NB? What does that stand for, I thought to myself as I perused my latest eharmony “match.” Did they seriously try to set me up with someone from New Brunswick? As is Canada? As in north of Maine?! Yes, they did. It’s a “flex match” they tell me. Yes, I’d have to be quite flexible to date a guy living in New Brunswick.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d like to meet someone. But I’d like to actually meet them. As in take a short drive and actually see them face-to-face. That doesn’t happen so easily with a guy who lives in NEW BRUNSWICK! Did I mention the previous match was from Idaho? C’mon eharmony. Yes, I paid only $20 a month for three months. And yes, there weren’t too many choices close to home. So yes, I told you I’d take guys 200 miles away. But that’s as far as I’m going. There are millions of people in NYC – there’s bound to be someone there for me. Apparently not, they tell me. I have yet to get a single match from any of the five boroughs.
To their credit, I have been sent plenty of matches. According to eharmony, I have a high liklihood of hitting it off with men who have children and like to ride bikes (dirt, motor, apparently I like them all). You might be saying, “Wait – can’t you specify that you want a guy without children?” You’d think, but no. You can specify you don’t want kids. You can also specify that you don’t want a guy who wants kids. You can also say you don’t want a guy who has kids living full-time at home. But this is America. Most divorced men who have children don’t have them living at home full-time. So who do I get? Men who don’t want kids because they already have them.
So though I haven’t been too successful at finding a date, I am getting some good laughs paging through the potentials.
It’s only been two weeks. I’ll keep plugging along and keep you all posted;)
“Have you read this book yet?” I asked the clerk behind the counter at the used book store. I held up “Around the World in 80 Dates.” “No,” she said, “but it looks interesting.” I thought so, and for three bucks it was mine. It combined two interests of mine: travel and meeting men. I’m great at the former, and not so great lately at the latter.
The author had decided her husband was no where to be found in England. So she e-mailed all her friends around the world (she was a travel writer) and asked them to set her up on dates. And off she went. She met him on date #55. Fifty-five?! I have to date that many men? I had a friend who said it was twenty-five. “Twenty-five from right now, or can I go back and count all the ones I’ve dated up to this point?” I asked. “Oh – you can definitely count all the ones you’ve had so far.”
So yesterday I finally started my list. I’m at twenty-three. Well, twenty-three that I can remember at least. And by “remember” I don’t mean their names necessarily. There was the guy who lived on a golf course whose mission was just to impress me with his money. I can’t for the life of me remember his name. Nor do I care. There was the bad kisser guy. I do remember his name, but he first popped into my head as “bad kisser guy” so that’s what I wrote. There was the guy with a very Irish name – but I can’t remember what name that was. Daniel? Patrick? Michael? Flannery? O’Malley? Some combination of something like that.
Twenty-three. So that’s just two dates to go. Or thirty-two, depending on if I believe my friend or the book. Two seems much more optimistic. I’ll start there, and if I don’t find him by date #25, I’ll plan for #55.
On explaining to a friend that one of my girlfriends just spent two thousand dollars to hire a matchmaker, he said, “If she’s wants to invest two thousand dollars in order to find a guy to marry, that’s not how she should spend it.” He continued, explaining what he thought she should use that money for instead.
“And what about me?” I asked. “If I was going to invest two thousand dollars in order to find myself a guy to marry, how should I spend it?” He put his face in his hands, covering his eyes and said slowly, “This is a very dangerous question to answer.” We both laughed. “I know. But I want your answer. I promise not to hold it against you,” I assured him.
I could see the wheels turning. He couldn’t look me in the eye. “Massage?” he offered. I smiled. I appear stressed to many people, so his answer wasn’t out of the blue. “Ok. I’ll take it. But there’s something else you’re not telling me.” “No,” he assured me. “I’m just trying to think of an answer.”
It is an interesting question though. Specifically for us single, thirty-something women. Our generation has probably spent more money on meeting people than any other before us. But there’s still no guarantee. My friend who hired the matchmaker? She found the perfect guy. It was her first match. I have three other close friends who met their husbands on-line. I’ve tried that and (obviously) wasn’t as successful. Would I be so lucky with a matchmaker? And is it really just luck? Or is there some science to finding the perfect “match”?
I’ve decided I would definitely spend $2000 on a matchmaker. For a full year, you get a guaranteed date at least once a month with someone who matches your wants and interests. That’s twelve dates. I don’t think I’ve had three so far this year and it’s already August.
So why haven’t I hired a matchmaker yet? There isn’t one in my area. The closest matchmakers are in NYC. So the next question is: do I want to spend that money to meet a man who lives two hours away in a city I’ve never really liked? But would I like the city much more if I saw it through the eyes of someone who lived there? Someone who loved living there? Might I meet someone who’s ready to move back to suburbia? There’s only one way to find out. But I’m just not sure I’m ready for that yet…