Welcome, DD's first guest blogger!

Besides chronicling her own disastrous dates, this blogger hopes that Dating Disasters will become a forum for all 20-somethings who have struggled (or are struggling) in the adventurous world of "grown-up" dinner dates and subsequent relationships. So it is with great pleasure that Dating Disasters introduces its first guest blogger: "Ms. Cowler".


After recently becoming single for the first time in my adult life (I’d been with the same guy since college), I decided I wanted to give “grown up” dating a chance. Now, I’m not a huge fan of meeting guys in bars, so I decided to give the internet a shot. Several friends of mine had had success meeting some nice, interesting men online, and I figured, “what the heck? I’ll just take a look,” as the Match.com commercial suggests.


I signed up for a month-long Match.com membership, carefully chose flattering photos to upload, and spent some time working on my personal blurb. I got a few responses, but nothing that really intrigued me, until the day that George W. Bush (not his real name) sent me a charming message. I responded, and we emailed back an forth for a few days. That progressed to instant messenger, and eventually to phone conversations. Now, George W. Bush was a fairly interesting guy – he was totally different from all the guys I knew, which at that time was a large point in his favor. He looked cute in his photo, had a good job, and could hold a conversation, so I thought I’d found a winner. “Ha!” I thought. “This is far easier than I expected. I guess I’m just good at picking out the right guy!” But, as we have learned time and again from the Greeks, hubris is always punished by the gods.


George W. Bush asked if I would be interested in getting together for coffee, and I accepted. I was so excited for my date that I even painted my toenails for the first time in three months! (Not that he’d be seeing my toes in the middle of winter, but hey – you never know, right?) So there I was, wearing my sister’s shirt and my fancy jeans, with painted toes and lip gloss, ready to go meet this great guy.


We met at Starbucks – he got there first, because I had told him that him being there when I arrived would make me less nervous. He gave me a hug, and we went inside and ordered coffee. He even paid for my tall, skinny, vanilla latte. We sat down and talked for about an hour, and he seemed like the same guy from the phone – nice enough, fairly interesting. I wasn’t falling in love with the guy, but at the same time, I wasn’t looking for that. By the end of the hour, I figured, “hey, here I am, dating! I like this guy enough – I’ll go out with him again, if he asks me!”


He walked me to my car at that point, and he kissed me goodnight. It was a nice kiss, again, good enough. I went home thoroughly satisfied with my first grown-up date.


The next day I had six straight hours of class (ah the pleasures of grad school), so I was unplugged from all electronic communication between 9am and 3pm. As I was heading home, my phone chirped at me to let me know I had a text message. Wait – make that two text messages. Both from George W. Bush Text message 1: “Hey babe! Wuz great 2 c u last night. And 2 kiss u. Miss u. Your Georgie.” Text message 2: “Hey u! Haven’t heard from u yet. Figured u can come over tomorrow. Candles? What kind of wine? ;-)”


“Oh dear,” I thought.


I got home and sat down to check my email and Facebook. One email, reiterating the seduction date to take place in his apartment that he had unilaterally planned for the following day. Two suggestive Facebook wall posts. One Facebook message, notifying me that he was “missing me,” and that he wanted a 30 minute “make out and cuddle break” in the middle of the day.


“Oh holy crap,” I thought.


After a minor freak out (remember, this was supposed to be a “dating” experiment to meet new people), I wrote him an email, explaining that I thought we were looking for different things and that having just gotten out of a long relationship (which he knew), I wasn’t ready to date yet. “I thought I was,” I explained, “but I was wrong.” I gave a few other platitudes, all to avoid having to say, “um you went from somewhat cool, fairly normal guy into creepy psycho-stalker person in the space of a few too many electronic messages.”


Literally five minutes after I sent the email (I figured email was okay, since I’d met him once), he called me.


“What happened?? What changed between last night and today?” he asked.


“I’m just not ready to date yet, which isn’t fair to you,” I said. You’re crazy and scary, and why in the name of Dick Cheney are you so desperate, I thought.


“Well I’ve never felt like this before,” he replied.


“I’m sorry,” I said, and good grief you’ve met me ONCE, I thought.


“Please keep my number and call me when you’re ready,” he said.


“I will,” I said. I will NOT, I thought.


“Goodbye. I’ll miss you,” he said.


*Click* I hung up the phone.


Five minutes after the phone call, I received an email. After telling me that he would miss me until I came back to him, he told me that the words of Tracy Chapman could explain his feelings better than he could:


If you wait for me then I'll come for you

Although I've traveled far,

I always hold a place for you in my heart.

If you think of me, If you miss me once in awhile

Then I'll return to you.

I'll return and fill that space in your heart

Remembering your touch, your kiss

Your warm embrace.

I'll find my way back to you,

If you'll be waiting,

If you dream of me like I dream of you

In a place that's warm and dark

In a place where I can feel the beating of your heart.


I’m pretty sure he’s still waiting in that dark, warm place, but damned if he’ll ever feel my beating heart!