I guess I was feeling lonely Friday night while everybody else was out picking up their Harry Potter pre-orders, and I saw that ad on TV for Match.com, with the actor pretending to be a doctor who matches you up with your soulmate based on twenty-nine psychological vectors or whatever. Fake doctor guy says it's free, too, and I'm kind of bored, so I thought I might just see what the fuss is all about. I also thought it might be kind of amusing to see what sorts of freaks Match.com might pick out for me, seeing as how I just wrote a post analyzing the myriad ways my angst manifests itself.

Yet Match.com is, somehow, incredibly saddening. I selected the options that best represent me: I am a "man" (it was the option that best represented me) seeking "women" between "20" and "25" located in "Fanwood, NJ". And I clicked Submit and before the personal ads even came up, I thought, "Hmm... wouldn't this be weird if I ran across someone I know here." Yes, yes it would be. But that wasn't a problem. Instead the problem is that what pops up is a collage of the lovelorn, trying not to look lovelorn. It's not working. There's fifteen pictures on my first page of results, and here's the breakdown: 12 need red-eye reduction, 2 are in bikinis and already coming on too strong, 1 looks like a professional headshot, 1 is holding her cameraphone a little too low, and 4 look like they weren't aware someone was taking their picture. But "lovebug916" here is cute.

So basically Match.com is a forum for people to demonstrate that they don't know how to take digital photos. Jesus Christ people, you might want to actually look at the picture before posting it. If it makes you look creepy or pallid or lopsided, take the damn picture again!

We can narrow the search down, and I'm just sort of curious here, so don't start judging me. Height: between 5 feet and 5 feet 7 inches. Body type: other. Let's see what happens. Wow. There's actually one woman in central New Jersey willing to claim her body type as "other." That's a turn-on right there.

Okay, but screw other people: the thing I care about is my own personality profile with the 29 vectors or whatever. Here's my favorite question on the profile so far: What's your best feature? And I'm looking down the list going no, no, nope, no, hah, no... till we get down to the bottom: "A sweet part not on the list." Oooh, so risqué. I mean, where's "personality"? (From the guy who just posted an analysis of the myriad ways his angst manifests itself.) I reluctantly select "belly button."

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Wow, I just made it through the entire questionnaire and I've never been more disillusioned in my life. That's not true; I've led a pretty disillusioning existence. Basically, after I psychoanalyzed myself down to the core, Match.com reminds you that they won't actually let you contact your soulmate unless you pay them. Grrrrr. How dare Match.com charge me $29.95 for my destiny!