I caught up on Millionaire Matchmaker over the weekend and realized that the last I wrote here, I was going to meet a matchmaker myself.
Well, it wasn’t quite Pattilicious, she was nice, I didn’t feel like I was being judged. While I was there. Spoiler alert: the end to this story does not do wonders for my self-confidence.
I walked in and I was actually the youngest of the group by a good five years, but the average age closer to 45-50 and most everyone looked like they were ready for Patti. I would have, except it was a weirdly rainy, cold day (for April) and being an Arizona girl and all, I have zero clue how to dress cute AND warm. Jeans and sneakers it is.
I introduced myself to the group and the matchmaker said, “Oh, poor MJ, she probably thinks I’m desperate because I called her immediately after she signed up on the site, but it’s just that I saw your interests and already have someone in mind for you.”
She alluded to my future husband a few times throughout the hour session, that he was active, verified that I wanted kids, yada yada. No one else got this special consideration, so I was feeling pretty good.
We went around the table for more formal introductions and the instructions were to give your name and something about you.
Right off the bat, the women started saying things like, “there are no good men, (insert stereotype about Scottsdale men here), I haven’t met anyone who will hold my interest, I won’t do online, I expect to be treated like a damn princess and no one has called me her highness lately.” It was all just very negative and I wasn’t feeling it. For the record, I think women should be treated with respect when starting a dating relationship and yes, like a princess, but further down the line.
Anyway, it got to me and as instructed, I told a little about myself, my interests, etc., without joining in on the “I just don’t know why I’m single because I’m great so it must be the men out there” routine. Then the rest of the women resumed their poor, poor pitiful me schticks. Perhaps I missed something?
Then the matchmaker’s partner arrived, she had some clients that she was also hunting for, and the poor woman was just a damn, hot mess. Besides being about a half hour late, she couldn’t form real sentences. She’s definitely passionate about what she does and she was trying her damnedest to get that across, but failing miserably. Think this.
There was some paperwork to fill out and as we all did that, Crazy McCrazypants went around and sprinkled everyone’s head with love dust. Really.
There was all this talk about manifesting love and that just going to the meeting meant we were telling the universe what we were looking for and we were going to get it. That I actually can get behind, IF the drunk one hadn’t tried to say it twenty times in twenty different ways. There were some dating tips about how to meet men in everyday life. Um, be present and approachable, got it.
Anyway, that was about it. It was promised to be an hour-long meeting, but with no official beginning or end and with the woman who was half-running the meeting showing up with only a half hour left, it got a little hazy and ended up going almost two hours.
So, here and now, I admit that I’m shy so probably didn’t say much throughout the meeting, I didn’t dress to impress (but felt that my attire did go along with my “active lifestyle” brand I was trying to get across) and I didn’t participate in the single-lady bitch fest, but because of the promissory statements from the matchmaker, I thought it went okay and that I’d get a phone call from her to discuss the potential match (she gives the lady first right of refusal, then gives the man the number to call her to set up a date).
Well, it’s been a month and I haven’t, so I’m guessing that’s a no. Whatever, I’m a fucking catch.
That may sound like the end, but it’s not. There’s more to the story tomorrow!