Another Friday, another chance to feel better about your own life. And to be really, really happy that you weren’t on this date. Frankly, I wasn’t sure if you guys would rise to the occasion and send me something worthy of following up last week’s All You Can Eat saga. But luckily for me, Jana from Connecticut’s heinous romantic encounter came along at the right time.

So I’ll turn the floor over to her, and thank my lucky stars that I’ve never gone out with someone who makes me wonder if I’m on a hidden camera show. If you could use a good laugh, you’re in luck. And speaking of laughs…

Eric, the attorney: “His email showed up in my inbox one day with the subject line, “hey cutie.” I should’ve known that I was in for it right then and there, but I’d hit a bit of a dry spell lately, so I responded anyway. After a week or so of emailing, he seemed normal (aside from his love of affectionate names). So, we set up a time to meet for drinks at a low key wine bar of his choosing. When I showed up, he had considerably less hair than his profile photo. (*Miss Wingman note: Balding, it’s nature’s great equalizer. Accept it or Bic it, boys, we’ve been over this).

We sat and talked for a short time about the weather, our jobs, and whatever else. It was all superficial chit chat until we ran out of the aforementioned chatter and slammed headlong into total silence. I mean it – an awkward, drawn out pause where neither of us could think of anything to say. Until he decided to fill the silence with the first thing that came to his mind, and he blurted out, “So I used to want to be a priest when I grew up…”

I choked on an ice cube. “What?” He repeated himself. Yup, this was really happening. After I questioned him at length about why any adolescent male would ever consider voluntarily giving up sex FOR LIFE, he explained that he wanted to help people. Great, now I felt bad. Then I suggested he could do it in other ways, like volunteering at a hospital, or becoming a fireman. At least firemen were allowed to have sex.

I should’ve left the awkward silence alone, because as soon as I made the joke I realized how big a mistake I’d made. Eric laughed out loud, but it was the most high-pitched, ridiculous-sounding hyena laugh I’d ever heard. And it was deafeningly loud.

Or at least it seemed that way in a quiet wine bar, because everyone turned and stared at us. I would’ve laughed myself at how any person could even make such a noise, let alone a male, since he just hit falsetto octaves only whales and dogs could detect. But I was too busy shrinking down in my chair, paralyzed with embarrassment.

Ten minutes later he did it again, this time even louder and for a longer period of time, while we were discussing an episode of “Saturday Night Live.” I shrank down even further. Oh, and he kept calling me things like “babe,” “sweetie” and “hon” all night. It was getting worse by the minute.

I know you’re probably thinking that having a bad laugh isn’t really grounds for calling it a disaster, but I swear – no amount of describing it could ever do it justice. It was a cackle straight out of a movie.

But after two hours of awkwardness so thick you could cut it with a knife, my cue to leave came when he got out of his seat and started reenacting a scene from Episode V of “Star Wars” in front of our table. With voices and sound effects. I wish I was kidding. You can’t make this stuff up – unless it’s in an episode of “Punk’d.” I begged him to stop, and then looked for the camera – he had to be messing with me. Finally, I ended up just telling him I had an early conference call in the morning and needed to head home.

He packed up his imaginary light saber, paid our bill and walked me to my car. But not before giving me one last taste of the hyena laugh while thanking our waitress. I was spared the misery of a goodnight kiss attempt, and called my best friend on the drive home. After I told her about the date, she asked if I regretted going out with him. I told her yes, but I had an even bigger regret – that I didn’t think to record the laugh on my iPhone while I had the chance. It’s OK though, I can still hear it when I want to. In my nightmares.”

Jana: So would you say it was more Paul Rubens as Pee Wee Herman, or Janice on “Friends”? Either way it’s no laughing matter (Zing!)

But seriously, I’m glad it wasn’t me on that date because I have no poker face. A few other things I wanted to address though… 1) He said he’d considered becoming a priest at one time? Maybe that has something to do with him not trying for a goodnight kiss. Consider yourself lucky, but not lucky enough to have avoided the “Star Wars” role play. Which brings me to 2) Was it at least the Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker “I’m your father” scene from The Empire Strikes Back? If you must geek out, might as well be to George Lucas’ best work.

3) Although I like your fireman suggestion, priests can have sex. Didn’t you know that? It’s just slightly more of a hassle, what with having to silence all those young boys for years afterward. (Kidding! I know, I know – in poor taste in light of the Sandusky trial, whatever). 4) I loathe cheesy terms of endearment like “sweetie” and “cutie.” Next time a relative stranger calls you one of those, remind them that women have nicknames for them, too. Only they’re a lot less affectionate.

And finally 5) I’m bummed that you didn’t have an audio file to attach with this story, but I’m more concerned that you were discussing SNL. Who watches “Saturday Night Live” anymore anyway? Next thing you’ll be telling me you watch “American Ninja Warrior,” too. Where are your standards, girl? But thanks for the story, and it sounds like you learned your lesson. For future reference, the next time you want to set up a date, make sure to do it over the phone.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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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. –MWTHAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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Well well. What have we here? Another week, another chance to laugh at the misery of others. At least this Friday brings regulation tales of romantic disaster, instead of last week’s unexpected detour.

But though this week’s horror may be short, it is most definitely not sweet. Witness the stunning digestive pyrotechnics regaled by Sarah from Brooklyn. I’m not saying this is the worst thing that’s ever happened, I’m just saying that tossing out your shoes because someone tossed their cookies on them qualifies this as a pretty awful date. But I’ll let you be the judge.

Doug, the…oh hell, I don’t know what he does, but you won’t care either after you read this: “I met this guy on Match. He seemed normal, looked fairly handsome in his photos, and he lived within walking distance of my apartment. So, even if it didn’t turn out to be love at first sight, all signs were pointing to this date being smooth sailing. Though that’s not exactly how it turned out.

We agreed to meet at a restaurant in our neighborhood that neither of us had been to, but had been wanting to try. When I showed up, I wasn’t disappointed – neither by him nor the restaurant. He was polite, seemed somewhat intelligent and had a nice face. The food was Asian fusion, but neither of us ordered anything outrageous or unusual. He had some chicken dish and I ordered noodles.

While we were talking and getting to know each other, I gradually started to notice he was sweating. We both ignored it and kept on chatting because, other than that, things were going pretty well. But then he got very ashen, and all of a sudden the blood seemed to drain out of his face. I asked if he was alright.

Before I knew what was happening, he started to say, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well, I think- ” but didn’t finish his sentence. Why? Because he leaned under the table and vomited mightily. Yes, you read that right, vomited repeatedly (and loudly) onto the floor. The worst part is, he didn’t have time to get up and get to a bathroom, and I didn’t have time to react, so he ended up puking all over my shoes.

Not only did the people in the restaurant seem less than thrilled, but we had to make a hasty retreat, and as I put him into a cab he was apologizing profusely. It turns out something in his dinner was made with pistachios, to which he had a mild food allergy.

He ended up sending me a check to replace my shoes about a week later and emailed to apologize, but we never tried for a re-do on that date. I think we both just figured you really can’t come back from that. So be it.”

Sarah: What’s the matter, vomit date left a bad taste in your mouth? Sorry, it was too easy, I couldn’t resist. First of all, I’d call becoming violently ill a little more than just a “mild food allergy.” And secondly, more people should use the word “mightily” and more often – because anything sounds cooler when done mightily, even puking.

I’m sorry that his sickness spelled game over, but at least he was apologetic and tried to compensate you for what he ruined. I’m sure it’s a lot easier to replace a pair of shoes than walk that one off, from a pride standpoint. There are worse things in life than a publicly humiliating throw up session…I just can’t think of any right now.

Either way, don’t let one spoiled stomach sour you to the dating game in general. I’m sure he was sufficiently mortified, so try not to judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. Or have thrown up on them, one or the other.

Just remember to look on the bright side, it could’ve been worse. At least your night didn’t end in an ER visit, statistically this probably won’t happen to you again…and at least you weren’t wearing flip flops.

Thanks for sharing, and better luck next time –MW. 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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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 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.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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

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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.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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

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It’s good to be back, Wingman faithful. It’s been a minute since our last ODHSOTW. Sorry for the acronym, chalk it up to Friday laziness. My California adventures threw a monkey wrench into things, but now we’re back on course.

Today I offer you a bit of a different spin on this feature. It’s not so much an online dating horror story, but rather a regular dating horror story. No…make that THE WORST STORY I’VE EVER HEARD. For real, you’ll agree once you read it.

This particular tale was sent to me by a friend who “read this and thought of me” and for some reason (which, in hindsight, I don’t think can be good) suggested it for the site. So, now I’m passing it along to horrify share with all of you. I know it’s a long read, but please don’t let that deter you. Or the nauseatingly graphic details the writer includes throughout (I’ll never look at eggplants again the same way). Seriously, it’s like a car accident – once you get involved, you can’t avert your eyes.

My only commentary about this story is that I will never, ever complain about all of the unfair anatomical problems women endure ever again. After reading this, you men win. Hands down. If this ever happened to you or someone you know, may God have mercy on your soul.

Also – and here’s where the spoiler alert comes in, so stop reading if you haven’t clicked on the story yet – I’m genuinely sad that they didn’t end up together. I guess it just goes to show that even though people usually use sex to avoid real intimacy, if you take that out of the equation and are forced to get to know one another, you may not be any better off in the end. Either that or the minute he said he might be moving, all she heard was “You are potentially going to break my heart” so she closed up shop and moved on. As women have a tendency to do.

In any case, read this on your lunch break. Read it on the commute home. Whatever. Just brace yourself first, this one will stick with you.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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