PW's Date Goes... Not So Well, And Other Tidbits

Someone once said that 'A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person.'  Um, yeah.  That kind of describes how my date went on Friday.  She wasn't rude per se, but she was plenty condescending, which in my books counts pretty much as the same thing.

We met a couple of weeks ago at a local pub/eatery/live music venue and got to chatting and decided on the follow up date to get to know each other a little better.  We talked on the phone a few times, and I found her a little brusque, which wasn't a bad thing really, and after my ex-wife who would never get the point of how she was really feeling about things, it was a little bit refreshing.  It was just a bit of an odd way of speaking to someone whom you were exploring the possibility of having a romantic relationship with.

Anyway, we're having dinner and we were in the process of ordering entrees when our waitress got a little mixed up.  No problem, within a minute we sorted it out and she was on her way.  This is minor stuff, not Fawlty Towers-esque shenanigans.  My date leans into me and says in a loud whisper:

'What an airhead!  How old is she, like 30?  What 30 year old still waitresses?'

'Well, I don't know.  I try not to judge someone until I've walked a mile in their shoes.  Perhaps it's the only work she can get.'

'Oh... I guess.'

We talk some more, but we really aren't connecting.  She is very physically attractive, no problems there, but her personality is becoming really off-putting.  She asks why I don't have a car (I don't really need one, and I could use the money elsewhere), why I don't have a house instead of an apartment (long story, which is a polite way of saying none of your business) and why I didn't fight my 'bitch of an ex' for custody of the kids (again, not really first date material, but I felt that having them splitting time between two places would be developmentally harmful for them, they stay with mom, mom is primary caregiver, but kids see me whenever they want - it works best for THEM).

She asks why I didn't finish university, and I'm  really starting to bristle, because I keep wanting to say NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS.  Dinner can't come and go fast enough.  I'm giving non-commital, almost bored answers (ran out of money) and she was gob-smacked.

'You mean,' she asked 'your parents didn't pay for your school?'

'Nope.  In fact, I left home for the first time when I was 17.  I paid for school by working and saving.'

'Wow, I can't believe it.'

'Believe it.  My parents were not well off.  They had no money for us to go to school.  If we wanted to go to university, we had to get a scholarship, or roll up our sleeves and pay for it.'

'Wow.  So no school?'

'No.'

'Did they buy you a car?'

'No.'

"I guess I'm lucky... my mom and dad bought my first car and paid for school.  They have a down payment for my first house too... I guess I'm pretty lucky.'

'It's all relative...'

She cocked her head to one side with curiousity.

'I mean, yes, it would have been nice to finish school and know that I don't have to scrounge for the down payment for my house, but then I wouldn't have lived my life the way I've lived it to this point, which for better or worse I wouldn't have traded for the world.  At the end of it all, life isn't about what you have, it really is what you make it.'

'Oh, I guess so...' as if she wasn't sure... oh well.  Waitress comes back with entrees and we order two more drinks, hers some sort of martini and mine is a Newcastle Brown Ale (natch!).  And then she looks at the waitress and says:

'Did you maybe want to write that down?  You seemed to have trouble before...'

The waitress was taken aback a little.  'I assure you that your order will be correct'

'Well, just saying... I want to be sure, you know?' in a really condescending voice.

Urk.  I'm turning red.

The waitress whips out her pad, makes a note and returns with the drinks.  I'm embarrassed.  We eat in silence.

'You're quiet eh?' she says to me at last.

'Dressing down the waitress like that was really uncalled for.  She made a mistake earlier, and I don't think calling attention to it like that was good.'

'Waitressing isn't rocket science.  If she can't get an order straight then she shouldn't be a waitress.'

'Wow.  Okay then.'

We finish, pay up and leave.  We were planning to take a stroll but the weather is absolutely terrible.  I emphatically don't mind.  I begin to thank her for the evening, when she interjects:

'So, take a cab back to your place?'

'I... huh?'

'We can't go to mine, I live with my dad.'  I should point out she is 25 here, a full 10 years younger than me, so it's not that weird that she's still living with a parent.

'Well... uh... thanks for the company and the evening, but I'm not interested in seeing you again.'

'What?  Why?!' she was genuinely upset.

'I don't think our date went well, there was no connection on my end, so once again, thanks for the evening, but I'm going home now.'

'Is this about the waitress?'

'Partly yes.  I find your attitude toward other people that you consider to be beneath you off-putting.  So once again thanks, but once again I am going home alone.'

'But... don't you want me?  I want you!'

'You're very attractive, but the answer is no.  I'm sorry.'

'Oh... okay then.  Whatever I did, I'm sorry.'

I highly doubt that.  But whatever.  The world of dating again.  Hooboy, do I not miss this.  Sad thing is, this is far from the worst dinner date I've ever had.  Remind me and I'll share that little gem some day.



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It's no secret I'm a soccer fan and there was lots for me to chew on this week.  England played Holland on Wednesday, and the Three Lions fielded a very young, inexperienced squad against the Netherlands.  It was actually quite an entertaining game, and England played well for large chunks of it, despite falling behind 2-0 (including a stunningly brilliant goal by the Dutch Winger Arjen Robben).  They clawed back to make it 2-2 in injury time before the Dutch potted the winner a minute later.  First England loss in over a year, which sounds really strange, but true, but they were operating on a very experimental squad using a very experiemental 4-3-3 formation, and all this without a proper manager.  For Euro 2012, we shall see.

And this morning was the Tyne-Wear Derby, pitting my beloved Newcastle United against their hated local rivals Sunderland.  This is the big one.  This is the match Geordies all over the world wait to see.  This is Yankees-Red Sox.  Toronto Maple Leafs-Montreal Canadiens.  This is rivalry at its most intense.  This derby divides friends, family and co-workers.  Your best mate may be a Mackem (a person from Sunderland), but for 90 minutes you WILL hate his guts.  At best intense shame and ridicule is at stake.  At worst, hooligan violence will send people to either jail or hospital or both.  I was up late last night and did not want to risk sleeping in, so I stayed up all night to watch the 6 am start.  And Newcastle was... disappointing.

Actually both teams weren't at their best.  Tons of fouls and yellow cards and free kicks.  Ugh.  Brutal, constipated football.  Sunderland went up 1-0 on a suspect penalty call, but had a player sent off early in the second half for an elbow or punch (I didn't see it).  Newcastle dominated, but were looking for even-up penalty calls instead of concentrating on the play.  Then Hatem Ben Arfa was subbed on and lit up St. James' Park, but still no goal.  Newcastle got a penalty shot of their own.  Our star striker from Senegal Demba Ba took the shot and...  Saved!  Aaargh!!  Then finally in the 90th minute, derby hero Shola Ameobi tied it.  They got a point, but probably should have won it.  No killer instinct this week (or indeed the last few weeks), and they aren't looking like a team that is chasing a Champions League spot.

A short history of the Tyne-Wear Derby

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Nick and Gerry have settled into their new place, but Nick has been phoning me almost nightly since moving in with his soon-to-be stepdad.  I've been taking him out a lot more, and we've really started to bond closer than we've ever had before.  When it gets warmer out, I'll grab Gerry too and have both boys, but Nick needs me a little more right now.

He's turning into a really fine little boy.  Saturday he wanted me to come out and play, so I obliged him.  I took him to the park where we rolled around in the snow playing with his new Nerf dart gun.  Afterward, he hugged me and told me I was the best dad ever.  That is what gets me up in the morning, I tell ya.


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My soccer coach/player called me last week and gingerly asked if I was coming out this spring.  I look at my foot and tell him that I honestly don't know yet.  I've done some sprints at the Y, but my foot was really sore afterward.  I tell him I'll see and he sighs and says okay. I'm flattered.  I settled into a central defender role after playing mostly in high school as a keeper.  And I can certainly fill in as keeper when needed, but we have a Korean fellow who is phenomenal, it's a miracle he's just playing pick-up soccer with us rag-tag bunch.

Being a central defender means I'm pretty much only in 2/3 of the field and pretty much in the middle, except when chasing down a striker 1 on 1.  It's a good position for an older guy who can put on a quick burst now and again. Except I'm not so sure I can put on the quick burst anymore.  I used to have a flexible ankle to push off of when sprinting, but it's become a lot stiffer since the injury.  I may have to come off early, but centre backs usually play the whole 90 minutes.  I don't know.  All I know is I'm going to try.


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Check out Whichbook, a handy little website when you're stuck over what to read next.  Set your parameters of what you'd like (funny or not so funny - weird or not weird - lots of sex or no sex, you're allowed 4 options) and it'll make recommendations based on your interests.   From the 10 results I got, I've read 1 (Lullaby for Little Criminals by Heather O'Neill.  My ex read that one and recommended it - as do I), and I picked Finbar's Hotel by various Irish authors.

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I've been walking home from work for the past two weeks to lose the gut I picked up while in my cast.  Between that and practically eliminating beer from my diet, I've dropped 20 pounds in the last 6 weeks.  The walks are intense - nearly 10 kilometers in a little over 1 1/2 hours, which is my running goal by the end of the summer.  Remind me, and I'll track my progress here.



Well, no offense all, but I'm pretty tired so I'm calling it a night.  We'll talk soon


- PW