The Ongoing Futile Quest

Just a brief update on this frosty evening in the hopeless search for a compatible dinner companion as evinced by my latest foray onto the ever exciting website of eharmony.com. We're up to 67 or so complete losers and counting and I'm thoroughly discouraged by the sort of harmonic convergence that appears the eharmony people are up to.  I can picture these little elves sitting in a dank room somewhere sipping lukewarm green tea, fondling themselves and chuckling as they "match" people up in their warped fantasy of a cosmic joke.  The sort I'm getting so far within 100 miles sound like this:

• watches NCIS 
• repairs motorcycles
• doesn't read much
• or reads motorhome magazines
• plays a lot of golf
• love their dogs, (usually small and furry and most likely female (shudder)
• like Garth Brooks
• Forrest Gump was their favorite movie

Plus, I finally had to say I don't like excessively overweight gentlemen. The ones that have pics look somewhat like this:

My favorite was the guy who was the clown at the company picnics. I'm starting to understand nuns. Are there no men over 50 who try these things who aren't morons or look like a Pillsbury doughboy? It's a rhetorical question.  Jesus God.  And, no, I don't want to "extend my membership". I have material enough now for a series of horror stories. I'd like to say it was just research and I think I'll leave on that line. Exit with dignity, stage left.

Looking for Mr. Right Now

So, here's the thing. My youngest son talked me into signing up for eharmony.com. He's concerned his aging mother will find herself doddering and alone with no fallback (so to speak). Or, as he winsomely puts it, what the fuck, you can at least get out and have some dinners and drinks that you don't have to pay for.  True.  But there may be a hidden cost here. Nevertheless, I fell for it.

Oh the excitement. Each morning I get my coffee and log on to see who's checked me out. I'm up to 30  gentlemen so far but I have not been moved to send any of them a "let's get to know each other a little better" email. At least I guess that's how these things work. Hell, maybe if they're interested they're supposed to send ME an email. Nobody has, though, so I guess they aren't any more whizzed than I am. I was leery of just this sort of scenario for two reasons: 1) maybe there really isn't anybody out there and 2) You hang yourself out there and people throw tomatoes, or completely ignore you, neither of which goes a long way to building self-esteem, to say nothing of a "relationship" (I hate that word), or even that free dinner and martinis thing. Man.

OK, I need to be more realistic and open, I'm told. I'm working on that. I think the I've got the realistic part covered - I know he's not going to look like George Clooney, or even Donald Sutherland, I'm not delusional or taking a lot of Xanax. But hair would be a plus, no? (That lets out half of these dudes in a blink.)  Being able to see their toes when standing would be next. (It's narrowing fast.)  We're getting down to it now, warriors, and this is just the physical stuff. Let's face it, the over 50 crowd is stretched pretty thin on hot. Just saying.

So, what's left?  Well, the maybes with blurry pics, but then I start reading the profiles. This is not for the faint-hearted and should best be done with vodka nearby, but alas I plunge on through a wildwood of self-righteous planet-saving, I heart my truck, hunting and fishing, cat love, hiking, and corvettes. I could adjust a bit, I think, wavering... then I go further to find favorites like music is Garth Brooks, Lady Antebellum, a plethora of Norah Jones (usually spelled wrong), TV shows like Lost, movies like True Lies, and my favorite "I don't read much". Then we get to what they really want out of life, etc., and this is standardized pap, usually accompanied by misspellings. At this point I freak out and check my profile to make sure I didn't check the "any" box for education. Sadly, I didn't.

I leave you with "open", then. Yes, I'm a misanthrope but not one who holds grudges. I think the glass is half-full, the sun will come out, and my dogs will love me. I'm open, but not desperate or crazy and people still make me laugh. I'm trying to do my part and I'm still hoping for a free steak and martini anyway.

Hey universe, or perhaps Mr. #31, give me a little help, will you?