“A simple hello could lead to a million things.”
– A quote I found on Pinterest.
Well, hey there. Believe it or not, it’s nearly time to wrap up this Tinder-land Saga fandango. Sorry to be a party pooper, but don’t worry – I’ll still tell you what happened.
So. Hot Muso and I went on a date. Woot! But before I get caught up in that we have the pre-date to discuss:
As you may or may not know by now, I have a slight tendency to completely freak out in the hour before going on a date. Up until then I’m chilled as, but as soon as there are less than 61 minutes before I see the gent I am going on a date with things get a tad untidy… Clothes get thrown around my room, I frantically scribble eyeliner across my face, a barrage of profanities are used, I invariably end up sprinting to the bus, I sweat like a neanderthal, oh, and I squeal hysterically on the phone to a friend. Yep, you get the idea: it’s not particularly pretty. Frankly, it’s always a bit of a miracle when I arrive at a date in one piece and then act like a relatively normal human being for the following few hours.
Except things were a bit different this time round because my hysteria kicked in not one, but two hours before the date.. and it wasn’t my regular kind of freak out. Oh, no. That’d be too easy. Instead, I became so irrationally nervous that I started having chest pains and mild heart palpitations. That’s right, kids! I was giving myself a baby heart attack! Why do you sound proud of that, you dingus?
As I decided that arriving at the date alive was preferable I quickly adopted a mantra, “I am calm and collected and I have nothing to worry about”, which I repeated like a religious zealot until I was able to successfully trick myself into believing it was true. You already know that he’s a lovely guy, so you don’t have anything to worry about! Really? Ohh.. Yeah. You know what? I don’t actually have anything to worry about! I can’t believe I have to put up with this chick every single day.
Once I’d calmed down I only had one more dilemma to solve before arriving at the date: determining how much cleavage was too much cleavage for a first date. Hmm. A dilemma, indeed. I consulted my friend on the issue, but discreetly taking photos of your cleavage whilst on a packed bus is actually less easy than it sounds. In the end I went with my gut (less is more) and my friend agreed. Phew. And by the way, please don’t go scrolling through my camera roll anytime soon.
Now onto the actual date: Believe it or not, I actually made it there. In fact, I arrived there on time. Bravo, Alex!
It was a good date. God, Alex. Use some better adjectives. Ok. Sorry. The date was lovely. It felt comfortable and easy and it was filled with (more) great music. He is a muso, after all. We went to a bar in Darlinghurst that has live blues a couple of nights a week, which was great. It was a fun (and strategic) first date idea as the music was always there to fill any awkward gaps in the conversation (not that we had any). Good one, Hot Muso!
On that note (oh, that was punny, Alex), some of you may remember that a few months ago I realised that I’m pretty crap at conversation on first dates.. mainly because I usually do anything within my power to not talk about myself. Handy, indeed. (You can read more about that debacle here). Anyway! So, I actually talked about myself rather than bombarding Hot Muso with questions! I’m sure I could have done better, but I was still SO damn proud of myself. Yes, that’s right: I was giving myself a mental high-five whilst on the date. Small achievements, amigos. Small achievements.
Rolls eyes, sighs audibly, continues typing.
My only complaint about the date was that I was hungry. I like eating, ok? And I don’t feel that I need to justify that to anyone. Originally the plan was for a (late) dinner and drinks, so I hadn’t eaten that much in preparation for dinner. Logical. It always annoys me when I rock up to a restaurant or cafe and my companion has already eaten, even though we have specifically organised to eat together. So, I didn’t want to be rude by having already eaten. But then we ended up meeting a bit later than planned and we just drank. So I ate sauvignon blanc for entree and main and had an amaretto on the rocks for dessert. It’s not that I don’t enjoy drinking (duh), but I was RAVENOUS by the time I got home.
To those who think that I could’ve easily fixed the situation by saying, “Hey, I think I’m going to get something to eat”, it’s not that simple – especially if you’re the chick. It would have been awkward because:
a) it then reminds the gent (who organised the date) that he has been a mild dingus in giving your stomach mixed messages. Dinner. No dinner. I don’t mind – just tell me and then stick with it, dammit.
b) you may then end up with one person eating and the other not eating and just watching. My-mouth’s-full-I-can’t-speak-at-the-moment. Tumbleweed.
c) then the awkward ‘who-pays-thing’ gets exacerbated. I’m just as happy to pay for myself as I am for a gent to pay for me, but I wouldn’t want him to think that I expected him to pay for my dinner, especially if he hasn’t eaten, himself.
i.e. COMPLICATED. Thankfully, Jen gets what I’m talking about.
Lord, I love that girl. Anyway. The food thing really wasn’t a big deal. Sorry for getting worked up about it. I fixed it all by hitting the fridge big time when I got home.
Oh, yeah. So I went home. Read between those lines, kids. As the evening was winding up Hot Muso asked me what my plans were. Being the poor 20-something that I am I explained that as there was a smörgåsbord of bus stops nearby I’d catch a bus to Martin Place, then walk to Wynyard and then catch a bus home from there as per usual.
But Hot Muso wasn’t too keen on that idea.
Hot Muso: “It’s ok. What we’ll do is we’ll grab a taxi. I’ll drop you off at Wynyard and then I’ll take the taxi back to Surry Hills.” (which, as we were standing in Surry Hills, was a big unnecessary loop for him)
Alex: *Tries to politely protest, but instead falls over from swooning* Yeah, I need to stop doing that.
So we jumped into a taxi and made the journey to Wynyard. I got out – insert something about lips – and then proceeded to my bus.. whilst hysterially texting my BFF. I’m pretty cool like that. She, on the other hand, is an absolute saint. Sœur de cœur, I am talking about YOU.
Hot Muso concluded what was a very enjoyable evening with some more gentlemanly behaviour, messaging me when I got home to verify that I had indeed arrived home safely.
Either I have very low expectations of men or the taxi thing was just further evidence that he is one of the most lovely people I have met in a long while. I don’t think I’ve been on a date with anyone who has made that much of an effort to make sure that I got home safely before. Well, unless you count, “You can just crash at mine!” Men can be so selfless. All of this was made better by the fact that I was wearing heels which I didn’t feel like walking much further in. Yewww! Anyway, I was really very touched by how thoughtful he was. (With this logic I should definitely marry the first guy who pays for my $50 taxi home from the city, shouldn’t I?)
So, what happened next?! Sorry, I got distracted by despicably low criterion in men.
My friends thought that there would probably be a second date and I was definitely hoping there would be one. But life is not a fairytale, my sweet peaches. Hot Muso messaged me the following day and then again the next week. Nothing of significance, just stuff of the “how was your long weekend?” variety. Unfortunately I haven’t heard from him since, which is a shame, seeing as he seemed like such a wonderful guy… (Not that him not asking me on another date means that he isn’t as lovely as I thought he was). Anyway. It’s ok and I’m happy to say that I’m already 98.5% over him (which, for me, is pretty stellar).
So, what is my overall verdict in regards to Le Tinder? I’m surprised to say it, but I would actually recommend using Tinder – but only on the proviso that your expectations are low and that you have a clear idea of what you want from it before you embark on your Tinder-land adventure.
Although I am happily single as ever (which probably isn’t that much of a surprise to anyone), venturing into the bizarre contemporary realm that is Tinder was actually a much more enjoyable and fruitful adventure than I thought it would be. In the meantime, I guess it’s back out into the world of Singledom I go.
Perhaps I’ll log back onto Tinder..