This is the post that your mother warned you about. I've been avoiding it for weeks now.  It's personal.  It's revealing.  Parents, hide your children.  It's about *record scratch*- Dating.  

Now, I've been trying for some time to get back on the dating horse; though I'd really consider it less of a horse and more of a testy, over-sized mule.    

Ah, the heck with it, I signed up with Match.com.  Stop your snickering. I already confessed that I've been dancing around exploiting myself, but frankly, my stories are getting too juicy (and too ridiculous) to keep to myself.

With respect to my suitors (sounds better than "internet creeps"), I won't dive into the (thankfully, not-so) intimate details.  All of my dates have been nice guys, however, they each march to the beat of a different drum.  I don't even hear their drum.  Okay, they're from another tribe altogether; a tribe of socially inept men who worship me as their queen.  (Imagine the Waponi Woo tribe from Joe Versus the Volcano minus the love for orange soda.)

Awkward highlights from dates include, but are not limited to, the following:

• Being physically swept up and carried down Michigan Avenue amidst many, many on-lookers for blocks and blocks...
• 1-Hour late date.
• Two words:  Lazy eye.
• Me offering to pay for my $11 drink, him offering to pick up the entire bill.  Upon accepting his offer, he stops and suggests that we go halfsies... This is particularly annoying seeing as how his drink was WAY MORE EXPENSIVE THAN MINE.  
• Awkward "really glad we met" followed by long gazes...eek!

Match.com guarantees that you will "Meet someone special in 6 months".  The legal folks at Match must be using the loose, urban definition of "special"; one who is short of a few social chromosomes.  

To my friends, steer clear of internet dating.  Do not be tempted by scientific methods, commercials featuring joyful couples or by a a promising guarantee.  

To my enemies, sign up!  Buy all the bells and whistles and be prepared to meet a truly special person.