Zorbdorb

            What kind of name is “Zorbdorb?”  He didn’t post a picture so I couldn’t observe if he was an alien, a Trekkie, or someone logging onto eHarmony from a mental institution.  “Zorbdorb” arrived in my in-box on my fourth day as an eHarmony member, along with seven other men with far more usual names. 

“Zorbdorb”?  I once broke up with a guy named Mitch after three dates because I couldn’t imagine cooing his name in the heat of intimacy.  I can only presume that “Zorbdorb” is a fake name.  Or at least only hope that is the case.  After four days of this online dating experiment of mine, “Zorbdorb” smacked me with the reality stick; what was I getting myself into?  I almost bruised my finger stabbing at the “Close Match” option.

This is my third attempt at online dating (technically my fourth, as I tried match.com twice, but the second shot was only a few weeks long.)  A number of years ago, I joined lavalife.com and went on a few dates, none at all memorable.  Well, the fellow with whom I spent an afternoon bowling was interesting, as he was nearly the polar opposite of how he described himself in his profile.  But in fairness, looking back on it, I wasn’t really ready to get myself in a relationship back then.

Many friends my age are already having their second, third, or fourth child.  I’m still looking for someone to share my life with, someone who enriches me, who’s foibles are sufferable, who thinks I’m pretty awesome too.  Of course I feel late to the game.  And the choice of remaining players is slim.  But I’m hopeful, so have resigned myself to revisiting the logical method of online dating.

The turns with match.com didn’t yield much, except for one truly awful experience that deserves its own entire chapter of explanation.  I emerged from that stint uninterested in online dating in general.  But I found myself this spring alone and bored and aching for someone to hold my hand and kiss me.  And when I saw a commercial for eHarmony featuring a guy I found attractive (no matter that the girl he ended up with was nothing like me,) the wheels began to spin.  The process to join eHarmony is an extensive one, with pages and pages of forms to fill out, and options to choose, along with the usual photos to upload.  I figured the guys on eHarmony must be more dedicated than usual, more interested in finding “the one” to put up with all of this!

I charged my credit card for six months, painstakingly filled out my form, uploaded pictures I hoped would represent me accurately and attractively, and sat back and waited for the flood of amazingly wonderful men.

And waited.

And waited some more.

The first few days, there were eight or ten matches a day.  The sheer numbers were encouraging, but after clicking on the profile information and photos, I realized that the gorgeous, interesting guy from the commercial was an anomaly.  Out of my daily matches, maybe one or two I’d keep, the rest I threw back into the pond for the rest of the fishies.  By “keep,” I mean I’d complete the first step of Guided Communication, which entails sending them four questions (chosen out of a group of twenty or thirty) which have a) b) c) d) answers and room for supplying one’s own.  Guess how many men answered my questions, out of the first twenty-five I sent over those early days.  Go ahead, guess.

One.

I say again, what was I getting myself into?