Rod Serling is that you?

I am a hypocrite. I should be locked up and drugged to prevent me from further hypocrisy. Halloween's coming up, I should go as Hester Prin with a GIANT scarlet " H "on my chest. After ragging at Dr. Phil a few posts ago about all the crazies on Match.com I had a moment of temporary insanity yesterday morning. Ok, ok, I need serious help. I'm not entirely sure what possessed me. I must have had an out of body experience or I was channeling Rod Serling.

Well the truth is I'm was bummed. I was sitting on my lazy ass in my apartment convinced I would never go on another date. I don't know any single men who aren't just my friends. (Don't even suggest " friends with privileges".) When I was in my twenties living in Manhattan, I felt everytime I walked out the door there were men possibilites. Thirty years later I walk outside and I'm invisible, except to people asking for money. I knew I had to come up with a plan, so for starters I began a campaign of asking everyone I know to fix me up. They all stared at me with a blank expression and the predictable "I don't know anyone". How is that possible? 50% of the population is divorced, how can you not know anyone! Is there divorce profiling going on?

I then considered a $3,000 vacation bribe to the person who fixed me up with a man I date long term. I read about this in the New York Times and it seemed like a plan I could afford. I have $3,000 what better investment than in myself. Besides, profit motivation could produce results. I offer the $3,000 vacay to one of my girlfriends, she shrugged and said that it wasn't enough for the kind of vacation she was used to. For God's sake, help me out here, there may not be a week at the Geoge V in your future, but three room service filled days at the Regency in New York isn't Guantanamo. I was despondent from her response and realized I needed new friends with less income.

Begging, and bribing failed, and prostitution was out for the obvious reason that I had no appropriate clothing. The computer was sitting right on my counter bursting with dating sites calling me to click my way to happiness. I was weak, and a bit hypoglycemic as I walked across the room. There you were Dr. Phil smiling in the ad for Match.com; you looked so happy and I felt so over caffeinated. I can't resist you, I need Betty Ford to keep my hand from the mouse. I'm trying to fight you off, remembering the last time I tried this; I'm
thinking about all the "ing" endings, and male pattern baldness under the baseball hats, I'm remembering 5' 10" means 5'6" .... I began to feel dizzy and with my blood sugar level dropping rapidly a lightbulb went off....maybe I should date Dr. Phil.