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

Tag: Dating

What a Difference Two Years Makes..Not Much

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Since starting this blog two years ago to the day (thanks Facebook Memories for reminding me) I have been on circa 50 dates, including a kinda, sorta, long term-ish, long distance relationship, countless idiots who can’t differentiate your and you’re, and a couple of constant ‘nice guys’ who I friendzoned the minute we met.

I want to summarise the past two years of dating and what I have learnt, also why I choose to remain single.

The first person I started seeing after my ex screwed me over was a guy who was screwing his girlfriend over. From being cheated on, I was now the other woman without even knowing- it’s okay though, because his girlfriend and I became friends and still are to this day (happy birthday Luce!).

I then joined this magical soul destroying app called Tinder, which is what gave this blog its namesake. After agreeing to go on dates with lads via a swipe, I encountered some experiences worth noting down. Hence TinderandBlind was born and has gained around 4,000 views per post. Blows me away even after two years that I have that many people reading my ridiculous (and unfortunately true) stories, at least my Journalism degree didn’t go to total waste, eh dad.

The second ‘proper’ one was Dubai Guy- didn’t end well as he was screwing another girl at the same time as leading me on too, bravo.

Understandably I considered lesbianism (is it an ism?) but women, I find, are more complicated than men, and I want/deserve to be the complicated one.

After moving to Dubai last year I obviously went back on Tinder to see what this city had to offer. Cheetah’s riding passenger side of their best friends ride seemed to be a recurring theme.  No offence, but if you’ve got a Cheetah in your Land Rover, you’re not only a bloody mentalist but you’re restricting a wild animal, and I ain’t down for that. I also ain’t down for being a newspaper headline: “Tinder Date Mauled by Big  Cat after Refusing to Ride in Car”.

I deleted Tinder and met people the real way. Unfortunately that meant I met characters like Parrot Boy (see previous post), who by the way, I went on a second date with.. he got more drunk than me and mid date asked if I was friendzoning him because he couldn’t read me. Meanwhile two guys were sat on the next table ‘people watching’ us. I found this hilarious because they came to my rescue after Parrot Boy asked to go back to mine, and when I point blank refused, even using a really gross excuse that he didn’t accept, these guys helped. I ended up having a bloody great night and making two new friends. I should probably dedicate a whole post to that night, because it was a cracker..to be continued.

I then went on holiday with my ex before going back on Tinder, and have been on a date recently which actually didn’t turn out too badly for a change.

All in all, relationship-wise, I am still where I was exactly two years ago, single but happy.

I love not being in a relationship, I love spending my free time with my friends and not feeling guilty for it. And you may say that’s because I have suppressed my emotions to the point of not remembering good parts of a relationship, that may be true and I may be protecting myself, but yolo, I’m not committed to anyone. If in two years time I’m still writing posts about dating guys who never knew that Victoria Beckham was a fashion designer, then yes I will be slightly less happy than I am now, and also probably 70% lesbian.

In the meantime I want to thank all the people who read my crazy escapades and for your comments too. I also contribute for Elite Daily but always post the originals on here first so you guys get first read. Here’s to the evolution of TaB. Much love

 

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The Camp Bristolian

Date of date: 25th February
Name: Tom
Source: Tinder

After chatting on Tinder for about a week, this guy seems like a total dreamboat. He’s good looking, quick with the banter and has an interesting job. He’s not lived in London for too long so asks me out for a drink and suggests I choose the venue. I tell him to meet me at a place called Green Carnation in Soho.

‘Erm, you do realise Green Carnation is a gay and lesbian bar?’ says one of my colleagues after I tell him what I’m doing that night. Well no, I didn’t. I mean I know that Soho is predominantly a gay area yes, but I thought this particular bar was open for all. Apparently not. But I’ve been before and was oblivious, so now I’m totally conscious that this guy has googled the place and either thinks a)I’m having him on and am going to stitch him up while he’s surrounded by a load of hungry men (which in hindsight, he would probably have enjoyed. More of why later), or b) he thinks I’m bi.

So I text him changing the venue, recommended by my colleague who clearly knows Soho better than me.
Meanwhile I get a huge amount of work in from a client, with a short turnaround. I do a quick calculation (I’m shit at maths) and figure I will be about 20 minutes late in meeting him- so I let him know.

I turn up an hour and a half late. Feeling very bad and apologising via text every half an hour until I meet him, he tells me he’s at Be At One in Piccadilly, he clearly didn’t trust my second venue after the first blunder- or he’s been there and drank his hours worth before a change of scenery.

By the time I arrive he’s already made friends with the bar staff and they clap when I sit down. I feel myself blush and apologise prefusely, offering to buy the (my) first drinks, but I see he already has two drinks in front of him so I assume one is for me, I thank him and take it. Turns out it’s happy hour and he had stocked up for himself- what am I like!..

I’m not a snob, but Be At One wouldn’t be my first choice when it comes to cocktails- it’s more of a student wetherspoons pre drink type place isn’t it, so I suggest Archer Street, a much nicer bar where the waitresses break out into song every now and then, plus the cocktails are amaze. So we go there after I down a watered down mojito.

Archer Street means I can also hear his voice and make conversation.. this is when it registers. He’s camp, very, very camp, camper than a row of tents. He sounds a cross between Joe Pasquale and Josie Gibson from Big Brother- you know, the big Bristolian lass who went out with Jon James and lost loads of weight, now looks amazing.
He’s from the Westcountry, as am I, but every time he talks I just take it as comedy value. I have an ex colleague called Joe (now a very successful actor in Broadchurch, little plug there for you Joe, as if you need it) and those who know Joe, knows he is the most Bristolian person in the world, now this date I would say, was more so. I literally wanted to bottle him up and open him whenever I wanted to laugh. Unfortunately, we were on a date and his intentions were far from being bottled up. I was asking him questions just so I could hear him talk.
I found out he was one son out of five sisters, so I asked the question. Yes I’d had a few Tom Collins’ by this point so I figured it was a perfectly normal question: ‘did your parents ever think that you’d have such a female influence that you’d be gay?’ his answer ‘my parents love a gay so they wouldn’t mind’… this makes me think he probably is gay and is on a date with me to test the waters, see if he can be swayed into liking girls. Well after being held waiting at a Be At One for 1.5 hours and being asked loads of questions so I could memorise his accent, probably would turn anyone gay.

So we leave. He tells me I’m his first Tinder date, and now imagine the most Bristolian, camp accent ever.. he says to me:
‘Well I think that went quite well, don’t you love?’
I lol. I say ‘yes, I had the best time’ which isn’t a lie. I had a lot of fun, but I wish he was my gay best straight mate. He then says:
‘Defo do this again maid, text me some dates you’re free’.

With that, we get on our separate tubes at Piccadilly and the odd text was exchanged a week or so after. There was no romance there but I would happily help him find his Mr Right.. if he does indeed swing that way.

The Jug and Candle date

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Date of Date: Thursday 20th February 2014

Source: Tinder

Place: Brixton Village

I went to the gym after work then joined work colleagues for a couple of drinks (I stuck to water) near the office. I realised I had to be quick-ish in order to make my date and not be too late. It got to 9pm, the time my date and I were supposed to meet..I got my phone out ‘sorry, running late, will be there at 9.30’ I tapped in. Blew my air kisses and off I went, sexy Reebok gym bag in tow.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a tube ad panel reflection and realised I had sweat hair- you know, the hair that’s freshly washed from that morning but you’ve just done a cardio session at the gym so your scalp is almost sodden- but not gross enough to warrant a hair wash. So it was at this point I realised I needed to go home to at least run the GHD’s over, stick some heels on and dump my gym bag.

‘Sorry, another 15 mins’ I bashed in on my brisk walk back to my house. I quickly sort my hair out, slick on some lippy, wack on some heels and run out of the door.

By this point I’m late, really late. You try walking in the dark in new heels, pointy heels- it adds an extra 20 minutes onto any journey.

I approach the entrance to Brixton Village and see a guy stood there on his phone. Ah, that must be him, does he look like his photos? Oh shittttt, what’s his name again? mind is totally blank. I cannot remember his name so I panic.

‘Are you waiting for..a Tanisha?’ I say, presenting myself as though I’m some sort of showpiece that he’s just won at an auction. ‘Erm, no, I’m waiitng for a mate, sorry’ a confused looking stranger says to me. Oh god. Awks.

Meanwhile the actual date siddles up to me carrying a leather man bag and says ‘I am. Are you looking for a Mike?’ he copied what I did. I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe. I’m cringing. As I take a proper look at him I realise he’s not at my eye level. Bloody great, someone shorter than me. I’m not going to look good on his arm walking down a red carpet am I? was the first thought that entered my mind, but I’m open minded, let’s see how this goes.

To lighten the mood and my red face after that awful embarrassement, I make reference to that Specsavers advert with the train platform- you know the one, when she kisses the wrong guy. He laughs and we find a cute little bar/restaurant to sit at.

We sit at a cute little candlelit table and order the same cocktail, the conversation starts flowing. The waitress brings us a jug of water as well- yes this is significant to my story.

Turns out he works in Oxford but is staying with a friend in Brixton, hence the man bag, also hence why we matched on Tinder the weekend before. He’s only been waiting half an hour for me- I apologise and offer to buy the drink to make up for his wait in the freezing cold. He asks how tall I am ‘you seem very tall’ he says. If you call 5’5 tall, ok ok I’m probably 5’8/9 in heels, but still guys, that is not giant.

He seems lovely, but keeps bringing up how he loves lazy Sunday’s and all that’s missing is a girlfriend to laze with (bleurgh). By this point I’m two Tom Collins’ down and need some water. As I reach for it I knock the entire jug over and it spills ALL over his man bag and part of his right leg, before smashing into pieces on the wooden floor. Oops.

I literally have no idea what to do by this point because I’ve taken off my shoes under the table and I’m scared if I move that -a) he will wonder why the hell I’ve decided to make myself at home and go barefoot in a random restaurant during a date, and b) I will cut my feet open, and I really do need my feet, it would be such a waste of shoes without them.

So I keep saying ‘sorry’ over and over, while he gets the waitress and a cloth. Meanwhile I’m vigerously fighting to put my feet back into my shoes, but they’ve expanded in the heat of the restaurant/swollen from the walk, so I feel like one of the Ugly Sisters forcing on the glass slipper. They won’t budge, I’m bloody stuck with half a foot sticking out of each shoe while I stand up and try to help pick up shards of jug glass.

After that kurfuffle we sit back down and talk more date chat. I laugh at something, only I don’t just laugh like a normal person, oh no, I laughed through my nose and blew the candle out with my NOSE air. So we’re now pretty much sat in darkness, him with a wet leg, me with swollen feet and neither of us can see eachother due to my nose laugh.

It gets to about 11pm and the waitress starts clearing up, we’re the last ones left now so I start easing my feet back into my shoes a good 5 minutes before I suggest leaving.

We stand up, oh yep, he’s shorter, forgot about that. He walks me part way home and we say our goodbyes.

Lovely guy, I’m convinced I won’t hear from him again after the water and candle incidents, but I do. He added me on facebook, and text me, but I had to be honest with him. I could happily be friends with him, but as for romance, just not the one.

Maybe that Oxford graduate will be more my type..