No Date for New Year's, Thank God

Enough time has passed that I can bear to finally confess: I signed up for *Harmony (not its real name), a Web site that promises to match you to the person of your dreams on the basis of intellectual, emotional, and philosophical values that it claims to ascertain through a questionnaire. This is potentially the dumbest thing I've done since the last time I walked into a bar in Chehalis, WA.

I really thought it was possible that I could find an adult male in my age group who was interested in education, had a sense of humor, and wasn't currently married. Silly me.

In the profile, I mentioned that I'm in college, majoring in English, have a sense of humor, have some ethical and spiritual values -- stuff like that. And I included my age.

All my matches, it turned out, were based on age. The gentlemen whose profiles made it onto my message board were all in their mid-fifties to late seventies, which was fine. It was when we got to the finer points, like "Favorite Book," that things got dicey. For example, one perfectly nice guy wrote, "Can't remember the last time I read a book." Another cited "Whatever paperbacks I find at garage sales." Not perfect matches, not at all.

As for hobbies, a lot of men looking for women in my age group ride Harleys and look forward to spending weekends on the road and in their favorite bars. Good for them, but not for me, since I don't have much sense of balance and haven't chugged a beer since sometime in 1976.

And then there were the guys who love, love, love their flat screen TVs and recliners. I'd hate to interfere with such strong pre-existing relationships.

That's why *Harmony and I have parted ways. As nice as it would be to have a date tonight, to greet the new year, I'll go to the party in Seattle, and then curl up with some assigned reading. After all, a dear friend found her love at a neighborhood party. That makes me think there is a lot to be said for finding romance right where you are, instead of online.

Someday my prince will show up, lugging a pile of books and asking what I think of Terry Pratchett, the Transcendentalists, or any of a million other things. Until then, I can be a little patient.