Eharmony Owes Me A Refund

Eharmony makes finding “the one” seem so easy. However, in a nutshell, this was my overall experience with it. I spent a week filling out a Christian based questionnaire just to determine that I would be compatible with someone that “liked to laugh” and “enjoyed spending time with family and friends”. You don’t say. After that, they took it upon themselves to determine that “My type” were short men from anywhere BUT California. To say that eHarmony was not a success for me would be the ultimate understatement.

I didn’t always feel so unEharmonious. At first, I was curious to see what this “relationship site” had in store for me. After all, I have tried just about every other site known to man with no luck other than learning how to put a condom on without any hands. Which I suppose is a fantastic talent if you get paid for that sort of thing. Given the hefty price tag, I thought I would get something out of Eharmony.

In the beginning, I wasn’t at all pleased to learn that the control had been taken out of my hands. But I went with it in the hopes that perhaps trying a different approach might give me a different result. When I was contacted by Smother Guy my hopes were lifted thinking maybe Dr. Neil Clark was onto something.

SG had one picture posted, with two men, both blond. Neither one was specifically my type but they weren’t horrendous either. And my communications with SG had been going so well that I was intrigued to see this through. Once we switched to Instant Messaging and to the phone my fate was sealed. I was sold. Hook, line and sinker. 6’2”, built like a linebacker, former marine and the sense of humor that would make Ben Stein crack a smile.

My dress would be white, bridesmaids were picked and the wedding invitations were ready to be sent out. Everything was perfect except….I still had to actually MEET this guy. What could go wrong?

We met for dinner and as expected had a great time. He wasn’t actually the one in the picture that I was expecting but he was funny and that goes a long way with me. We did some bar hopping and ended the night with a kiss. There was certainly no doubt about whether or not I would be seeing this guy again. The only drawback at this point was that he lived about an hour away from me. Which during rush hour was easily doubled but I didn’t mind so much considering it was only a matter of time before our relationship became legal and I moved in. Shut up.

Second date I drove to him. We’d decided on dinner and a movie at his place which was pretty much code for dinner and some sexy time. I was game. I don’t believe in wasting time. If I want you, you’ll know it.

Dinner started off great. Until my big boy started to sweat while eating. Not a good sign. With that, my inner bitch kicked in. It wasn’t my fault that we were sitting in a booth with unfortunate lighting that showed his thinning hair. I began to channel the words of my mother, and sister…and girlfriends…and, well, just about everybody I knew, saying “Stop being so damn picky! You’ll never find a man if you don’t change your way of thinking!” So, I handed him a napkin and told him to scoot over.

We went back to his place, had a few drinks and started a movie. It wasn’t long before Don Juan put the moves on me. I had long forgotten the dinner episode agreeing with the voices in my head that I needed to lighten up.

I jumped on top and as soon as he said these words I almost jumped back off…

“Use me like a shake and bake bag”

HUH?

I’ve heard a lot of lines in my day. Most of them cheesy but this one was Swiss, cheddar and Muenster all rolled into one. I was so glad that he actually repeated it for me to fully understand what a smooth talker he was.

But again, I’d already had our wedding invitations printed and stamped so I wasn’t ready to bail on this guy just yet. He was still salvageable.

Positions reversed and clothes off we let the good times roll. Until I realized one very important and life threatening element.

I couldn’t breathe.

No, I don’t have asthma or any other type of health condition that would make it difficult for me to catch my breath. What I had here was a clear case of bigmanlayingonmychest-idis. Being as this was our first (and LAST) time I didn’t really want to ruin the moment by telling him, oh you know, that I couldn’t BREATHE. I assumed he would eventually want to switch things up a little bit and I would be no worse for the wear. But no, apparently, big boy was about as Catholic as they come and didn’t believe in changing positions.

As the life force was slowly leaving my body I wondered if this was what autoerotic asphyxiation felt like? I found it hard to believe that somebody would intentionally cut off their source of air to reach climax. I for one was definitely NOT going to be getting off. Then as if things couldn’t get any worse, he tried to kiss me. Blocking my sole remaining access to the sweet oxygen I so longingly desired.

I used my remaining energy and with one last final attempt to save my own life I pushed the mother fucker off of me. As I inhaled deeply savoring that I was still alive he lay next to me smiling. His response?

“I wore you out, huh?”

Had I not just suffered a near death experience and was still out of breath my words most certainly would have been strong enough to make Andrew Dice Clay cringe. Being as it was dark in his room he couldn’t see the daggers my eyes were throwing him. He had almost smothered me to death and then thought I was the one that couldn’t keep up!

Being as I’m a drinker, I knew that this relationship would have to plateaus at the friendship level. Just as it’s not wise to get drunk in a hot tub it also wouldn’t be the best decision to drink and screw with this guy either. What if I had been drunk? I could have passed out and he would have kept right on going. Not even knowing that he was screwing a corpse. Nope, that thought wasn’t pretty the first time I had it either.

We stayed in contact but I was so traumatized by that one episode that I made no further attempts at trying to see him. Sure, he tried to make me jealous and often brought up how much fun our bedroom gymnastics had been (for him) and how much he could teach ME (Please, don’t do me any favors). At one point, as if trying to raise his own stock, he told me that he was a member of the mile high club. Not once, but twice. I find this hard to believe being as I have flown many a flight and I have also seen him. Airplane bathrooms couldn’t hold him and another person any more than I can share clothes with Kate Moss.

He eventually moved up north and got himself a girlfriend. He was not shy about sharing their active sex life with me every time I asked how the weather was. He once shared with me that the neighbors probably wished for them to keep their windows closed because of all the noise they made. I can’t help but thinking the lucky woman wasn’t moaning with delight but actually screaming out for help. They’ve since broken up and I wonder if “broke up” is just another way of saying she’s dead.

So, thank you Eharmony. $100 and a crushed lung later, I’m still single and deathly afraid to log onto your site for fear of what else you have awaiting me.

Perhaps I should consider posting my resume on Match.com

I apologize in advance as I’m feeling particularly feisty today. I just finished taking a 200 question personality test for a job interview. Is there really a wrong way to answer “Do you often find yourself smiling?” I can’t wait to get the results of that test. What I want to know is, how does that have anything to do with my experience as an Administrative Assistant? Not one single question had anything to do with the position being applied for. Or any position for that matter. But my desire to eat, keep a roof over my head and buy toilet paper outweighed my overwhelming desire to tell the business consultant issuing the test to go fuck herself. She spent five minutes going over my resume and 30 minutes waiting for me to finish the “What Kind of Psycho Are You?” test. Apparently, my experience and qualifications were far less important than my emotional wellbeing. Let me assure you, after having to answer 200 variations of “Is your voice monotone or does it vary in pitch?” my being is not well. I suppose if I had answered “No” to the smile question she would have automatically dismissed me as being a ticking time bomb and called out to Security. I felt like winking at her and telling her I needed to get something out of my car and I would be right back…

From what was explained to me, Ms. Independent Business Consultant Cuntrag (I don’t use that word lightly. I don’t usually have a problem with Consultants) was hired by the company seeking an Administrative Assistant to streamline their growing company and save them money. Right off the top of my head, I could have told this company how to save money…and the rain forest. Get rid of Ms. IBCC and her six page questionnaire asking if I thought “others liked me”.

This whole process has got me thinking. Looking for employment is much the same as looking for love online. Both unfortunately, usually ending much the same way. With a broken ego, crushed spirit and an empty wallet. Not to mention the feeling after all is said and done of being emotionally drained and having been buttraped without any lube.

In both cases you are forced to take your life’s worth of experiences and knowledge and paraphrase them into a few short paragraphs in the hopes that you’ve done something that will make you stand out above the rest. In the event that you are able to catch someone’s eye you set up a face to face meeting. The interview, per say. You answer questions about your past, future and present while the interviewer (date) tries to determine if you are worthy of being hired (or taken on a second date). By the time your hour is up you are left second guessing yourself and your answers, hoping they will call yet knowing they won’t and wondering why the guy at Colfax Liquor won’t give you a discount for buying vodka in bulk after your soul has just been crushed.

The good thing about online dating is that I actually get responses to my ad and I get laid. Possibly just because I have breasts (big beautiful breasts) but at least I get some sort of feedback and for at least 30 seconds I can forget all about having “too much experience” to toss burgers yet not enough for an entry level receptionist position because I don’t have my degree (even though I’ve been working in Admin for 13 years.) So, for that I salute you Match.com, Plenty of Fish, Eharmony and any other dating site out there that I haven’t mentioned.

But one last thing, as I’m typing this out I just received an email from Ms. Cuntrag. I must have failed the personality test because they chose to hire another candidate. Guess there was a wrong answer to the smiling question after all. Humph, Imagine that.

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Just for kicks I’ve decided to revamp my cover letter (much as I did with my online dating profile). If they want something that will stand out that’s exactly what I will give them…Check it out. And yes, I started sending this out shortly after my rejection…

Dear Asshole,

I am completely qualified, if not over qualified for this position. I do not however, possess a degree. I guess that of and in itself is enough to disqualify me from filling the position of receptionist and lapdog but I strongly disagree. Apparently, having 13 years of “on the job” administrative and clerical experience (six of those being in a management position) is just not equivalent to an AA or Bachelor’s Degree. Guess what, some of us just didn’t have the money. I love that at 31 years of age, I am now being penalized for being an active tax paying member of society since I was 18 years old. My bad (not exactly a professional term but it works for me at the moment. Lest we forget….I’m not college educated…member????)

To be offered anything less than $20 an hour actually insults my intelligence. Especially considering that someone on the corner of any given street will make at least $12 or $13 an hour twirling a sign in the hopes you will come into their store to buy the newest cell phone.

So, I actually hope that you don’t call me for I’m sure that I have already applied to your open position and wasn’t qualified.

Kisses,
Melisa

You should see how I revamped my actual resume. Now if this doesn’t get anybody’s attention, I don’t know what will.

I’m done venting. Have a good night. I’m about to go curl up and watch “South Park” reruns since I have failed miserably this week in both the job front and the love front. But all is not lost. I have a very special inanimate friend that I keep under my bed for these lonely nights. All it needs is a D battery and we are good to go. I may be giving myself Carpel Tunnel Syndrome but nobody’s been too eager to hire me for my typing skills anyway. At least I still go to bed satisfied and I don’t have to nudge it to keep from snoring.