Termination of my Tinder Takedown

Hello hello Lovers!

As it’s officially the last day of Masturbation month I hope you’ve all been furiously flicking, rapidly rubbing and willingly wanking yourselves into blissful oblivion! Sadly I had work today and general health and safety rules frown upon cheeky acts of self-loving in the cool room.

Sigh, we live in such a tyrannical society!

Now Lovers, as the title of this blog suggests, the Tinder experiment did not go down well. Neither did I for that matter, not on a single person.

Why you ask? Well my curious Lovesters, that is what I hope to explain to you.

So in the crazy world of Tinder, I seem to be quite the exotic specimen to foreign gentlemen, particularly Asian and Indian fellows. Maybe it’s due to my pasty white skin, double jointed thumbs and child bearing hips.

Who knows?

Aussie and European men seem to not appreciate my unique… Style quite so much. So my Tinder match list usually read as follows: Ashish, Nishit, Pramith, Sumit, Navroz, Yari, Manil, Saad…. And Dave.

I discovered Asian men especially are very much like my first boyfriend, Cambodian Charlie.

Fast. Very fast.

Honestly, I would type one message and they would shoot four over before I could even hit send on mine! Then of course I’d have to change my message to answer their new questions, which takes even longer. So just as I’m about to send that one I get smashed with another five! If I didn’t reply in thirty seconds or less I would get an instant “hello? Are you still there?” Just as I was explaining that yes I was indeed still there I would receive “Have I upset you? Did I ask the wrong question?”

I had to delete about ten guys just because I couldn’t bloody well keep up with them!

As I mentioned in the previous post however, I had two dates set up.

And both of them bailed.

One guy was super keen beans the whole time leading up the date. Then on the night there was complete radio silence. We hadn’t organised a place or time to meet so I suppose I was lucky I didn’t get all dressed up only to drink by myself at some romantically lit bar.

I mean, I certainly did drink that night, but it was a bottle of five dollar moscato and I was in my pyjamas, so no preparation was needed.

The other dude who asked me out was bang up for a coffee date. But then a few days beforehand he got all weird and down on himself. If I didn’t answer within five minutes (heaven forbid I was at work and didn’t answer for five hours) he would say things like “you’ve gone haven’t you? I knew it was only a matter of time.”

Keh?

When I finished whatever I was doing and texted him back he was always so weirdly grateful that I had deemed him worthy of my attention. He would say things like “Why did you swipe yes to me? I’m nothing special. You’re going to get rid of me soon, I can tell. “

Now I know self confidence is hard people, but there’s nothing more unattractive than a guy who constantly puts himself down and keeps asking why you bothered to talk to him.

I had to delete him. The sad sack was just depressing me.

After those two failures I just didn’t really have the heart or will to continue. It was such hard work. I’d come to dread the sound of my phone, which at the peak of the experiment was going off at least fifty times a day.

The truth of the matter is, I hate myself for judging these men on such superficial factors. I didn’t look closely at their photos but I could always tell just from a glance if they were Indian, Asian, European etc. Or if they were obese, hairy, insanely tattooed or had any other physical imperfections.

And I judged them.

As hard as I tried not to, there was just no excitement having a conversation with someone I was so clearly not attracted to. I felt relief when my two dates cancelled because I knew just from a glance that I was in no way attracted to them, and therefore didn’t want to go on a date with them.

And that’s the part I hated the most, my inability to see them as more than their outward appearance.

I suppose I’ve learnt some painful truths about myself through this experiment. If someone is very overweight, isn’t fluent in English, is much older than me or doesn’t fit with my particular ‘beauty standards’ then I don’t talk to them.

What a bitch.

But on the other hand, what’s the point in spending all my time talking to people I’m not remotely interested in, when the online world is so strongly appearance orientated?

What a conundrum!

I guess the thing to remember, is that everyone finds different people attractive. So instead of forcing myself to go on dates with people I’m clearly not into, I should leave them free for the person who thinks they are the sexiest thing since flavoured condoms. After all, they do say there’s someone special out there for everyone. Heaven forbid I took someone’s special person and missed out on my own!

At the end of the day it’s easy to say “don’t judge people” but when you’re giving that person permission to let his purple headed warrior invade your sausage wallet, I say judge just a little.

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Nice pants, can I test the zipper?

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Tinder Turmoil!

Wassup my Lovely Lovertons?

Ok Lovers, you’ll have to forgive me. Three days into the experiment I cheated.

I never knew it would be so hard!

I’m currently having conversations with sixteen men and good god it’s exhausting!

Small talk gets mighty tiring mighty fast, I can tell you that now. Just keeping up at times such dull conversation makes me want to smack my head into a wall (or a doughnut, whichevers closer.)

Plus my brilliant plan to not looking at profile pictures is being foiled by Tinder’s incessant need to flash my sixteen men before my eyes at every possible juncture. Also, to make matters even more difficult I foolishly decided to incorporate my Plenty of Fish men into the experiment. Anyone who messages me now gets a reply, and man are they talkative little squirrels!

I’m now the ultimate internet dating multi-tasker, one minute chatting to Johnny from Tinder before supplying some witty repartee to my conversation with Mike through POF before flicking a few emoji’s and lol’s over to Ashish back on Tinder.

God help me if I decide to add my Bumble account to this calamity!

So, you’re probably wondering how and why I cheated, aren’t you Lovers? Well, for starters, this experiment is fatally flawed. As I mentioned earlier, the main problem is I can still see who I’m talking to. It’s not as if I flick through their profile pictures or even click on their photos at all, but they still show up next to every message they send.

Goddamit Tinder, you’re standing in the way of science!

Hence how I committed my first offence.

His name was Dlrious (so he already sounded like a douche bag before we even started chatting.) He owned his own business but wouldn’t disclose what exactly he did; only saying, “business is good.”

Hmmm, dodgy.

Then after two more messages he said he wanted to take me out and buy me drinks.

Again with the dodginess. The way he worded it basically sounded like he was going to sit there watching me get drunk until he could find just the right moment to slip something into my cocktail.

Something that rhymes with bloblipnol.

Yes I know Lovers, very judgey judge, but I just had a really icky feeling towards this guy. And you should always trust your instincts.

Dlrious’ profile picture did nothing to waylay my fears. He was an Indian dude with gangster looking sunglasses that shielded much of his face.

I never trust guys wearing sunglasses in their profile pictures. Eyes are like the nipples of the face in my opinion. If you’re going to whip the bra off I want to see everything, none of this side boob nonsense or fancy nipple tassels.

Show me the boob and nothing but the boob!

The same thing goes with faces. No one ever exclaims, “oh what a beautiful set of nostrils! So large yet clean! And just look how they flare!”

No no, the eyes are where it’s at.

Completing his Indian gangster look (does India have gangsters? Surely), his beard was trimmed in that geometric “I spend seventy dollars at the barbers every week” way, perfectly trimmed into submission.

There was nothing for it, I had to delete him.

I felt awful, but in the end it was a toss up between what was polite and whether I dedicated an entire night of my precious uni holidays to entertaining this dude.

Gah, what to do?

I have a date tomorrow night and the night after that, which should be… interesting.

I’ll let you know how they go!

Claire xx

Best Bonking Song: If You Like Pina Coladas

By: Jimmy Buffet

Best Used: Get some excitement back and play the stranger game!

“Oh you like pina coladas? Why, I do too! Quick take my shirt off! You like getting caught in the rain? Dear God take me now you sexy mansicle before I lick you into submission!

 

Tickle Me Tinder

Ahoy Lovers!

And a thousand apologies for the lateness of this fresh new blog! Sadly I’ve been balls deep in uni work for the last two weeks. But hurrah, now I’m free!

For one and a half weeks.

So lets make the most of our precious time together Lovers!

I know I promised to finish up Jack the Strangler in this post but I wanted to let you in on a little experiment I’m conducting over my uni holidays!

So, I’m having very little luck with dating these days and I haven’t had sex fairies haven’t gifted me with their sultry presence since March!

Dire circumstances indeed.

So I decided to change it up. I literally have nothing to lose; my virginity’s long gone and my dignity followed pretty soon after, so I’m free to run amok as I please!

I’m sure you’ve all heard single friends or colleagues lament “Why can’t people like me for my personality? Why does it have to be all about looks?” Or something of that nature.

Well, this experiment is all about personality!

The terms are these; every day I blindly swipe right to twenty or more lucky fellows on Tinder. If we match, it’s up to them to make contact. If they do, I have to reply (in a timely fashion as well, I can’t wait until I’m drunk off my tits to fumble out some crappy message.)

However, if they don’t make contact within three days, into the delete basket they go.

Quick game’s a good game people!

Once the bold boys have made contact, they have five days to ask me out. If they do in fact grow a pair and ask me out I must accept.

I have to go to the chosen location (somewhere very public of course, I would like to live through this particular experiment) and only once I’m there can I look at their picture and discover who I’m meeting!

I have a one drink minimum (has to be beer or wine, no cheeky five second shots) and no matter what my date may look like, I have to give every date a real crack. This doesn’t mean they’ll be exploring my cave of wonders ten minutes in, but it does mean I’ll be looking deeper than appearances and just trying to find really nice dudes.

Of course every man who makes contact with me won’t make it through to the date stage.

No no, there are far too many men out there whose conversation skills let them down miserably.

If said gentlemen do not adhere to polite conversation and jump straight into talk of inches and pearl necklaces, they will be out of the game and instantly deleted.

I only started the experiment yesterday and I’ve had to delete three already. One potential suitor messaged me at 3am asking if I was still awake and up for it.

Negative.

If there’s one thing I like better than sex it’s sleep.

As it turns out his profile picture was just his bottom half in crappy grey jocks, so no loss there.

The next suitor to strike out was a lovely Indian fellow, who I’m sure had great intentions. However, starting a conversation with “I is looking for marry” is not really the way to a girls heart.

Maybe try a little conversational foreplay before jumping into the heavy stuff big guy.

The third unlucky in love Lothario was just plain icky. Not to mention abrupt!

 

Him: Where do you live?

Me: Uh, hello. I’m in Prahran, you?

Him: Oakleigh. What time are you free?

Me: I’m pretty busy all today actually. What did you have in mind?

Him: Oh I can think of a few things hehe. I’ll come over now. Give me your address.

 

22 Get-Fucked Road. Corner of Bugger Off Way and Pushy Bastard Place, that’s where.

Honestly people, let’s bring back just a touch of romance, could we?

There are some boys who make it through my rigorous experiment though. I have a date booked in on Monday night. I have no idea how it’s going to go but hey, we only live once right?

I’ll keep you updated on my progress Lovers, wish me luck!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week:Boy if you were a vegetable you’d be a cutecumber!

Jack The Strangler

Good morning Lovers!

Or is it afternoon where you are? Well, either way I have some rather exciting news for you. It’s officially Masturbation Month! Time to let your fingers do the walking, straight downtown! Pop on The Divinyls and get touching people! Delve deep into the recesses of your own personal spank bank and really let loose on the old bean or meat and veg! Tickle the pickle, beat the beaver, drain the monster, hit the slit, adjust the antenna, slam the clam, liquidate the inventory. You get the idea Lovers, now get in there and make your country proud Lovers!

Anyways, now that that community service announcement is out of the way I suppose I should tell you about my date with Jack. Or, as the title so aptly suggests… Jack The Strangler!

I rocked up to Jack’s house just after six o’clock on a warm Saturday evening. I was supposed to be there at five thirty but Jack lived in an impenetrable labyrinth that was accessible only by one secret road, and by secret I mean doorway to Narnia secret. So after what felt like hours of mumbling passwords to passing nymphs and tackling riddles in the form of street signs, I arrived, slightly flustered and badly in need of petrol.

However, a lady does not let these things vex her, or, if they do happen to vex said lady, she never shows such emotions to her gentleman companion. No no, a lady has the utmost poise, elegance and grace under any and all situations.

I knocked on Jack’s door with a ladylike tap and the gentleman answered promptly.

“Fuck me sideways, this place is a bitch to find!”

Because I’m no lady Lovers.

Jack gave me a kiss on the cheek and ushered me inside. Immediately I was hit with a familiar smell.

“Do you have pets?” I asked hopefully, glancing around frantically for a cute pug or fluffy kitten.

“No, why do you ask?” answered Jack, and I realised I’d made my first mistake. I back-pedaled desperately, assuring him that it was just that he seemed like a real animal lover. There was no way I was going to tel him that his house smelled distinctly of eau de feline urine. Luckily he saved me from my ramblings.

“I just moved in and the carpets haven’t been cleaned yet, so it still smells a bit like animals. I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the heavens that I hadn’t mortally offended him. In fact, rather than offend him, it spurred him on to take me for a tour of the house.

Then it was my favourite time of day.

Dinner time.

Jack turned out to be quite the proficient chef, whipping up lamb cutlets with a yummy sweet potato salad… thing.There was only one problem. My father is a staunch believer that you shouldn’t eat an animal until it’s good and dead. And when I say dead, I mean cooked all the way through until there’s not a speck of pink left in that sucker. Grey meat is good meat in my family. So you can imagine my horror when Jack attempted to place a still squealing lamb cutlet directly onto my plate.

“No!” I cried, quite over dramatically I might add. Jack looked up from the pan in alarm, “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern etched on his chiseled brow.

“I can’t eat it like that,” I squealed “It’s still kicking!”

Jack laughed and went to place the bleating sheep on my plate once more. I shook my head. “I really can’t eat it like that.” I said apologetically, watching as blood dripped from the still breathing sacrifice into the pan with a sizzle. Jack sighed and agreed to cook my meat a bit longer.

Phew!

What I didn’t expect however, was that as I stood watch while my lamb was read his last rights and finalised his will, was Jack sitting himself down at the table and getting stuck into his food!

Now don’t get me wrong Lovers, I know I was being difficult with my food prejudices and all, but still, he could have waited! So of course just as I was sitting down to eat, Jack was smacking his lips and congratulating himself on a job well done.

Ok, I thought, he ate first. A bit annoying, but it’s certainly no deal breaker, I’m sure we’ll still have a lovely conversation at the table as I eat and he lets his food settle.

But wrong again!

Not moments after I had taken a seat and begun eating, Jack stood up, mosied over to the couch and flicked the tv on!

“Uh, don’t you want to stay over here for a bit?” I asked, completely perplexed at his behaviour.

“Nah it’s cool, you can just join me when you’re done.”

Urgh, I was on a date with a complete fuck knuckle. Great.

I nodded and turned back to my meal, muttering under my breath the dozen gentlemanly procedures he was eschewing.

Once finished, I walked over to the couch and looked down at him.

“Thanks for dinner, it was really nice.” I said as earnestly as possible.

Without warning Jack’s hand snapped up and grabbed me around the neck. I gasped in suprise but before I could do anything he yanked me onto him with alarming force.

Had I pissed him off or something?

“You’re very welcome.” he breathed seductively, and kissed me. Hard.

Like, are you trying to kiss me or maim me hard.

What on earth was going on? Who was I on a date with? When we finally broke apart and I could breathe again I mumbled “Um, ow.”

Jack laughed, “You think that hurt? Watch this!” And with that he proceeded to dig his thumb into the pressure point on my neck.

Any ladylike tendencies I may have been holding in completely dissipated at that moment.

“Argh what the fuck!?” I cried, leaping off him as quickly as I could.
“Oh come on,” he laughed, “I didn’t even do it that hard, you’re just being a baby.”

I scowled at him for a long moment before collecting myself and calmly telling him, “ok so you and I both know you could break me in half with just your pinky, but I really don’t need you to demonstrate!”

Jack looked at me, genuinely confused.

I sighed and said “I don’t like it when you’re rough with me.”

This was again met with laughter and the confirmation that I was, indeed, a baby. However, after all the insulting of my age was over, he seemed to get the point.

After that delightful conversation it was time to pick a movie. Oh boy what a choice he had.

I could pick anything I wanted; so long as it was a war movie.

He had old war movies, new war movies, foreign film war movies, animated war movies, avant-garde war movies and everything in between.

I scrolled through the mess that was his movie collection, desperate for something, anything that didn’t involve mass killing.

“Don’t you have any other movies?” I asked dolefully.

“Pfft, why would I? These movies are the best!” Jack then went on to tell me in graphic detail his favourite death scenes from a dozen or so movies.

Seriously, who the hell was this guy? I thought someone just out of the army would be staying away from stuff like this, not immersing himself in it constantly!

“So you like violence huh?” I asked, my heart dropping as I knew this was the second and last date I would be having with him.

“Yeah,” he said eagerly “especially when it’s realistic. Did you see Saddam Hussein’s execution video?”

I swallowed audibly before replying “Ah no, I must have missed that one.”

“It was great,” he gushed ” you saw everything. I loved watching that bastard die.”
Fuck a duck! This was getting heavy.

“Well he was a very, very bad man,” I agreed cautiously, “but surely seeing any person executed, no matter how awful they were, is pretty un-enjoyable?”

Bad move Claire. The next twenty minutes were spent ramming Saddam Hussein facts down my throat and assuring me the video was a great pick me up if I was ever having a bad day.

To change the subject, I hurriedly selected the first title I saw, some random movie about some secret mission where everybody dies or some crap like that. I just desperately wanted to get off the topic of terrorism. I mean really, it’s not exactly a mood enhancer is it?

We settled down to watch men explode in several different and graphic ways. The opening credits had barely finished when Jack grabbed me and kissed me.

Uh, ok.

Surely he could at least let me get a gist of the story before he started all this nonsense? Apparently not.

There I was, locked in his iron tight embrace, the sweet sound of machine guns and screams of agony echoing in my ears, attempting to kiss the hulk.

That’s when he grabbed my ponytail and yanked it to the side.

Holy fucking bitchcakes!

I reached up and untangled his hand from my hair, giving it a little slap as I did so in an attempt to communicate my displeasure. I would have told him but apparently my mouth was not being released any time soon.

How could this date get any worse?

Oh it did Lovers, it really did!

Claire xx

Pick up line of the Week: You’re beautiful has the letter U in it, but ‘quickie’ has U and I together!