Photo 24 Jun Today I met a professional matchmaker What is that you say? I didn’t know either until I met her. A friend of a friend used a professional matchmaking service and now she’s in a relationship. Coolio. I asked her for contact info and presto! there I was sitting in Blenz on Richards and Davies. The matchmaker is lovely, very pretty and well-coiffed. She told me that she interviews you for a couple of hours and then you go on a walk-about and you show her what you like physically. Armed with the dirt and details of your romantic tastes, the matchmaker goes out and – get this – matches you with someone. Cool, eh? The catch: it’s pricey. Thousands. I can’t afford it. What to do? Go back to online dating. Back to the shirtless geezers, back to the south asian guys IN INDIA asking me to marry them, back to the smoking hot swingers asking me to share their bed, back to the MTF (and back again) dude who, btw, was also smoking hot. I kinda regret not calling him. But it would’ve been messy, really messy. At least that’s what my very sensible friend tells me. The little guy is C**. He was the first guy I met on plenty of idiots (sorry, I know i still sound bitter. I got some feedback that my last post was really bitter. Sorry again guys. If you don’t want to read this bloggy blog anymore, I understand. I just won’t talk to you, like, EVER. Kidding. C** sounded awesome in his emails. They were witty. And on the phone he seemed to make an effort to say my name which always impresses me. He spoke French. How hot is that? He was a professional rock climber. Check. C** in the end he turned out to be a lot like many other dudes I met later, all online. They don’t look like their photos. They’re shorter than they say they are in their profile by, usually, two to three inches. They’re not “adventurous” they’re boring. They’re not “athletic” they’re tubby. The guys that say they’re carrying a “few extra pounds” are actually, as a fellow dater once told me, “four hundred pound beasts.” Man, I’m mean sometimes. But, really, is a “few extra pounds” the same as being 250 lbs. overweight? Next time, a down and not-so-dirty tell-all on my first (and hopefully last) experience as a chaperone on a dyke date. Stay tuned!

Today I met a professional matchmaker

What is that you say? I didn’t know either until I met her. A friend of a friend used a professional matchmaking service and now she’s in a relationship. Coolio.

I asked her for contact info and presto! there I was sitting in Blenz on Richards and Davies. The matchmaker is lovely, very pretty and well-coiffed. She told me that she interviews you for a couple of hours and then you go on a walk-about and you show her what you like physically. Armed with the dirt and details of your romantic tastes, the matchmaker goes out and – get this – matches you with someone. Cool, eh?

The catch: it’s pricey. Thousands. I can’t afford it. What to do? Go back to online dating. Back to the shirtless geezers, back to the south asian guys IN INDIA asking me to marry them, back to the smoking hot swingers asking me to share their bed, back to the MTF (and back again) dude who, btw, was also smoking hot. I kinda regret not calling him. But it would’ve been messy, really messy. At least that’s what my very sensible friend tells me.

The little guy is C**. He was the first guy I met on plenty of idiots (sorry, I know i still sound bitter. I got some feedback that my last post was really bitter. Sorry again guys. If you don’t want to read this bloggy blog anymore, I understand. I just won’t talk to you, like, EVER. Kidding.

C** sounded awesome in his emails. They were witty. And on the phone he seemed to make an effort to say my name which always impresses me. He spoke French. How hot is that? He was a professional rock climber. Check.

C** in the end he turned out to be a lot like many other dudes I met later, all online. They don’t look like their photos. They’re shorter than they say they are in their profile by, usually, two to three inches. They’re not “adventurous” they’re boring. They’re not “athletic” they’re tubby. The guys that say they’re carrying a “few extra pounds” are actually, as a fellow dater once told me, “four hundred pound beasts.” Man, I’m mean sometimes. But, really, is a “few extra pounds” the same as being 250 lbs. overweight?

Next time, a down and not-so-dirty tell-all on my first (and hopefully last) experience as a chaperone on a dyke date. Stay tuned!


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