Elle Magazine – Strike a Match

Because it’s February and nearing that dreaded time of the month (Valentine’s Day), I’m suffering from major PMS (Pressure to Meet Someone). I’m craving chocolates in a heart-shape box; crying at the sight of
old couples canoodling; and screaming ar construction workers who don’t throw me a wolf whistle: “What am I, buddy? Your frickin’ mother? Show some respect!” Seeing red, I post my exes’ photos and e-mail addresses on gay websites.

(Is that illegal? Another question: At what age does a woman hit manopause?) Fearful of becoming a Law e- Order episode, I confess my PMS-induced criminal activity to my editor Rachael, who, being my best friend, is now blackmailing me.

(As a kid, Rachael realized that if the Catholic Church could make people pay for their sins, she could too.) For her silence, I must pay a penance, “a taste of your own medicine,” she says, grinning Grinchily in the glow of her computer, lo?:ing on (o Match.corn. She forces me to pick my “User Name—Match’s equivalent to a trucker handle. I go with my gut feeling: underduress.

Next, Rachael fills in “About Me” on my behalf: “I’m affectionate, I love laughing, and I love to deconstruct human nature over long lunches. I like to waste time!” She giggles and pauses, her fingers hovering over the keys. Taking on a dreamy expression she continues typing, reciting, “I’m looking for somebody kind, fun, and funny. I don’t mind being alone, but I’m looking for someone who’s actually better than being alone.” Very good, I must say.

Under “For Fun,” I dictate: eat, watch movies, read, shoplift. “Favorite Hot Spots”: laundry room. “Last Read”: Roger’s Thesaurus. “Daily Diet”: steak, popcorn, Reese’s Pieces. My “Portrait” checklist reveals a 45-year-old, 5’2″. slender, brown- haired, green-eyed, social-drinking, nonsmoking, Liberal, Irish, Gemini journalist who lives to exercise. . free speech.

I’m tempted to add: I appear very lifelike, operate on AA batteries, and come with my own recharger.
Finally, we post six pictures, including three that Match ultimately rejects: one of me at age four, before Botox; one of me with my father, who’s a ringer for Marlon Brando; and one of Marlon Brando illustrating this genetic phenomenon. Rachael puts the $29.93 monthly charge on her credit card and presses SEND, declaring, “Let the dating games begin!” Oh, God.

Rachael being Rachael, she’s already hired a dream team of beauty experts, thus turning my penance into a Beauty Adventure. “Different dates with different men need different.

You can read the Elle Magazine article here >