Hello, friends! Welcome to another “Mis-Matched to Miss Match” episode. I know you were hoping this would be a good news post because I have not written in some time. Sadly, that is not the case.
The subject of today’s blog is a handsome 42-year-old professional. He was downright yummy. He was intelligent and funny, and we hit it off wonderfully. At the beginning, he was attentive and eager to please. He even sang to me while we slow danced. I was in heaven. It was a romantic dream come true! Slow dancing and singing! Just imagine it! Continue reading
Welcome to the next installment of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” Today’s story involves a bachelor about whom you have already read. I believed he was worth a second chance. However, that chance was short-lived. It was nice while it lasted.
In life, timing is everything. Right now, he admitted his schedule is not conducive to dating. That is a gross understatement. And so, he broke my already-wounded heart.
I will not say anything bad about him. He is a great guy, and he apologized. We are still friends. So this article is more about my experience at this party than about him.
I never revealed to him how I felt. So, it might surprise him if he reads this. As the saying goes, if you don’t have something nice to say, then don’t say anything at all. But, hell, I write a blog, so I have to write something!
This bachelor and I attended a large social function together. The food was fantastic, and the live band was really good.
As the event progressed, everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. Everyone except for me, that is.
Let’s say this event was industry-specific. And honestly, it is a field in which I have little interest. Normally, I would make small talk. That’s easy enough to do, right? People are people. Lord knows I can talk about anything. However, the other attendees were not into small talk. They were laser-focused on their field. Period.
When I was introduced to people, they seemed disinterested since I was not part of their “inner circle.” The only question I received from a few of them was, “Do you have any children?” When I answered, “No,” that was the end of the conversation. Seriously. End of conversation. They turned to engage someone else in a discussion. Time is money. Money is time.
What planet am I on that the only question anyone wants to ask me is that one? I have no children. Ergo, I am not worth talking to. Yikes!
I have a lot to offer, thank you, very much. I have plenty to say and have a myriad of great stories, just ask me something else. Anything else!
I felt as if I had developed a superpower instantaneously—I became totally invisible! Since I did not add any perceived value, I was not worth their time.
Mind you, I had an opinion of what they were discussing, but since I was not a player, my opinion would not have mattered. So, I kept my mouth shut. Picture that if you can.
For some time, I smiled and paid attention to the discussion. However, as time wore on, I surrendered. I allowed my mind to wander as I smiled and nodded at what seemed appropriate times.
I watched a child torment a bug in the grass. I saw an older man nod off, only to have his wife poke him and wake him up. I watched one of the waiters fill cups of lemonade and iced tea and line them up on a table. He dutifully replaced them when a guest would walk off with one. There were twenty-one cups. I wondered why he did not choose an even number.
I spotted a trail that went off into a wooded area. I desperately wanted to slip away and explore where the path led. But I decided that would be in bad form. Instead, I remained glued to my seat.
Then, I counted the tent poles and estimated the tent to be approximately 1300 ft x 40 ft. I did not hazard a guess on height because of the varying heights from the edges to the center. If I had a pen and paper, I might have been able to figure it out mathematically. Not. I was not that bored!
In all of my forty-six years, this is the first time I have ever been excluded to the point that I felt like arm candy.
Good Lord, being arm candy is a tough job! I had no idea! And I didn’t even suffer through a boob job, tanning sessions, liposuction, or Botox injections.
As a child, my parents always told me I could do anything. Well, I learned in first grade that I would never be a gymnast or an athlete of any kind. Obviously, over the years, I discovered other things I could not or would not do. Being arm candy just got added to the list. Pole dancer is on that list too. But I will save that story for my next blog article.
Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal
If there was any doubt that my life is a Greek tragedy in the making, this episode of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” should solidify the notion in everyone’s minds.
This installment’s bachelor is a well-known businessman in this area. So, all I will say is that he was in his early 50s and had blond hair and blue eyes.
Initially, when he contacted me, I turned him down. One of the descriptors in his Match profile did not sit right with me. And I explained in my reply that descriptor was why I was turning him down.
He wrote me a long email in return, clarifying his position and dispelling any incorrect impressions I had. His arguments were good ones. So, I agreed to talk to him.
We talked and hit it off. We wanted to meet. However, he was in Florida vacationing with his kids. We would meet when he returned. Despite him being on vacation, we spoke every day.
Then, my dad had a heart attack. So, I was driving to New York as this intriguing man was about to drive back to Indiana.
God just loves messing with me.
My potential suitor understood, and we kept talking on the phone.
Finally, we were in the same city at the same time. So, after talking for almost three weeks, we met for dinner. We got along splendidly. Our likes and dislikes were the same in just about all areas, including politics and religion. That, in and of itself, was amazing.
He grew up on the East Coast, just like me. Loved to travel. Loved live theater and musicals! Yes, musicals! Where had he been hiding all of this time?
Well, most of the time, he was working, networking or attending his kids’ activities. He had the busiest calendar I had ever seen. He could not plan out more than a week ahead because meetings and events were constantly being added to his schedule by his assistant and his kids. But he swore he would make time for me. And he did try.
In the days that followed, we talked for hours on end, about everything and anything. The conversation never got stale or boring. The more we got to know one another, the more perfect we seemed for each other. The similarities were uncanny.
Drinking and smoking were not issues. Awesome!
His children were older. Another bonus.
He had no pets and had no intention of ever owning one. Thank you, Jesus!
Pinch me already!
Anyway, everything was going pretty well until it was time to meet his friends. That’s when the bottom dropped out.
While Mr. Seemingly-Perfect did not have any pets, every single one of his friends did. These friends were his work colleagues as well as his personal friends. He spent almost all of his time with these people. And from what he told me about them, they were the best friends a person could ask for. I’m sure I would have agreed.
But the conundrum was that they all entertained in their houses. You know, where the animals lived.
If you have not read my previous posts on the subject, my allergic reaction to animals is anaphylactic. So, I can not be around animals. Extended exposure to them could literally kill me.
Meeting his friends out at a restaurant would have been fine. I suggested that. But in the long run, that would not have been feasible or sustainable, as they all loved to entertain at their homes. Each had an elaborate backyard oasis, fire pit, and/or boat, etc.
Then there was his buddy’s lake house. I absolutely love lake houses because I love sitting by a lake, looking out at the water and listening to the water lap up on the shore. And there’s nothing quite like watching the sun rise or set over the water.
That’s one of the biggest things I miss about living in New York. I really miss being close to a large body of water. Growing up minutes from Lake Ontario was a luxury I did not fully appreciate until I moved to Indiana, land of small, man-made lakes. But I digress…
Alas, there were always animals at his buddy’s lake house. The owner brought his pets and allowed everyone to bring their pets too. Well, just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.
I could not in good conscience ask him to pick between me and his friends. He’s known some of them for over twenty years. If I kept him from them, he would become resentful. And I would feel guilty.
And if he always went over to his friends’ houses and to the lake house without me, I would become resentful. And presumably, he would feel guilty.
We discussed the situation rationally. No compromise was suitable, and he picked his friends.
I will not lie. I am extremely disappointed. But let’s face it; I could never compete with them, the lifestyle to which he had grown accustomed, the boats and the lake house.
How pitiful is that? We can’t have a relationship because of other people’s pets.
Animals are truly the bane of my existence.
Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal
This is another dysfunctional installment of my online dating series, “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” Polite social interaction appears to be going the way of the dodo bird. There is no good way to ease into this, so, let’s jump right in!
The first bachelor, a 54-year-old IT professional, passed the email test, but failed the phone conversation test miserably. During the course of the conversation, he brought up the subject of sex.
He clearly stated his view on the subject, and I quote, “By the third date, a woman should be ready to give up the goods.”
Where do I start with this? Even if this guy bought me three very expensive dinners at St. Elmo’s, I would not consider that appropriate criteria to have sex.
And goods??? I’m sure he would have wanted the entire package of “goods and services.” Let’s face it, in the sex department, the goods aren’t quite as enjoyable without the accompanying services.
Nevertheless, this girl and her “goods and services” are worth a lot more than three dinners, even if decadent desserts are included!
Next up was a 52-year-old executive at a large company in Indianapolis. He actually passed the phone interview, but live, he was a completely different person.
I have nicknamed him, “The Negative Bachelor.” The restaurant was too warm. The fire made the air too dry. He asked the waiter questions about the precise origin of the seafood. The poor kid had no idea.
Dude, if you want the salmon, order the freaking salmon.
Then he substituted the sides. Not because of an allergy or health reason, but because, “the chef obviously doesn’t know how to pair sides with entrees.”
When the food arrived, he complained that his potatoes were too lumpy. The carrots were too soft, the squash was too hard. His chardonnay was not as good as the chardonnay he had last week.
My mahi-mahi, wherever it was from, was fantastic. I loved my lumpy mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables.
To my surprise, he insisted on ordering dessert. Why? I don’t know. He did not enjoy the rest of the meal. So, I did not understand why he wanted to perpetuate the experience. He ordered cheesecake.
Guess how that turned out.
It was not as good as the cheesecake he had had in New York City the previous month.
I gazed into the fire, which under different circumstances might have been romantic, and attempted to drown myself in the chocolate dessert I ordered. It was delicious. I scraped my plate to savor every drop of chocolatey goodness. Alas, not even the chocolate could make up for the bad company.
A well-intentioned friend set me up on a blind date with a guy she knew. He was my age, and he looked okay in a picture she showed me.
He walked into the restaurant wearing a baseball hat, chomping on a piece of gum. The hat never left his head. And the gum chewing was distracting, to say the least. Finally, he took the gum out of his mouth. My praise to God was short-lived.
There are a myriad of things you can do to dispose of chewed gum. You could dispose of it prior to meeting your date for the first time. Or, you could excuse yourself to the men’s room and throw it away in there. Or, you could dispose of it in a napkin.
Did he do any of those? Unfortunately, no.
Instead, he removed the gum from his mouth and stuck it on the side of his drinking glass. Then, he proceeded to play with the gum like it was Silly Putty. And when he was finished eating, wait for it — he put that same piece of gum back into his mouth.
I can only imagine that the look on my face mirrored the utter and complete dismay and disgust I felt. Too bad no one took a picture of me. It would have brilliantly captured that Kodak moment for sure.
Moving on to a seemingly, happy-go-lucky bachelor of 50 years. He readily admitted that his mood was due to his habitual pot usage.
Ugh. “I don’t do drugs, and I don’t want to be around anyone who does.”
“I’ve been doing it for as long as I remember. But for you, I’d give it up.”
Uh huh. “Sure.”
Then with his next breath, he said, “You should try it though. You’ll like it. It will make you more creative.”
I refused, “No. I have no desire to. Never have, never will. I’m creative enough.”
“It will make you more creative than you ever imagined. You don’t know what you’re missing. All the great artists do it.”
“I’m not missing anything.”
“You know, sex is only good if you get high beforehand.”
What??? “If you have to get high to enjoy sex, you’re not doing it right.”
So far this year, there has been a plethora of overbearing, controlling bachelors. All of the men were in their fifties. Yeah, I was on an older guy run for some time. I ran out of forty-somethings without any pets. I am not sure if the over-fifty statistic has anything to do with it, or if it was just coincidence.
The common theme was the men telling me all of the things that I should and/or need to do. Here are a few, in no particular order.
“You need to learn to play golf.”
“I’m not really interested in golf. I have other interests. It’s great that you play golf with your college buddies so often.”
“You need to learn. I play golf, so you need to play.”
“We have different interests. We don’t have to do everything together.”
“Yes, we do.”
Thinking he was joking, I laughed and responded, “No, we don’t. But I could drive the golf cart.”
Sternly and slowly, he said, “You’re not hearing me.”
Oh yes, I am, Mr. Control Freak. Yikes!
“You should join my gym. It’s the best one in the city.”
“I exercise at home.”
“That’s not good enough. You need to join the gym, so you can get buff.”
“I’m happy with my body the way it is.”
“You have areas of your body that need improvement.”
I will be the first one to admit my body is not perfect. But I do not need a man telling me that my body needs improvement on a first date.
“You should wear higher heels.”
“I’m comfortable in these.”
“I like higher heels.”
Then you wear them. “These are the highest ones I have.”
“You need to buy higher ones. You’d look sexier.”
I laughed, “Trust me, I wouldn’t. I am not graceful in four-inch heels.”
Looking at me very intensely, he whispered, “Babe, your feet would never touch the floor. Ever.”
Not exactly appropriate first date conversation. And I hate being called, “Babe.”
“I want to throw you on the back of my Harley and head down to Brown County.”
“Brown County is beautiful, but I don’t ride motorcycles.”
“You just need to try it.”
“Already tried it. I rode on one once. I didn’t like it at all. I won’t do it again.”
“I’ll change your mind. Guaranteed.”
“Sorry, you won’t. I like road trips in a car. Those are fun – rain or shine.”
“You’re just a stuck-up bitch, aren’t you?”
These examples are just the tip of the iceberg. Time and time again, polite conversation is nowhere to be found. And men continually attempt to pressure me to do something I am not interested in doing.
Why do these men feel as if they have to force women to do or like everything they do? I am sure Dr. Phil has done plenty of shows on this subject. But it still baffles me.
I do not try to force my interests and hobbies on anyone. I would never dream of it. We are all individuals. We do not have to be identical on everything.
Potential mates should have similar mindsets. That way, we can appreciate each other’s likes and dislikes to discover things to do together as a couple.
The problem with online dating algorithms is that they can not analyze mindsets. Hence, my ongoing conundrum.
Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal
Welcome to my first 2015 installment of my online dating series, “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” According to online dating statistics, January 4th is the biggest sign-up day for their sites. That gave me a new glimmer of hope. Although, so far, Indianapolis’ bachelors seem to be singing the same old song – same tune, just different words.
The initial contact email from one guy read, “My view of your profile indicates we are a 97% match. If we were any more alike, you would have strong biceps and I would have boobs.”
I have to assume he thought I would find that funny. He guessed wrong. I could not find words to reply. I take that back. I did have words. I just did not want to engage him in conversation. Any guy that uncouth in an introductory email did not deserve a reply.
A retired sales executive, who was out of my desired age range, contacted me and said he did not have pets and thought we were a perfect match. His profile indicated he was a cigar aficionado and ultimate sun worshiper. So, I had my doubts.
Among other questions, I inquired, “How often do you smoke?”
He replied, “I don’t smoke. Well, occasionally, a stogie and of course pot.”
Of course pot???
This is not Colorado or Amsterdam, the last time I checked. This man was in his late 50s. He was not some punk kid or Olympian gold medalist, Michael Phelps.
“I don’t do drugs and will not date anyone who does. So if getting high is part of your life, then this is where our conversation ends.”
And that was the end of that.
The next bachelor’s email claimed he was a gemologist from New York City. He went on about how the family business takes him all over the world.
Not interested, I replied, “You live over 700 miles away. So I’m not sure why you’re looking in Indiana. Logistically, it doesn’t make any sense. I’m not looking for a long distance relationship.”
“If I find the right woman, I shall relocate to be closer to her or even live in the same house with her.”
Oh, I bet you would like living off of a woman, wouldn’t you?
“No. Best of luck to you.”
“It will interest you to know that I have been thinking of you all day and I really want this to work between us and as of the distance that shouldn’t be a problem because like I said earlier that I shall be relocating closer to you. All what I need now to bail myself out of financial struggle is just 25,000 dollars and I have 21,000 already what I need is 4000 can you help me YES or NO no long mails and explanation.”
Wow! It’s bad enough that he was trying to swindle me out of money, but to demand an answer immediately, with no explanation, that’s so ridiculous. Apparently, he was an impatient thief and did not want to waste time if he wasn’t going to get a payoff. I hoped I would not hear from this scammer again. No such luck.
“Why the silent? A friend in salt lake want to transfer me money into account but I can not access my account here so I was thinking if they can transfer the money into your account when you get it, you will send it to me using western union the amount is about 5000 or 6000 can you help me? I need money urgently here in Turkey to get out of here.”
Turkey can have you!
The fatal flaw in this scammer’s logic is that the friend could send the money via Western Union. I think it could be a ring of foreign thieves because the English in the initial communication was good. It went downhill with each subsequent exchange. Who knows.
It worries me that some people might be gullible enough to fall for this scam. I reported him, but his profile and any trace of him were gone.
Beware of low-life scammers! They are everywhere!
After talking for the good part of a week, I went to dinner with a project manager from the south side of Indianapolis. I liked that he preferred talking to texting. I found that encouraging. When we met, I realized he was a little bit country, and I was a little bit rock and roll. He seemed uncomfortable and out of his element at the restaurant. But he was polite, and we had a nice time. I was hemming and hawing about whether to go on another date with him.
The following day, I received a text from an unknown number.
“Why the f*** do you have my f***ing number saved? Get out of here and leave me and him’s relationship ALONE. Bye now.”
It was followed by an emoticon of an expressive hand. Use your imagination.
Huh? Nice mouth! And me and him’s??
I felt bad for the poor, functionally illiterate woman with the cheating boyfriend.
Believing it was a wrong number, I replied, “I have no idea who you are or who you’re talking about. I think you have the wrong number.”
About an hour later, I got a call from the guy. “I’m sorry, but I’m not over my ex. Just wanted to let you know. I’m gonna take myself off Match. I shouldn’t date until I’m over her. Sorry.”
Are you kidding me?
Maybe it wasn’t a wrong number after all. I could not believe it. The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I became. He used me to make his ex jealous. Wow! That was a new low.
The next bachelor also liked talking on the phone. We met at a café. He appeared nervous and claimed he had butterflies in his stomach about meeting me or possibly it was a lactose intolerance problem. Okay, no big deal.
However, about an hour into our conversation, which was pretty one-sided, he departed for the bathroom. Upon returning, he announced he was really sick, the “I need to spend the day in the bathroom” kind of sick. He confessed he had been ill since the previous day.
I wished him well, literally, and we parted ways.
What kind of person shows up sick to a first date? It was a complete and utter lack of respect and common courtesy.
People, if you are sick, stay home and reschedule!
He contacted me days later to say that he did not remember anything about our date or what we discussed. He said he remembered he liked me and my cleavage, but that was all. He wanted another date.
Um, no. My cleavage and I think not.
I have no rational explanation for why the men in this area are so relationship-challenged. If anyone has a theory, then I’m all ears. Better yet, if you know of a decent single guy, send him my way. The Law of Averages dictates there has to be some decent guys out there somewhere!
Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal
My quest to find a good, decent man is becoming epic in length. But I refuse to give up! So, here is the latest and greatest in my “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” dating saga.
There once was a man who was prolific in poem and prose.
He had a quick wit. Let’s meet. Why not? Who knows?
Alas, his memory was lacking, he called me by the wrong name,
Despite me correcting him over and over. How totally lame.
Was this other woman his ex-girlfriend or an ex-wife?
I cared not, for I was cutting him out of my life.
The next eager bachelor was an eHarmonious man
Who unfortunately decided to try a product to self-tan.
Since he was not an Oompa Loompa, orange was an awful hue.
Why he did not realize this while looking in the mirror, I have no freaking clue.
However, it was his obnoxious behavior that upset me the most.
Being rude and insensitive caused him to end up as a jerk in this post.
Then there was a guy who promised me a special surprise.
When the big reveal occurred, I could hardly believe my eyes.
If I was watching a horror movie, I would have yelled for the girl to run.
Touring ramshackle buildings buried deep in the woods is not my idea of fun.
Any chemistry that might have existed was extinguished pretty fast.
What a huge letdown after being psyched up for an absolute blast.
After each date, to Mom, the obligatory email I did write,
So she wouldn’t be pacing the floor half of the night,
Worried that I was dead in a ditch or suffering an even worse fate.
“Home safe and sound.” Another zero of a date.
“A total waste of makeup,” is what I eventually would type.
It sums up the evening well without painfully boring details or hype.
So that, gentle readers, is all I have to tell.
Perhaps the month of October will cast an enchanting spell.
Could the eclipse of the blood moon help me find my “Mr. Right?”
Or will it bring more ghouls and goblins to give me an awful fright?
Those are the questions that I seek the answers for.
Stay tuned, my friends, you never know what’s in store!
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal
It finally happened! About two weeks ago, I received the most unbelievable message on Match.com. It was short and to the point. I read it twice before it sank in. I just could not believe my eyes. But there it was staring me in the face. It read, “0 Matches Found.”
Yes, I accomplished the seemingly impossible feat. I exhausted all of my possible matches on Match.com. Even with my extended search range of 100 miles and age range of 35 to 55, there were no matches. None. Nada. Zip. Zilch.
I hear you saying, “Well, you’re being too picky.”
No, I’m not. I’m giving a 20-year age range within 100 miles. All hair and eye colors, all body types, except obese, all religions, and a college degree.
It appears my primary problem is that almost everybody in this state has indoor pets. Over half of my supposed matches were eliminated due to a pet situation.
Granted, some guys say they will get rid of their pets. But I still couldn’t go into their houses. They would have to rip out the carpets, replace their furniture, clean the house’s ductwork, etc. So, let’s face it, not many men would go through that or have the financial means to do so.
Not to be deterred, I thought I should try another dating site. So, I signed up for Christian Mingle. Their questions were quite different than those found on Match.
Would you engage in premarital sex?
Is my mom running this site?
Do you believe that the only reason to engage in sexual relations is for procreation?
How often ideally would you want to have sexual relations? The answers ranged from “every day” to “never.”
I plead the Fifth on my answer to this question.
I am sensing an anti-sex theme here. Seriously? Never? If you want to remain eternally celibate, you should look into becoming a Catholic nun or a priest. They need new recruits.
Moving on…I particularly loved the questions that revolved around my children, especially since I don’t have any. There was no way to bypass the questions. So, I had to base my answers on the imaginary children that I don’t have and never will have.
Other questions asked about the woman’s role in the home. Those questions pissed me off. It upset me to think that there are women who are acting subservient to men. That’s an entire blog post in and of itself.
I found one useful question: How is your timeliness?
I am always early. If you are habitually late, then you will be literally and figuratively wasting my time. Do us both a favor, do not waste my time.
There were so many absurd questions, I wish I could share them all. But one of my favorites was: How do you feel about wearing fashionable clothes?
Oh, just throw a burlap sack over my head, and I’ll tie it around my waist with some twine, thank you. Itchy is all the rage this season!
The more questions I answered, the more I felt I was falling down a rabbit hole, and I was positive I would end up in Wonderland. Remember, Wonderland was royally screwed up.
After suffering through the questions and filling out the profile, their system told me I had zero matches. I laughed out loud. No kidding. So, I went to the search feature and altered some criteria. Ten guys popped up. I recognized six of the guys from Match. The others had no pictures. I do not communicate with guys who do not post pictures.
After five days on this site, I wanted to shoot myself. I did searches to cover anyone breathing and with a pulse within 100 miles. There wasn’t anyone remotely close to what I was looking for in a partner. The majority of profiles had no pictures, and the men lived in rural areas and very few had graduated from college.
The system sent me profiles to view. Most of the men lived in Illinois or Ohio. Sheesh.
I was done. So, I called to cancel. The best the girl could do was downgrade my account to one month instead of the original six. Wonderful.
Obviously, some people have found that site successful. I am happy for them. Sorry to say that I was not one of them. Based on my experience, I would never recommend Christian Mingle.
Since that went so poorly, I joined eHarmony. So far, that site is a dud too. I had no matches again. But this site will not let you search for people. Their computer does the work and sends you matches.
Really, there is no way to search. Instead, you keep answering questions. I answered 290 questions. Yes, I answered that many. I’m just sitting on my couch watching television on a Saturday night, so why not?
I got messages saying, “So-and-so is just outside of your parameters.”
The majority of men were from other states. Not neighboring states like Illinois or Ohio, but states such as Texas, New Jersey, Florida and California.
The ones that really astonished me were incompatible based on our answers. If we answered 67% of the questions differently, we are not a match. But those were the profiles the computer kept sending me.
This service was the most expensive. And this was pissing me off. So, I wrote their Customer Service people a nasty-gram.
“You only send me ‘matches’ who are outside of my parameters. What is the point of answering all of the questions if you ignore them when matching people? I’m getting ‘matches’ when over 50% of our answers differ. Those aren’t matches.
And I am not interested in anyone who lives out of state. You repeatedly send me guys who live all over the country. How can I get you to stop sending me people who live out of state? It’s ridiculous. I’m not looking for a pen pal. I’m looking for a mate.
So far, this service has been a waste of time and money. What are you going to do to make this a better experience for me?”
And I waited. I am not sure what type of response I was expecting. I just wanted to notify them that their computer algorithms sucked, and I was not happy. Less than twelve hours later, I received a response.
“Our goal is to find matches for you that are compatible with your unique personality in deep and important ways. We do this by using the results of your relationship questionnaire to screen for individuals based on the 29 Dimensions of Compatibility.
We understand that you won’t feel a connection with all of your matches. Although we put a lot of emphasis here in the early stages of being matched with someone, establishing chemistry only accounts for a portion of what makes a relationship last and is only something you can determine once you get to know someone. We caution you from trying to make such an early assessment from just the match detail information.
Please be assured that you will no longer receive matches outside your distance setting.”
I wish I had a pair of hip waders to trudge through that pile of BS.
Just when I thought all hope was lost, I received an email from Match. Apparently, since all of the kids in Indiana have gone back to school in the last two weeks, there has been a considerable influx on the number of new Match members.
So, for now, I’m back to the bachelors on Match. Gentle readers, I know you enjoy these posts, but nothing would make me happier than to have a reason to stop writing them. Wish me luck!
Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal