Martha Stewart

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“Seasoned blonde SWF seeks sophisticated SWM Democrat. Must love dogs, topiary, major (and minor) holidays. Turn offs: processed food, dust, dirt, disarray OF ANY KIND!!! No davenport potatoes need apply. I’m a woman of many talents, from paint stripping to pole dancing. You won’t believe what I can do with a pine cone!”

I wrote that fake Martha Stewart online dating profile before I clicked on the real one she just put up at match.com. I’d actually deleted “antiquing” as not only too predictable but too vulnerable to mockery, given her age (Martha’s a well-Photoshopped seventy-one)”€”but she went ahead and included the word herself.

Surely the still-bookable Martha only signed up with an online dating site because her nephew just wrote a book about…online dating. But then again, she actually admitted on national TV that she wanted to “sleep with someone.” So maybe Martha’s sincerely gasping to get her groove back, although it’s hard to believe she ever had one, what with her “don’t mess my hair” WASP ice-queen persona. (Imagine watching Alfred Hitchcock watch her show.)

Now, I own a “FREE MARTHA!” T-shirt from her Atlas Shrugs-style prosecution for “insider trading,” i.e., “following her broker’s advice,” i.e., “being smarter and richer than the rest of us.” Tall poppies must be stomped down so the opiated masses can keep up with their joneses, don’t you know. That’s why I don’t enjoy watching her doing something so…pedestrian.

Online dating still seems awfully faddish and desperate, even though almost everyone knows one couple who “met” that way. (That said, that oft-quoted “one in five” stat is merely marketing table magic.)

It’s easy for me to be dismissive, since I’m no longer single and haven’t been for some time. I (like to) forget how abysmal it can be, even to a hermetically sealed introvert like me.

Were I to find myself in the market for a matchmaking service, I doubt I’d have much success signing on with the ones whose ads seem like commercials for tampons and beer:

You’ll go horseback riding then shoot some pool and do all kinds of other pretend-fun things like take a cooking class together!

(Can you imagine that date with Martha?)

And then there’s the profile picture. Ugh.

Besides, I’d be looking not just for Mr. Right, but for Mr. Right Wing. Back in the Bush years, I could’ve joined Hannidate, run by conservative pundit Sean Hannity. The now-defunct enterprise billed itself as the place “where people of like-conservative minds can come together to meet….It’s fun, interactive, safe and anonymous””€”which sounds too much like that old liberal line about abortions to be really enticing.

Speaking of abortions, Hannidate proved unviable. Maybe its intended customer base was confused by the site’s “Men Seeking Men” option. Or perhaps fewer people than expected wanted to hook up with someone who yells, “You’re a great American!” when they orgasm. Hannidate even failed as fodder for liberal fun; blogger Jesus’ General abandoned his snotty “Hannicatch of the Week” feature after five posts.