Jazz Babies...

I believe that as of now, I have officially been un-converted to the match.com world. I truly believe that its cause is good, noble and worthy for those who fear the Manhattan dating scene. Night after night, bar after bar, one constant dating fiasco following another. Yet I have come to realize that this is what the frightening, insurmountable dating pool is for. Putting oneself out on the line while exclaiming "This is me. Love me or leave me, I am what I am." And all that other mumbo jumbo, self-empowerment hoo-ha. Some of these sentiments must be ringing true, however, or I would not be witness to countless Manhattan mavens out an about in the city's hotspots, soaking up whatever testosterone laden male form may come their way. He may not be Mr. Right, but hey, at this point one settles for a cocktail, the hope of a mini-hors doeuvre, and at least an invite for Friday night drinks in the Lower East Side. Such is the consolation package that all women yearn to attain, if for nothing else them to have a notch on the proverbial date belt and a story to tell the gal pals at Sunday brunch.

What I have come to realize is that this mentality is not completely insane. Independent, not needy, not neurotic or typical,to be able to grab drinks with a man in a purely spur of the moment, no pre-requisite manner is seemingly unheard of in the normal dating pool. Yet when a woman undergoes such freeing acts, she is finally capable if just being. There are no boundaries, no barriers, no limits, just pure, unadulterated enjoyment of the spontaneity of life. This is a skill which I I have recently been forcing myself to grasp, and in turn have reaped immense benefits.

I rendez-vousl once more back to travel show friend. He is my worldly confidant, my male muse, if such a thing is allowed without being over wrought. To meet a man that lives life in the here and now, the moment in a moment, the no-reservations or barriers type mentality... well, this is the end all be all, the bees knees as it were. How long have I searched for a man who would pull me out of my idiosyncratic cycle, my constant desire to itemize and day-plannize my routine of being? This is a trait of complete control freak issues which as so far have led me in my dating endeavors to a) a man who follows me blindly no matter what my career entails or b) the guy who couldn't give a rats tail if I succeed or not as long as he's got a little eye candy on his arm. As far as I'm concerned, this match.com scenario has not helped the situation. These corporate big-wigs enroll, and believe that as long as their substantial income is listed on the main orofile page is, their chances of success are severely heightened.

Yet it leaves me to wonder: where is chivalry? Where is my un-internet burdened white night to help lift my damsel in distress out of the mires of blind date messiness and into the world of chance encounter bliss. Say what you will, an online profile can in no way, shape, or form prepare a potential date for the foreign human being they are about to encounter. The probelm lies in the fact that we, as individuals, do not know ourselves, and therefore it is nearly impossible to accurately define the traits which make us unique on a limiting list of attributes.

Which is why, over the course of the past couple of days, Miss Match has come to discover that real life encounters trump all falsely reinvented forms of action we call "dating". I yearn for someone vibrant, alive, and worthy of the calling card "Melody's Partner in Crime", It is understood now that simply entering these aspirations in the dating machine does not in fact a match in heaven make. One must be prepared to break down walls, peer behind pre-conceived notions, and realize that all interactions in life are noteworthy, whether they be the random troupe of adolescent acrobats on your MTA commute or that man you meet at a charity even who truly believes you are a unique creature. Some days I have a difficult enough time convincing myself I am worthy to face a Manhattan day. Convincing myself that another being could equally feel that sensation is a novel idea which I shall constantly have to adjust to.

And yet... why shouldn't a man be fascinated by me? Why shouldn't the male species become weak in the knees at the thought of myself becoming their constant companion? When I envision myself as a match.com criteria checklist, I appear to be lacking the essentials (no graduate degree, not certain if I want children, and clearly not a 5"11" blonde bombshell.) Yet when I meet a man, and we are given the chance to discuss the many seemingly pointless details of our small, youthful lives, something inside clicks. A something which cannot be recreated by winks and AIMS and horribly unoriginal first dates.

After an evening of cocktail creations and jazz club sensations, I have come to discover that life is so much more than the pre-planned designs we create for ourselves. The daily experiences venture beyond the action items we place in our agendas, the boxes waiting to be checked and forgotten. Let yourself go for just a moment. An instant to realize how truly precious life and all the partners we encounter can be. I danced. I sang. I sat and luxuriated in the beauty that is a monday evening in Manhattan. Match.com: you may have your checklist, but you will never truly capture the vitality of reality.