The golden snitch and other dating disasters.

I’m always surprised when my Tinder/Bumble/Happn dates don’t go well.

Surprising right? I mean you’d think that using GPS technology to meet up with strangers would be 100% balanced?

If you’re not meeting your potential suitors in bars, you’re depending on apps such as Tinder and Bumble to find your next shag/bae/husband. And of course, being a 20-something singleton, I find myself swiping often.

This is where I came across Dave*. Decent pictures? Check. Brief but witty intro? Check. B(r)oom it’s a match. Before I know it we’re chatting away and plan to meet at a bar later on in the week.  First impressions? I wish he had popped some gum beforehand. Second impressions? He seemed nervous. This quickly dissipated as we drank more. Drinks turned into dinner, dinner turned into cocktails, cocktails turned into a sloppy pash at the end of the night.

Now with every potential suitor there are always alarm bells. This guy’s red flag was that he played quidditch. Competitively. Yes that’s right, he played a fake sport where you run around chasing a ball pretending to have a broom in between your legs. Sexy? Not so much, but he clearly took the ‘sport’ of Quidditch seriously, seeing as he not only played, he was a vice captain as well.

But he had good chat so I decided to go on two subsequent dates with him. Perhaps if I didn’t encourage Quidditch chat he would get the idea that I wasn’t a huge fan. However it was on our third get together that he tells me he wasn’t sure our relationship had legs. I had to pardon myself as I was unaware we were even in a relationship after three meetings. But the real reason he was apparently dumping me, was that he didn’t see me fitting into his hectic work and Quidditch life.  I wasn’t meant to be his golden snitch.

Good Lord you know times are rough when you’re shot down because you don’t share a vested interest in a fake sport.

Then I met with Graham* the man who wanted to caress me at the dinner table. First dates, in my opinion, should be had over a coffee or drinks. A casual get together which can last anywhere from 20 minutes (where you fake a emergency phone call) to a few hours.

I met him at a local bar near my work. But one cider in and he’s wanting to hold my hand over the bar table, using his index finger to stroke my palm. Finding this completely cringe, I (not-so)subtly move my hand away. He tries again. He asks me why I’m not into PDA. I try and explain to him that it wasn’t that, it was the fact that I had only met him 15 minutes ago. He seemed offended and I didn’t get a follow up message the next day.

Then I met Adam*, a guy I had swiped yes for on Bumble. He seemed shy but there was an immediate physical attraction. But first, we had to go through the mandatory pleasantries; ‘what do you do for work, how long have you lived in London’.

Two cocktails in and this guy seemed to have had a confidence boost as he thought it was completely ok to ask I was interested in having a gangbang with housemates. Who says chivalry is dead?!

* Names changed to avoid potential awkward conversations.

 

 

The ‘Cool Girl’

The notion of the ‘cool girl’ is irritating as fuck…

Who is the ‘cool girl’ you may ask? She’s the girl who doesn’t care when you take hours to respond. She’s the girl who’s chill with you blowing her off last minute. She’s the girl who’s so down to earth and nice, the girl you take home to meet mumsy. She is flawless, doesn’t drink to excess and isn’t promiscuous.

But ladies and gentlemen this ‘cool girl’ is a façade. She’s not real. 

I mean it’s our own fault really, we try so hard to be the ‘cool girl’ when we first start dating a guy. I’ve been a culprit of this countless times. I would meet someone only to try and give them the impression that I was totally casual and didn’t have any expectations. Meanwhile, I’m my head I’m jumping up and down and picking wedding themes (bohemian chic btw). 

My ‘cool girl’ self would try to not be ‘too available’, (He didn’t need to know that I was staring at my phone at home waiting for a message to pop up). My ‘cool girl’ self would say I was totally sweet with a group hang instead of a one on one date. I would be the ‘cool girl’ and say its fine through gritted teeth when they would tell me that they wanted to ‘keep their options open’.

I would attempt to mould myself into the perfect ‘cool girl’, someone that guys would fall in love with and wifey up. I’d claim that I hated drama and was more of a guys girl.

What. The. Fuck.

If this is what the ‘cool girl’ is like who the hell are we kidding? Why the façade? What’s wrong with being up front? Being vulnerable and putting our cards out there? what’s wrong with being direct and telling someone you’re into them? What are we scared of? 

When you’re the ‘cool girl’ you can’t really say how you feel and heaven forbid you tell them what you want or that *shock horror you’re looking for something serious.

This social phenomenon has once again changed the way we date. We lure our prey into a false sense of security, they’re thinking they’ve found the perfect mate. But before they know it WHAM we hit them with the crazy.  God as if 21st century dating isn’t hard enough? 

So let’s kill the stupidity that is the ‘cool girl’. Let’s be honest with the way we feel because knowing what we want is normal. Speaking our mind is normal. To tell someone you like them isn’t crazy. To make the first move isn’t stalkerish, in fact its a baller move and I appreciate the hustle. We’re not emotionless robots so why are we acting like one?

Authentically Inauthentic

There was an uproar recently when an Australian ‘instafamous’ model came out saying that her life wasn’t what it seemed like. She stated that her mass posts on Instagram were mere ‘perfected’ moments, in which she would painstakingly take hundreds of photos, only to analyse each, searching for the ‘perfect shot’. Great lighting, good angles, this perfect shot is completed with a filter, smoothing out any imperfections.

For the brief moment that it takes her ‘fans’ to see and ‘like’ the photo, in reality, she would spend hours, sometimes days, creating, filtering and obsessing.

So this begs the question, how much can we really trust in social media? Just how authentic is it? How authentic are these ‘natural moments’?

Before I went travelling, I remember seeing people everywhere on my Facebook and Instagram feeds bragging about their worldly travels. #wanderlust. Bikini shot after bikini shot; I saw beautiful beaches, lakes and lagoons. I saw acquaintances riding camels in the desert, friends cliff diving in Dubrovnik and others road tripping through Italy. It seemed that everyone was off having these authentically perfect holidays and lives. It wasn’t until I went travelling myself that I realised how imperfectly perfect my travels were.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely took screeds and screeds of photos of the places I visited, I mean who wouldn’t? Posting on my various social media platforms allowed me to yes brag to others about my travels and what I was up to, but recalled a way to stay in touch with my friends and family who I was missing so much. Sure there was the occasional ‘wistful’ shot that looked natural (in actuality it would take 20 minutes of posing to capture) and sure, I’d take photos, choose what I deemed to be a good one, chuck a cheeky filter on it and post, but I dare you to find someone who wouldn’t.

I received messages from friends and family, each commenting on how it looked like I was having the time of my life. And while I was, I found it interesting to think about what social media doesn’t capture.

My Instagram didn’t mention the time I missed my flight in Athens and had to wait at the airport for 10 hours. My Facebook status didn’t note the time I broke down in Paris about missing home and doubted my decision to move abroad. Nor was I able to chuck a filter on the terrifying experience that was the trip from Athens to Croatia, where we had to pass the Macedonia border and spend a sleepless night on a wet and dirty WW2 train. These things weren’t advertised because who wants to hear about the negatives? Why shine a spotlight on the flaws of your trip when you can post a #tbt of you sipping cocktails in Ibiza? 

But doesn’t this give the wrong impression? it’s not just with travel either, people can post a group shot with the cringe #squadgoals but mention nothing of the time one of the ‘squad’ yelled at you, or got the wrong end of the stick. A blissfully happy couple shot doesn’t mention the time you fought when you were both too drunk. Nor does a #tbt depict how insanely lonely you feel sometimes. So who are we trying to impress? I’m not saying we need to post pictures of all the bad times or the mundanities of life but maybe we should start looking at social media with a pinch of salt.

Social media brings the need to brag about your life, about the clothes you have or the holidays you take. You want to show everyone just how fabulous you and your life are, but the reality is, not everything and everyone is fabulous! We all have flaws and our lives are imperfect and that’s ok! So when you’re next stalking that girl on Instagram who seems to just have it all, remember that it’s not always what meets the eye.

Recycling: great for the environment, not so great for ex’s.

1. You don’t recycle tissues once you’ve blown your nose
2. You don’t eat food scraps you’ve thrown away after a meal
3. You don’t re-use tampons

Ok sure the last one is a bit gross, but you get where I’m going.

I’m constantly hearing stories of how people are friends with their ex’s, how they go get coffees together or grab a drink after work, how they gab about their work and love lives.

I can’t be the only person that is thinks this is fucked up weird?

I’ve only been in two serious relationships and I can safely say that I’m not friends or even acquaintances with either of them. And I’m ok with that. While one of them has moved countries the other has blocked me on all social media. I’m not even friends with my past ‘flings’ – why would i want someone that’s been inside me chatting about the mundanities of their lives? Telling me about a promotion they’re going for or a lass they’re interested in?

Sure I might see cold and heartless but why would someone who I obviously couldnt connect or further things in a romantic sense want to be friends with me? Besides the obvious in that I’m fabulous, witty and outrageously charming (alright…checking ego) but surely they would feel the same?

I’ve had ex’s reach out to me to be ‘friends’ and I’ve given it a go, but it’s all ended the same, in me realising how much of a twat they are and why we finished things in the first place.

When you’ve never started things off in a ‘friendship’ manner how can you suddenly turn off chemistry? Turn off a connection? Turn off the fact that he’s cum on your face? Sorry mum.

You were never friends in the first place so what makes you think you can be now that you’ve ruled out a relationship?

After giving this theory a final run for its money, and mainly out of bored cusiosity, i caught up with an ex. We hadn’t ended things on a terrible note, I was just sick of being a second option for him.In the hopes of becoming ‘friends’ he invited me out for drinks with his work mates. I’m thinking ok, great, a casual environment and less pressure than a one on one catchup.

However my dear old lover spent most of the evening chatting to his friends and talking to me in the recess period while they were getting their next refil. Bless him he seemed nervous but I hadn’t taken a 20 minute train to talk to rando’s I’d never see again.

If anything this ‘friend’ catchup confirmed that no, we were never friends, and no, we probably won’t be. I pardoned myself from the situaton after two beverages and took my (not)merry self home. A few hours later he messaged saying that it was great catching up (?) and seeing me. He concluded his message with a smily face and an x….

A very friendly responce indeed…

Moral of the story? Once it’s over, RUN and don’t look back.

Knowing when to peace out…

 

While I had a few cheeky pashes on my travels, I had gotten to London and realised that my love life was lacking. And by lacking I mean non existent. So what does a single gal do in such a scenario? She re-installs Tinder of course!

I could immediately feel my inner cynic cringe at the mere thought. I had been through the Tinder cycle before and hadn’t really gotten much out of it besides potential fuck buddies and boys (note: not men) who were all talk and no action.

But alas I went ahead and logged myself back in and quickly remembered why Tinder was so much fun. It’s a fab ego boost and swiping through screeds of men makes you believe that there are eligible bachelors everywhere. I quickly matched with a fellow Kiwi in London who I had a few multiple friends with. I saw that one of them was a good girlfriend of mine from back home. So I obviously went into stalker mode and asked her how they knew each other. Turns out they met while they were travelling in Spain and shared a cheeky kiss. God I couldn’t even go to London and find a guy that wasn’t ‘tainted’ by someone I knew? Slim pickings my friend, slim pickings.

Nevertheless we quickly got chatting and I found that he had good banter, was cute and keen to meet me. Our first date was fairly typical for Tinder, we met at a bar for drinks. But it was probably one of the best first dates I had been on in a while, drinks turned into cocktails, which turned into dinner. A ‘quick drink’ turned into a two and a half hour date, we were getting on like a house on fire. As we hugged goodbye I sat on the train home patiently waiting for the ‘follow up’ text, you know, the text telling you how much of a fabulous time you had. But it never came. I quickly thought to myself that perhaps I’m too traditional and should put on my big girl panties and text him first. He quickly replied and asked when he could see me next.

We started regularly seeing each other and went on some pretty amazing dates. We went to an interactive theatre, visited Chinatown where we had out first kiss under the light-up lanterns and he surprised me with tickets to Book of Mormon. He was quickly proving himself to be charming, sweet and thoughtful. Not to mention he was cute, I felt like I was onto a winner. When we had sex it wasn’t a quick fuck wham bam thank you mam type of deal, it was fiery, powerful and passionate. He made me feel sexy and wanted.

The first month of dating was perfect, so what did I have to go and do? Have the ‘what are we’ chat of course! A chat that’s awkward in nature and really, if you’re the one who has to initiate it, it won’t go well. I don’t know what I was expecting. He told me that he still had feelings for his ex. Of course I immediately retreated and told him that I wasn’t going to be a second option, but he reassured me that he wanted to move on and he liked me so I decided to give him a shot. Red Flag 1.

He left to go back home for the Christmas holidays and during his three month holiday I had heard from him a total of about 3 times. Red Flag 2. It was New Years Eve when I got a phone call from him apologising for being slack, that he hadn’t been himself lately and wanted to take things slowly. Although I was still feeling a bit sceptical, I was game, however he didn’t really step up to his promises. 

What I did receive was weeks of half-assed attempts at making plans. I would make him dinner for 7 pm and it would be at 7 pm that he would ring and say he was 40 minutes away, like it was no big deal. I would tell him that I was stressed about problems back home and he wouldn’t listen, remember or even attempt to make me feel better. We went to a comedy show where he spent the night making snarky digs at me. That was the night I told him I had had enough. I was over being treat like crap and I didn’t deserve this. He turned on the crocodile tears once again and told me that he was sorry and that I was right. Once again I believed him against my better judgement. Red Flat 171794847.

I became so frustrated with him, I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t making more of an effort with me. Was I not good enough? Maybe he just wasn’t that interested in me after all…

The final straw for me was Valentines weekend. While we hadn’t made plans for actual Valentines Day, we had made plans to go on a pub crawl with his friends on the Saturday. But first we were having a flat party on the Friday night which I had invited him to. He decided it was appropriate to arrive at 11 pm, not give an excuse to why he was so late and jump into my bed at 11:30 pm – apparently this was enough socialising time for him?!

Albeit in a drunken state, I confronted him and told him that I was pissed. I told him that he should leave and none of this was ok. He obliged and I didn’t hear from him the next day, the same day I was meant to be meeting his brothers and cousins. Luckily I was in too much of a hungover state to over analyse his lack of communication. But I had had enough and already made up my mind. I was through with his excuses, done with his half-assed attempts and knew that I deserved better. I knew I needed to end whatever the hell we had going on.

In a somewhat cowardly move I decided to end it via text…on Valentines Day. I know what you’re thinking, ‘you heartless wench’ but I was in such an angry state that I couldn’t have given less fucks.

 I messaged him saying that it would probably not come as a surprise that I was unhappy and we were probably better of as friends. He replied saying that he agreed and that perhaps we weren’t that compatible. Ouch. Although I knew he was right, its always slightly painful when someone reiterates it and doesn’t give you the expected response. Where was his grovelling? Where was him telling me he was so sorry and that I was too fabulous to give up? Maybe I wasn’t even that fabulous to begin with…?

Surely I should have seen the red flags a mile off? I mean I had met my share of assholes so I should have seen this coming right? I think that relationships are always going to be a minefield and you’re always figuring it out, no two men are going to be the same and I suppose that’s what keeps it interesting…

10 Months On…

So it’s been a while since I’ve last updated my blog. Namely because I had forgotten my password. But also because I’ve been a busy wee lass!

I landed a full time job at a designer wallpaper and fabric company but only lasted three months because I couldn’t stand the repetitiveness or my soul being destroyed. 

I then ventured into the temp world, a world where you worked when you wanted and where you wanted. I was placed as a file clerk in a medical centre that specialised in boob, nose and other ‘self-enhancing’ jobs.

All the while I was still looking for full time work, a job that would look great on my CV and further my career. I managed to land a role as production coordinator at a media company working for Toyota and couldn’t be happier! 

Once I stopped worrying about finding a job, I began booking long weekends away, figuring out new things and places to try out. I really began to find my groove in this intimidating city, a city that can so easily get the better of you.

However some of my friends weren’t sharing the same sentiments. They were actually thinking about flying the coop, leaving London and heading back to New Zealand. While I understood their desire to return to the safety of their friends and family, hell I missed mine like crazy, what I couldn’t understand is why they would give up the opportunities that London brings. I suppose it’s as the old saying goes, ‘different strokes for different folks’, but I loved the idea that I could jump on the train and be in Paris within mere hours. I didn’t need to go abroad to see something new; I could venture to a new part of town, visit some new markets or even head to a different city within the UK and explore. I literally had the world at my feet. I finally felt like I was a true Londoner, I was a pro at navigating the tube, I hated crowds (and people for that matter…why why why tourist would you choose peak hour traffic to lug your backpacks around?!) and really got into the drinking culture, albeit perhaps a bit too much, but it’s always happy hour somewhere, right?!

10 months on and I find myself in a bit of a rut of sorts. When I first got here I loved that I was around kiwi’s all the time, the accent itself was comforting to hear. I was living in Clapham Junction, aka where ALL the kiwi’s resided and was surrounded. Sure this was great in the beginning, but I feel like I’m in a different place to where I was just 10 months earlier. I feel like I’ve changed and I want new things. I want to get out of this ‘kiwi bubble’ I’m in and venture out, I mean I hadn’t even made one British friend yet! 

But apparently Bumble now has a ‘bff’ version…*downloading….

Quarter life crisis

I have just turned 25.

I had always liked telling people I was 24, I felt like it was a ‘cool’ age, an age where you’re old enough to be taken seriously, but young enough to still be bar hopping and binge drinking in the weekend. But 25? Bleh yuck off. Don’t even get me started on being 26, 27 or OMG 30.

I’m the oldest of all my friends so I have the greatest displeasure in having the dreaded quarter life crisis first.  Symptoms of such a crisis include but are not limited to:

1 – Feeling ‘stuck’ in what you’re currently doing
2 – Feeling anxious about the future
3 – Wanting to do outlandish things and not caring about the consequences

I remember when I was younger, I had already mapped my life out. I was going to be married at 24 and have kids at 26 – two of them in fact, a boy and a girl. I had planned out my bridesmaid’s dresses, my baby’s names, everything, to a T. But here I am, in the middle of my 20’s and I have to think to myself – what have I really accomplished? What good have I done?

In a constant state of limbo, I find myself often underwhelmed, feeling like time has sped up and forgotten to take me with it. I see people on my Facebook feed getting engaged, having babies or starting up their own businesses. Each is successful in their own right. But me? I’m in a job that I’m not sure is right for me, perpetually single and not really sure what’s in store for the future. I’ve done the typical quarter life crisis ‘thing’ and booked a one way ticket to London where I leave early August – only 34 days away. I’ll be touring across Europe and finding my way in London, searching for a new job. Of course people who are having a quarter life crisis often seek this sort of adventure as a way out or escapism.

Noticeable signs I’ve noticed of my crisis:

1.  I don’t feel like an adult, but I don’t feel like a child either

2. I’m super emotional all the time always – anything from a Sam Smith song on the radio to a sad scene in an episode of Gossip Girl will leave me in a puddle of tears.

3. I think about wanderlust…often

4. I procrastinate, a lot. I know I have shit to do, shit to organize, doesn’t mean I won’t be leaving it till the last minute though.

5. I am basically a peasant. Living like a poor university student even though I have a full time job. Woohoo 2 minute noodles for lunch, again.

6. I find ‘grown up’ things like taxes and insurance really overwhelming and wish I had a personal assistant to do it for me. But because of reason 5 I can’t.

7. I cannot, for the life of me, make decisions. I’m indecisive about everything from the movie I want to watch, to the alcohol I’ll drink.

8. I’ll often look back to my college days in fondness, thinking of them as ‘simpler times’

9. I constantly think about the destined crazy cat lady life I’ll be leading, you know the one that you invite to family holidays because you feel sorry for them. But they bring their cats who are wearing holiday-appropriate clothing. See projected image of myself in a mere 8-10 years below for reference: