Tag Archives: tinder

0

A Spankin’ Good Time

|

[Contribution]

Vacations are great for the soul. Vacations as a single woman are even better. The world suddenly (albeit finitely) becomes your oyster and your options are immediately limitless; you are a little less, nay a lot less inhibited. Vacation me is jarringly different from the real me. The control that I’m mad for, is left behind; No room for it in my suitcase and besides, the need to exercise control on vacation is inessential because vacation me is easy breezy and pretty much open to the idea of everything, well, almost everything. This sort of temporary philosophy in life, seen by most people as crazy, is thrilling and like the after-effects of copious amounts of tequila, also potentially perilous. Irrelevant thoughts when you’re Little Miss Easy Breezy on vacay.

About a month prior to a recent short trip to the Pacific Northwest (PNW), I decided to put all thoughts of serial killers aside and went onto two online dating platforms to 1. Shamelessly source for recommendations on what to do and eat in the city and 2. To potentially meet new folks to hang out with and experience the city I’ve been to umpteenth times through a different set of eyes.

Tinder and OkCupid demographics in the PNW seem to include plenty of men in fully disclosed open/ polyamorous relationships, and men who are serious about craft beer, their beards (if I had a dollar for every lumbersexual type I saw, I’d be rich), whiskey, cats, comments about their dogs and kids looking cuter than yours, the Seahawks, the Mariners, fishing, kayaking and cliff jumping. I’ve also learnt that phrasing is everything on a profile. Apparently, it’s completely legit to mention that one is ethically non-monogamous. I don’t know what that even means; do you sit through a certification course to determine if you’re an ethical non-monogamist or an unethical one? And when you stipulate that you are heteroflexible, does that simply mean you’re pansexual? Because it isn’t already painfully confusing enough for me to comprehend men that you now have to spin new fancy words to wrap my head around? That’s fine, so long as you aren’t going to cling wrap my naked body to a table and gorge my eyes out, I can try to understand. I’m not saying I agree with these careless modern labels, but I can try to understand.

Ethical non monogamists and polyamorous enthusiasts aside, the emerald city boasts an intellectually stimulating array of men. You know, the kind who take the time to craft sentences in an eloquent and charming manner, with a hint of cheekiness. And that’s precisely what drew me to Baby Jesus. Baby Jesus was affectionately dubbed as such because of his lusciously long tresses that resembled the son of God and a beard (*squeal) that is so impressively groomed that I wouldn’t be surprised if some Jewish person decided to betray him out of jealousy. Sacrilegious! I digress. Baby Jesus in a nutshell looked like a hippie but a well put together hippie – with an enviable career in video game design (nerd alert. Also, my kryptonite) for one of the powerhouses and an adventurous spirit. I knew instantly we would get along so when he offered to come pick me up from my hotel to take out on a surprise outing, I felt no fear nor discomfort at the idea. Generally, I have very good intuition when it comes to people. This would be the first time I’m meeting an almost complete stranger on a date in a foreign country. If my luck had been that terrible and if he had in fact turned out to be a creeper or God forbid, a mass murderer, I most definitely deserved the punishment that ensued for making such shockingly piss poor decisions in life.

After an evening of delicious tacos (the best in the emerald city, I’m told) Baby Jesus took me to my next stop – a well known cupcakery in the city. Any man who tries to win my heart with cupcakes gets bonus points no matter how much nicer his hair looks, compared to mine. I love meeting people who see the world differently from the way I do. Baby Jesus is a practicing Christian and was once engaged; He told me he loves going out on dates and that he loathes casual sex; Intimacy to him comes in other forms that don’t need to involve mindless sexual intercourse. I will soon learn what this actually means.

After an engaging conversation involving rambunctious laughter over a salted caramel and raspberry meringue cupcake; Both flavours were his choices as he looked at them sitting in the cake rack with lusty eyes, I couldn’t bear to let him simply choose one so I forwent my initial red velvet option to offer to pick his two favourites for us to share. Upon my thoughtful suggestion, he leaned over to the cashier and told him that I was the best date ever. Not-embarrassing-at-all.

The third part of our date involved a walk in the park. Baby Jesus had suggested in one of his text messages earlier that day for me to wear comfortable footwear and the walk in the park was the reason for this. The Summery day was coming to a nice cool evening and as we sat on the bench and talked about the things and people we have loved, I knew at that very moment that I was having a wonderful time. Upon a kneejerk comment I made about Americans being really daft, he leaned over and kissed, I suspect to shut me up. No complaints there.

As it got a little chilly, I invited Baby Jesus back to my suite to hang out over a cuppa tea. During the drive, it became evident what a naturally affectionate person he was. He spoke of his travels to India and why he loves what he does and throughout the entire 12 minute drive, he didn’t let go of my hand as he caressed it softly like we had known each other for years. At that point, I understood what he meant by intimacy in other forms.

Baby Jesus was an excellent kisser and my kind of nerd. I mean sure, I had to gently keep moving his hair from his face and tucking it behind his ears but what a refreshingly new thing to do. I remember cracking a joke about how it’s a good thing I have a haircut that resembles a boy’s to balance it all out. At that very moment, he slapped my bottom and I thought

– Oh my –

Being a video game designer means coming up with stories to make people’s fantasies online come true. Evidently, Baby Jesus adopted this stance in the bedroom as well. Granted this is a dating blog and not my very own version of Fifty Shades of Grey, I shall spare you all the details on what ensued. But let’s just say it was an exhilarating night of some cheeky fun that involved twitching open palms, a good set of sharp teeth and a leather belt. Laying in bed entangled all night in someone with whom you didn’t have sexual intercourse with is an experience worth writing a poem about.; it’s a different kind of intimacy, one I had never experienced before. As baby Jesus planted kisses on the back of my neck as he lulled me to sleep, I thought about three things before finally dozing off– Firstly, that intimacy is subjective and secondly, I had learned a very useful lesson on what it truly means to lose control and just let go. My final thought before Baby Jesus got the opportunity to hear my snores that resembles that of a baby grizzly bear’s grunts was a gentle reminder to myself to apply baby lotion to my stinging buttocks the following morning.

039d15b7fd95106c6a5a316295f71816

0

Height Fetish

|

Contributed by: András Tóth, Hungary

Definition of ‘fetish’: any object or nongenital part of the body that causes a habitual erotic response or fixation.

In the age of super fast and super easy apps for online dating, if you had the chance to describe yourself in a few sentences, how would you? Would you talk about your passions, goals and hopes, or dish out a witty line suggesting there’s more in your brain, maybe even a quote subtly telling us you don’t have original thoughts of your own, or…

1

So unfortunate… These women identify with their height…

Yes. Your height. With that you’re basically telling me that after your 20- or 30-something years all you have to show for is your height. Is it an achievement on which you have worked night and day? Many parts of the body can be shaped or reshaped, even if you were unlucky with your DNA… But your height unfortunately isn’t one of these parts, sorry.

Apart from giving the impression of a total lack of remotely any exciting mental abilities, what these people also miss that after you have been matched, he (even after all these years of feminism, most of the time it will still be a he and not a she 😦 ) could base his first question on your introduction. If you provided your height, a possible conversation could look like this:

Nancy (27 173/63), Li (30 170/65):

Li: Hi Nancy! Glad to meet you!
Nancy: Hi Li!
Li: Are you really 173 tall?
Nancy: Yes.
Li: Good.
Nancy: And you are only 170?
Li: Yes.
Nancy: 😦 So sad. Now I will unmatch you.

OK, I know it’s a dealbreaker for some people, but can I ask what function does height in sex have? The answer would be ‘no function’, unless it is a fetish: like the one when you can’t be aroused if your partner doesn’t wear high heels. What’s the difference?

2

The first line says in Hungarian: “Don’t try it below 178cm!”

The other thing I cannot understand about height nazis, is that what would happen if their partner would stand on a step below them on the escalator? Instant loss of interest? Or would I get instant respect and arousal if I get a box to stand on? Or can I “hack” your fetish with wearing stilts or an overly large/ high shoe?

3

Can you imagine? People wore these in Hungary in the 90s during the techno era.

Yeah, I’m not dumb – I know it’s about what others will think about the relationship if your man is shorter… I’ll tell you what they’d think: “Wow, what can this little guy possibly know about sex?”.

Wouldn’t it be a great indirect compliment? 😉

Personally I have a list that goes before actual parameters: her sexual impact, if we are on the same wavelength relating to humor, intellect, lightness of heart, honesty, dignity, respect, fun, energy…

Let’s perhaps look at a good example, where I can assume that neither she, nor I are interested in each others’ height:

4

I will love you if you don’t kill me with your dog! I promise!

0

“I like the way you say Raspberries”

|

image

The internet dating pool is a playground. You meet all sorts of people. Typically, they’re engineers, bankers, accountants, pilots but every now and then, you speak to someone whose professional choice gets your full and undivided attention. “I’m sorry, but did you just say you’re a mathematician?” Sploosh. “A Human Rights specialist for the United Nations?” *fans self* or most recently, “You’re a chef? You mean a real one?”

 ***

Now if you know me well enough, you’d know that I have a massive weakness for food, nay, a deep and dark love affair with food. I’ve gone out with people who have actually mentioned things like “wow, you really like to eat, don’t you?” or “You talk a lot about food!” Why yes, I do, thank you very much. So imagine my absolute delight when I found out that I was talking to a chef. When you put two people who love food together at a table, some kind of magic happens. Immediately, you are given free rein to go into explicit detail about the creme bulee you once had at a tiny little French restaurant that still haunts you to date. Suddenly, you no longer sound bat shit crazy when you passionately talk about your lobbying for the ban of Vanilla essence and Matcha-based desserts. And just like that, everything’s on the table for discussion.

There are things people don’t tell you about dating a chef. They’re intense, wildly intense. It’s almost a little intimidating. They’re also constantly working – The kitchen is their mother, wife and mistress. They make this crystal clear, from the very beginning so if you date a chef, you find creative ways to fit into the crevices of their busy lives..

When I first started chatting with Mr Chef, I didn’t know what he did for a living. We had a heated discussion on what is the definitive American dessert – Pecan Pie or Carrot Cake. To which I said, I’m not a fan of neither but I can make a delicious pie and cake. He said he could too. But because I’m an arrogant asshole, I said “I’m sure you could but mine probably tastes better.” Of course, once I found out that he was a chef, I pretty much swallowed my words whole and felt a little embarrassed. “If I had known you were a chef, I wouldn’t have made that douchey comment about being a better baker,” I texted, sheepishly. To which he replied with much class, “I’m sure you’re still the better baker.” Sploosh.

I met Mr Chef for dinner a week later. We had been exchanging messages all week on discussion topics ranging from food (big fuckin’ surprise!) to films and Mr Chef’s life in the Big Apple before coming here. It’s very rare that I would agree to a dinner on a first date – feels like too much of a commitment, having to sit through an entire meal with a stranger. What if you’ve realised you’re having a terrible time by the time you’re done with your appetiser. You can’t just feign an emergency and run away. It’s 2015 – People know all the tricks there are in the books! So my strategy is just to go for a drink and see where the evening takes us. However, it seemed only right that two foodies (one professional, one amateur) should bond over a meal. Indian, it was – my choice, of course. I was 5 minutes late, something that always leaves me unnerved on a date. I like being early. Alas, traffic fucked me over. He politely waited outside the restaurant. I gave him a peck on the cheek and led him to what could quite possibly be the best Indian meal of his life. Unlikely. But I enjoy dishing out the hyperboles.

Statistically, it takes 1200 seconds, that’s 20 minutes, to decide if there is chemistry between two people. I might have over-generalised this statement but it is true to me. It takes me all in all 20 minutes to decide if there is a spark. I mean sure, we could all argue that chemistry can be built over time. The question here is, could this time be spent doing something else worthier?

Mr Chef was quick to inform me from the very beginning of the evening: “I just want to say that this is my resting face. It looks like I’m always annoyed or bored but I assure you that it has nothing to do with how I actually feel.” What an unfortunate resting face. I chortled, and we proceeded to commence selecting our food – He sank at ease into his seat and told me he trusted me to make the right selections off the menu. As we perused the menu, I wondered at what point was I going to feel this said chemistry, if at all. I looked up and sneaked a look at his face. Was there a facial feature that gave me the butterflies? Nope. What about his hands? Hmm. How does one find chemistry when it doesn’t want to be found?

We talked about dessert – easily one of my favourite conversation topics – and the varieties that we enjoyed baking and stuffing our faces with. The topic of tarts and pies came up. “I am rather selective when it comes to tarts. Lemon and raspberries are acceptable. I don’t understand the appeal of pumpkin.”

Mr Chef smiled and said, “I like the way you say Raspberries.”

Sixteen minutes in. Damn it. Where are you hiding, Chemistry? Show yourself!

It didn’t make an appearance that evening. We did however, have an enjoyable meal and comfortably discussed many things from useless trivia to David Sedaris to our shared love for Wes Anderson films.This comes easy for extroverts. I think I was hoping for chemistry. Chefs are supposed to be intense, passionate and ooze fiery sex appeal. False advertising, I say. This is what happens when you’ve watched too many episodes of Parts Unknown, lusting after Anthony Bourdain. I have no one to blame but myself.

I paid for dinner, like I usually do when I ask someone out. No big deal. Controversial decision, I hear from the people I speak to regarding bills on the first date. To go Dutch? Should the Guy pay? Should the Girl? This is perhaps best left for another entry. Mr Chef didn’t seem too pleased with the idea of me paying but he didn’t persist. I don’t like the drama. He walked me to the train station and we parted ways with a quick peck on the cheek.

“Shall we see each other again?”

“Sure, why not?” I said.

“Maybe we can watch a movie or something next time round. I have a crazy schedule. I never plan things so you’ll have to let me know.”

At this point I thought, “never plan anything? Well, that’s just lazy.”

I smiled very politely and said “I guess I’ll let you know then.”

Because 20 minutes was all I needed to figure out that there wasn’t going to be a second date. Maybe I’ll need to manage my expectations and find myself a pastry chef next. In the meantime, I suppose binging on re-runs of Parts Unknown and No Reservations, while fantasising about my life with Mr Bourdain will have to suffice. Sploosh.

0

Let’s stop taking pictures with sedated tigers.

|

Revisiting an old post of mine from an old blog:

This year, I made a commitment to myself that I would consciously try to find dates and with much zeal, I turned to my friend Google and typed in the words “best online dating sites”. I was very pleased with the results. Where do I even begin? They have dating sites for EVERYBODY, which might come across as sounding a little far-fetched but I kid you not. There is a site to cater to people of every kind: Indians, Jews, over 40s, Vegans, Catholics, pet-lovers, activists and the list just goes on. I’m sure if I looked harder, I might even find a site for Sociopaths to find love.
So I’ve put myself out there on a variety of general dating sites. It’s my first week into this new commitment and I’m already dying a little. Granted that not everyone looks great in pictures, why do men insist on doing things to make them look stupid in their profile avatars?  Maybe it’s just me but do women actually find the following observations/ trends in profile pictures of men, attractive?
– Holding up freshly caught fish in both hands
– Showing appreciation for hard rock music with the rock is alive sign along with tongue out.
– The James Bond look (Making a gun with thumb and index finger while holding it under chin)
– The topless mirror shot
– The pixelated webcam shot which almost always looks like it was taken in a basement or worse, your very own custom-built dungeon
– Close-up of the face with head at an angle, placing a lot of emphasis on one’s nostrils.
– The backward cap
– The I-work-out-hard-at-the-gym shot
– Selfie at the steering wheel
– Petting sedated tigers. WHY? no, really. WHY?
– The Group shot. You really want me to scroll through all your pictures to figure out which one is you? Ain’t nobody got time for that, son.
– The group shot surrounded by scantily clad women. We get it. You are popular with the ladies. So why are you on a dating site?
– The middle finger/ double middle finger shot. Keeping it classy eh?
– The elevator selfie
– The infinity pool shot
and my personal favourite, the selfie indoors with SUNGLASSES. Generally, if they fit into any of the above categories, I just skip their profile and move on to the next. If you can’t put up a self-respecting shot of yourself, I doubt you’d have taken the time to fill out your bio and details with dignity. However, when I do read through profiles, I am overwhelmed with disappointment and frustration over men including things like “the god-given ability to give good head to women”. Really pal? Of all the talents you might possess, that’s the one you’re going with? NEXT.
Perhaps this is why I’m still single. I heard on NPR recently that it’s possible to find love, however temporary, anywhere so long as you lower your expectations by 70%.  Stay tuned for more misadventures where I carefully unravel the shit men write in their dating profiles.
Handy-selfie-guide-for-men