Upon first becoming single, I decided to try, for the first time, dating apps — and I would have taken help from any deity willing.
I downloaded three apps: Tinder, Bumble and happn.
I have to assume a certain level of knowledge here, and shall simple say that Bumble is like Tinder, but women have to speak first (can someone tell me how this works for non-hetero searches on Bumble?) and happn is again similar, but you have to pass within 250m of your mark. Errr – potential match.
I began swiping on each of them, but began having a bit more luck on Bumble. So that’s where I focussed my efforts to begin with.
The dates began. We had Vegan Boy (that didn’t last past the first date) and Craft Beer Boy (neither did that), there was an interesting invitation from an Australian gentleman that involved his fire and a rug in front of it, but sadly that had to take a backseat when family called.
There were some fascinating invitations for threesomes the next day (an experience not limited to Bumble, I might add); and I met El Macho. A Mexican guy who Mexi-CAN… well, sort of.
Whilst using the app, I had been showing one of the gents at work who is a little older than me how it works. We’d recently been talking about chat up lines. As my profile(s) will tell you, I’m a sucker for cheesy chat up lines (as well as puns and dad jokes). And I came out with what is my all-time favourite chat up line of all time. To date, it has a 20% success rate in replies – but all of those dates have ended up going well, so I’d say it weeds out people who don’t have a similar sense of humour. So apologies for those of a nervous disposition, because you may want to skip the next line.
The line is thus: If I were trapped in an ice cream igloo… would you lick me out?
For what it’s worth, my sense of humour resides in the gutter. Clearly. So was El Macho’s.
We met for a drink near to my office, and after a few shaky drinks and some bad Spanish (from me), we went outside to smoke and he kissed me. He ended up back at mine… and this was awkward, for two reasons.
- Housemate was at home, decided to walk past my room whilst El Macho was there, and then decided that he couldn’t hack it, so spent the rest of the evening (after El Macho had left for his own bed) crying on my shoulder about it.
- El Macho is very macho, incredibly pretty, and like the Duracell bunny. What he’s not, sadly, is gifted in what to do with anything. A++ for effort and energy, but that was doing almost nothing for me.
That said, my relatively low self-esteem and a lack of interest with the festive season approaching convinced me that he should come home with me another two times before Christmas. He went to his family, I went back to mine, and I didn’t hear from him again until June. I didn’t reply.
Well, this goes right the way back to just before I broke up with Cricket Boy
Housemate moved in during September. Quickly, he became the devil on my shoulder. He has a more dominant personality that appealed to me. Notice the past tense.
It was fun, and exciting. When I split up with Cricket Boy, I was probably too quick to jump into bed with Housemate. It got kind of intense a bit quickly.
Before Christmas, he had already dropped the L-bomb. As it turns out, he didn’t mean that. Or at least, I didn’t think he did. Now I’m not so sure. He runs hot and cold, only interested when nobody else is.
I don’t take kindly to being jerked around, though. I deserve more than that.
For the purposes of continuity (and because I have no doubt I will have to refer to multiple exes in discussing certain things), the ex I refer to in this post is Cricket Boy.
Cricket Boy and I met around 2013, when we started working in the same place. We probably got together because after everything that I had been through in Scotland, and after several incredibly poor attempts at dating (a.k.a. Mr Bad Decision, Stalker Barry), he paid me attention consistently and seemed less likely to fuck me over.
That is, of course, a Very Bad Reason to be with someone. We lasted three years, before it became clear to me that the relationship wouldn’t ever really become anything.
He wanted to stay in his small town. I wanted London.
He wanted cricket, and beer. I wanted Krav Maga and brunch.
At its most simple, I think that’s all I probably need to say.Someone asked me today whether I was heartbroken when we split up after three years. I said I wasn’t, and I stand by that. But I realised that it made me sound heartless. I do a lot of things that make me seem more dispassionate than I really am. I was sad that it was over… but I don’t think it was the wrong decision.
I didn’t get much written on the plane out to Spain. Clearly.
I started multiple posts on the way back that need some more detail and a better frame of mind to finesse them a little. But more and higher quality content is coming. I promise.
Clarification for future posts: I use ‘Boy’ a lot to describe some of these people. It’s a carefully chosen word. I have a defined image of what I think a man is, or should be like. Whether that’s right or wrong isn’t for me to judge. All I know is that for some reason, it’s important to me.
I will practically beg you not to ask me to tell you what my definition of boy vs man is; you’ll only tell me I have serious issues. You’re probably right, dear reader.
But whether my definition is right or wrong, it’s what it means to me and that’s the definition for the purposes of this conversation with myself. Because that’s all a blog is, right?
When I get to it, some people will (I promise) be referred to as men.
Last October, I became single again. It was incredibly liberating, but I didn’t actually realise how liberating it would be until I stepped, blinking, into the light.
I’ve lived in London for somewhere in the region of 2.5 years at this stage. But I’ve lived nearby for most of my life. But my ex- was form “back home”, an awful, catch-all phrase, meaning very little in reality.
He didn’t ever want to leave “home”. But I wanted the London life… I wanted the night bus antics on the way home, and the meeting weird people who scream at pigeons – and I wanted to meet complete strangers and have ridiculous adventures.
That’s the joy of city life to me.
The small town thing is that you can never meet people that someone in your friendship group doesn’t already know, or know of… and that just makes me want to hurl.
So we split. And I made some strange and unusual choices.
The dating game began.