ONLINE DATING HORROR STORY OF THE WEEK: FINALLY, THE RETURN!

Posted on January 4, 2013 by renata

Well, well. It’s been a minute since one of these surfaced. But, we’re back with another triumphantly awful tale of dating misery – the only fitting way to ring in the New Year.

This time it’s from Meredith in Morristown, and though it doesn’t really fit the “online first date” part per se, it definitely fits the “horror story” part. Looks like someone should’ve asked Santa to bring him a new conscience for Christmas this year…

Mike, the Con Artist: “So I met this guy through a popular online dating site that shall go unnamed. We were talking for a few weeks, then we met in person several times, and things were going great. I considered us “dating” at this point, since it had been almost two months, and he’d stayed at my place several times.

One night after dinner when he was dropping me off at my apartment, one of my neighbors was in the lobby, noticed him in his car and recognized him. When I walked by, he said, ‘Oh, how do you know Craig (last name omitted)?’ Confused I said I didn’t, and who’s Craig?

My neighbor informed me that the guy who’s car I’d just gotten out of was, indeed, named Craig So-and-So, and that he’d gone to school with him, was in the same fraternity, and had even worked at his first job together years ago. I told him that no, this guy’s name was Mike and that we were dating. ‘That’s weird,’ he said, ‘we lost touch but I’d heard he’d gotten married. I guess he got a divorce?’ By the look on his face I assume the last part was an attempt to untangle himself from the mess he realized he’d just revealed.

Fast forward to me Googling him (his Craig name, that is) and finding his LinkedIn profile, where he worked at the same company that “Mike” told me he worked. He’d said that he didn’t have a Facebook profile, but when I put his real name into the search bar, voila! Craig (retracted) was on there, and so was a picture with his wife of 5 years AND THEIR TODDLER SON.

Are you f**king kidding me? I stewed over what to do for a few days, dodged his calls in the meantime, and then just decided to call him back and confront him about it. When he picked up his phone, I calmly said, ‘Hey Craig.’

He knew he was busted, and when I told him I also knew about his wife and child, he said it was more complicated than I thought, they were having problems, blah blah. But he begged me to talk about this later and was speaking in a frantic, hushed voice. I asked why, and he said he was at his child’s school picking him up. I lost it.

I told him to lose my number, and also that I had half a mind to call his wife and expose him. Then he lost it, and said I couldn’t do that because it would upset her too much and she was pregnant! No, I’m not joking, I wish I was. After that I said he wasn’t even worth it, but if he didn’t close out all of his dating profiles I’d report him to the site we met on.

We never spoke again, but when I checked a few days later, his profile was still up. So my friend shot him an email (she was on the same site) that read, ‘How’s your wife?’ and within hours he’d pulled his page down. And that, as they say, is that.”

Meredith: Whoa. You win the award for “most shameless use of an online dating profile” so far. A – - hole doesn’t even cover it, they need to invent a new insult for guys like him. This is usually the part where I make witty-slash-irreverent observations about people’s stories, but this one’s just straight up not funny. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people?

Even scarier to me is that yours is the second story like this that I’ve heard recently. So I don’t know what’s worse, that this D-bag exists, or that he could start a club? Either way, I’m glad he pulled his profile down, and good for you for trying to out him (albeit via threats, whatevs). I have to wonder, though, if his wife was really pregnant or if he just used that to silence you?

I guess the moral of this story, if you can even try to find a silver lining here, is that you found out sooner rather than later. Better to be the one who outs the scumbag than the one married to the scumbag. Oh, and also, don’t trust anyone without a Facebook profile. Sometimes e-stalking is a good thing.

Here’s hoping that his son doesn’t turn out like his daddy, and for better dating luck for you this year. Don’t let someone’s complete lack of a moral compass discourage you from being open to finding love. It’s out there… it just doesn’t involve anyone with a preschooler or a wedding band. Yikes.

I’m sorry about what happened but hey, it can only go up from here, right? (God I hope so, or else I just jinxed the sh*t out of you with the universe). And for the rest of you, keep the stories coming, because as I always say, your awkward romantic run-ins are our enjoyment in the end.

Got a bad dating story? Like this one? Or this one? If you can top that (or just think yours is good for a laugh), email misswingman@gmail.com. Get involved.

ONLINE DATING HORROR STORY OF THE WEEK: THE CHAMPION

Posted on June 22, 2012 by renata

Who doesn’t love some good competitive eating every now and then? Apparently, people on dates (and for good reason). Yes in the midst of this oppressive, sweaty heat wave we’re experiencing, I couldn’t help but sweat it out for the guy who sent in this latest dating horror story.

Meet Rob, the insurance salesman from New Jersey who thought he was taking a nice girl out to dinner, but ended up being the less masculine one of the pair. While Miss Wingman loves when guys send in stories for this feature, I hope none of you encounter anything like this on a date. Ever again.

Jen, the champ: I was set up with this girl through a friend of a friend, but we both had dating profiles on the same site. So I think technically it still fits your “Online Dating Horror Story” criteria. We’d exchanged a few emails and she’d sent me a photo of herself before we decided to have dinner one Friday night. I thought she was pretty, if a bit more athletic-looking than most girls I’d dated. Our mutual friend said she was “into triathlons” and played several sports in a corporate league. I had an ex who was a soccer player, so I thought nothing of it. Game on.

She suggested a sports bar near her house, and when I walked in I saw that she’d already gotten us a booth in the back. When she stood up to say hello, I noticed that she was a lot taller than I’d expected, and almost had bigger triceps than I did. That’s hard to do, I’ve played Rugby since high school.

We exchanged some small talk and sipped our waters while the waitress brought us menus. That’s when trouble started. Our waitress mentioned that, in addition to the specials, the bar also featured a sandwich called the “Big Daddy” that, if you finished the whole thing, would earn you a free meal.

The menu described it as “a colossal stack of gooey, fried awesomeness,” which was really a cheeseburger with chicken fingers, fries and more cheese piled 8 inches high, all wrapped up on “bread” that was really a pizza folded in half. Oh and it was doused in wing sauce, too. My date turned to me and shouted, “Let’s do it!” But the waitress said it had to be eaten by only one person for it to count. I was so freaked out that she would even consider it that it didn’t even really sink in when Jen told the waitress that she’d take the challenge herself.

What the hell was happening?

As I sat there trying to process that a female had just ordered a meal on a first date that even truck drivers couldn’t take down, I glanced at our waitress who shot me back an equally surprised/sympathetic look. “It’ll be great!” Jen told me. “I can out eat almost anyone, and this way I’ll be a cheap date.” Then she high-fived me (not kidding) and asked me about what I did for a living.

I couldn’t even concentrate on what I was saying because she began picking at this enormous scab on her elbow while I was talking (*Miss Wingman note: Ew. Just…ew.) When she caught me staring she said, “Haha, yeah – isn’t it gnarly? I got it playing kickball the other day. We crushed the other team though so it’s all good.”

I would’ve been tempted to get up at this point, but that’s when they brought out the Big Daddy on this huge tray. And handed Jen a bib. Yup – a bib. She was smiling ear to ear, I was exchanging confused looks with guys around me.

Then the waitress went over and rang this cowbell thing on the wall alerting the bar that someone was taking the “Daddy Challenge” and then people started watching and coming over to stand by our table to cheer her on. Within minutes there was a full-blown chant going as Jen dove into this enormous towering pile of food. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had sauce all over her face and hands (not to mention pieces of lettuce stuck to her bib) and when I offered her a napkin to clean up, she said, “Nah what’s the point? I’ll wait til I’m done, doesn’t bother me.” Holy sh*t. I was speechless.

As it turns out, Jen DID finish the Big Daddy. And even though I was grossed out and it was the least sexy thing I’ve ever seen a girl do, I had to hand it to her. It was impressive. But when the crowd subsided and they took away her plate, she realized that someone had taken her purse while she was eating. When she panicked and told me, my first reaction was, “Wait you carry a purse?” She seemed like more of a wallet in the back pocket kind of girl.

We alerted the bar and everyone looked around, but at that point it was a lost cause (on the purse front and the date front). I offered to give her a ride home since her keys were gone, too but she said she’d rather call her roommate to bring her a spare set. I stayed with her until her friend came, but then high-tailed it out of there. As I was walking out, I heard someone let out a long, loud burp and, without even turning around, knew it was her.

Ladies, I know even jock girls need love, too, but if you want a guy to be into you, don’t spend half your date with condiments on your face. Her name is still up on the wall at the bar, by the way.

Rob: This. Is. Awesome. I mean, not the losing her bag part – that’s a stomach-sinking feeling that all women have had at one point or another and it SUCKS. But the devouring a platter of food that would make most dudes cower part is pretty outstanding, you have to admit. On one hand, the scab-picking would’ve made me bolt for the door – I’m nauseous just writing about it. But on the other hand, you have to admire a girl who was so comfortable being herself around you that it didn’t dawn on her to be self-conscious. The only one horrified was you.

And yes, even not-so-girly girls need love, too. But if ingesting 3000 calories isn’t your idea of a fun first date, I totally get it. You’ve got to hand it to her, though. She was a cheap date in the end. And it sounds like she’d be a hit at parties, too.

The next time you go out with a woman who seems like she has more testosterone than you (the next time?), bear in mind how hard it must be for jock-ish girls to find a guy who isn’t threatened by them. I guess it’d be similar to skinny, frail guys who are man pretty finding dates too. I mean, I don’t go out with guys who wear a smaller jean size than I do, but I guess that’s what they made hipster girls for… Either way, better luck next time and to Jen out there – wherever you are – consider this me sending you a chest bump. Well done, girl.

ONLINE DATING HORROR STORY OF THE WEEK: IT’S NOTHING PERSONAL

Posted on June 8, 2012 by renata

Fridays rock. You know what doesn’t? Being the girl in this story. What the hell could I possibly be referring to? Read on, boys and girls, I promise you won’t be disappointed.

In all of the awkward, unpleasant and – let’s face it – downright gross things that have been sent to me since I launched this feature, I think this one ranks pretty high up on the “oooooooohhh, that sucks” scale. And that’s hard to do, since you people have had some pretty twisted dates.

What makes this one stand out? Well let’s just say you don’t ever want to be used as a litmus test for someone’s sexual orientation, if you can avoid it at least. But I’ll let Carrie from Philadelphia take it from here…

Will, the writer: “As soon as I started talking to Will online, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was off. He was very good looking, seemingly intelligent, but he also seemed pretty guarded. Like, he’d ask me a lot of questions about myself but never really offer much detail on his own life. He told me he was the youngest of six siblings, came from the Midwest and that he’d only been living in Philly for a few months.

We agreed to meet for drinks one afternoon, and when I saw him I was impressed by what good shape he was in. This guy was a babe. He kissed me hello, we sat down, and he immediately began throwing back drinks. Correction – he began downing straight whiskey, no ice. It seemed a little aggressive for so early in the afternoon, but figured hey, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere, right?

An hour or so into the date, he was visibly more relaxed. He suggested we ditch the bar and go for a walk, which I was fine with since I was worried he’d pass out or puke if we stayed much longer (*Miss Wingman note: Wouldn’t be the first time, Carrie). We’d only walked a few blocks when he reached down and took my hand. I wasn’t complaining, but when he leaned in and kissed me it caught me off guard. This was a full-on, get after it kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. In broad daylight.

When we pulled apart, I must’ve looked shocked, because he apologized. Then he took a deep breath, dropped my hands and started thanking me. I said thanking someone for a kiss was unnecessary (not to mention awkward). But he said he wasn’t thanking me for the kiss, It was more. What came out of his mouth next I could never have anticipated in a million years. Seriously, FML.

“No, I’m thanking you because now I feel like I can finally put something to rest,” he said. “I’ve suspected that I’m gay for years, and just wasn’t able to act on it coming from my hometown (by the way, the guy was 26 – not especially young). So when I moved here, I started dating guys, and I knew for sure. But, I wondered if I could maybe have been bisexual too?”

He wasn’t done. “Maybe it was wishful thinking, but if I was also attracted to women, it would make things easier – for my family, at least. But, if I can kiss someone as gorgeous as you and feel…absolutely nothing, I guess that’s my answer. Nope, definitely not into women.”

I think I stood there for a full minute blinking, not saying anything and just starting a lot of sentences without putting actual words together. Finally I told him that, while I was glad he’d has this epiphany (seriously, FML), I didn’t think it was particularly cool to use someone in this way. I felt deceived and, if I’m being honest, even if he meant it as a compliment, my ego was bruised.

He apologized a million more times and said he wouldn’t have done it if he’d felt there was any other way to get to the bottom of it. He’d even tried hooking up with a female friend in college but thought he only wasn’t attracted to her because she was more of a buddy than a girlfriend.

Needless to say, after that we exchanged awkward goodbyes and called it a day (*Miss Wingman note: You mean called it a gay. Duh). I hope wherever he is now, he’s happily out in the open. And done kissing girls.”

Carrie: Wow. That story gives new meaning to the phrase, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Or more accurately, “It’s not you, it’s your vagina.” I don’t even know what I would’ve done in that situation, but I feel like it would’ve involved a lot more of me asking paranoid questions, like “Wait, are you sure you felt nothing? Do you want to feel a boob to make sure?” If for no other reason than to soothe my own ego. Ouch.

And while yes, I agree that it was a little deceptive of him to take you out under those pretenses, I have to remind myself that not everyone comes from a background where it’s completely fine to be out in the open. Even though 26 seems a little late to be jumping on the penis train, I can appreciate how hard it must be for someone to deny a huge part of who they are for their whole life. It’s something that the rest of us will never understand, but of which we should still be respectful.

That said, you totally should’ve kept in touch with him after that. My gay friends are, by and large, way more fun than my straight friends. Who doesn’t love adding a new shopping/drinking/boy scoping friend into the social mix? (And no, that’s not all they’re good for, obviously).

But perhaps the bigger takeaway should be that the next time you see an impossibly good-looking, well-dressed, shy guy on a dating website (who also takes exceptionally good care of himself), maybe you should wonder why. Now go fix your gaydar antennae, walk that one off, and get back out there! (Insert encouraging ass slap here…in a straight girl kind of way). Cheers –MW.

ONLINE DATING HORROR STORY OF THE WEEK: CAUGHT RED HANDED

Posted on June 1, 2012 by renata

It’s Friday again, Wingman faithful (you didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?). And you know what that means – dating disasters, romantic misery and horror stories of all shapes and sizes. What could be better than that? Well, maybe if you were reading this with a happy hour cocktail in your hand…

This week’s tale of cyber dating woe comes from Amanda in Manhattan, and it involves a move so shameful it almost makes me lose faith in people’s morals these days. Almost. So sit back, relax, and be happy you’re neither of these people (or the other person, yikes).

Jason, the sales guy: “I met Jason through one of the lesser-known dating websites very recently. Like, two weeks ago recently. We chatted back and forth several times before he asked me to meet him downtown, which in hindsight I realize was nowhere near either of our neighborhoods. And was probably his attempt at being cautious. Perhaps you can see where this is headed already….

When I saw him, he was very attractive, confident and liked to talk. We chose a bar with cafe seating that wasn’t entirely on the sidewalk, but the front of the restaurant was all open. I sat facing the people walking by, he sat with his back to the street, facing inward.

After about 40 minutes of casual banter, where he told me he thought I was pretty and suggested a bar we should try “the next time we go out,” I was convinced things were going well. He also inadvertently turned his body sideways in his chair, and was now partially facing outward, leaning his back on the wall. I guess he forgot to keep his face hidden, because all of a sudden he saw something that made him go white.

He whipped around, put his hand up to obscure his face, and slumped down in his seat. He was stammering so badly he couldn’t even remember what he’d been saying. I asked if he was OK, and he said he thought he’d seen someone he knew – an old boss he hated – and was trying to dodge her. I bought it for a minute until, visibly shifting in his chair, I noticed a girl approaching our table who tapped him violently on the shoulder. Her face was way too pissed off to be a coworker, this girl was seeing red.

“Jason?” she hissed. Incredibly, he was still trying to hide in his chair, and only turned around to face her after she yelled, “Are you kidding me?!” loudly enough for everyone around us to hear. Now succumbing to the fact that he’d been caught, he turned to me and began to explain. “Uh this is my…” is all he could get out, before the girl spat out that she was his girlfriend. Correction, his LIVE-IN girlfriend. I wanted to die right there on the spot.

She was hurling a steady stream of obscenities at him and demanding to know who I was, and what the hell he was doing. Maybe it’s because he’s a salesman and thought he could talk his way out of it, but he just kept asking her what she was doing in that neighborhood. It’s like he was accusing her of being the one in the wrong. (*Miss Wingman note: Bad move, buddy. Bad, bad move).

For all her rage towards him, I have to give this girl credit that she heard me out while I explained that I had no idea he wasn’t single, and I’d never have gone out with him had I known. I also outed that we’d met online and, upon hearing that, her eyes got so wide I thought she might actually haul off and hit him.

It was then that I took my cue to get the hell out of there, and apologized to her repeatedly as I beelined for the sidewalk. Obviously, I never spoke to him again, and I can’t even believe that a guy could be that bold and shameless. I guess as far as dating horror stories go, it doesn’t get much uglier than your date being caught in the act by his girlfriend.”

Amanda: Oh contraire. Actually, it does (brother and sister story anyone? pregnant girl? we’ve had some doozies), but yours is pretty damn impressive. I’m sorry that you got caught in a real life “Jerry Springer” episode, but I’m even more sorry that I wasn’t sitting at that cafe watching that whole thing go down. There’s nothing more awesome than real life drama unfolding when you’re within earshot. It’s like free entertainment.

As for your date taking the Shaggy method of denial (“It wasn’t me”), that’s on him. I can only assume that, if his girlfriend even allowed them to travel home together after that, that she was tempted to push him in front of the subway train. Actually, come to think of it, if you haven’t heard from him again, maybe she did.

I give his girlfriend credit for recognizing that you were just an innocent bystander to his betrayal, and I almost (almost) have to give him credit for having the balls to think he could even pull that off in the first place. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in this line of work, it’s that people’s behavior never ceases to amaze me. So, I won’t even begin to go into what brings someone to pull a stunt like that. But rest assured, you probably weren’t his first, and I doubt you’ll be his last.

Whatever you do, don’t let this experience keep you from getting back on the online dating horse. Just remember next time to bring a purse big enough to carry a helmet. And maybe some running sneakers, too. Better luck next time. –MW

ONLINE DATING HORROR STORY OF THE WEEK: TO HIPSTER HELL AND BACK

Posted on April 27, 2012 by renata

It’s that time again, Wingman faithful. Another week is in the bag, much like the Rangers’ playoff victory (sorry, I’m still gloating from last night’s win). Last week we took a break from the horrifying things you guys have been sending me to focus on one very unfortunate spreadsheet author. This week, we have an equally pathetic tale, only one that involves more of the hipster type than the Wall Street type. Think Jonas Brothers more than Lehman Brothers, if you will.

Our tale of woe comes to us from Meghan in Murray Hill (that’s Manhattan for all you outside the 212), and it involves a lot of opinions and very little tolerance. Sounds like the perfect recipe for a love connection, clearly.

Casey, the Studio Tech: “I met Casey through a dating website, but it turned out that we had a friend in common. We decided to meet up on a Saturday afternoon after a little back and forth. Obviously I checked with our mutual friend first to see what his deal was, and I was assured that he was not a serial killer and was at least as marginally good looking as his photo. Because he lived in Brooklyn and I lived in Manhattan, we decided to meet downtown and walk across the Brooklyn bridge together, since it was nice out that day. Great, game on, or so I thought.

When I saw him, I was immediately struck that he was wearing skinny jeans, a fact I could’ve possibly overlooked if the first thing out of his mouth wasn’t, “Oh you’re definitely a Murray Hill girl, you’re wearing the uniform and everything.”

He was smiling when he said it, but I looked down at my leggings and ballet flats and suddenly wanted to punch his lights out, nice first impression. I managed to refrain from asking him if he was the 3rd member of MGMT, and made a mental note to kill our mutual friend next time I saw him.

While we walked, we talked about Brooklyn and how we’d end up on the other side of the bridge in the DUMBO-slash-Brooklyn Heights area. He made some obnoxious comment about how elitist Brooklyn wasn’t real Brooklyn, and how living in a $2 Million apartment or brownstone defeats the purpose of living in the outer boroughs. I asked what parts were considered “real Brooklyn” and he said Williamsburg, where he lived.

Disgusted, I changed the subject to what kind of music he enjoyed. Big mistake, we went from the frying pan directly into the fire.

He rattled off a list of bands that I’d never heard of and then, when I said I thought I recognized one of them, he quizzed me on how and what their songs were called. I felt like I was on Jeopardy. (*Miss Wingman note: you should’ve said, “I’ll take things that make me want to choke you for $1,000, Alex.” What, too hostile?)

Then he told me about the band he plays in (he’s the bassist – naturally,) and he started singing me some of their songs, complete with air guitar accompaniment. It was loud, and people around us started staring. I’ve never been so excited to get to the other side of a bridge before in my life, and kept silently pleading in my head for it to stop. But since we were only like 30 minutes into our date, he suggested we grab a drink at an outside bar for a bit, and I felt too rude saying no. Big mistake.

At the bar, I told him that my sister works for Romney’s campaign (bigger mistake), and he said, and this is a direct quote, “People who vote Republican are ugly on the inside.”

At that point, I was sure all bets were off, so when he excused himself to go to the men’s room, I did the only acceptable thing I could think of: I ordered a glass of the most expensive Scotch the bar carried, and then left before he returned to the table. Maybe it wasn’t the classiest move. But hey – some people just have it coming.”

Meghan: On the contrary, it would’ve been classless if you slammed the drink then stuck him with the bill. At least this way you left him to pay but he still got a drink out of it. It’s a win-win as far as I’m concerned.

I guess the moral of this story is that you shouldn’t go on dates with people on bridges. The temptation to hurl them over it if they suck is too strong. And putting yourself out of your misery could be equally tempting, too. Next time try a shooting range, it’s much safer. Glad you and your ballet flats hit the bricks, and better luck next time. Cheers –MW.

Have a dating horror story you’d like to share? Send it my way, misswingman@gmail.com. Remember: the only upside to a bad date is using it for a laugh. Your misery is our enjoyment, so keep ‘em coming.

ONLINE DATING HORROR STORY OF THE WEEK: THE DEAL BREAKER

Posted on April 13, 2012 by renata

Maybe it’s because it’s Friday the 13th, therefore the dating horror stories are especially freaky. Or, maybe it’s because my readership is older than I thought. But either way, today’s ODHSOTW is the first one of it’s kind, and I’ve never heard anything like this before. Thank God.

And for what it’s worth, I’ve heard a lot since starting this feature. We’ve had run ins with exes, people double booking, couch pee-ers (not a real word, fine), people who’ve forgotten they slept together, and now this. If I were you people, I’d say it’s getting harder and harder to justify that Match.com account right about now, but who am I to judge…

This week our short-but-sweet tale comes from James in New Jersey. His story may just beat out the brother and sister who were paired up by a dating site. And by “may just,” I mean “definitely.” Enjoy.

Sarah, the accidental double date: “I guess I should’ve known something was up when most of this girl’s online dating profile pictures were head shots. But she was pretty, and we shared a lot of the same interests. So, when we agreed to meet at a bar in her town, I was still pretty optimistic. She said to meet at 8pm, but when I got to the place I looked around and didn’t see her. It wasn’t all that crowded (it was a Wednesday), but I scanned the bar and did a mental inventory of what I saw: college kids, old couple waiting for a table, pregnant chick, guys watching the basketball game. No date.

If you were surprised that I said a pregnant chick was at the bar (she was sipping water, in case you were wondering), you probably wouldn’t be as surprised as I was when that pregnant chick turned around to face me and it was HER. I repeat: the girl I was there to meet was quite obviously pregnant. As she smiled and walked over to me I actually said out loud to myself, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

I don’t remember much between noticing her belly – not huge, maybe half term, but still pregnant – and sitting down at a table for small talk. I think we exchanged pleasantries, sipped some water and told our waiter we needed a minute. A minute? I needed a bottle of whiskey at that point.

We managed to order and chat about my job, the weather and how her friend had recommended the restaurant. But I couldn’t avoid the elephant in the room any longer, and she could probably tell because thankfully she came to my rescue. “So you’ve probably noticed that I’m pregnant…” she said.

I actually choked on my food, like you see people do on TV. “Um…yeah,” I said tentatively. I told her that I didn’t want to say anything, because guys know that even if a woman’s about to give birth, you don’t ask her if she’s pregnant for fear of being wrong and offending the girl.

She said no, it’s OK, she was definitely “with child,” and that she’d decided to do artificial insemination after she realized that she wasn’t getting any younger. She told me that she knew that by the time she found a man, got married and started a family, it’d be at least four or five years and that she was already well into her thirties. She didn’t want to wait around any longer.

I smiled, nodded, and politely explained that while she was great, I just didn’t sign up for that. I felt like a jerk (ironic, she should’ve been the one to feel bad for not revealing this sooner), but she said that she wasn’t upset, I’d stuck around even longer than most people she met on dates. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Thanks, nice to meet you, good luck with your labor. Catch you on the flip side.

I know people always say women are crazy, but this chick takes the cake. Women of the world: if you’re going to multitask, wait until after you’ve had the kid to get into the dating scene. Ambushing a guy with a pregnancy before you’re even dating is just bad form.”

James: Sweet Mother. You just hit a walk-off homer, I can’t even touch that. I know I’ve said this before, but this time I really, really mean it. Game over, you win. –MW.

Have a dating horror story to add? Drop me an email, misswingman@gmail.com. And remember, the only upside to a bad date is if you use it for our selfish amusement.

ONLINE DATING HORROR STORY OF THE WEEK: THE CREEPER

Posted on April 6, 2012 by renata

Happy Friday to you all. Or should I say, “Good Friday,” and risk offending those readers who are oh-so PC. Incidentally, Happy Passover, too. (*Miss Wingman note: If you’re sensitive enough to freak out over semantics, perceived disrespect or political correctness, then you’re definitely reading the wrong site).

Anyway, I hope you all had a wonderful week learning about the man cry and how to exit after a hook up…and that you’ve all fully recovered from last week’s dating horror story. I’m not sure that I can say the same, there’s still some residual trauma I’m afraid.

This week, however, we have a very unfortunate tale of dating woe from Bridget in Manhattan. Her brush with Cupid was more of a kick in the shins than a direct hit with his arrow, and I’m pretty sure there won’t be a second date. Behold…

Keith the bartender: “This guy seemed like he might not be ‘my type’ after he emailed me on a dating site. As in, he seemed like the save the planet, tree-hugging type (I use hairspray and never recycle) but I went with it anyway, since my last few dates had turned out to be disasters. Like, one dude’s roommate was dealing drugs from their apartment while I waited on his couch-type disasters, so I guess I was desperate to turn my streak around.

Anyway we went to a restaurant that specialized in organic, vegan, gluten-free food (his choice) – ironic, since I eat steak like it’s going out of style. But I assumed that he may have a gluten allergy or something and rolled with it. When the waitress asked our drink order, I got wine and he ordered a Sprite.

I must’ve looked surprised, because then he explained that he didn’t drink…anymore. He quickly added that he used to, but had been sober for five years, “but it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t one of those out of control alcoholics, just needed to slow it down a little.” I asked if it was a good idea for a recovering alcoholic to be working at a bar. He explained it with, “I just like meeting people and hearing their stories.” But he didn’t seemed amused by my question. Awesome, things were off to a great start.

But during dinner, he actually turned out to be pretty interesting. He’d lived all over the world and spoke several languages, plus we liked a lot of the same music. And he made me laugh (and had turned out to be pretty decent-looking) so I figured we might have a shot at some chemistry.

Until I told him I used to work in pharmaceutical sales, and he proceeded to launch into a lecture about how the drug companies are evil and are conspiring with the government to dupe the American public. After my first few initial attempts to correct what he was saying, I just gave up and let him go on his tirade.

Then, after I’d said that I’d like to think that our government isn’t actively working against us on a daily basis, he reached across the table and brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear and said, “Oh, you’re so cute. You’re being naive, but it’s adorable.” (*Miss Wingman note: Check, please! I would’ve shuddered).

As if that wasn’t bad enough, at one point he started blowing bubbles in his drink with his straw. Like he was a 5-year-old. When I asked what he was doing, he said he’s always loved drinking straws (WTF?). Oh, and he also folded his drink napkin into a little paper airplane while we were talking. I felt like I should’ve been getting paid for babysitting, it wasn’t normal.

We managed to part ways without him going in for the kiss (I’ve never been so relieved) and I’d just planned to ignore him after that and shut down all communication. But I couldn’t, because the next day he started following me on Twitter, and would write the most ridiculous things in response to my tweets. Things about corrupt business, scheming companies or the general state of society that had nothing to do with anything I said.

This went on for about two weeks before one of my friends eventually started harassing him back over Twitter, and told him that his opinions were better kept to himself. I think my friend’s exact words were something along the lines of, “Don’t worry, Be Happy,” but apparently Bobby McFerrin lyrics work, because I haven’t heard from him since. The End.”

Bridget: So much for ending your bad streak. A few things here: 1) I try not to date men who make me feel bad about what I eat, it’s a good rule of thumb, 2) Your tree-hugging comment is both amusing and a wee bit frightening. Planet? Who needs it? Trash away! (I’m kidding). 3) I wouldn’t worry about someone being too hippy-ish; unless they start telling you about a three-day acid trip they once took while at Burning Man, you’re probably fine.

And finally, 4) Just out of curiosity, was the roommate from your previous date selling hard drugs or just pot? Not that it matters necessarily (narcotics are generally a deal breaker), but if you really wanted to mess with them, you could’ve said you were an undercover cop. Just saying.

I will say that the bubble-blowing and infantile table manners concern me, but you all know how I feel about men and manners anyway. Did he start rearranging the vegetables in his plate to make smiley faces with silly noses and spiky hair? I would’ve paid to see that.

As for his Twitter tirades, the moral of that story is, “Don’t Facebook friend anyone or give out your Twitter handle until after the third date.” But that may cramp your e-stalking efforts ahead of time, we know how women like to dig.

Alas, just be happy you dodged a bullet on this one. There’s nothing less attractive than man who’s probably on a government No-Fly list. Walk that one off, and better luck next time.

Have a dating horror story to add to the mix? Can you top that? Then send it my way, misswingman@gmail.com. Remember, your misery is our amusement, so share the love -MW.

MISS WINGMAN

Female musings for the modern man.

Tag Archives: dating horror stories