Six Types of Tinder Guys

Tinder. I presume you’ve heard of it. Who hasn’t? And I know your secret. I know you have a profile. You whined about the creepiness of online dating, told stories of how you heard about someone who went to meet a guy and he ended up being a serial killer. But sure wasn’t it her own fault. What did she expect from online dating? Sure everyone knows that’s where the paedophiles are.

But you have a profile. Because you realized something. There is nowhere to meet men. Nowhere. I mean, it could be that good men might not exist either. (I’ve been single for a while – can you tell?) But most likely, it’s the first one. Ever since you left university, you’re finding it more and more difficult to find a good potential husband. You work. You work 35-45 hours a week (kudos to those that do more) and the only way you can scout for that potential husband is on weekends. So where do you go? Why, the bars, of course. But after having several drunken one night stands, you realize that maybe being shitfaced in coppers won’t attract your prince charming.

Hmmmm, what to do, what to do. Well… There was that dating app that every tom, dick and harry seems to be using. You shouldn’t. It’s online dating – an absolute no-no. Maybe just for half an hour…. And the carnage begins.

So, having given you some background on why people go on tinder, I shall proceed to teach you of six types of men that can be found on Tinder. I consider myself to be an expert on this subject having had a profile for a year and a half and having experienced it in two different continents (I could have said countries there but continents sounds more impressive).

And without further ado, let me begin.

  1. The gorgeous, conceited narcissist

May be found topless. Frequently complains of the excess of female “models” on Tinder. Uses “haha” a lot. Short, concise sentences. Unmatches quickly. Scopes for hotter people quicker. Personality of a wet mop. Makes no effort because duh, he’s good-looking – isn’t that enough? Completely adheres to the stereotype that beautiful people have no sense of humour because they never had to. They just rely on their looks. All in all, a disappointment to the human race.

Verdict: Avoid

2. The No-Hookup Guy

Speaks for itself really. He doesn’t want hookups – it says so in his profile. Now this guy might be exclusive to Canada as I haven’t actually encountered this in Dublin. He sounds like a dream, right? The looking-for-true-love guy. Except… How much of a relationship guy is he? Is he the can’t-be-without-a-relationship guy? The codependent, needy guy? Or does he put “no hook-ups” on his profile to attract more ladies?

Verdict: Proceed with caution

3. The Hookup Guy

He wants to hookup. Minimal interest in pursuing a conversation because apparently hookups mean no talking allowed. Usually attractive. Not much more to say really since he doesn’t really have much to say.

Verdict: If a hookup is what you’re looking for – go ahead. But don’t expect any more ladies. Does exactly what it says on the tin.

4. The Threesome Guy

“Me and my girlfriend are looking for someone flirty to have a bit of fun with. Serious inquiries only.” A bit of a rascal. Swiping right means he will try to woo you. Why? Because precious few swipe right. He doesn’t want to lose the ones that do.

Verdict: I would suggest avoid. If you’re looking to have a threesome, do it with at least one person you kinda know. I don’t know, this just reeks of disaster to me. But again, if you’re into it (and by into it, I mean weird like that) go ahead.

5. The Aggressive Guy

This guy can come in two forms. Straight up aggressive. “Why won’t you respond? Why did you swipe right if you weren’t going to respond? F***ing hate stuck-up b*****s like you”.

Or the wolf in sheep’s clothing. So sweet. You talk for a while. Maybe Tinder isn’t so bad. Maybe you’ve finally found someone you could date. Then bam, a bus hits you. Kidding, but figuratively speaking, it does. You took one too many seconds to reply and get hit with a “fine then”. Mouth drops open. I. Was. Taking. A. Shower. Mind blown.

Verdict: Needless to say, I would give this one a miss.

6. The One

You get along like a house on fire. He’s perfect. Funny, sweet, NORMAL. Smart, good job, outgoing, you have a lot in common. To be honest, you’re already planning your wedding. Even more, when you meet in person, he doesn’t make you die inside from boredom. Like the title suggests, he’s the One.

Verdict: Never let him go.

So there you have it, folks. Six types of guys you may meet on Tinder. Just to be clear, I am not saying they are the only types you will meet (before someone jumps down my throat).

Oh, and before I forget, that last one was a joke. We’re all doomed to die alone.

 

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My take on ghosts and ghouls

You best start believing in ghost stories Miss Turner…. You’re in one!

Ghouls along with vampires/banshees/lecturers have frightened me since I was a wee one. Fortunately, I knew how to take care of the vampire issue – I frequently demonstrated some impressive martial arts moves around my bedroom before sleeping – and besides no one would dare come near me with the light on. Ah, the magical power of the light. Demonstrated frequently and with a 100 per cent success rate. How do I know this? Why, not only am I alive and writing this tale, I am writing as a non-parasitic bloodsucker (admittedly… Debatable). Anyway, leaving  my very real and impressive vampire fighting abilities aside, I shall move onto the topic in question; ghosts.

Are you a believer or not? You know the tales, someone you know knows someone who’s brother’s girlfriend’s uncle heard the banshee call and what happened a few hours later?? SOMEONE DIED. So there’s a banshee in that family and you decide to stay clear of marrying into it, for fear that every time that brat next door screams bloody murder there actually will be a bloody murder. Or, it could just be because that girl slept with your brother, keyed his car and pulled a Britters by shaving off her hair. One or the other.

But what about ghosts then? Far more terrifying tales have been told about the supposed otherworldly beings. In fact, I am that brother’s girlfriend’s uncle (you can call me Uncle Sam – this is in no way related to the government of the United States of America and I am certainly not being paid to advertise them in any way…). On an unrelated note, want to have great health care, support your country and and save lives? We want YOU! Sign up here: http://www.goarmy.com/ to make all your dreams come true.

So ghosts. Yeah I’ve heard of em – what of it? Oh, you want to know my sordid tale, the meat to this metaphorical sandwich etc etc.

Get ready to have your mind blown, folks. This tale ain’t for the faint hearted. It all started when I moved house for the umpteenth time. I sighed as I entered the doorway, so this would be my home for the next year (two, tops). It was a nice place, nothing wrong with it except there was a kind of eerie coldness that I couldn’t quite put my finger on… As I walked upstairs to my room, I was shivering. I jumped at the creaking floorboards knowing there was something not right about this coldness… Fortunately, I found the central heating switch quite quickly and the coldness magically disappeared. All hail the power of central heating.

But enough messing around, get on with it, Nainsi. My story doesn’t involve me per se (at all) but it does involve one of my family members. We’ll call him Uncle Mick. So Uncle Mick was a daring sort of fellow, had his head screwed on, didn’t take bullshit, just a straight forward, nice guy. Anyway, he was courting a young lady up in the mountains (we’ll call her Mary) and so cycled his bike there every day (I know – way to play hard to get Mick). Anyway, every day he saw a lady on a bicycle and stopped to talk. She was a young girl in her 20s and was living with her father though also courting a young man at the time. Mick enjoyed these chats and talked about her a lot to Mary’s family. (Mick er, didn’t get out much)

So one day, he was cycling up the hills once more and who did he see? Why, that young cailin on her bicycle, of course! He called over to her and tried to stop the bicycle but she didn’t stop – just kept cycling. This struck him as very strange. When he reached Mary’s house, he commented that she had been very rude. “Stuck up, cow” he grumbled (Er, I would imagine). But Mary’s face went pale. “She died 7 hours ago, Mick. Shot herself.” she whispered. Mick laughed, “Of course she didn’t, I just saw her on the bicycle and I am 100 per cent sure it was her”.

It turned out that the girl had been dead at the time Mick had seen her. Whether she had killed herself or not, was another story. You see, the girl had been pregnant with a Protestants baby and she was a Catholic. Of course, this wouldn’t matter one iota in this day and age but back then, she was accused of shaming her family and her father had flown into a rage when he found out. A terribly sad and eerie tale indeed.

Next time I’ll tell you about the time Mick was caught in the fairy ring and had to wait until they were asleep to escape… (You know, come to think of it, maybe Mick wasn’t quite all there…)

Why the One Per Cent should mourn John Nash

John Nash, the nobel prize-winning, renowned intellectual was announced dead several days ago. Many people didn’t bat an eyelid and continued on with their day. His death however, is more significant than those people realize… And here’s why.

John Nash won the Nobel Prize for his work in Economics in 1994, at the ripe young age of 66 (That’s middle aged to me as I fully intend on living to at. Least. 120). And although anyone winning a Nobel Prize is a great achievement and to be applauded on many levels, Nash’s was a hit-that-sucker-out -of-the-ball-park, triple-home-run colossal achievement. Why, you ask? Why his struggles with mental illness, course! (Yes, yes, you were right at the beginning, that indeed is the topic of this blog)

His heavily documented and widely publicized struggles with mental illness, I should say. Since most of you have seen a Beautiful Mind (and I judge those of you who haven’t), you will know the traumatic and frightening experiences one suffering with Schizophrenia can go through. Hallucinations, delusions, violence – these are all very well-known characteristics of schizophrenia but Russel Crowe’s portrayal of Nash in a Beautiful Mind really brought these psychotic symptoms to life. He not only gave us a heart-warming love story but also showed us the very real and severe struggles those with schizophrenia face daily in order to function normally in society.

Maybe you watched it for the hunk-a-lunk Russel Crowe or perhaps it was Jennifer Connolly’s charms that bewitched you, but you watched it nonetheless. A story about mental illness grabbed the world’s attention and held it for an emotional 200 minutes. The world went through a roller coaster of emotions from shock and horror to sadness and despair as they watched what 1 per cent of the adult population go through at some point in their lives. Oh yes, did I not mention that? It is estimated that a whopping 1 per cent of the population experience schizophrenia of some sort at some stage in their lives. Yes that is one out of a hundred. Yes, that is 10 in a 1000. Yes, that is almost 50,000 of Ireland’s population. No I’m not makin’ this shit up people. Facts are facts. The likelihood is you have met a schizophrenic in your life. Most probably more than one.

And let me ask you this, did they ever attack you? Threaten you with violence? Nah, didn’t think so. Yet that myth haunts the one per cent of the population. Yes, every time schizophrenics are branded as “violent” you are branding your friend violent. Or your mother. Or your sister. Or that girl you you shacked up with for the summer and then never returned her calls. There are some violent schizophrenics, don’t get me wrong. But the sad fact is, the vast majority are a danger to themselves more than anyone else.

Back to my original point. Although this stigma still exists, John Nash did for schizophrenia what Stephen Fry does for bipolar but on a much grander scale. He garnered sympathy from the world rather than fear. He gained warmth from people rather than coldness. John Nash achieved the impossible. He transformed stigmatization into commiseration. He did, in my highly-thought-of, educated, cherished opinion, more for schizophrenia awareness than 20 years of mental health awareness campaigns. And he did this for the 1 per cent.

The one per cent. Those hated, repugnant, blood-sucking vermin. WE ARE THE 99 PER CENT AND WE WILL NOT STAND FOR YOUR THIEVING, GREEDY, ELITIST RULING. Round em up and shoot em all like cattle, I say. See how obnoxious they are then. Yeehaw.

Kidding, kidding. I know a few one per centers. Nice people. Great hair.

On a more serious note, John Nash and his Beautiful Mind have achieved understanding for the one per cent. Not only this, the man won a bloody Nobel Prize whilst seeing folks that didn’t exist, people! Surely he deserves a moment of sadness, a cheers-to or at the very least a high five for this amazing accomplishment.

Hollywood, deserves some recognition for bringing the disease to the forefront as well, of course. Even if they romanticized it a tad. (What happened to the illegitimate child? Oh John, you little rascal you)

So this, I guess, is my tribute to John Nash. And I implore you to make your own. He has done something that no one has done before him; he has made, not just schizophrenia but all mental illnesses, acceptable to society. And for this, I thank him.

Cheers John. And may you rest in blissful peace.

Life with ADHD ain’t all it’s cracked up to be

I know what you’re thinking. Why on earth is she complaining about this illness? I’m sure it’s great craic! Head on cloud 9 half the time, escaping the mundaneness of life…. Ok you probably weren’t thinking that. And if you were… Well, you’re weird.

Because it’s not like that. Adhd isn’t, I mean. Life being mundane, well you can judge that one for yourself. It really depends on what you make of it I think, I mean you contribute to the mundaneness of your life just as much as the universe does by putting you in those circumstances. In the words of Michael Jackson “take a look at yaself and make a chaaaange…. na na na na na na naaaaa na na”. And I’m off on a tangent. You see this is what I mean.

After struggling through university for four years, constantly handing in essays late and starting them a few hours before the deadline, I was finally diagnosed with ADHD in my final year. I have the inattentive type which means for all intent and purposes, you may drop the H. (It stands for hyperactivity) So what does this mean? Well, my dear reader, I’m glad you asked! (And I’m sure you did, in your head you were screaming “BUT WHAT DOES THIS MEAN, NAINSI, I DON’T UNDERSTAND, PLEASE PLEASE USE YOUR SUPERIOR INTELLECT AND EXPLAIN… And by the way you look fetching in your new profile picture… etc. etc.)

This means, that unfortunately, unlike the rest of you, I can’t pay attention enough to complete my studies. Or I couldn’t , without medication. Yes, medication, that dreaded word that so many  people fear when it comes to mental illnesses/disabilities of any type. And I was once one of those people. Not the medication! But what about the side effects?! Fortunately, I got over this mind-frame quite quickly as the new questions became “what about graduating?”, “What about a job?”

I have been in university for five years now doing an undergraduate degree. Yes, you read that correctly; five. I have deferred modules twice due to not finding medication that worked for me and being completely unable to complete my studies without it. I know what you’re thinking, (again, what an accomplished mind-reader I am!) how did you complete four years of university without it? And I can honestly say; I have no idea. I seemed to have woke up one day and been unable to concentrate to such an extent, it put my future in serious jeopardy. It was like I hit a road block. And I couldn’t seem to dodge past the “dangerous cliffs ahead” signs in order to take my chance at car cliff sailing. (It’s a metaphor, a bad one? Probably.) Suddenly I was worse than ever before. I spent all my time in the library accomplishing nothing. Staring at paper upon paper willing myself to take in the words and being unable to. Turning off my phone and blocking all social media sites only to feel the need to walk around every few minutes. And this went on for months, until I was finally diagnosed.

In a way it was a relief. So I wasn’t lazy. I just had a disability. And all those times people rolled their eyes at me and got irritated at me for spacing out when they talked wasn’t my fault. And most importantly, I wasn’t stupid. I just had a disability.

Unfortunately for me, the diagnosis was the easy part. As I swelled with hope at the thought that all of my troubles were over, I quickly deflated as I found that I wasn’t even nearly out of the woods yet. The medications I tried you see, were ineffective for me. Though some did make me quite paranoid (thanks a lot, Ritalin, those were some real LOL moments), none could help me study effectively.

And as I write this at 11.30pm in the library having started on an essay, I am still struggling. I have however, found a medication that helps me to an extent especially coupled with various coping mechanisms. Today for instance, I did not lose my keys – win. I completed 750 words of my assignment – win. I sent two emails – win. (replying to emails causes me an inordinate amount of pain due to the sheer effort of it all) and I have failed to lose my head – win win. (It is notoriously lost quite frequently)

So there you have it, as Charlie Sheen would say, today was WINNING. I would also agree with him that I am a total frickin’ rockstar from Mars but that’s another tale for another day, folks.

And there you have it. Life with ADHD. It’s a struggle. So the next time you’re complaining of having too much work to do, remember, at least you can do that work. You graduated. Many with ADHD don’t. It’s funny I often look around the library at other people studying and I am jealous of their ability to study. To just sit there for hours, procrastinating yes, but getting work done nonetheless. Yes, that’s right. I’m jealous of studiers. Hike up my trousers and call me Sheldon because there’s a nerd in the hiz-houuse.

And on that note, I shall take my leave. I do have work to do after all. Oh and before I forget, next time I’m late or forgetful or spacey, give me a fucking break ya? Stay tuned for the next installment!

Featuring; Youurrss truly.

Content; The Lord only knows.

That one time I met that famous guy.

Small town girl visits big city, falls in love with a handsome millionaire and the rest is history.

She wishes. The real version wasn’t quite as romantic… Let’s start from the beginning.

I was permitted to do an exchange programme in my third year of university. Although there were some, er, exotic choices I considered (ah Morocco, living the dream apart from the no alcohol and no men part written in fine print) I landed on BOSTON. Boston of course, really was the dream. Fraternity parties, summer and winter, baseball, American football, the land of the free…. And of course those little red cups that you have to be photographed with because they make alcohol taste better. They do. No, they do.

Anyway, fast forward to arriving in Boston. Beautiful day, the excitement was mounting as I jumped in a taxi on my way to my DORM. Yes, that’s right, I was living in a dormitory and sharing a room! (I was actually not so thrilled about that part) But apparently it contributes to the “American College Experience” (cheap so and so’s).  I landed in my dorm, very excited, only to realise, clever girl that I am, that I had left my passport in the airport! I legged it to the airport and thankfully found that someone had handed it in. Americans, you see, they’re a straight-forward, trustworthy lot. *cough* Moving on.

I settled into my dorm, made a circle of friends – mostly internationals. Why were most of my friends internationals, you ask? Why, snobbery of course! That’s right, snobbery still exists in this day and age, ladies and gentleman, and yes even in such situations as this. We were Europeans. How could we deign to associate ourselves with those brutish Americans. They didn’t understand liberal thinking and so they didn’t understand us, and besides, have you seen their portion sizes?!! Absolutely barbaric.

We did however, happen upon a few Americans when we were out on the town, (the sun goes down, the stars come up and a different ball game is played – *wink* *wink* *nudge* nudge*.  At this point you might think that I am referring to something other than a nice cold beer and a cheeky kiss on the cheek, I’m not and how dare you make such a presumption! *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*)

In fact, one American in particular, (or Canadian rather) stands out in my tales of Boston. At the time I met him though, he was just another stuck up, arrogant, ignorant, deluded American. And yes, you guessed it! I told him exactly that!

“Like who do you think you are? You’re possibly the most arrogant person I’ve ever met, what is your problem, like seriously” I whispered in a polite manner. Fortunately, there was no gesturing and people certainly didn’t set down their drinks to stare.

Laughing his head off with his friends and a big guy dressed in black (who I later discovered to be his bodyguard) he didn’t say much. Sitting in a dark corner with his snapback pulled down over his head, he studied me. “She’s goodlooking though” he announced. Needless to say this did not help my whispered politeness. The rest of that night in the bar is a blur because somehow, some way, I ended up in a taxi with this arrogant mo’fo.

We exchanged numbers and as he was following me on twitter, I checked out his followers – almost 200K! And here was me with my ahem not so 100k (let’s not talk exact numbers, we’re all friends here).

“So I guess you are somebody” I said, kind of lamely. He explains to me that he’s some big time hockey player for the Boston Bruins who I, of course, know nothing about. Less than impressed I was, less than impressed. And loathe be it if I was going to let him pay for the taxi. “Do you have any idea how much money I make?! He asked, when I politely declined his payment. “I’m not some skank who’s after your money bucko” (No, seriously, I really said the word bucko).

Fast forward to the next week, same bar ,same day when along comes the hockey player again but this time he was accompanied by a posse. Which for some reason, (alcohol) irritated me immensely. And for some reason, (alcohol) I decided it best if I went over there in front of his posse and told him exactly how much it bothered me. But fortunately, as we have already covered. Not one person was staring. Not one.

As I re-joined my friends, he came over and apologised (I’m not sure what for) and asked if I was ok etc. etc. I told him I was fine but was still in an irritated mood so stayed away from him for the night.

Needless to say, I didn’t receive any more texts from him after that night. I can’t think why.

Moral of the story is this, kids; If one of the most touted about players in the Ice Hockey League wants to bring a posse with him somewhere; let him. Oh and maybe don’t yell. As much.

Can’t wait until I’m a famous blogger and no longer need to tell this story. Make it happen. *wink wink* *nudge nudge*

And that’s all for this instalment folks, stay tuned and you will be hearing much more about my experiences and wonderful (mostly random) thoughts about a range of different topics. I’m also open to suggestions so get those thinking caps on.