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My 3 Tinder Golden Rules

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Categories: 40DayDating, DATING, DATING TIPS, Misadventures, Tags: , ,

3 Tinder Golden Rules

Ok so it has been a hell of a dating ride. When I set up this #40daydating challenge I thought to myself that I wasn’t going to get more than 10 days and I’ve already had 7 (yeah I left when Hot Gym Dude was late but, it counts. I was at the agreed spot at the agreed time)

But then after the initial exhilaration over my dating success (Some of my precious American readers please note sarcasm and insert here) I realised that I’d have to work smarter if I was going to meet anyone worthy of taking beyond the 40daydating threshold into happily ever summer. This wasn’t going to be easy! So I sat down on my rest day and focused on what had gone wrong and what was going right. This was a relatively quick process because there was so little right so far that I only needed to focus on the wrong. And there were so many Mr Wrongs!



Oh my days this is a bug bear! I’m an eighth German and that eighth is punctuality! I’m not built for winter or British. I’m too curvy dresses and leggings for that shit. Stop your foolishness.

We had the one who had just reached home 10 minutes before our date time (8.30)  and took an hour to get there. He couldn’t tell me before I left my house? He had to wait until 8.20? How did he think I was going to get to the meetup on time? Oh he didn’t because I think he assumed we would both be late

The one who was 84 minutes late to a gig which started at 8. Luckily I was in the warmth and listening to good music (Thanks SofarSounds) but, I don’t get it. The only thing he was bothered about was that I saved him a beer. I think this was code for, I’m not spending a penny. More on him another time.

Then the Dad who was 30 minutes late because he couldn’t find parking at 7pm. In SW London on a Monday ? You are a liar.

Finally and most distressingly because I was actually looking forward to it was Hot Gym Dude who, after 15 minutes wait outside Clapham junction hadn’t called. Then he told me 10. Then he told me 5 (30 minutes later). Then finally he said, “Mi reach” but I’d gone. 49 minutes is not the one. Not even the promise of those biceps could keep me on that street a minute longer. Just say you couldn’t get away from your woman and let it go.

So the rules are simple. I don’t meet anyone at a station or on the street again. I am not a prostitute and there are plenty of bars and coffee shops in London. I will only wait 20 minutes for a date, 30 if you’re cute and given such good banter that I’m already naming our babies in my head. Kidding. I chose all of my babies’ names 20 years ago. 



Remember when we were in a recession and nobody wanted to put their money on the table? When going to dinner was going to Nandos every single time? When guys used to tell you that they had just eaten whether it was 6,7,8,9,10pm?  Then they looked longingly at your food and stole your chips?

Yes, we are back here again. Which is not a problem. It’s good that people are being careful with their money and I don’t need a man to splash the cash on me. That said I’m really not ready to splash the cash on them either I get that they have child support and rent to pay but, so do I. My child support consists of books, clothes and music. Feeding my inner child. So far I’ve had:

Cheeky coffee one, “I know you don’t want me to contribute do ya? You’ve got this. I only had a coffee” and half my chips!

Nandos, “babe, you got change?”

The Heineken who said nothing but then tried to come home with me and said he had cab money to get himself home

And the dude who told me that he was trying to save for a property so, er, yeah. Money be tight. The bill was £21.

This role reversal thing is not cute and I’ve decided I’m going to make it clear before confirming that, I’ll happily pay for myself but expect the same from them. I’m not here to sponsor people and their lifestyles. I’m going to get a t-shirt which tells them so. “Nah Fam, I’m not the one!”  

So Rule 2 is to stop paying for dates. I am sure that HMRC won’t let me write them off as business expenses.


Trusting my gut

It’s ok to be an optimist and give the benefit of the doubt but Maxine Saj, my budda belly is rarely ever wrong about men. Food, not so much but, men? Men she knows.

So why when I can see that they’re not communicating well (ie at normal times) or they’re too aggressive or their typos are more basic primary school grammar am I still going out on dates? I seriously don’t have time for this. Yes, the magazine and society has told us not to aim too high when it comes to men because men have the power and a lot of choice and are Neanderthals etc but this has gotten to a point where basic respect is missing.

The last and best rule is to trust my gut. It has never ever steering me wrong. Except for that chicken. Why is it always chicken??

Hopefully the rest of the challenge will be less dramatic. I just don’t think the wasteman to decent man ratio on Tinder and POF should be ignored. There are a lot of frogs out there. I’ll just try not to hang out with all of them.  

© Chelsea Black 2016



Back to Tinder Dating

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Categories: 40DayDating, DATING, Misadventures

9th tinderlogoMay 2016

I’d just had another birthday party and realised, I needed to get my arse in gear and get on this dating thing hard. Tinder dating.

So late last night I signed back onto tinder. Bestie and I giggled over profiles and cooed over others. Some were just so damn outrageous that we wanted to slap them. Instead I swiped left. (To the left, to the left, everything you don’t want is a swipe to the left)

It’s interesting to see how guys try to sell themselves.  I think a gym photo is always a good thing IF you go to the gym. If you don’t then maybe hold off. I saw a guy testing the power of a horse’s back today. The horse looked likditche it wanted to commit suicide and I wanted to report him to animal cruelty. Any hoo, I digress. There are a couple of problems with Tinder for me:

1)      I don’t have a Facebook photo of me so guys assume I’m trying to catfish or am uber ugly.

2)      I don’t like Tinder

All that aside I decide that, #40DayDating needs Tinder. It’s the biggest database of men in London. I can’t limit myself to websites like OKCupid and Plenty of Fish because, duh, I am limiting myself. As for EHarmony, I love you but you need to do a real black man recruitment drive. Otherwise I end up with Asians in far flung parts of the country who are just as disappointed as I am when the photo is revealed.

Back to Tinder and the photo thing is proving to be a bugbear. A couple of the guys shouted at me for not having one. I’m thinking, then why did you match me if you are so disgusted at my lack of a photo?  I swear some men are on here to give people a hard time. I’m happy to send one once I know you aren’t operating at a junior school or text speak level of communication. I have visual standards too.

So then I meet a guy who is clearly working for the MI5. He wants to know if I have kids, why I don’t have kids, am I planning to have kids and how many. Doesn’t mention his kids situation so I’m guessing child support is a concern. What’s with the interview? He wanted to know if that was my real age. He wanted to know what my real name was.  He then asked me for photos. One wasn’t enough. He needed more. Then after a few he concluded that I had nice legs and disappeared. I’m guessing he’s a boobs man?

Then there was the student. How are you a student and telling me it’s because you’re still finding yourself. How were you lost in your 40s. I think he’s looking for a bursar. I don’t have the funds to support him and my travel / concert / clothes habit. Something has to give and, it’s not me to him.

I met another who can’t speak in sentences longer than 5 words. It’s to the point yes but, boarding on rudeness. What’s your star sign? Where you live? You got a man? You into guys with big….Let’s just say this isn’t looking like lucky Mr FuHu Black

I have met a nice one but, more on him later. I’m hopeful. I’m willing to look past the fact that he has the same name as my ex. He’s mentioned actually meeting up. Of course, I haven’t sent him my photos yet….let’s hope he’s not a boob boy too.

#40DayDating day 1 isn’t going too badly.   I’ll keep you all updated


© Chelsea Black 2016


The Christmas Party specials

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Categories: DATING, Misadventures

Black_Santa_Dick2‘Tis the season for the christmas party of shame. The party where you are provided with free booze and an opportunity to hug the office hottie that little bit too closely. I managed to get close to Work Crush over a tub of Celebrations. It’s a time to utilise every little chance to get your leg over. We know this. Sadly Work Crush then opened his mouth and I realised that the best thing about him was the tub of Celebrations. Sigh

And so goes the social events too. This year I was at my regular networking event except this time there were no free drinks. Just guys offering themselves for free. I know my precious, this is what we say we want but there is something about free dick that turns one off.

Let me go back. I’ve known these guys for a while now. Maybe that’s part of the problem. Let me start with the Naija guy in a basketball cap and a t shirt in the middle of winter. He’s special. He’s at every singles event and on paper seems to have what most women would want and yet, he’s still single despite the searching.

Earlier in the year he asked me out. I said yes and we agreed on the following Saturday. He said he’d call. I’m still waiting on the call. This was in May. So when he starts telling me again that we should go out I ask him why. Why should we go out when clearly he’s not that keen? I don’t have that many Saturdays left to waste.

The truth is that he’s been working his way through the black women of London steadily but, they don’t want him. He says the reason is that he’s Naija and because so many of this brothers before him have lied, cheated, stolen etc he’s been tarred with the same brush. And yet, here he is lying to me about how into me he is when I saw him chatting up my friend in the corner half an hour ago and he agreed to call her.

So I say no and go back to posing for pictures with my besties. This is something I can do with no worries of it fucking up.

Then there’s the other guy. He’s married but is quick to make sure every time I meet him that he tells me how unhappily married he is. I don’t give a fuck. He then does that thing of trying to make me feel special by offering me babies whenever I want them.

Whilst he thinks this is a compliment I’m left feeling pissed off and insulteBLACK_SANTAd. The offering of sperm may seem generous to the fevered male mind but, I don’t want any old sperm. I want sperm attached to a body and mind that will help develop and love their progeny.

So whilst he’s there in suburbian misery he wants to impregnate me and leave me to raise a kid or 4 by myself? And I’m meant to be flattered?

Alas, Santa has chosen to send me tests again this year. Every year I ask him for a kind, generous, more than average sized dicked man who just wants to explore the world, chill and watch crappy TV with me or, talk about putting the worlds to rights over bad snacks and good prosecco.

Why is this search so hard, Santa?

I beg you try harder in 2016 and bring us better bets at the Christmas party.

Merry Christmas one and all x . Well, nearly all .

© Chelsea Black 2015


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