(SWF + 30 days of match.com)/19% = $40 Attitude Adjustment
The Goal: 1 date
- I pay for a one month membership on match.com. ($40ish)
- I must respond to every email.
- I reject no one regardless of appeal.
In Her Own Words
I am a SWF who is bored of being a SWF. I have done it for almost 49 years and I’m over it. I want some company. I want to get married.
I do. (See??? I’m practicing.)
I want to be in love and be loved, exclusively and legally; I want to share space and time and dreams and plans with my best friend — strong, capable, and surprisingly handy in home renovation projects and treehouse construction. I want a man who is funny, kind, patient, and silly. A gentleman who has made consistently sound decisions and can protect me from bugs. I want a man to do it with. Im tired of being alone. I want to marry — er’ybody else has, some a few times, and I want my turn now. I’m ready.
I have been sooooooo patient.
Where the fuck are you??
My profile picture:
This stupid online calculator says I have a 19% chance of getting married.
That’s a less than a 1 in 5 chance.
I am 96% certain I want to be married. At my current dating pace, however, this might not happen until I am 246.
There are 109 million unmarried adults living in the U.S. Of these, women outnumber the men by 6.5 million. (53% vs 47%) This is not so massively huge a number but when boiled down to palatable use, it means there are 88 single men for every 100 single women in my country. Not good but not a blow.
I am not a physically offensive woman although I have been auto-piloting on my mother’s good genes too long. I also am not confident and have no make-up finesse. But I find the 88:100 odds doable.
Problem for me is you got to remove 40 from the 88 because they stay single. 48 left.
In my favor, I am blonde (38% prefer) and I am educated (+27%). I can’t convert to Black (+8%) and though my 10 year old is awesome, her adoptability is too low to be an option. I’m not keen on moving to the country (+12%) but I may reconsider later.
In the 1990's, some asshat claimed a single woman over the age of 40 had a better chance of traveling on a plane hijacked by terrorists than she did of getting married. I was a new college grad with gravity’s favor and skin elasticity. I fully believed in possibility. Back then, I assumed someone would want to marry me eventually and as for the single 40 year old? Well, chick had her chance(s) and blew it. Big time.
Eventually, after an estrogen uproar, the terrorist marry theory thing was debunked but collateral damage was already done.
Since I hit 40, I fly less.
“You wont meet somebody sitting at home.” -said any mother with a single daughter
17% of those who married in the US in 2015 met online. Sooooo…online I too shall go.
Match.com claims its platform has enabled more marriages than any other dating app. Worldwide, it has over 24.5 million profiles which $40 will give you unlimited access to explore, discover, browse, wink, like, heart and message for 30 days. In addition, match will send me 10 “Daily Matches” with whom I am scientifically proven to be compatible. This bonafide mathematical formula will provide our compatibility score by %. I get 24/7 customer service and a library of canned emails for when I’m uninspired. At any time, I can pay extra to bypass a bunch o’ bitches to be top bitch in any man’s search for his bitch. Somehow, this cost doesn’t taint the integrity of the secret match love algorithm.
Here are some of my best Daily Matches:
Thing is, I am not a lesbian. Unfortunately, I am not Julieanne Hough either.
As truthfully reflected in my real match.com profile, I am:
- 48 yrs old
- Slender/Average (I began average but apparently lost some weight along the way.)
- Spiritual, but not religious
- Smoke? No way! (Not when I was pregnant)
- Exercise? 3–4x/week (in 1996)
- I don’t want children, but it’s okay if my match has some.
Hobbies & Interests (aka Shit People Do In Lieu Of Regular Sex)
20 years ago I would have never, ever, ever dated a man who would photograph himself smiling like Ted Bundy while lifting the bloody, lifeless head of a deer by its antlers. Not. Ever. But….I am 40 fucking 8 and those 20 something year old standards have not served me. It is officially Time to Settle. I mean compromise.
Check all that apply:
Hunting & Fishing? Crafts & DIY? Gardening? Yoga? Theater? Antiquing? Hookrugging? Cow tipping? Dog Fighting? Hunting Big Foot? Volunteering? Huffing?
I check ALL. In doing so I shall appear fun, dynamic and physically active to all suitors everywhere. Honestly, I sooooo love doing all these things that when I do do them, I have a drama free smile on my lips and absolutely no baggage dragging behind me. In fact and not surprisingly, I do all these activities sporting my sexy, little, black dress that I like to wear on game days when I cuddle on the couch with my one and only honey bunny.
I build my Ideal Match without any preferences for eye & hair color, race, religion, body type, income, profession and dick size as long as he is between the ages of 18 and 257.
I’m not picky. Not anymore. Can’t be. Remember, I’m 40 fucking 8. But, I am still not a lesbian. Yet. Match sends me 42 profiles of females anyway.
Here are some of the men:
(With hat or without? With? Without?)
(Say my name.)
Now, if I am lucky, those I thumbs up will also thumbs up me and we will live happily ever after.
Apparently, I am not lucky.
In Her Own Words
The summary section of match.com allows a member to introduce himself and to describe his Match. I am encouraged to be myself, “act natural”, don’t “overthink” and I am provided some such as — “I feel so lucky to be given a second chance at life and love…” or “I am a glass is half full kinda date and see joy everywhere…” It’s so important to be positive.
Instead, I examine my competitions’ profiles and shape mine accordingly. I draft, re-draft, then solicit the expert advise of my hot single guy friends who don’t want to date me and draft yet again. My 21 year old suggests I remove any and all references to pending litigations and bowel movements and to delete “Miranda Rights” from what I last read. There are no grammatical errors or traces of negativity. I am chirpy, positive, apolitical and playful. I sound so dang well-adjusted I wish I could date me. For all essential purposes, I am, or appear to be, Simply Fucking Perfect.
In fact, I’m so confident I am so simply fucking perfect that when I encounter a profile that LOLs at itself for likening his description of his perfect match to the Holy Grail I email him:
Hi! I’m Holy. Last name Grail.
How does a man not respond to that email??! Seriously, how not??
Day 20 of 30
200 Daily Matches, a few picture likes and a handful of profoundly eloquent, “Heyyyy”-s in my inbox and I have had very little activity. Like super little.
I am now convinced every single class action suit against Match, past and pending, has serious merit. Match.com has been sued for misrepresentation and the fabrication of profiles by underpaid workers in emerging nations who steal pix from the web and create a dummy profiles. Not a big surprise really.
Such profiles are pretty simple to spot. They’ll have one photo that looks like a photo of a photo and only race and gender, if anything, will be specified but not necessarily with accuracy. I have 42 of those as proof. The imaginary person has zero preferences with regards to age, religion, education, eye color or sexyality and “In His Own Words” will be an uninspired sentence like:
(This is a rare grammatically correct example.)
Day 22-Day 30
I’m not optimistic when I share my number with the first of the three men with whom I will. Jim is nice enough, speaks in complete sentences and has a curious smile. Still, I ungraciously lie that my dog has been hit by a car five minutes after I was to be sitting down for a Sunday afternoon cocktail with him.
Bill (or it might be John) is the second and we have what he called “a real connection” one evening over the phone that he insisted, in my hands, was not working and required first thing in the morning attention. We speak for an hour but half of this time is me repeating what I said in the other half hour. In between my screams he shares how his sciatic condition causes daily pain and how thrilled he is to tackle the Mt. Everest of boxes of personal papers, some from the 1980's, he has now deciphered where to shred. Bill/John and I make preliminary plans for a quick cup of coffee but for what must happen behind the scenes in this single mom’s world to make such a simple, quick cup of joe happen, really requires greater incentive than just joe. Feel?
Having grown since Jim, I tell Bill/John, truthfully, that I will not be able to meet him because a man in pain is no fun in bed when he has such an over bloated sense of importance that he now sincerely feels a 1984 electric bill from an apartment in a building that no longer exists needs to be shredded else his identity is in peril.
The third eventually texts two weeks later but the magic is gone, gone, so gone.
Bitches Gone Lie
Personal friends and at least one active male on match.com bemoan the many, many emails that clog their match inboxes. A friend estimated she had no less than 3 dozen new emails daily. Most recently, one guy claimed he had 150 original, personalized emails in his first seven days of match. 150??
I get 14 new picture “likes”, 3 Daily Matches that, “good news, like me too”, 8 winks and 12 original emails but only 2 of those exhibit any observable effort at charm. The others are longer but no more rich in content than wassup.
I send 32 emails but only 3 are to any I might actually fuck. The one that does respond uses the word “blessings” which makes me reconsider the fucking.
I go on zero dates.
Studies of truthfulness in online dating profiles reveal men are most likely to lie about age, height and income. Women lie about their weight/body appearance and age. But I have to believe all are lying about the amount of profile activity they generate. They have to be. Bitches gonna lie. Or, I may be much more unappealing than I previously suspected.
In 1960, 8% of US women never married. Today, 17% won’t marry. Pew research indicates this trend will continue to grow. I am not afraid to be alone but I am afraid of the disappointment I will have 81% of the time I try to become a couple.
I have a 19% chance of ever being married. I am 100% certain that number is inflated. Whether I do or not seems only to matter to ones that have married and failed. This group seems to feel superior to those that haven’t. They think a divorce is better than never being married at all. Not lying.
Personally, I’d rather never marry than fail in the one I try.
My match.com subscription expired July 18th. July 19th, I find this in my match app:
30 days of a lot of very little and then overnight I somehow am bombarded with 74 new emails and 99+ interests. Did I suddenly feature in a bunch of men’s Daily Matches? Or is it more likely that match.com needs my monthly subscription to continue to offset the transparency of the fake profiles they make to sucker in stupid twits like me who say fuck 19%?
If I do not marry then I will achieve my goal to never divorce. I have a 100% chance to succeed here if I continue this current course.
So, yea, fuck 19%