online dating

Tinderpersonations: 3 players, 3 fails

Let’s play a game. Which of the following 3 scenarios was actually conducted by me on Tinder? One of these matches/convos was done by me, one of these was done by Dynamo and one was done by GTC (short for “Good Taste in Clothes”, a close friend of Brown Socks and Dynamo. He was also present at Brown Socks’ bachelor party, and was the guy responsible for buying the nice shirt that Brown Socks had to ruin with ladies’ signatures).

Case study 1

Tinder dave

That is the extent of that convo, to this day.

Case study 2

basel tinder

This pick up line should not be confused with the highly successful, “Excuse me, pardon my insolence, but I just had to tell you that you have a beautiful forehead. The transition from your eyebrows to your hairline is enviable!” **

** Apparently, I need to be honest and give credit for this masterful pickup line to my friend Bballer. Consider it henceforth copyrighted. Use it at your own risk.

Case study 3 

ca va tinder

Translation (I recommend noticing the timeline and degree of punctuation of this convo.)

Matthew: Hey how’s it going

Matthew: Hey

“Vanilla”: Hi!

Matthew: How’s it going

“Vanilla”: Fine, however I’m not particularly excited by this convo. A slow-mover, are you? Trying to not scare me away by being over-eager, right?


Using this sample to form a reasonable conclusion, I extrapolate that everyone, even normal girls and guys like Dynamo, GTC and me, everyone miserably fails at Tinder.

Strengthening the female indecisive stereotype one failed kiss at a time

I’ve previously mentioned that as a 31yr-old perpetually single lady, I regularly combat the pervasive doubt that my single state is in great part my own fault. My strategies to keep this fear at bay includes wine, chocolate and sexy shoes. Sometimes with all 3, at once. #fancy! Some of my kind readers have kindly suggested that everyone has baggage, and since I am aware of mine, and upfront about it, I have effectively addressed this weakness in my quest for domestic bliss, and it cannot therefore be the cause of my singledom. That’s a cute theory. And a false one, as this story will demonstrate.

What not to do on a date

This past winter, I had a Tinder date that I was actually quite excited about. I found him funny and rather gentlemanlike, online. He’d given me access to his Fbk profile too, to calm any pre-date jitters and to confirm he was not a catfishing murderer (his words, paraphrased). I liked what I saw. Consequently, I was incredibly nervous. So much so, I not only put on a clean and flattering outfit, but I also put on lipstick and mascara. #overachiever

He was as good-looking as his pics. He put on a show, as though he was doing his best impression of the ideal funny date. The lack of authenticity made me more nervous; but then I felt like a hypocrite, since I was attempting a similar impression, faking an urban charm I was far from feeling, to try mask my anxiety. I slipped on my persona of a touchy-feely giggly flirt, and felt myself becoming ditzier by the second. He didn’t seem to mind. I noticed his humor had an edge to it, was excessively self-deprecating, which I didn’t find funny, but who was I to judge? I assumed his nerves were at fault.

Conversation shifted to our hobbies. As I’d gathered from his Fbk profile, he is an amateur stand-up comedian. Ballsy! We compared how stand-up comedy and fighting a boxing match can have similarities (they both involve a certain mastery of nerves, the ability to read the audience/opponent and then adapt, and the acceptance of the possibility of failure – no guarantees in either setting). Because we were talking about our respective interests, we both dropped some of our affectations and the conversation’s dynamic improved. Until he made an offhand comment that all humor is a variation of sarcasm. Say what?! I took immediate exception to that statement. I proudly refrained from pointing out that if he truly believed that, he must be a terrible comic. Yay, social skills! However, I was so opposed to his opinion that I had no choice but to engage in some gentle debate. So gentle that I busted out my iPhone, looked up the definition of sarcasm, which I waved in his face, as well as the Google search results for “types of humour”. Types. As in plural. BOOYAH!

Then I had an out-of-body experience and realized that my helpful discussion about his incorrect opinion could maybe possibly slightly be accurately interpreted as a criticism of his comedic skills. Which would likely be offensive to him, and defeat my objective of creating a favorable impression. My brain helpfully made me simper, “but you’re the stand-up comedian afterall. I’ll defer to your expertise.”

At that point, I accepted my brain hated me and wanted me to die a cat-less cat-lady. I facepalmed myself, chugged my beer and waited for the date to implode.

Suspicious behavior

My date surprisingly did not walk out on me after I had spent 20 minutes deconstructing his lack of understanding of the art of humour. This made me even MORE nervous. Clearly, he just wanted to sleep with me, since there was no way he could like me for my personality after what I had just done. As the date wrapped up, my ditzy persona firmly in place, I said goodbye and prepared to walk the short distance home. He offered to drive me home.

I considered this carefully. He was gentlemanly enough for me to suspect that my conviction that he wanted to jump in my pants rightthisinstant was probably an exaggeration, caused by my anxiety-laden mind. Also it was freezing. I accepted his offer.

The short drive home, I psyched myself up for the inevitable goodbye kiss. It was going to happen. I owed it to him, after my ridiculous behavior. I was ready. Let’s do this. He double parked. We resaid polite noises and our goodbyes. He paused momentarily, as if to check that a goodbye kiss would be welcome – see? I told y’all he was a gentleman.

In that instant, I knew I did NOT want to kiss him. But did I react? Did I say something, or move out of the way? NO, THAT WOULD BE TOO EASY. I stayed frozen, with a polite smile on my face . Time slowed down painfully, giving me ample time to watch his gradual approach to my mouth. Slow-motion, slowed down till the motion part barely was noticeable.

It was only as his lips touched mine that I snapped out of my paralysis, and pushed him gently away. “Yeah, no, this ain’t happening. Sorry. I don’t kiss on the first date.” He stared at me, taken aback. I shrugged and exited the car.





Tinderpersonations: Interglutteal clefts and starfish

Mes amis! I’m delighted to bring you the 2nd installment of my blog series Tinderpersonations, where my guy friends impersonate me on Tinder. This edition is brought to you by Dynamo.

Dynamo saw the profile pic below (the back view of a naked dude), and despite my protests that I did NOT want to be matched with a sexual deviant, swiped right. Insta-match. My Vanilla reputation precedes me, apparently. Dynamo immediately sent the first 2 messages in blue, below.

The remainder of the exchange is me, all me. Now that’s an example of solid team-work, right there.


Presto! My afternoon entertainment. It’s the simple things in life that make all the difference.

 As a belated one-year anniversary present to my blog, I’ve created a Facebook page for this blog, in a desire to grow readership through the mysterious world of social networking. Please follow me!

P.S. I don’t actually know what I am doing with this Facebook blog page. So if y’all have any advice of what to do or not do, please PLEASE pass it along!!

That time I tried to set Miss Piggy up with Alphonse

As you all know, Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog announced their split a few weeks ago. Very sad. But, seeing as Miss Piggy is one fine lady, I didn’t want to wait too long before introducing her to Alphonse – no doubt she would be courted left and right, as the news of her newly single state spread throughout the world!

Crickets, you guys, crickets.

Poor Alphonse got denied. I guess his dating game is just as bad as mine.




P.S. May I strongly recommend y’all follow her on Twitter? She is a font of wisdom and delight.

Hubba Hubba


Fun fact: Urban Dictionary feels similarly to me about the term “hubba hubba”. I did not submit the definitions below, nor did I vote for them. But I do feel validated, somewhat.


I do love a good compliment, I swear. But, gentlemen, I must bring your attention to the definition of a compliment: “a polite expression of praise or admiration”. POLITE. If Google says so, it must be true.

And just in case this needs clarification, “polite” is behavior that is “respectful” or “fancy”. I am a bit of a princess, after all. I expect to be treated so.

Guys, you can thank me for breaking down social interactions later.

I quit! (online dating)

Remember Daniel from Tinder? Of course you do. How could you forget such attuned listening skills?! Well, against my better judgment, after listening to a lecture from my 23 year old cousin about how I am too quick to write people off, I decided to give him a few extra chances. That resulted in a planned ice-cream date last night. He messaged me during the day, to confirm we were still on, but volunteered the information that he was lactose intolerant and didn’t like ice cream as it didn’t fit with his diet goals. I did think he might be Patrick Bateman, but figured a date with American Psycho would be good blog content.

Unfortunately, the date never materialized: 


Daniel either is the most socially-incompetent person ever (which, as the rest of my post will demonstrate, I highly doubt given the quality of his competition) or else he is one of those people that delights in gratuitously upsetting others. I took a bit too long to unmatch myself from him on Tinder, and so he had time to pile on a few additional venomous shots, such as, “I acknowledge my behavior to you was strange but I really had enjoyed seeing her the first time and was looking forward to seeing her a second time” and “Don’t get angry just because you got stood up and your ego took a hit.” Words to live by, oh wise one. I hope the ice cream gives him a bad case of diarrhea and stinky farts.

“But wait”, y’all say. “Don’t give up just because you stumbled upon one bad apple”. Perhaps y’all think that the problem is that I am on Tinder, renowned for being primarily a hookup facilitator. Perhaps my prospects would improve on other dating sites?

Behold, my top pics from Plenty Of Fish, from this weekend alone.

So cheesy, I developed temporary constipation of the heart. 


Another example of my pet peeve (described here and here). 


And the top nominee for Worst First Impression Ever.  


You guys, I just can’t. I can’t handle online dating. I can’t handle constantly steeling myself from whatever abuse or poor treatment will be thrown at me, minutes from logging on. I don’t like the bitch I become, as I try protect myself from these virtual insults, which shouldn’t bother me, but do. 

I’ll take remaining single and lonely over online dating any day. Prince Charming might be out there, but godammit, I’m done hunting through the pig-pens, looking for him.