Time Out New York – Can a dating specialist help me?

Manertia: the state in which one’s dating life is no longer new or exciting and continues in its existing state of extreme banality, unless that state is changed by an external force.

In this case, my external force has a name; three names, actually: Amy, Janis and Lisa—all professional matchmakers. While the idea originally seemed prohibitively expensive, most matchmakers don’t charge ladies a penny. And after sampling three, I discovered that the men who use these services are incredibly eligible bachelors. They all have time to date, but they don’t have time to date the wrong people.

Lisa Ronis

(Starting package costs $15,000 for men and women; lisaronismatchmaking.com)

A nine-year matchmaking veteran, Lisa says she’s not just a pimp, she’s a coach, too. Within 48 hours, she e-mails me a list of six boys:

1- Matt, a travel guy who lives on Charles Street. He’s smart, edgy and successful.

2- James, 42, is an adorable doctor, smart and quite the catch!

3- Dan is so cute, 34, tall, handsome. You can look him up on Facebook. [I do. And he is.] He will be back on Monday and will call you.

4- Steve is tall, dark and handsome, 40, in banking. He is also away until Monday, but he is dying to meet you.

5- My publishing client will call you soon. He’s 40, tall, dark and handsome.

6- I am trying to meet an L.A. boy for you, but that will probably happen after next week.

I am psyched, and each one calls (no texts?!?) to schedule a date. All are great in their own way, but the most memorable is Dr. James, who wins major points by suggesting a first-date itinerary that includes a live piano concert, then an Italian salmon-and-pasta dinner, followed by salsa dancing. He has one of the most fantastic attitudes of any guy I’ve met in New York. “I’m from the Midwest,” he tells me, which explains it.

The evening turns into a grinfest. I ask Lisa for his impressions. “He thought that you two had the exact same energy and good chemistry,” she e-mails. “But,” she cautions, “he wasn’t sure if you were serious about finding love.” Oh no! I’ve heard this before. I immediately text him and reassure him that once I’m back from Vegas, D.C., Munich, and Davos, Switzerland, I’d love to see him again. He texts back, “I wanna go salsa dancing in Puerto Rico with you! xo and am sending you a smile. Safe trip and text me when u land!”

Okay, so he didn’t read my “Bad textiquette” column the other week. But my manertia? Officially gone. Nine men, 15 dates and approximately 57 text messages later, my conclusion is unambiguous: Matchmakers are the best thing to happen to my dating life since I hit puberty.

You can read the original article here.