Do I have anyone wondering about the David Fiasco yet? Well, ponder no longer, for I am about to tell you! :)
Other than the guy mentioned in the previous post, David has been my most recent disaster in the dating world. Our “relationship” only lasted a matter of weeks, but it has left me with more questions than any other in the past few years.
I originally knew David in college. He was my pizza delivery boy. I worked in the dorms at the time, so I knew all of the pizza men, better than I ever should have. Hey, when you are sitting bored at a desk for eight hours, and there is a pizza man waiting at the desk for people to come down, how else should you occupy your time but to get to know them? I ate a lot of pizza during those days—those of us working in the dorms got free food just about every evening from one of the various pizza places. Anyways, I talked to David more than the others because the first day I met him I was attracted to him. It was a miracle he was never fired because he would sometimes stand there for an hour or longer talking to me. But, it wasn’t meant to be—he was married. So, we remained just friends, but there was obvious chemistry from day one—both of us could see it, as well as everyone who knew us. We both respected the fact that he was married though. Eventually we graduate, leave college, and lose touch with one another.
Jump ahead a few years to this past April. I was headed to Chicago and am sitting in Yeager Airport waiting on my plane. Guess who happens to be on the flight with me—David! It seemed that luck was on my side. His wife had cheated on him and they were now divorced--sucked for him, but it left him free for me. We both had a layover in NC, so he stayed at my gate with me until my flight left. We spent the whole time talking, laughing, and catching up. The chemistry was still there, big time. We traded cards and he asked me if I would go out with him once we were both back from our trips. When I returned I had an e-mail from him asking me to let him know when I was back so that he could call me. I did, he called and we talked for over three hours, without one second of dull conversation. The only reason we got off the phone was because I noticed it was a little after one in the morning! We went out that weekend to dinner and shopping. It was so nice—we walked around shopping, holding hands, not a care in the world. We found out that we had a lot in common, from home furnishings, to clothing choices, you name it, we both had the same ideas. I had met him at his office, so at the end of the night he dropped me back off at my car. We stood there in the parking lot, not wanting to say goodbye, talking, kissing, and just “being” with each other. I am sure we looked like fools, but we didn’t care—we were in out own little world, happy to finally be able to be with one another. The night finally had to come to an end, with his kissing me lightly on the forehead and telling me that he’d miss me until he got to see me again. For the next few days, every time I thought of him, my stomach would flutter with excitement of getting to see him again. I had only felt that way once before, with my first love. It was so exhilarating!
I accidentally left my jacket is his car, but I didn’t care, because I knew that we definitely had to see one another again. He called me and we sat up a date for the following week, on Wednesday night. He had to cancel because of a last minute meeting for work. I asked if I could drop by his office to pick up my jacket—I needed it because I was leaving the following Monday for another two weeks in Chicago and wanted to take it with me. He about freaked out on me—he was so upset because he was canceled our date and he might not get to see me again before I had to leave. He insisted on coming to my house anyways that evening to drop off my jacket, just for the chance to see me, even if it was only for fifteen minutes. When he got there, he begged me to go out with him the next evening. Sure, no problem—I’d have been more than happy to see him two nights in a row. He called me the next day, super apologetic, because he had to cancel, again. Again, he was so upset because he wanted so badly to see me before I left. So, we made plans for that Saturday night—two days away. He ended the conversation with, “Can’t wait to see you!”
Those were to be the last words I would hear from him. I went out and bought a new outfit, did my hair and nails up, and looked damn good, I have to say, come that Saturday night. Seven o’clock comes and goes—no David. I actually got worried that something had happened to him. I called his house—no answer. Next, I tried his cell—no answer. I waited around for a while before finally accepting that, yet again, I had been stood up. It was a crushing blow because he had acted so excited and we were so perfect together. I expected a call the next day, with him apologizing, begging me to forgive him. I just knew that he had to have an excuse. Nothing. The morning before my flight I did what was likely the worst, most pathetic, stupid thing I could do—I sent him an e-mail. He had told me that the thing that had first drawn him to me was the way I expressed myself, no matter what the situation. So, I e-mailed him to express how hurt I was. I didn’t curse him or even “yell” at him in it. I just merely pointed out how much it hurt to be stood up and that I felt I deserved a reason. And, I wrote it in a way that he would know that I was willing to forgive him if he asked. Nothing. He apparently fell off the face of the earth.
For a while I secretly hoped that he had died—that would have been a pretty good excuse. But, I never saw an obituary, so I don’t really think that was it. :) But it left me with so many questions—number one of course being why. I can’t understand what I did to make him feel the need to treat me that way. If he had no interest in seeing me again, why did he keep making dates? Why did he act so upset at the idea of not seeing me before my trip? It was he who asked me out, he that reached out to hold my hand, he that kissed me the first time, he that had to see me that one other evening, even if just for minutes, and he that insisted on one more date before we would be separated for two weeks. Why would any guy, no matter how horrible a person, build a girl up that much, just to stand her up? Why, why, why, why why? None of it makes any sense to me. He was very genuine with his feelings, but I guess it turns out that he was just a really good actor. I have thought back over our friendship in college, the few weeks of our “relationship,” pretty much every second I can remember of us together, looking for clues as to why he would do such a thing, and I can’t come up with anything.
I think you can see now why I have dubbed it “The David Fiasco.” I have moved on from it, bent but not broken. Like I said it the previous post—the wound has healed, but the scar is still fresh.
Since David, I have not been able to shake the idea that I am doing something on my dates to scare these guys and run them off. I can't see if and if I am, then other people can’t see it either. I have gone on a couple of double dates with friends, where the guy has never called again, and they can’t pick out anything that I do either. My dates all seem to end the same—the first date goes well and ends with the guy planning the next, and then I either never hear from him again, or he stands me up. It is so hard to want to continue trying, to keep putting myself in that situation for it to happen all over again. I won’t let them win though—if I give up on men then I feel that I have done just that. I know that there are still good men out there. I am just having trouble finding one. So, now you can see why my sister felt the need to put me in her blog, and why I would be happy with even a second date.
