December 15, 2005
Iwanttofindlove.com
In today's digital age, dating has become a somewhat risky game.

Jill Brooks Jill Brooks
INtake columnist

Dating practices of late seem a bewildering labyrinth of potluck compatibility and wily aggression.

With so many ways to meet a perfect mate, such as on the Internet or during a three-minute dating interview, it's no wonder romance has left the building.

I am old-fashioned, so, for me, love will wait on the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine's Day, or gather in all the townspeople on Christmas Eve to help get my husband, who almost jumped off a bridge, out of debt.

We'll kiss under the mistletoe, and everyone will cheer and sing "Auld Lang Syne."

I'm really not idealistic, I swear.

Several of my friends have been casting their nets on the Internet to find that special someone, a ritual I could never bring myself to try.

They receive daily e-mail messages or computer "winks," which I think means they're makeout worthy. The person's identity is secret, and they are unreachable, and the whole concept screams: Buyer beware.

A friend of mine compares it to getting in a car with a stranger; I compare it to riding with a blindfolded stranger in a Pinto.

Americans are governed by their busy schedules, so I understand the utilitarian approach to true love. The problem is, most of my girlfriends who've been out with Internet guys say that the suggestion of sex -- i.e. having it immediately -- is a standard topic presented by Internet men.

Coming from a complete and potentially creepy stranger, such fervent lust will likely thwart the possibility of a second date.

In other words, overzealous testosterone often freaks women out.

Another friend of mine recently had a succession of dates with an Internet guy. He wasn't creepy, so after the third date she invited him over for pizza at her place, in a suburb of Indy.

He stopped on his way to get a bottle of wine from the grocery (grocery store wine: red flag), and while heading back to his car was stopped at gunpoint by 10 policemen.

He matched the description of someone who'd just robbed a local store. After being thrown to the ground in the rain, humiliated in front of other customers and found to be the "wrong guy," the poor chap actually remembered to pick up the pizza.

Shaken like a dry martini, he arrived at my friend's house with minutes to spare.

They weren't singing "Edelweiss" on stage one last time before fleeing Nazi-occupied Austria, but he earned romantic respect for effort.

The relationship didn't last, but my friend's hope of finding cyber chemistry rolls on.