The Boston Tinder

Date Stats

My Outfit: Various, Classy, Conservative, ‘Nice Guy’ Appropriate

His Outfit: Various, Classy, Conservative,  ‘Nice Guy’ Attire

Overall Rating: 9/10 (point lost for TRAMPLING ON MY HEART)

After a never-ending stream of bad dates, I was on the verge of deleting Tinder and symbolically setting myself on fire in protest of (and strange homage to) the little flame icon on my iphone that mocks me with false promise and shirtless selfies.

Before I did anything too drastic though, a cute chap in a Barney costume popped up. As you may remember from Nun Tinder (who, incidentally I ran into on Bleeker Street last weekend… mega awks) I am a sucker for a Tinder in a weird costume. We were matched and after some generic banter, he asked me for a drink.

I’ll admit, I wasn’t overly enthused about it. I mean, he was cute and all, but when Tinder has you considering setting yourself in flames, it’s hard to get excited about meeting another potential crazy (you never know whether they might want to wear the Barney costume during sex).

Nevertheless, I arrived for our date at The Soho Room on time and in a bit of a state, having just been seriously propositioned for a threesome by someone I was previously quite fond of (REALLY). I was a little disturbed by the whole thing and proceeded to tell Boston Tinder what had happened, which in retrospect is perhaps not the most adorable way to begin a date.

Especially if you then violently lament how awful men are and order mozzarella sticks to feed your emotions…

Most men probably would have run a mile as my voice started to wobble and I shoved a mozzarella stick into my mouth screaming ‘WHY ARE ALL MEN PIGS?’ but Boston Tinder calmly told me that I was beautiful and said, ‘There are some nice guys out there too.’ SWOON.

When we left, he hailed me a cab and said, ‘I really want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?’ Usually this kind of corniness makes me want to take my own life, but there was something so sweet and earnest about Boston Tinder that I felt butterflies as we made out in front of an angry waiting cab driver. It was all so Carrie/Big.

A couple of days later he took me for dinner in the West Village at Tertulia. This time, we expanded our conversation from merely ‘men r scum’ to actually asking questions about each other.

He worked at a Hedge Fund in their legal department (= smart and rich but not a finance douche. Hoorayz.) and was from Boston. He was so sweet and positive and nice about everything I was doing in my life that I literally left our date (which turned into an after-dinner romantic walk around Washington Square Park and then to an after-dinner drink at a cocktail bar) swooning and mooning.

Boston Tinder was a keeper.

For date number three, he came back a day early from a weekender to have a glass of wine with me at The Drunken Horse around the corner from me in Chelsea. Really, he curbed a holiday for just one glass of wine and then walked me to my door and kissed me passionately before I went inside.

Obviously, at this point I was planning our wedding and naming our children.

The next day, we met for celebratory drinks at Boulton and Watt in the East Village. Nothing particularly exciting had happened to me, he was just the sort of guy who finds a reason to celebrate things.

After our drinks he came with me to Spitzers to meet a good friend of mine who was visiting from London. We all had a good time, and then when it was just the two of us we had a ‘chat’ about exclusivity in which we agreed to stop dating other people. I left on cloud nine, looking forward to the dinner we had planned for Friday.

The next day we were passing back and forth cute texts as usual and I asked him if he wanted to come over and watch a movie with me later. He said he really wanted to see me but that he had a work event, could he come after? I told him that was fine and he said he would call me when he was leaving. Then he said:

You’re so cute, send me a picture.

This was the last thing I heard from him for two days (and no, it wasn’t a horrendous picture if that’s what you’re thinking… I was on the subway so I didn’t send him one, honestly).

Friday came and I still hadn’t heard anything, so I sent him a text saying:

Is dinner cancelled?

He replied about an hour later saying:

Tinderella, you’re wonderful. I think that we are too different for either of us to be happy in the long term. I truly wish you the best.

I have not heard from him since and am entirely clueless about what went wrong.

Please, if anyone can shed light on the situation, DO because this has completely thrown me for a loop.

I think I liked him more than The Republican and Benedict Cumberbatch all rolled into one and now I am heartbroken and Googling where to buy kerosene and matches.

xoxo A very sad Tinderella.

The Hedge Fund Tinder

Date Stats

My Outfit: Black silk trousers, white and black blouse, white jacket, pink flats

His Outfit: A suit

Day: Tuesday

Time: 11pm – 12.30am

Overall Rating: 2/10

Hedge Fund Tinder was another Tindering-while-backstage match. He was tall (6’3” according to his tagline) and very cute. He also had really goofy photos that seemed ‘fun’ in a non-obnoxious way. Nothin I love more than a tall, goofy, non-obnoxiously fun guy.

On Sunday afternoon I was watching Lindsey Lohan’s reality show (don’t judge me… I was only SLIGHTLY enjoying it) when Hedge Fund Tinder asked me to meet him for a drink. I thought boozing (or indeed heroin-ing, acid-ing, jumping off a building…) might be a better use of my time than watching Lindsey have a panic attack about where she should store all her designer clothes (this happens like 10 times), so we agreed to meet at Park Bar near Union Square. Just as I was about to leave I received the following text:

My bad, I can’t meet I have to work. I’m really sorry. Please can I make it up to you tomorrow? I’m a toolbag I know.

Because he used the word toolbag I forgave him:

Toolbag! Yes, OK. Sorry you have to work on a Sunday.

The next day we agreed to meet somewhere near me. While tossing bar ideas back and forth, I received a similar text an hour or so before we were supposed to meet:

Ah I’m so so sorry but I’m going to have to stay late tonight.

I was less generous this time:

OK

He was so apologetic and charming that I decided I could give him one more chance not to bail on our date. The next evening, wary of Hedge Fund Tinder, I agreed to meet him but also made plans to meet friends. As the evening wore on, I was glad I had.

We had planned to meet at 8pm but he kept pushing it back by 20 minutes, saying he could not get away from work but he really hoped I would wait. I had moved from drinks near Central Park to drinks at the Grey Bar in Flatiron by this point and although I felt slightly pathetic waiting around for a stranger to finish work and come meet me I rationalized that I would probably be here anyway, with or without Hedge Fund Tinder. I told him that he could meet me at The Flatiron Room (the cocktail bar right next door) when he finished work.

Finally, at 11pm, he showed. That is to say, he arrived at The Flatiron Hall (the beer hall across the street) and left me sitting alone in The Flatiron Room trying not to look stood up and instead give off the ‘yeah, I came here for a cocktail by myself, what of it?’ vibe.

After about seven minutes of confusion, panic, shame etc he called me and asked where I was. Eventually we realized he was in the wrong bar and he walked across the street to meet me.

He walked in and I instantly recognized him from his photos – a good sign. He was very tall, dark hair with an attractive but kind face (can a face be kind?). He started apologizing profusely and I noted with disappointment that he had a nervous, fidgety energy about him.

I said, ‘Just sit down cowboy, it’s fine – let’s order some cocktails.’

Cowboy? It dawned on me that I had been drinking for the past three hours.

We had a table and when the waiter came up to take our order, Hedge Fund Tinder ordered a drink and then waved his hand at me and said, ‘She can have whatever she wants’.

I think he was trying to be impressive but it made him look like a bit of a dick.

Settled in with cocktails, we got to know each other a bit better. He worked at a hedge fund, which explained all the late nights. He said he was typically at the office until 2am and had to wake up around 6am. It sounded dreary and made my struggles as an actress that I had been lamenting moments earlier seem fairly lame.

Throughout the conversation I was hyper-aware of his constant fidgeting and I interrupted a lengthy explanation of hedge funds (snooze) to say with what I hoped was gentleness but in all likelihood was irritated abrasiveness, ‘Are you nervous?’

He looked a little startled and then said, ‘No, no, I just have a lot of nervous energy. It’s just how I am.’

He had chugged his cocktail (and mine – I had ordered a whiskey one by mistake) alarmingly quickly and he hailed down the waiter to order two more.

Keen not to re-enter a discussion about hedge funds, I asked what sort of things he did outside of work.

There was a pause while he considered this, before replying, ‘I play a lot of video games’.

His existence started to make me a little sad, but before I could feel too sorry for him he started pompously telling me about how he was captain of the football team in high school and also his high school’s Homecoming King.

While this information did not impress me the way that he’d hoped it would, it did surprise me a little. I’d have probably pegged him more as the guy who played Dungeons and Dragons in the school playground. Of course… he might have done that too. Hedge Fund Tinder was a bizarre mix of suavity and nerdiness.

I told him I was feeling a little tired and should probably head home. He ordered the bill and I excused myself for the loo. When I came back to the table, it was empty. The paid bill was sitting on the table, as was my HANDBAG and jacket. I assumed he’d left without saying goodbye and furiously stormed out of the bar avoiding eye-contact with the pitying waiters.

A few minutes after I’d hopped in a cab my phone buzzed:

Where are you?

I replied:

Unbelievably rude. On my way home.

He said:

What? I went to the bathroom. I’m still at the bar, are you nearby?

I said:

No. Sorry.

He said:

I thought we were having such a good time.

Huh?

I said:

You left all my things at the table. Not cool. Thanks for drinks.

I suppose if you work at a hedge fund, it’s totes fine to leave handbags at unattended tables… plenty more where that came from ha ha, money money, business business!

Sadly, for the struggling actress/regular human being this is completely unacceptable and probably would have been a deal breaker even if he hadn’t been such a weirdo.

Needless to say, we haven’t spoken since. This also may have been my least favourite date so far.

Toolbag.