OldTownFunGirlLovesToTravel (Part I)

Go ahead. Do what you need to do. Throw some popcorn in the microwave. Grab a blanket. Get comfortable. The feature presentation is about to begin.

First things first: yes, I am a subscriber on Match.com. My intentions in joining were pure. Hoping for romance. Not planning to demand a refund if there’s any tonsil hockey out of the deal.

Nine months and (probably) ten dates later, I haven’t found love or its proximity. Might as well rationalize why not.

But before I send in my B-2 bombers to flatten Venus’ countryside, I’d like to make a series of admissions. Admissions are imperative when your bombing squadron is getting ready to make Dresden look like the love parade.

Accordingly, I willingly and openly admit that I’m not for everyone. Nor am I an easy dating prospect. I’m unpredictable, always late, without culinary inclination, nocturnal, and normally inclined to say whatever is top of mind (often to my detriment).

Beyond that, my interests are all over the board.

My preferred musical genres are classical, jazz, blues, house, and trance. My favorite TV shows are Friday Night Lights, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Charlie Rose, and The West Wing (translation: I don't want to watch CSI or the train wreck that is Grey's Anatomy with you).

My first cousin is named "frozen pizza." My second cousin is "wine." And my immediate family cherishes the second weekend in April for the Masters, with church on Easter Sunday being an acceptable warm-up for Augusta.

In summary: I probably don’t jump off the page as “grand-prize” material for most women. And truthfully, that’s fine with me. I’m not interested in most women. More to the point: I hardly ever get really excited about a woman (“Tower: this is the Memphis Belle, requesting permission for lift-off.”).

It’s not that I’m incapable. Nor am I afraid of lifelong proximity (i.e. commitment). On the contrary. I believe in the heart, and its four valves, and love's ability to define the human condition.

Unfortunately, believing doesn’t make one an active participant.

In thirty years I’ve been in love twice, one of whom might have represented a chariot ride off into the sunset. Unfortunately, ella no esta aqui. She’s with another hombre. Meanwhile, I’m writing about the travails of Match.com with you good people.

I liggity-love this readership, but sometimes in life, you lose.

Which leads me back to the business at hand, dissecting the fruitless smorgasbord that is Match.com. Of some solace, I know the “fruitless” designation is not mine alone: most men who try Match.com come away from the experience with an empty fruit basket. Though perhaps not for the reason you’d expect.

In actuality, it’s a numbers problem. It’s mathematically impossible for most Chicago men to find a woman on Match. That’s because every male subscriber is vying for the same four women. Four women who: 1) love to travel 2) LOVE to laugh 3) think Chicago is the best city in the world 4) Secretly crave US Weekly and 5) spend their entire summer running along the lake.

That’s right OldTownFunGirl: your cover is blown.

The number of women who “secretly” or "guiltily" covet US Weekly could fill a ballroom the size of Texas. Meanwhile, I am absolutely convinced that Match.com could triple their annual revenues if they would charter flights to Australia/New Zealand for members because a solid 80% of the subscriber base has taken an “amazing” trip there in the last six months.

And as much as everyone loves to travel, I’m sure they’d go back.

However, the lack of differentiation amongst the candidates isn’t my only critique. If that were the case we’d be out of here by recess. Instead, we’re just getting started on a two-part entry.

Buckle in.

For those of you lucky enough to avoid the world of online dating, here’s a quick point of relevance: 98% of subscribers post a main picture. Then, subscribers have the option of posting as many (or few) additional pictures as they want.

In this realm, you’d think most people capable of posting a few uncontroversial, inoffensive pictures taken in a visible light. You’d think that would be true, but you would be wrong.

Rather than expand on this last point in narrative form, I’m going to list out a series of “do’s and don’ts” in relation to posting pictures – awarding points for the former and taking them away for the latter.

And ladies, I hope you’ve been practicing subtraction.

Accordingly, if you’re a woman on Match.com (fill in your favorite online dating site) you should:

Give yourself 15 points for posting between four and seven pictures, and subtract 30 points if you posted more than ten (I’m exhausted and we haven’t even met).

Give yourself 20 points if you are in all your pictures, and subtract 40 points if you posted a picture from your Ansel Adams phase (get over it already, everyone on Match has seen a mountain).

Give yourself 10 points if your grandma is in a picture with you, and subtract 30 points if grandma is in more than two (everyone loves grandma, but nobody wants to visualize her during sex).

Give yourself 20 points for every full-body picture you posted, and subtract 60 points if all your pictures are from the shoulders up (we’re going to see the other 80% of you sometime, and trust me, by posting headshots and referencing your body type as “about average” – we’ve already envisioned the worst).

Give yourself 30 points if you’re smiling in all your pictures, and subtract 15 points for every picture that makes you look “fun” (sucking green liquid from an eight-person straw on St. Patty’s Day does not make me want to buy you dinner).

You should also subtract points for the following:

5 points for any picture in which you’re wearing sunglasses.

20 points for any group picture in which all your friends are hotter than you (you’ve just prompted every man to wonder: “would it be inappropriate to ask if her friends are single?”).

50 points for any picture that is under water (seriously, I don’t want to see you kissing a blowfish).

80 points for any picture in which you’re riding a non-horse animal (you’re bringing camel back, and that ain’t no way to act).

300 points for any picture in which you are flexing a bicep (rarely will you hear a man utter: “you had at me She-Ra.”).

1000^9999999 points for posting group pictures which make me question who you are from one picture to the next (a lifetime of solitude is all but certain).

This last point plays out a mind-boggling number of times. A woman dyes her hair; or she gains 30 lbs; or the picture was taken from a tripod on Mars –- and for the life of me, I can’t figure out who I'm supposed to be evaluating.

Esssssss no good.

If by chance your total score from above is greater than zero, treat yourself to a cookie and leave me your name, number, email, or call sign: you're the statistical outlier, and I'd love to meet you.

Regardless of the futility of the effort, the reality is that we, the pathetic online dating masses, march on. We sift through thousands of profiles looking for a fifth contestant. Then we email (winks are lame). Then we talk on the phone for twelve minutes (give or take thirty seconds). Then we realize we're each "super busy" so we hold off on making plans for another two weeks.

Finally, we meet for "a drink." And one drink turns into eight. Then we decide that we like each other enough to suck face outside the bar when exiting, but not enough to ever talk again.

And that's it. The circle of life on Match.com. You can chalk love up as unlikely, but good stories are a virtual guarantee.

In closing I want to acknowledge that while this entry has targeted (blitzkrieged?) the women of Match, I know the female subscribers have their share of warranted gripes as well. For example, not once have I had to brush aside a profile de mullet.

But even if women are on equal footing in their online dating plight, I'm not planning to give that angle any air time. That’s the beauty of having a blog: my bombers cruise through the no-fly zone unscathed, and attempts at rebuttal (i.e. anti-aircraft fire) are relegated to the measly “comments” section below.

It's like aiming a SuperSoaker 3000 at a stealth bomber.

With that thought in mind, also know this: we're not through here. One bombing run and an outline of the online dating life-cycle does not qualify as a two-part entry. So next week I'll be offering up a mock profile for a woman on Match. And if this week seemed harsh, next week might feel like a nuclear winter.

Ladies, per always, you're welcome to bring your water guns.