Awful Dating Trends: Lowering the bar since always.

5 Jul

After all this dating, I’ve noticed some trends. Negative trends. Trending down to dating hell.

Let’s capture this. Let’s do a Top 10.

Top 10 Worst Dating Trends

(No particular order. All pretty shit.)

10. Boasting about bad habits.

We’ve all got insecurities, and they are on show for one and all to see when we go on a first date. Perhaps the worst example of this is the overcompensating dude who continuously refers to his debilitating alcohol problem like he is the most bad-ass mofo this world has ever seen. Come on guy. No lady wants to date a dude who is, apparently, blind from 5 pm Friday til 9 am Monday. It just ain’t cool.

9. Suggesting a date at a notoriously busy restaurant and not making a booking.

Clearly this is crap. You dress up fancy and get your hair did because he’s taking you somewhere nice that you’ve wanted to go for ages. He is either a social moron that doesn’t usually venture from his home (where he lives with his mum) or he doesn’t care enough to have made a simple phone call. You’ll probably end up at Maccas (all day breakfast tho).

8. Extending the date beyond the agreed activity.

If you agree to a mid-week beverage, you don’t agree to a mid-week beverage followed by a mid-week dinner followed by a mid-week movie. I am busy and important, and you can’t unexpectedly hog up my time, time hog! See the Best of the Worst for an example.

7. Turning your phone up super loud so everyone knows you get heaps of messages.

Just gross.

6. Not paying for your coffee/drink on the first date.

If only to avoid the awkwardness of you both having to fumble around for exact change, this is just one of those things that set the tone. If the date is average, the guy picking up the tab can be the deal-maker that gets him a second date.

5. Being rude to staff.

Obviously not cool ever. Sometimes I used to feel like some guys would do this on purpose to show their dominance. It was probably worse than if they were just a regular asshole.

4. Dudes who say they’ll think of a plan, and then don’t think of a plan.

There is nothing more awkward than meeting in the middle of the city, and standing around awkwardly while both parties scroll through their phones looking for somewhere nearby. Generally speaking, ladies probably want to think that you bothered to spare 5 minutes to think of somewhere nice to take them.

3. Dudes who clearly don’t want to be the one to think of a plan.

“That’s great that you agreed to meet me. So what should we do on our date?” and “I’m so pleased you said yes when I asked you to meet up, I’m happy to do whatever you want!” are potentially the worst ways to get someone to date you. Have a game plan. Stick to it.

2. Negging.

Fuck the guy that wrote ‘The Game’. I don’t care that he was just using his dating powers to meet girls and that he was nice to them once he had their attention. The concept of negging is nasty.

For those not yet acquainted, negging is where a dude undermines a lady by giving a compliment before immediately insulting her. If he does it successfully the woman is left feeling like she has to prove something, often without realising what has happened.

E.g. “I like your hair colour, it must have cost a fortune,” is a neg. He likes the colour of her hair but undermines her by highlighting that it’s not real. Most women are dying their hair with the vision that it looks natural. Therefore, he’s being a dick by pointing out that it’s fake.

1. Unskilled use of negging.

Mm-hmm. When negging goes wrong. This is when the guy is too dumb to actually pull off the neg, so he just ends up insulting you.

A classic online-dating neg gone wrong can be seen in many online exchanges. He opens with “Hey [name that is the opposite of your name], how’s it going?” He’s trying to pretend like he has a million girls on the go by getting your name wrong on purpose. Either he can’t read your name at the top of his phone screen and is stupid, or he’s a shit negger. See The Masked Man’s attempt at negging for another example.

Sharing time! What other horrif dating trends have I missed?


Aziz Ansari + Awkward First Texts = Amaze

20 Jun

If there was ever a crowd that was likely to find pleasure in cringe-worthy text message exchanges, I figure it would be you lot.

I’ve always deleted my awkward text message exchanges so that I can pretend my life is great. That means I can’t share my own cringers with you. You’ll have to put up with Aziz and Jimmy instead. Bummer.

Noodle Man: Now with extra noodles

4 Jun

Here we go with Noodle Man: Now with extra noodles.

Noodle Man approaches, slowing to a jog before coming to a halt. He awkwardly apologises, but probably not enough to justify his almost half-hour tardiness. At this point I become hangry, so I suggest that we get some food before I turn into The Hamburglar. He agrees, and then stares around like we are on safari in search of wild restaurants. If he had binoculars, I believe he would have used them. As he does not seem to know which direction we should go, I suggest we move towards the extremely prominent street of restaurants. I ask what kind of food he would like. He responds with the dreaded: “I’m not that much of a foodie”.

This is further evidenced by his enthusiastic choice of an empty Chinese takeaway restaurant, situated in the midst of some of the best Italian restaurants in the city. This isn’t my part of town, but I know this to be the wrong choice.

We sit down and he confesses that he has difficulty eating with chopsticks. In truly authentic Chinese restaurant style, there are forks on the table. The menu is pretty basic, and I order us some dumplings to start. Because I have great taste, I order the fried variety. I regret this.

As all good fried things should be, they are hot. He puts a whole one in his mouth and is surprised to find that it’s burning his face off. I figure out the probability of whether he has ever eaten a dumpling before. It is slim.

He enthusiastically chooses a noodle dish for himself, and I get something more first-date appropriate. I await the arrival of the noodles, fearing the damage I am about to witness. The noodles arrive. I take a deep breath in as he goes for the chopsticks.

Noodles. Chopsticks. Even for a veteran this is first date suicide.

He succeeds in capturing an admirable quantity of noodles between the wooden spears of death. I watch as the noodles make their way towards his mouth. While starting to chalk up his victory against the noodles, I realise I have made another huge mistake. Noodle Man has just committed the ultimate first date faux pas – eating with his fingers.

I try to not cry as he repeatedly uses his other hand to shovel the noodles into his mouth. I stare down into my date-friendly dish and try hard not to watch. Things get worse as he continually wipes his noodly hand on his napkin after every bite. He’s cool with it.

As soon as dinner is over, I make an excellent and non-transparent excuse to leave immediately. When he finds out I have caught public transport, he seems highly impressed. I know that I am generally v impressive, but I would not count this as such a time. Through some quick-fire questioning on the matter of public transport, he reveals that he does not know where my very-well-known-suburb is actually located, which concerns me as it is very well known.

He nervously walks me to the tram, and I sprint onto the one that pulls in with extremely convenient timing. As the tram whisks me away from Monsieur Noodle, towards my well-known suburb, I am at peace knowing that single life is a lot better than many other lives.

Noodle man, you glorious fool. I regret nothing.

Noodle Man

29 May

Listen up fools. Let’s just gloss over the fact that I haven’t been around much lately. My apologies will be insincere, and you’ll bottle up your real feelings until you get a chance to let rip at the company Christmas party. We’ll both end up regretting our choices, and won’t be able to forgive each other until one of us is on our deathbed. I don’t have time for that, and neither do you. So let’s get to the point. Noodle Man. Spoiler alert: this story involves noodles. And a man.

I had been speaking to Noodle Man for quite a few months. He was always witty and seemed like a bit of a dude, so I mistakenly interpreted this as him being cool. I regret this.

dude Finally, he suggests that we meet. I agree. He asks what part of town I’m in. I respond with my well-known inner-city suburb name, and he responds by choosing a very well-known inner-city suburb, approximately fucking ages away from where I live. I thought it was rude to make me do all the travel, but I somehow justify my agreement. Because you know, he was cool. I regret this.

We agreed to a day and time for our meeting. Several awkward days went by where no contact was required because we had already achieved the ultimate goal of organising a date. There was no contact. Even on date day.

It was going to take me a little while to get to the fucking ages away place because it was fucking ages away. I still had not heard more from Noodle Man with a more specific meeting location. I didn’t want to be the contact breaker, so I went on my merry way assuming I would get a location update en route. Considering he knew I lived fucking ages away, I thought it seemed reasonable that he was going to choose the location. I regret this.

I am sheer minutes away from hitting the central food precinct of the fucking ages away place. I give in, and send a message asking where we are meeting. It is 10 minutes until our agreed date time. I start to think that I have made a huge mistake.

I receive a message back: “Hey, I don’t really know. Maybe on [extremely long street]?” This is not helpful to me. The street is extremely long. I am also annoyed that he has not put any thought into this, but secretly keep thinking: “What a fucking dude.” My feminist self hates me.

I write back: “Ok, where exactly? I’m here, so I need to know where to go.” He does not write back immediately. I start to wonder if I should go home. By this time, I have walked the length of Extremely Long Street. I sit on a bench and grumble. It is now 15 minutes beyond our meet up time. He is clearly not here and has not advised of being late. I realise that I am probably making a huge mistake.

He rings (v. awkward):  “Hey, I’m almost there, I’m just struggling to find a park. Where are you?”I describe where I am. I assume he will understand my description. He does not. I realise that he does not know the area, and wonder what the fuck we are doing there. I see a tram pull into the stop near me, I think very seriously about getting on it. I choose to keep making the mistake because I am hungry and home is far away.

I wait another 10 or so minutes. He calls again. I give very clear instructions regarding my location. I see him. He is running. I also would like to run. Away. Even from 50 meters away, I can immediately see that he is not a dude in any shape or form. Dudes would not run to a date like that. 20 meters. He looks very different to his pictures. 10 meters. He is sweaty.

I have made a huge mistake. Which I will elaborate on in Noodle Man Part II.


The Judge

29 Jun

When I started dating again I thought that being in a new city might change things. It has not. Internet men remain odd. Today I bring you the tale of The Judge. Who is not a judge, but whom we dislike all the same.

Things with The Judge started off normal enough. We agreed to meet for a drink near my house, as he lived nearby.

He was about ten minutes late, so he lost some points for that. We actually had a nice conversation over a few beers. He paid, which was very proper of him. He gained some points back.

He lost several more points for general smugness, after referencing his love of German opera and his soon-to-be barrister status. There was just something a bit icky about it all. Perhaps also because he kept staring at my chest. Through my coat.

He tried to get me to come for another drink elsewhere, and I got the hint that I should probably leave if I wanted to get away unmolested. He offered to walk me to my place, as it was just a block away.

I just let him walk me home because it’s awkward to tell someone you don’t want them knowing where you live. As we turned to leave, I could see him out of my peripheral vision, walking next to me. I could tell he was doing something weird. I was trying really hard to subtly look at his body instead of his face while we were walking, but this is actually really hard. You should try it out sometime. Your friends will be questioning their outfit choices all day.

I finally managed to get a good look at what was going on next to me. He was walking like an elephant – left arm and left leg at the same time, instead of left arm and right leg. But on a human it looks like Hitler.

This was, in fact, not even a deal breaker. I didn’t love the guy, but we had a pretty good time and the funny walking made me think he was a bit nervous. Or that he was Hitler reincarnated. Either way, when he enthusiastically said he wanted to met up again I agreed.

He texted me a couple of days later, and I responded. He never wrote back. I was pretty un-phased by it, because the funny walking image had really burnt itself into my retina.

About two weeks later I was waiting to catch the tram. It was raining and my hair looked shit. I was carrying a million things, and was generally in a grump. I look up, and all the way across the intersection, I see him.

He also 100% definitely saw me, so I thought that we would be able to just strategically avoid each other. Not so. Unfortunately his BFF4Lyf was standing right behind me on the tram platform, so I had the pleasure of listening to them discuss the day’s politics. As I realised that he was the type of person who liked to discuss politics in the morning on the way to work, I thanked the Lord he had never contacted me again.

We then rode the tram standing right next to each other. It was packed, we were pretty much rubbing shoulders. They continued to talk about ‘Old Smithy!’ and ‘the incompetent receptionist’. I continued to die on the inside.

I sprinted off the tram, ASAP-like, and was glad to be done.

Another two weeks later I received a text from the judge inviting me over to his place for a wine. Really? Actually? Your place? Me? You? Wine?

I did not reply. So when I next saw him on the tram (I was looking v swish this time), I enjoyed watching as the smug look on his face was very much wiped off.

P.S. He is called the judge because my friend thought he was one. The story takes on a different level of funny if you imagine all of this happening while he is wearing a wig.

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