Matchy match Match. The baseball and Cracker Jacks of online dating. Really excited to get a few home runs? Hey-o.
"The email address you have entered cannot be used to register. Please enter another email address."
Great. They won't even let me onto the field. I fruitlessly attempt to reenter the same information several more times -- you know, just in case they're suckers for persistence - before remembering that a concerned friend of mine decided to surprise-profile me five years back using this email address. Apparently Match never forgot. I have them send that login info my way and roll up my sleeves for some major editing. Starting with the username. Sorry, MsKatieScarlett, your antebellum flounce was replaced with a solid dose of sardonicism at some point during the past half-decade.
Match has a cleaner, more modern appearance than JDate, but there is still so much going on. "Someone's interested in you!" "Profile Power Ups: Get 3x more views." "It's peak time. Try Top Spot now!" "Who do you like?" "Get dating advice here!" I feel like I've walked onto the set of an infomercial.
I thought I'd be able to copy-paste pretty heavily from my JDate profile, but Match has its own set of who-what-where-when-how-and-why's. The "In her own words" section, which is supposed to be a mini bio, requires a minimum of 200 characters. You have got to be kidding me. Like that's ever going to fit on a tombstone. I steal the "ridiculously witty, seriously charming and more than slightly neurotic" line I used on the Jews and fill the remaining 188 character spaces with periods.
Fine. I use my fluff-piece writer bio instead:
Nebraska heart, California soul and a New York state of mind. I enjoy holding hands, frolicking like a gypsy-child and partaking in obnoxiously witty banter. I also like crafts -- not to be confused with cats. I dislike unintentional grammatical errors, sloppy handwriting and unenthusiastic greetings. Despite my love for all things athletic, I am best known for possessing a serious lack of control over my excessively lengthy limbs. I detail the tragic ironies of life on my blog: www.ironyisalifestyle.com.
The rest of the topics are short answer or multiple-choice, which is much appreciated by my now tissue-thin patience. What's less appreciated is how boring my life looks on paper:
Political Views: Middle of the road
Favorite Hot Spots: La Conversation, Dominick's
For Fun: Read, DIY, write, belt out embarrassing songs in my car, beach volleyball, vintage shop, brunch
Last Read: Island of Vice
I swear I'm much cooler in person?
"Ask her about playing cards." Maybe not that much cooler.
Sign - For some reason, I suddenly get shy and select, "Don't display my sign." Starting to feel a little exposed over here, guys! (I'm a Taurus, by the way, in case anyone cares.)
It's pretty easy to upload photos from Facebook. They have twenty-six open slots. I go with 11. As with JDate, people can like/or comment on your photos, which I guess is ok, but it feels a little weird. Mostly because the comments are all a little weird.
As they'll be suggesting matches, the final step of the set-up process is a little quiz to discern my type. Love quizzes.
"When it comes to style, I like a man who dresses like this..." Ew. None of the above?
"I prefer this hair style on a man..." This one's interesting. I'm usually a fan of longish hair, but I find myself gravitating toward the more prep-perfect cut on here. Does this mean I'm growing up? I think this means I'm growing up.
OldSoul4OldSoul?? I'll keep mine, thanks.
I close out this session with a quick trip to my inbox.
What do you mean I'm not getting any younger?
Thankfully, genteeel pops up to end the night on a puntastically high note:
No -- thank you, sir. Thank you.