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

Category: Shit Dates

Taking it back to the Old Skool (sans apps)


I wrote a piece for Elite Daily a while back entitled Are Dating Apps To Blame For Women No Longer Getting Hit On At Bars? (Elite Daily’s Sub Editor Americanised my original title)
and today I came across a similar subject on TED: How technology has transformed how we connect — and reject — in the digital age. 

Having had a busy weekend which involved a questionable amount of mixed drinks and consequently a day of hell for my liver and head, I resonated with the TED article and think it’s an important one for us (I won’t use the word Millennials because I hate it) young-ish, single folk who are now reliant on technology to give us instant gratification through dating apps just to get a buzz from a ‘match’. Now, I don’t know if this is the same for everyone, but the novelty soon wears off. The ego boost is good for the newly single who never had dating apps ‘in their day’, to make you think ‘heeey, I’ve still got it’ but then what?

Those who read my last post (thank you for your feedback by the way), will know that the date I went on was with someone I matched with on dating app, Bumble (I’m not on Tinder or any other dating app, I need the storage on my phone for all the screenshots I take and receive to and from friends on an hourly basis). This guy was lovely as a whole, and I was due to go on my second date with him today, but I cancelled. I just wasn’t excited about any messages I received, I haven’t thought about him since the date, and do you know why I think that is? It was too easy. The app gave me the knowledge that we both found each other attractive at first ‘swipe’, because we matched. Ok, great, that takes out the mystery and skips a step. But, is that great? Because the courtship has been taken away doesn’t that make it a bit more boring?

Don’t get me wrong, apps work for a lot of people I know, one of my best friends is getting married off the back of one of them. But for me, I think I need to meet someone I either already know, and grow that relationship from what I already know about that person. Or meet someone in real life, to work at real life gratification, rather than this tech heavy, instant ‘on a plate’ era that we’re now living in.

This TED article quotes comedian Aziz Ansari and psychologist Eric Klinenberg from their book Modern Dating: “you’re carrying a 24-7 singles bar in your pocket.” We are, and yet, it’s not as exciting as it sounds. Imagine being in a bar with all the people you’ve matched with. Now that does sound pretty good, but then add in all the other people who have matched with the same people in that bar. The anxiety of not knowing if the guy or girl you like actually thinks the girl or guy next to you is fitter, now you have the competition. This scenario in real life would be a mix of people, and you seeking out the person you find most attractive, to then go and muster up the courage to converse with.

Most guys I know will openly admit that they are always looking to the next more attractive match, but via their smartphones. We are now completely skipping a step, which could be detrimental to our own judgement. We use our initiative and paint a picture of a person just by looking at five photos of them, rather than being physically attracted to someone stood a few feet away from us and trying our luck with conversation. Courtship is dead.

In my hungover state today, I realised I don’t want to meet someone over an app. I want to meet someone organically and not force it. If I was newly single and wanting a throwaway relationship and had time to go on loads of dates with guys I’ve handpicked on an app, then I would carry on doing what I was doing two years ago. I know my date stories are entertaining, and I know I’m probably one of the most picky girls when it comes to guys (I could match with the most gorgeous guy but I get put off when I meet them from the smallest thing they say). So from now on, I’m taking it back to the old skool, and only going to go on dates with those I have met in real life, first. I mean, I really need the phone storage.

Back in The Game


It’s been a good few months since I’ve been on a first date. I’ve not posted about the majority of Dubai dates because this place is so small I end up becoming friends on social media with them which makes it awks if I then write about them. I also don’t mind dating, I’m in Sales so to me it’s just like going on a meeting with a client, so I don’t get nervous, I just talk for Britain.

I came off Tinder because quite frankly, it’s shit. No offence to those who love it- I did once, hence my blog’s namesake. But out here in the Middle East, the weirdos outweigh the less weird by a fair amount.

I did however download ‘Bumble’ which apparently contains a higher calibre of people (arguably), for you to swipe through; similar to Tinder. The difference is, the woman makes the first move if she wants to chat to the male, and has only 24 hours to do so. Which I actually quite like, mainly because of the amount of cringe one liners I’ve received in the past.

My opening line isn’t as witty as you’d probably expect from someone of my wit-factor (if I do say so myself), unless I’m in one of those moods. Like, someone was called Kevin so I messaged him saying ‘I hope your mum never left you at home, alone’, he didn’t get my Home Alone reference (Keevvviiinnn) so I simply followed with ‘alright Kev’, he understood that one but the conversation went nowhere, I hope Kev went on to find someone nice, hopefully in New York around Christmas time.. I digress.

So my line these days is a simple ‘hey.. *name*’. Some of the responses I’ve had: ‘Here she is..alright beaut!’ which genuinely made me think I may have already dated this person, but I hadn’t. That over familiar tone didn’t work for me so I left him on my Bumble feed to buzz away. (such shit puns, I’m sorry).

‘I can’t believe you matched with me, aren’t you married to Ashton Kutcher?’ That one went down well to be fair, until he asked me over to his so he could cook for me. And another ‘Your place or mine?’ back in your hive, Bee.

I was being overly picky with guys, shallow (which these apps all are, but hell, we’re animals), swiping right to anyone who remotely resembled Superman (my dream man) and subsequently being disappointed by one liners. I responded to one of the more ‘normal’ ones: ‘Hey, how are you?!’. The use of double punctuation made me think he was confused as to why I had messaged him saying ‘hey’. So I responded, and after an exchange of two or three answers, he asked me out and I said yes. I didn’t ask him any questions and I didn’t answer many of his. I chose this way because every ‘app date’ that I’ve been on in the past that has consisted of a lot of chat leading up to the date,which  has meant I build up a persona of this individual in my head, only to find out they’re completely different in person, and the chat has dried up quickly because I already know how long he’s lived in Dubai for, and what his favourite brunch is.

So this time I decided to wait until the date- after stalking him on social media first, obvs. I discovered we had two mutual friends. Both of whom lived in my house in Brixton before I moved there- we were introduced by a guy I once was seeing, who turned out to be cheating on his then girlfriend- with me (I had no idea, more on this here: https://tinderandblind.com/2015/08/05/being-the-other-woman/ ) So I wondered how I could drop our mutual friends into conversation without it being evident that I’d stalked the hell out of him before our date. I found a way.. keep reading, I’ll get there.

I was almost put off by two words he’d put in his message earlier in the day to confirm our meeting place. ‘Hun’ and hey ‘Lovely’. Just no. Both of those words used as a noun coming out of a straight guy’s mouth/ a potential suitor, are a total killer for me. Girls, by all means, you are ‘my lovely’. Boys, NO. You don’t need to call me hun, or darling, or lovely, or beautiful, or babe, just my name is fine. Until we get to the stage of making up vom-inducing nicknames and posting Boomerangs entitled ‘beach day with bae’, just stick to my name.

Anyway, after telling myself I shouldn’t judge someone for their niceties or be so damn picky all the time, I decided to just go with an open mind. Even though he proceeded to call me ‘honey’ when I told him I was in the uber en route. (So many Bee references here I can’t deal).

So, the date commences after a quick change post-gym and sans food. You know when you’re still sweating after your shower because of the time pressure to get ready, so wearing any kind of makeup is a pointless exercise, and you don’t have enough time to wash your hair, so you spray half a can of dry shampoo in the hope it dries up your sweat head? Yeah, that was the sort of state I was trying to cover up here. (Remind me, how am I single?!)

I arrive and he tells me I look gorgeous ‘honey’, I swallow my regurgitation. He asks pretty soon why I’m single, he says he was gobsmacked that I messaged him and asked if there was something wrong with me for being single. What do you even say to that?!  Instead of telling him that I’m so happy and content being single that I don’t want to give someone the chance to potentially destroy it by worming their way into my life and taking a piece of my freedom.. I  diluted it a bit. I told him it’s been my choice to be so, that I’m yet to find someone who is happy with how independent I am, but that I’m willing to change a bit for the right guy, if he can allow us to complement each other and not live in eachother’s pockets. BLAH. Especially as now my dad has got it into his head that he wants to be a grandpa within the next five years, I should probably start accepting dates again- I left that part out. FML, dad.

THEN when I got to the part about my ex and then the other guy after that, who had the girlfriend (as referenced to earlier) I dropped his name in while telling the story.

The conversation went like this (names not mentioned for obvious reasons):

Me: ‘I was seeing another guy after the ex fiasco, I’d actually ended things with him but he found me my place in Brixton so he came to our housewarming, there were a couple of photos on Facebook and I got a message the next day from a girl asking: ‘How do you know *fuckboy*? I’m his girlfriend’

Him: *Almost spits beer out* ‘*fuckboy*?? No, it can’t be the same guy?? Dark hair, works for *brand*?’

Me: *putting two and two together,  knowing it has to be the same *fuckboy* because we have mutual friends*  that’s the one. Small world or what, that means you know *names two mutual friends* ? It’s their house I lived in !’

Him: ‘oh my god I went on a stag with *fuckboy* and we stayed in the same room together in Amsterdam. I had no idea he did that!! I went to uni with *other two friends*’

Me: ‘LOL’

Whyyyyy oh whyyyyy am I cursed by my exes? Like some fuckboy enchantress curse that won’t get lifted until I find someone who isn’t a fuckboy and the rose will then regain its petals. I live on the other side of the world and they still end up haunting me.

Anyway, we had a lot more conversation, he noticed I was donning a Mulberry Bayswater and Jimmy Choos which made me question his sexuality before he assured me it’s because his ex was a designer hoe, and thought it important to tell me he knows all about surgery, which I thought meant he was a Doctor in a past life, turns out he meant the cosmetic type of surgery. Good. I then assured him I wasn’t a designer hoe, nor have I been under the knife, nor am I high maintenance despite my designer attire, I’m just really good at Sale shopping and spending (my own) money at tactical times of the year.

He told me he was looking to settle down, making hypothetical observations about the future and what he wants from a relationship. I don’t know what my face was saying but it reacts without me realising, which my friends are just used to now. I think I must have looked a bit terrified because he then changed the subject after noticing my face froze for a good minute (and I don’t even get botox).

We had 2 drinks and I had a starter while he had a main (let’s pretend I didn’t get home and demolish a pack of Maltesers in bed). He was a gent, he paid (of course I offered), insistently so, which for a girl- is a really nice thing. It makes me want to pay next time because I know he’s not tight.

He sent me some lovely post date texts with FOUR x’s after each sentence. I don’t do x’s. If you get an ‘x’ from me it’s because you’re a girl-friend, or I’m being genuine about something, like an ‘I’m here for you’ type message. Apart from that, I’m not a kissy person. Anyway I’ll let him off for the over affectionate use of letters in the alphabet and I’ll reply to his ‘I’d love to see you again, let’s make it happen xxxx’ text.

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First date outfit- Jumpsuit: Missguided. Shoes: Jimmy Choo. Belt: Topshop. Bed:Ikea


Ditching Dates, (for 8 weeks)

Where have I been?
Well, Fuckboy ended up confessing his undying love for me and insisted on treating me like a lady by taking me on a couple of dates. A couple of weeks later I found out he was in Thailand with his ex, was it even his ex? Who knows. Fuckboys are Fuckboys for a reason, and after much chasing on his part, I have stayed strong and completely ignored his attempts at contact. And this time I actually have learned, they don’t change- even if they take you on a date without sleeping with you.

I went on a few dates with another guy who had chat more dull than the grey paint in a prison.

I met a guy in a club who subsequently messaged me, I obviously stalked him- top tip, put their phone number into Facebook search if you don’t know their surname. Worked a treat, up came his profile along with recent wedding pics, him the groom. So in response to his ‘would love to take you for a drink’ text, came my ‘not sure your wife would approve’. Next.

I do think I must have been a hoe in my past life, because the men I attract are just, well, shockers. Maybe it’s me. I don’t particularly want a boyfriend, I don’t feel I need someone to ‘complete’ me and I hate the phrase ‘other half’ because I feel we should feel whole and anyone else just adds to your wholesome happy self. But I’m 28 and my eggs are dying over here so I need to be more open to the idea of commitment,  and less of a sceptic, which is my problem. My ‘independent, don’t need no man’ vibes clearly only attract a certain type.

So I’m going to focus on myself even more, for a solid 8 weeks. Having signed up to an 8 week challenge with my F45 studio which starts next week, I’m just starting to come to terms with/panic that I won’t be out for dinner or drinks for the next two months. So that means no dates, because I can’t not drink on a date, unless it’s like a hike or something, which FYI if you ask me on a hike on a first date, I’m not the one for you. Then again, I could be after this 8 week hell which promises to tone the shit out of me.

So to keep myself sane, I’m going to be posting weekly updates to keep me accountable, and who knows there might be a potential fat to fitty I meet on this challenge who isn’t married or as dull as dishwater.

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.