Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Blog

Re-Run: Relationship supermarket.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

::This post ran on my old blog on July 7, 2005. I've included the comments that came with the original post at the end; the post has been edited slightly because it was really long and as I re-read it I thought it could use tweaking.::

My friend just loves being married. She really seems to love it. I've usually seen marriages that were either a loveless disaster, or one of eye-rolling tolerance and petty bickering, or where one spouse takes on the sighing role of the martyr. Things like that. Then there are other marriages. Whatever else I think of marriage, it's always as an outside observer.

I really can't say, really.

When one of my friends from high school married shortly after graduation, and all the old gang was still around before heading out into our seperate lives, we had a chance to talk about this supposedly assumed next step. As we sat at the reception, my friends batted wedding, dress and decorating ideas back and forth for when their big day came.

I just didn't get it. I really didn't. It's never been something I've dwelt on.

"Julie, what do you want your wedding to be like?" they asked me.

I eyed the line of bridesmaids in ugly dresses that they'd never wear again, the groomsmen stuffed into rented tuxes with someone else's sweat dry-cleaned out of the armpits, the centerpieces...I looked around with my rose colored glasses not only off, but shattered on the floor.

"Vegas," I said, half-jokingly thinking this whole indebted scene was seriously messed up. There's a very cool M&M store in Las Vegas, I am always quick to point out.

They're never amused.

"Fast?"

No amusement.

I don't like weddings. I'm famous for saying, every time the violin group I'm in gears up for playing five hours of Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring at another wedding, that the only difference between a wedding and a funeral is that at a funeral, at least one person is at peace.

In fact, the only thing I really like about weddings is the cake. And there's no reason to get married just for good cake. All you need is some flour and cooking oil and a few other things. I can make my own good cake, and frosting, without all the hassle and uncomfortable shoes.

But my friend insisted that being married was great. In fact, she's been one of the biggest pro-getting-married people I've met. And that I should try online dating. Guys are great, it's fun to date, and being married is wonderful. Try the online dating. That's how she met her husband, I guess...and they really are a great couple.

"Ah, no," was my usual reply. Many times. I filed that idea away with things like "skydiving" and "climbing Mt. Everest" and "swimming with sharks." (Swimming With Sharks was a good movie, by the way.)

But then one surreptitious day, an email found its way to my inbox advertising the eHarmonywebsite offering a free personality profile. Despite having a real desire to punch that Neil Clark Warren guy in the face every time the commercial comes on, I paused.

I'm gung ho for personality profiles, because I'm always curious to know if I'm insane.

I took the free little test, not really reading the fine print which stated I was essentially creating an account and opening myself up to the whole system. The personality test turned out to be very extensive and time-consuming, but I filled out all the questions, read the results, thought it was interesting, and thought that was that.

Except, of course, when you swallow the hook, the line and sinker are soon to follow. The next day, my inbox was flooded with "match found!" emails, which I found confusing. I wasn't looking to be matched. I just wanted to know if I was insane. Plus, and I can assure you with great authority, there's never been any flood of anyone at anytime to meet me.

But, like cats, I am nearly always killed by my curiousity.

I logged in, and checked out my "carefully selected matches."

Interesting. Some surprising selections. Interesting is the best word I can come up with right now.

But I was limited in what I could do in the system until I became a member of this service. I figured it couldn't hurt. Then I checked the price and realized that artists who lived in North Dakota were meant to stay single.

The fees were huge. Ginormous.

Then I noticed that a limited extremely reduced trial period was available. We're talking extremely, extremely reduced. As in, freemoneybackguarentee. For one week's use.

"What the heck," I thought. "It could be fun." If I didn't get a proposal in a week, I could get my money back.

I could itemize the week's worth of excitement, but I'll insted give you a few summarizing experiences.

I got closed. A lot. And I felt overwhelmed with the need to not be mean and to be polite as more and more "matches" poured in.

What being closed means is, once my matches took a look at how I answered my introductory questions, looked at my photos, looked at my personality profile (which I had found innocuous and free of insanity) they closed me out. I hate stupid photos. I run from cameras for a reason.

Basically "no thanks, no Julie." I must have seemed frightening. So instead of "requesting communication" I was closed from their account.

I couldn't stop myself from laughing at some of the reasons given for closing me.

"There wasn't enough chemistry," a guy from Vermont listed in his closing statement.

What? I thought. Chemistry? You can somehow figure that out from a tiny photo and a few introductory questions? Or do you have one of those new Dell 3000 Flat Panel Pheronome monitors?

Idiot.

"The distance between us is too great."

Hence the concept of online dating. I thought.

Crowbait.

I confess, I closed a few myself. One guy listed, in his "must haves" and descriptions of who he was looking for, a woman who fit the following bill: not overweight at all, always stylish, agree with traditional gender roles, interested in arts, music, drama, literature. Good with house and family concerns. She must be neat, orderly, feminine, hygienic...the list went on and on. He wanted a Barbie doll.

I closed that match really fast, but found myself thinking that I'd like to meet such a woman myself. It sounds like she'd make a great maid and would be handy to have around to rub my feet after a day of chainsawing fallen trees. (I love working with the chainsaw.)

I also found that some of the matches listed for me figured out a really simple trick: if you go on Google and do a search on Julie, North Dakota, and blog (which I listed as one of the things I do in my leisure time), you find my site. Easily. Despite listing my town as "anonymous", it isn't hard to find me at all. I could tell from my stats, which give me the IP address and location of my web site visitors, that a couple started to visit and read my blog extensively. One closed me out not long after.

I probably would, too.

Perhaps the blog was frightening. Perhaps I should be hurt. But I don't think so. I'm not going to let some anonymous, nameless matches that I didn't know existed until Mr. Warren's little email caught my eye and snared me in to ruin my outlook on life. Generally speaking.

In the end, I let my account expire in time to get my money back, and was deleted from the system. There were a couple of fine and kind fellows that emailed me, and I don't take their gestures lightly at all. This isn't something to joke around with, because people's feelings can be hurt. This post isn't meant in jest at all. It's just me telling you the way it is.

It's probably a great system for some people who are deadly serious about gettin' hitched, and now.

But I'm not. I'm still OK with the cake. And I don't like to check out my cake on a screen. I want to get to know my cake personally before I make any decisions about it.

I'm not serious for the cake because I never considered the cake seriously until the cake presented itself in a non-cake setting so....I can't keep up with the cake metaphor. It's killing my inner writer. I like to see people in person, watch their eyes sparkle when they talk, watch how they treat people.

In person.

And so dear reader, instead of forcing you into the cesspool of tiny photos and embarassing descriptions, I have done the experience for you. I remain unscathed. I found my way out of the online relational supermarket where I evidently was in the marked-down bin, at least for clean-freak Barbie-doll psychopaths.

I'm not bitter.

I got skills, man, I got skills. And guys like girls who got skills.*

For further reading: The E-Date Chronicle, Hunting the Muse, eDate Review of eHarmony.

----------
*NpDyn

Labels: re-run, relationships

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2 Comments:

I couldn't possibly express the level of contempt I have for dating services of all kinds.

On the other hand, my sister met and married an eHarmony guy. He's as good a man as anyone could hope for, and I couldn't be more pleased.

So what do I know?

By ThirstyDavid, at 21/4/06 16:12