Rants about a Date Gone Wrong
Have I told you I hate being set up on blind dates? I should say that again so it comes out quite clearly to the whatever impaired: I DO NOT LIKE BLIND DATES. I have had my share in college when I literally blind dated my way around Manila and even ended up dating my officemate's brother but didn't realize it until we were on our way home and he had asked me where I worked. Worst, I ended up being blind-dated to two best friends (separate occasions, of course) set-up by two different friends. My dating history is a comedy and sometimes a tragedy so now, I just avoid the mishaps by not meeting up with a stranger some friends think would be 'good for me'.
Until Friday. He is a friend of a friend and he had been calling me at work for a while. Then he wanted to meet up. He seemed an intelligent nice guy so fine and well, I told him to meet up with me at a friend's birthday celeb at a bar near work. And he arrived. Outlandish, but pleasantly conversational so he sort of eased his way into my crowd. Then he started to dominate the conversation and did the name dropping thing. His uncle is the manager to this and this big rock band. Our friend Cheoma has the most beautiful voice and can do Whitney Houston a-capella perfectly. He said she should get in touch with the uncle. Then he and another friend eased into conversation about soccer. Oh, Mr. Perfect Date’s brother is in the whatever soccer league and blah-blah-blah. I hate braggarts. They do not impress me. So after an hour and a half I knew my night was doomed but I had to keep it moving so we left the party and had dinner at the top of a glass enclosed tower with great views of the city.
It would have been the perfect romantic setting except that my mood was further pulled south when he started me with the norms of where to pick up my glass of water and how to have my duck cooked. I am always polite, friends will tell you that no matter how inconsiderate/rude you can be I will try to be diplomatic by smiling and shutting up. Even when the most appropriate reaction in a given situation would be to scratch your eyes out and scream 4-letter words at you in a language you have never heard of before.
Messing with my duck however was too much. “You can have your duck rare when you order it but I want mine medium well,” I fake a smile back. I don’t why but around this time he starts to move the votive from the center of the table to the far right corner, away from my reach. In the end he liked my duck more and his salmon less and finished off what I couldn’t. Aaarrrgh!
Night drags on and finally I tell him it is time to call it a night. He wanted to bring me home. Awww… nope, I say, I’m a big girl, I’ve cabbed my way around the city before at later hours or earlier mornings. At 10:30 PM, this is way too safe a time for me yet. I smile but in my head I hope he could read that I just wanted to be AWAY!!!
He insists so he takes me home and he elaborates on the convenience of being in east midtown and reconsidering moving closer to the Beekman Place instead of my neighborhood in the higher numbered streets. For my sanity I take note that is EXACTLY what I do not want to do.
Saturday morning I went off with a Lucia who had just returned from a trip and decided to hang out at Chinatown. He called my mobile. I waited until the voicemail picked up. He just wanted to say ‘hi’ and was requesting for a return call. When I got home I also had a message in my machine from him also requesting for a return call.
In the modern age of dating, whether you return calls or not is your choice. I have learned that the closest you have to being turned down without the pangs of rejection biting into you is by not getting a call back or some cases, an email back. And it is also the escapist way of wiggling out of a potentially ominous situation of extended misery. And I hoped that I’d not hear/see or have him near me again.
Last night he called me on my mobile again. I had the voice mail pick up and of course, did not return the call again. Then again this morning, an email from him. Geeez, I think he needs enlightenment. Get it over and move on. Find someone who likes their duck cooked rare or who orders bread without seeds. Someone who doesn’t mind if you notice everything about them including how many sips of the champagne she’s been having at the party. I hate being monitored for my lapses on etiquette and propriety. Just as much as I hate having to explain myself why I don’t like to return your calls or your emails. I think I have that right to talk to or email only those I enjoy talking to or emailing. Please leave me alone!!!
Until Friday. He is a friend of a friend and he had been calling me at work for a while. Then he wanted to meet up. He seemed an intelligent nice guy so fine and well, I told him to meet up with me at a friend's birthday celeb at a bar near work. And he arrived. Outlandish, but pleasantly conversational so he sort of eased his way into my crowd. Then he started to dominate the conversation and did the name dropping thing. His uncle is the manager to this and this big rock band. Our friend Cheoma has the most beautiful voice and can do Whitney Houston a-capella perfectly. He said she should get in touch with the uncle. Then he and another friend eased into conversation about soccer. Oh, Mr. Perfect Date’s brother is in the whatever soccer league and blah-blah-blah. I hate braggarts. They do not impress me. So after an hour and a half I knew my night was doomed but I had to keep it moving so we left the party and had dinner at the top of a glass enclosed tower with great views of the city.
It would have been the perfect romantic setting except that my mood was further pulled south when he started me with the norms of where to pick up my glass of water and how to have my duck cooked. I am always polite, friends will tell you that no matter how inconsiderate/rude you can be I will try to be diplomatic by smiling and shutting up. Even when the most appropriate reaction in a given situation would be to scratch your eyes out and scream 4-letter words at you in a language you have never heard of before.
Messing with my duck however was too much. “You can have your duck rare when you order it but I want mine medium well,” I fake a smile back. I don’t why but around this time he starts to move the votive from the center of the table to the far right corner, away from my reach. In the end he liked my duck more and his salmon less and finished off what I couldn’t. Aaarrrgh!
Night drags on and finally I tell him it is time to call it a night. He wanted to bring me home. Awww… nope, I say, I’m a big girl, I’ve cabbed my way around the city before at later hours or earlier mornings. At 10:30 PM, this is way too safe a time for me yet. I smile but in my head I hope he could read that I just wanted to be AWAY!!!
He insists so he takes me home and he elaborates on the convenience of being in east midtown and reconsidering moving closer to the Beekman Place instead of my neighborhood in the higher numbered streets. For my sanity I take note that is EXACTLY what I do not want to do.
Saturday morning I went off with a Lucia who had just returned from a trip and decided to hang out at Chinatown. He called my mobile. I waited until the voicemail picked up. He just wanted to say ‘hi’ and was requesting for a return call. When I got home I also had a message in my machine from him also requesting for a return call.
In the modern age of dating, whether you return calls or not is your choice. I have learned that the closest you have to being turned down without the pangs of rejection biting into you is by not getting a call back or some cases, an email back. And it is also the escapist way of wiggling out of a potentially ominous situation of extended misery. And I hoped that I’d not hear/see or have him near me again.
Last night he called me on my mobile again. I had the voice mail pick up and of course, did not return the call again. Then again this morning, an email from him. Geeez, I think he needs enlightenment. Get it over and move on. Find someone who likes their duck cooked rare or who orders bread without seeds. Someone who doesn’t mind if you notice everything about them including how many sips of the champagne she’s been having at the party. I hate being monitored for my lapses on etiquette and propriety. Just as much as I hate having to explain myself why I don’t like to return your calls or your emails. I think I have that right to talk to or email only those I enjoy talking to or emailing. Please leave me alone!!!