run over by the matchdotcom train . . . again

So once upon a time . . . or about four or five days ago, my mother and I have this conversation which turns toward matchdotcom and summer and possible boredom (although I'm taking a class at CCS AND taking yoga and something else AND volunteering at the MOCAD AND finishing the damn kitchen cabinets and dining room so I can have people over . . . so I don't know when this time is going to be when I'm bored). And mother makes this suggestion: "Why don't you just tell them that you're nice?"

And nice, to me, is a way to describe your not-so-cute cousin. Nice is that poster in middle school with the cat hanging and "hang in there". Nice is just not the best adjective. And so, in my profile, I write the conversation. And a geeky lawyer with glasses and sandals with socks winks at me. Remember, I think glasses and slightly bad fashion sense is hot. And I think, "No way. The nice thing worked?" And I sign up for the three day trial . . .

Actually, I signed up for a month because Princess said that she could not handle more than a month of me being a matchdotcom disaster again. But somehow, the match people forgot that I was ever a paying customer and offered me the three day trial. Either that, or they know it's like crack and figure it's worth giving you a little "rock" to lure you in for repeat business. And everything was going along swimmingly . . . emailed some people. Always loved the "who's viewed me section", always good for making you feel like a princess . . . ohhh, look at all of the people who looked at me today. Vanity . . . kills.

But I got the seven page strange email today about how I should take a chance because this person has frequently reviewed my pictures and has decided that he is my one. (I'm not making it up . . . I'll send you a copy . . . not even the part about frequently reviewing my pictures) And don't even go there, oh positive ones . . . I am not his one. He, however, could very easily be my stalker. Oh yeah, this is why I wanted to meet people in three dimensions. Three dimensional people are good. So I'll let know you what happens with cute bald lawyer guy and I'm off the crank-like match tomorrow. Because, to quote a friend, I always get the good ones.

And I am nice. Sigh. How boring.