to his hotel- apparently the Burj al Arab). No regrets.

I mean you don’t HAVE to pretend to be lesbians, you can also use the excuse that you haven’t caught up for a long time. Guys will understand that it’s a polite ‘boy, bye’.

In conclusion, we have decided that as well as keeping our ladies nights and our mixed brunches with our lovely crews, it is probably important to get out there and not be intimidating, a casual drink as a two or three with a friendly smile as opposed to our usual resting bitch face.