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, Remember: the only upside to a bad date is using it for a laugh. Your misery is our enjoyment, so keep ‘em coming.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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Thank God It’s Friday, y’all. Or more accurately, “thank God you’re not this guy.” Because I felt it was unfair to make anyone’s tale of dating woe follow last week’s act (the bar is officially set, good luck kids), I decided to post about this recent news story. It also involves woe, just more along the “Whoa!” lines instead. This is an Online Dating Horror Story for the record books, and it’s playing out as we speak.

In case you haven’t seen the remarkable tale of the “Spreadsheet Guy,” it goes like this: An investment banker who was dating several people he met on, as well as some he was introduced to by family and friends, created an Excel spreadsheet to keep track of everyone. Or more accurately, to keep track of every little meticulous detail of their interactions (or misses), ranked their appearances, and made notes about whether to monitor casually or closely. Oh, and he included little gem comments like “very jappy, one and done for me,” too. Wicked classy.

But the real kicker? Investment Banker Guy (who’s real name is David Merkur, a fact that has been splashed gleefully everywhere by news outlets) then made his biggest mistake by sending it to one of the girls he was dating. He’d mentioned that he kept track of his dates via spreadsheet, she asked to see it, and for some unknown reason, he obliged (?!). Then, she not only sent it to all of her friends in an email titled “Monday Morning Entertainment,” but it ended up on Deadspin, Jezebel, Dealbreaker, the NY Post – I think I even saw it on ABC news this morning.

Jesus. Christ. Who does that?

“Who does what?” you ask, the making the spread sheet part, or the leaking it so that it goes viral part? BOTH. First things first, you should check out the complete document in question here. But secondly, I think the thing that most people are missing while they focus on the deplorable – not to mention douchey – behavior of Spreadsheet Guy (way to break the “finance guys are a**holes” stereotype, dude) is that the girl who leaked this just flat-out ruined his life. I’m not one to defend men for their slimy behavior, obviously I’m a vocal critic, but in this instance I think the punishment isn’t befitting of the Microsoft Office crime.

When did it become OK to destroy someone’s reputation for your entertainment and that of your clique? I would’ve been amused by one of my friends telling me about her date keeping a spreadsheet so that our closed circle could laugh about it and shake our heads in disbelief. PRIVATELY. Over dinner, or while killing bottles of wine and cackling about how guys do stupid things (sorry boys), but nothing farther. This girl had to know that it would blow up, she can’t be that naive.

But when national news outlets devote airtime to it (let alone while it’s an election year, gas costs more than $4, there’s a racially-charged murder trial on deck and we’ve got Obama’s Secret Service agents throwing hooker and blow parties), that’s where I draw the line. Not to mention the fact that other women on the list have had their full names leaked, and have now been thrown unwittingly into this mess. One of them is even taking legal action against the girl who leaked the story. (*Miss Wingman note: He called the litigious chick a 9.5 and now she’s getting inundated because of her beauty, my sincerest sympathy, really).

Back to the guy in question, though. I think there are 3 things in play here: 1) That his behavior was fundamentally creepy in it’s organization and detail, yes, but it was possibly born from necessity. He’s not the only one to ever juggle so many dates that he needs to keep track of them. It’s not my favorite method, but if it helps you keep track, then fine. It’s better than mixing girls up I suppose.

And the looks rating? It’s nothing that all guys don’t do mentally, anyway, sorry to break it to the appalled women out there. They just don’t usually write it down. Still, he would probably have more luck finding love if he’d just focus on one person (not that he’ll be able to find one now). This point is hammered home in this stellar article, “In Defense of the Dating Spreadsheet.”

Secondly, this girl shouldn’t want to date him, not because he made the spreadsheet, but because he was just stupid enough to actually show it to someone. And he’s managing people’s money? God help us all. If you want to keep track of your prospects, be my guest (PS call me old fashioned, but I’d never, ever date a man like this. Multi-taskers aren’t big on my list). But just don’t, under any circumstances, admit to having it. Let alone show it to someone else. Least of all someone you’re dating. Looks like someone was absent the day they gave out common sense…

And finally – this story just illustrates how hypocritical we all are. We want to find love, but we think it should be the kind of love we see in the movies. We know that we should put ourselves out there to increase our chances, but as soon as someone starts treating romance like a business, we recoil in disgust.

I’m not a proponent of reading books that teach us tricks and gimmicks on how to ensnare the opposite sex, I’m advocating getting out of your own way long enough to create opportunities to make a connection. Sometimes – correction, most times – having no game is the best game. Sincerity is a lost art form.

As much as we’d like to think that the moment cupid finds us will be accompanied by swelling music and a slow dissolve, a la Ryan Gosling flick, the reality will be slightly more complicated (though no less majestic, I hope). Timing is everything, and as much as we’d like to think we find “it,” in reality I think “it” finds you. All you can do in the meantime is sit tight and work on yourself, be hopeful and optimistic…

And for God’s sake, lose the spreadsheet.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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