The moment of truth

I can never hold the serious pose for too long.

It makes my face hurt.

So it's a good thing that Seth the Southern Charmer and I have discussed the blog and the whole reason behind my online dating thing. And it's fine. Which made that couple of hours of obsessing over what if it wasn't fine, completely and totally pointless.

And yes I have permission to use his real name, although technically I don't think 'the Southern Charmer' is his middle name.

Actually I haven't asked what his middle name is.

Chalk it up as yet another question for our...fourth phone conversation.

Thank goodness for free nighttime minutes.

some days...i have to think really really hard

I keep finding myself in the serious pose.

Anyone that knows me likely has no clue what this looks like. So here’s a glimpse of me striking my serious pose.

Well..okay maybe it's not entirely there. But if you put Jay's expression on my body you'd totally get it. It's always with my right elbow propped up at my desk. Head resting on my fists. Staring at my planner or computer in deep and usually tortured thought.

And likely exhaling rather loudly.

I get that trait from my father.

While I could go on at length about the two (yes, count them, two) hour long phone conversations I’ve had with Seth the Southern Charmer in the past two days, for the time being I’m practicing some restraint.

And you can ask all my friends, who have experienced the Amy in post hour long conversation with charming guy mode—they will no doubt tell you that restraint does not come easy.

It’s all rule #115’s fault: Never walk away from a crasher in a funny jacket.

Wait. Wrong rulebook. I meant the rule I declared about how I would tell the guys about the blog and the whole Catholic Herald thing once we got past the beaming smiles and sending flirts stage.

I think two phone conversations and a week’s worth of emails qualifies.

So I typed up an explanation, sent it to my proofer (a.k.a. Lauren) for revisions, and emailed it off.

And now I wait.

Just about every other chick flick has that plotline where someone didn’t reveal something in a relationship and thus appeared to be deceitful, creating some massive blow-up, inducing tears and wonders of “Oh my goodness oh my goodness will they ever find happiness again?” on the part of the audience. The moral of the story is simple: Tell the truth right away. Then you get to hold hands all the time instead of only part of the time.

Well. We’ll see if that moral actually applies to real life.

A.G. Phone Boy

I was up to my eyeballs in bubbles. At 7:15 p.m. I had already downed not one, but two glasses of White Zinfandel.

And not like wine glass size either. Like regular glass size.

By all accounts, it wasn’t a very classy bubble bath. Not like the ones you see in movies.

I blame it on my rubber ducky shower curtain and the fact that my tub isn’t even long enough for me to extend my legs while sitting. That and I was drinking wine out of a Jimmy John’s plastic cup.

Still, I was totally trying to have one of those wine and bubble bath movie moments.

Then it happened. The Marquette Fight Song, “Ring Out Ahoya” ringing from my cell phone. It was time. I had a gentleman caller.

Not quite. It was just my best friend Lauren seeing if she could spook me into thinking the moment of my phone date had finally arrived. Figures.

I’m not the type of girl to wait by the phone for a guy to call. The last time I can honestly say I did it the phone call didn’t arrive until around 2:30 a.m. and all my friends declared him a piece of “couch material” upon hearing my reenactment of the phone conversation.

If there’s anything you don’t want, you don’t want my friends to call you couch material. It’s not good.

Monday night I found myself back in the waiting by the phone saddle again. Only this time I’d never had that stammering, heart pounding, “Oh my goodness I’m going to pass out” with this guy in person. Just emails and a couple of photos spread out in the world of online Catholic dating.

From the Catholic Herald to the Y to the bottle of wine to the bathtub, the questions would not stop hounding me…

Will he laugh like Urkel?

Will he put words together like Ozzy Osbourne or more like Anderson Cooper?

Will his accent be so thick I can’t understand him—ala Sean Connery?

Will our conversation be so painful I’ll constantly be doing the awkward turtle?

Thankfully the date fell on the same night of the State of the Union address. Five minutes of that in my mom’s old recliner and I was out like a light. All phone date worries aside.

Until 9:18. When my phone was ringing out ahoya yet again.

It was either fight or flight. And I chose fight.

Or rather. To answer.

On the other end, a delightful, yet slight southern drawl greeted me. Which for any woman I think would put her at ease. And with that 56 minutes ticked by. No Ozzy Osbourne sentences. No Urkel laughs. No awkward turtles. Just a guy and girl. Trying to get to know one another.

gracias gracias gracias

i know it's only been a week and a half-- which is still long for me when it comes to my fear of commitment-- but i just wanted to thank everyone for checking the blog out and leaving the occasional comment or friendly email of encouragement.

sidenote: please do comment! even if you've never met me and think i'm crazy! i love to know who my readers are and if they think i'm completely insane.

i guarantee you that as of tomorrow morning's post things are going to take a turn for the interesting.

so if you have hearing similar to that of a canine, you may want to invest in some ear plugs. :)

p.s. and to one of my besties that has put up with my ridiculous ramblings and complete irrational train of thought regarding topic of tomorrow's post all day today (you know who you are), many thanks. readers should probably thank her to. for without her, my post for tomorrow would be completely incoherent.

happy tuesday!

And he shall be called The Normal One

I’ve started listening to Rod Stewart again.

I realize the word “again” is probably alarming enough for most people, but let’s just accept my misguided middle school years for what they were, and move on to more important points.

Like the fact that I met a boy.

I'm one of those girls that loves The Nile. Or, ahem, excuse me, denial. I've never been to the The Nile. I'm not sure I would like it. I'm sure there's snakes there.

Typically when I like a guy, I don't realize it (or rather, admit it to myself, much less other people) until John Denver's "Dreamland Express" comes streaming across my iPod at the Y, and instead of hostilely clicking my way to something much more gymly, I get this ridiculous look on my face and proceed to search for my "It Must Be Love" playlist-- complete with Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, Norah Jones...

and yes. John Stamos' 'Forever.' What's love without a little Uncle Jesse?

Typically it takes at least five trips to the drinking fountain by the man that does the most ridiculous strength training workout ever-- and five quizzical looks from him somehow asking, "Is that girl going through some sort of strange seizure? The delighted look on her face is plain supernatural. Perhaps she's overpedaling" for me to realize that there's a new man in my life. And then it takes me a couple weeks to openly admit it to myself and then my closest circle of friends.

Which I officially did Friday. And this time it's a nice guy. One that can legally drink and isn’t even over 30—and amazingly enough, doesn’t proposition me. He just sends really sweet and interesting long emails. Every day.

I repeat. Every day. Who knew normal and sweet could be so refreshing?

Dork. D-O-R-K. Dork.

I was a dork growing up.

I’m aware of this. I was the goody-goody. The one that got told by the kindergarten teacher that she’d make an excellent nun, the one that got picked to do the readings at school masses, and always raised her hand when the teacher asked a question.

And I’m very aware that what I’m about to disclose will solidify me even further as the perfect child nerd.

I competed in the state spelling bee.

Which yes, required me to win two prior spelling bees before competing in said state spelling bee.

And yes I did attempt to read the dictionary to get my spelling chops ready for competition. And I will always remember the word I got out on—surmise is spelled with an ‘s’ not a ‘z.’

Given this inborn love of spelling, nothing drives me more insane than a guy that cannot spell. These sites provide spell check people. Give it a shot.

Here’s a couple of my favorites from the sites.

eneergeutic
a. energetic
b. what happens to a person that’s overdosed on Starbucks

alter boy:
a. altar boy
b. man addicted to altering his online profile to attract the woman he wants

fansy
a. fancy
b. the act of being fansy, like painting your chest green and gold for the big game

atletic
a. athletic
b. what happens to someone when they spend too much time at the gym and too little time at the library

honset
a. honest
b. common phrase used in husband-wife communication around the dinner hour. “HONSETTHETABLE!”

The numbers

I don’t date. At least that’s what one of my best friends from Marquette and I used to say. We don’t date.

Well. She’s been in a serious relationship for over two years now (partially my doing). Needless to say, she dates. And after totaling up my stats from my experience thus far in the online dating world, it would appear, that like it or not…. well. I date.

These numbers are slightly low due to my immediate repulsion at some of the creepsters out there and my need to delete their messages and profiles from my screen as soon as possible.

Number of people that have viewed my profile: 72
Number of people I’ve viewed: Ummm…sometimes my right index finger gets a little trigger happy during my lunch break, so I really don’t know.
Number guys 20 years+ older than me that think I’m the woman for them: 12
Number of people I’ve blocked: 3
Emails sent: 14
Emails received: 16
Emotigrams sent: 13
Emotigrams received: 14
Number of IM conversations: 8
Number of potential “relationships”: 4. Make that 3. Man that propositioned me is definitely out of the running.

Can I just mention that one of these sites has not brought me back one single bite?! Not even a smile or over-50 man asking me to help him through his mid-life crisis?!

Don't be deceived by his favorite saint

He told me his favorite saint. And his favorite hymn. Heck, he even told me his favorite name for Mary.

And then he told me…or rather, propositioned me (note word choice to indicate things I refuse to come right out and say on a blog that has the word ‘Catholic’ in its address).

For something that would have our own Virgin Mary covering her eyes and ears.

I’m surprised I haven’t gotten a bulk shipment of rosaries and scapulars from heaven after some of the words that crossed my im screen. As a matter of fact, I’m surprised the archbishop himself didn’t show up outside my door at that exact moment for the confession I needed just from comprehending said proposition.

I thought I was on a Catholic dating website. I thought I was in a safety zone. I thought these boys were nice. Gentlemanly. Not of the same breed that posts to the casual encounters section of craigslist.

I didn’t realize I had put myself up for sale on a meat market for traveling businessmen.

Another shot at this chat thing

It's chat #2. With a different guy obviously.

Perhaps I should run out quick and buy a box of vigil candles and pray for a normal guy.

Ack. Small talk. I’m no good at this. My initial reaction to a conversation with someone I don’t know is, “Tell me something you don’t like about yourself.”

Perhaps I should cut back on the Nip/Tuck viewing parties before I become the strange and awkward one.

Ack! Someone else want to chat. No no no no. I'm too new to this! I can't multi-chat with more than one stranger at once!

We’re getting the basics. What we do for a living.

Sweet mother. In addition to being a student, the guy runs a talk show on the internet. Am I the only one that finds that strange?

Uh-oh. This guy just responded with a completely irrelevant comment. Must be a serial chatter.

Not real talkative guy. I’ll consider this an exercise in my journalism skills. Attempting to pry information out of the poor guy.

I feel like I’m five. Not that I was expecting some monster connection and we’d hit it off and be talking for paragraphs and paragraphs at a time but ew. I forgot how slow and awkward just getting to know someone can be.

Me: What other interests and hobbies do you have?

Oh he plays the guitar. Now this is getting somewhere. A majority of guitar players make me go weak in the knees.

Alas, not so much. I know guys have a tendency to suck at im’ing, but one might think that if you were in the beginning stages of the relationship, a little effort would be required.

Nope. Apparently not. I’d like a one way ticket out of this conversation please?

How Catholic are YOU?

It was one of those really beautiful days in downtown Milwaukee. The sun was glimmering off of Lake Michigan, the breeze was just right, the humidity wasn't messing with my hair and with plenty of sleep under my belt and no hangover to speak of (I'm 22 people. It happens! Do you know how many drink specials exist on Water Street alone?) it was turning out to be a promising summer Sunday in Milwaukee.

All dressed up and ready for mass I marched out of my apartment and down the street to go hang out with Jesus.

But at my Happy Honda I stopped. Hesitated. Hopped in. And proceeded to go to not one mall. But three. And make a lot, a lot of purchases with my Target visa.

And worst of all, rather than partaking in the Blood of Christ, I went to Orange Julius instead. And it was good.

That definitely makes me undateable, doesn't it?

*Sigh*

God knows when I pray. He knows when I go to Mass. He knows my very strong feelings about certain things the Church teaches. He knows what church songs lift my spirits. He probably doesn't know my favorite saint because to be honest I'm not sure I have one. And he definitely knows if I'm destined for a vocation. Which right now I say no, but if He chooses to strike me with lightning and throw me off a horse in the near future, I'd be more than happy to change my mind.

He also knows when I use his name while speaking in not nice tones to my fellow morning commuters. And when I do a bunch of other naughty things that have me checking out confession times at local churches.

So if I know that. And God knows that. Why does the entire world have to know?

Most of these dating sites of course ask you about your faith. It's to be expected. They are Catholic dating websites. But some get a little personal. And they leave positively no option of pleading the fifth. The following questions that one of the sites asks not only gives you no option for answering, they also display your answers on your profile for everybody to see.

Do you accept the Church's teaching on contraception?
Do you accept the Church's teaching on the sanctity of life?
Do you accept the Church's teaching on pre-marital sex?

Whoa. Are they serious about this? Was my initial reaction to the list of questions (there's more, trust me). And then I realized that yes. They most certainly were.

There are two sides to this fence. Those that are offended that there's even a question about your feelings on these teachings-- if you're Catholic, you're Catholic. It's all or nothing, this isn't a cafeteria. You can't pick and choose.

And then there's the other side-- it's nobody's businesss what church teachings I agree with and don't agree with. And it's my choice to decide what teachings I want to follow. And also my choice to reveal those decisions to my romantic partner when the time is right.

Personally I don't like it. As a reader pointed out to me, it gives people that view your profile a sense of how strong a Catholic you are-- or claim to be for your profile's sake.

I would hate to think that there's people out there that are actually clicking through profiles and saying to themselves, "Oh no. This person said no to that question. They're not a strong enough Catholic. Let's forget them entirely. They're not worth the time."

Or on the other side, "Oh no. This person said yes to that question. I don't want to date some crazy Catholic that believes in that. Not a chance in h-e-double hockey sticks."

It opens up doors for people to judge one another. And that can't be healthy.

Consider this. You run across a profile on someone that doesn't agree with the Church's teaching pre-marital sex or the sanctity of life. What do you automatically deduce about that person from that answer?

Boom. You've just passed judgment.

Check out Matthew 7: 1-5 to see the Big Man's feelings about that.

And don't spend your time worrying about or disregarding me because I went shopping one Sunday instead of to church. JC and I have already addressed that. And I don't really see how it pertains to my love life. Unless that was like the one Sunday I was supposed to meet my soulmate at the Sign of Peace. In which case, I guess I'm just screwed.

The 10 Commandments of online dating

10. Thou shalt be single. As in not married. (You would think we wouldn't need to establish that).

9. Thou shalt not ignore the age range of guys I am interested in. My cut-off is 10 years older than me, which is officially pushing it. I have a dad. I have two big brothers and two big brothers-in-law. If you are in their age demographic, the answer is no. Don't make me get them to tell you that.

8. Thou shalt not be checking out my profile at 3:30 a.m. That’s creepy dude.

7. Thou shalt not use exclamation points in excess and for the record in case you didn't know it may just be the most annoying thing ever when you use run on sentences because it really demonstrates your poor writing skills and I'm a writer so really it makes you not very appealing to me which of course makes me not want to date you and that's why I don't answer your emotigrams!!!!!!!!!!

6. Thou shalt not put down "n/a" when asked about your faith. Last time I checked there was a reason you were on this CATHOLIC dating site and it has nothing to do with your 1500 word spiel about how fabulous you are and why I should want to marry you and bear your 12 children.

5. Expanding on number six, thou shalt not be a ChrEaster. The last time I checked "Keep Holy the Sabbath day" didn't translate into "Worship me only on days when a fat man in a red suit or an oversized bunny with an affinity for jelly beans is present."

4. Thou shalt not tell me how tall you are in centimeters. I’m not nine. The extra digit does not deceive me into thinking you are the “tall” in the ever so required “dark & handsome.”

3. Thou shalt use spell check. Seriously guys. The last time I checked I don’t have intelligent conversations with people that describe themselves as “intelegent.”

2. Thou shalt not have photos of you with power tools or any other items potentially used as a weapon for that matter. Particularly your power saw. I’ve watched too much Dexter on Showtime. Power tools spell out Ice Truck Killer to me.

1. Thou shalt not be discerning a vocation to the priesthood. I have enough issues as it is. And while for the most part I find myself to be a pretty cool chick, I refuse to compete with the J-Man. He rose from the dead. There's no contest.

first comes love..wait no, friends, then comes...

I’m chatting.

Online. With a boy. Correction: With a man. This is “Young, Single & Catholic” not “To Catch a Predator.”

Anyways, I’m chatting. Like talking. Online. With a complete stranger. Trying to be witty and funny and charming and utilizing any other remarkable trait used to catch husband material.

Which means my face has turned the color of a tomato and my pulse is now at an unnatural rate when sitting.

The man is from over 500 miles away. And he’s 30. Which is officially pushing it. But he seems nice. Dare I say normal? Witty? Charming?

Oh wait. Back the train up. He has a therapist. And a minor psychological condition. Which he has failed to elaborate on.

I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that minor psychological condition does not translate into “I kill people in my spare time.”

And who doesn’t have a therapist these days? Well. Okay, maybe that trend hasn’t quite caught on in the Midwest. But who on the East or West Coast doesn’t have a therapist? Perhaps I’ve snagged some incredibly affluent and insightful philosopher.

** Keep an open mind Amy, keep an open mind. This could be, The One. **

Oh he’s elaborated. And it’s not some sort of serial killer syndrome. This is good. I think.

This is also a first. And a major one.

Every single romantic relationship I have ever had has stemmed from some sort of long-term friendship. My first boyfriend (albeit for only four hours)? We were friends for nine months before he popped the question. And he is my absolutely hands down positively best friend today.

My second boyfriend (who also turned out to be the third, and arguably the fourth)—we were lab partners in seventh grade before we started dating in ninth grade….then the summer before senior year… and then whatever we were first semester of college.

Every relationship with Marquette boys? Friends first. Always friends.

Of course when you have a pretty rockin’ friendship before you decide you want more than that, you always are open for the possibility of hearing that dreaded sentence.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Been there, done that. Cried, eaten large amounts of chocolate ice cream and once even watched Britney Spears’s Oscar winning performance in “Crossroads” over it.

So maybe this whole try dating the stranger thing is going to work out for the best?

Still scares me. Just a little.

Back to my chat.

Make nice talk…make nice talk…make nice talk.

Yep, yep nope. This is not working. Definitely definitely not working. At all. I love men that can hold conversations and share about themselves but I’m barely getting a word in edgewise here. And that’s somewhat complicated to do over im, but he has somehow achieved it. And he’s ranting. And oversharing.

La La La La La ** plugs ears covers eyes ** I don’t need or want to know that about you. Potentially ever. I applaud your openness. But please stop. La La La La La.

Must exit conversation, must exit conversation immediately.

“Umm…I actually have to get to a conference call.”

Crap. Just broke one of the commandments. Major Catholic dating faux pas. I don’t think I’ve ever in my entire life been on a conference call.

Oh no, he wants to be facebook friends.

Oh dear, he gave me his email address.

AND he wants me to call him at home.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

*** Block member ***

Phew.

An hour later on the treadmill…

Guilt. I’m Catholic. So it’s to be expected.

I feel bad. Perhaps blocking him was a bit over the top, but I completely and totally freaked out. I can never know for sure if he was going to email me 402 times in the span of 24 hours or come to Milwaukee when I chose to not return his smiles. I never intended to hurt his feelings, which I likely did. He was quite interesting. And definitely charming. He just came on too strong. With way too much information to share.

1 man down. Five gazillion single men to go.

that click click

The first time I asked a guy out I ended up hyperventilating in his car.

I kid you not. Unfortunately for me, chivalry was a dead concept to him and offering me a brown paper bag didn’t even cross his mind.

Literally weeks of planning—fashion sessions with my best friend to pick out the perfect outfit, practicing 20 different ways of asking the question every morning in front of the mirror, and an unhealthy dose of tic tacs—were all whittled down into six measly, and very wheezy little words, “Will…(gasp)…you (gasp)….go (gasp)…out (gasp)…with (gasp)…me?”

Lucky for me, hyperventilating has now become a regular hobby in this harsh and cruel world of online dating.

Most of these sites not only tell someone that another person has viewed their profile when they’ve clicked on their name, but actually tells you exactly who it is that’s checking you out.

That’s the equivalent of constantly being caught giving some guy the old “up—down and perhaps a little down—up” glance while selecting your week’s bag of tater tots at the Piggly Wiggly.

Please tell me you've been there and that I'm not the only person out there that's checked people out at the grocery store.

I try to be sly. But sometimes, I get caught, drawing attention to myself and my box of Disney princess fruit snacks.

Impressive I know. You should check out the Dora the Explorer yogurt packs.

Now every time I want to show the slightest of interest in a potential match, I ALWAYS get caught.

As a child, I was a big fan of the game ding dong ditch. You know, where all the little hoodlums of the neighborhood go ring some unsuspecting neighbor's doorbell and then they all run away.

Why can’t I ding dong click & ditch?

(Common sense tells me that no one ever got themselves into a romantic relationship without showing an interest. My non-logical brain prefers to remain exasperated. And slightly embarrassed).

Insert on grocery list: jumbo pack of brown paper bags.

Got a Catholic?

It’s a new year. A new beginning. And therefore I must come clean.

I have been keeping a deep dark secret.

I have never dated a Catholic.

Presbyterian, United Church of Christ, Lutheran, I’ve tried the religion sampler platter when it comes to men. So far however, Catholic has never been on the menu.

Come to think of it, I don’t think I danced with anyone at prom that was Catholic either.

Please don’t stone me.

In my defense, growing up in Minnesota the crop of Catholic boys was rather slim pickins.

(Minus the one monster dreamboat who forever changed the way I felt about the name Luke and pretty much captured my heart from first grade on. And almost made me pass out at the doctor’s office when I ran into him Christmas break junior year of college. Once a dreamboat always a dreamboat.)

Anyways, practically all of the Catholic boys knew me when I had that crazy perm between third and sixth grade. And a decent chunk of them might even remember my pre-kindergarten mullet. Which definitely ruled me out as dating material.
But to be completely honest, I didn’t really care. The faith of the people I dated never really made much of a difference. Being cute, funny and a good hand holder always topped the list of requirements, but Catholic? Not so much. I’d much prefer he was on the football team or could at least drive a tractor. (Said by a true small-town Minnesota girl).

My own faith as well was something that for a long time didn’t really matter. Which yes, makes me one of those kids. In our house, if you didn’t go to church on Sunday you couldn’t do anything for the rest of the day except sit in your bed. So I went to church. But it took me a really really long time to enjoy it. And it wasn’t until freshman year of college, when I was terrified out of my mind to be 350 miles away from home and not know a soul, that I realized nothing—particularly a cure for homesickness—is possible without God.

The same can be said for a marriage, or any relationship for that matter. Nothing is possible without God, and with God, nothing is impossible. Except maybe the idea I’ve been entertaining that John Krasinski is going to come into the Catholic Herald office at any moment and sweep me off my feet and we’ll ride off into the sunset.

That is likely impossible.

So maybe this whole online Catholic dating isn’t so bad. It at least puts faith in the picture. Even if some of the pictures are really strange and include mothers, power saws and the occasional man of the cloth.

I think Ecclesiastes 31: 10-31 says it best. Well, okay. Swap out some of the girlier aspects of the “ideal wife” and put in some manly stuff and therein shall be my future husband.

I hope.

“When one finds a worthy wife, her value is far beyond pearls. Her husband, entrusting his heart to her, has an unfailing prize. She brings him good and not evil, all the days of her life…Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting; the woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”

dating on sunday

bernard (supposedly a different bernard—where on earth did they all come from?) has beamed a smile at me.

given the fact that it is sunday morning, i just rolled out of bed, haven't even considered contacts, brushing my hair OR my teeth for that matter, it may be the most ridiculous thing ever.

and i love it. i can get a guy to smile at me without even wiping last night's eye crust away.

i may have just successfully grossed out any potential dates out there. perhaps i should be doing some sort of nun exploring activity rather than trying to find a soulmate.

hey, i never claimed to be the dating expert.

You've Got Mail

Less than a day fresh on the Catholic singles market. And thus far, I’m feeling pretty darn good. Then again, it’s been about 24 hours since I’ve visited any sites or checked my email. A true commitment phobe to the core.

I have unread mail waiting? Seriously? I've been on this dating site for approximately 18 hours. How is that even possible?

Oh goodness. It's from a person. An actual person. What do I do? How do I proceed? Should I put on my little black dress for the unveiling? Pour myself a cocktail? Take my laptop somewhere fancy and try to be ridiculously charming and witty?

Ah! He's 43! He could legally drink before I was born! And his name is Bernard! I don’t know any Bernards!

Do I want to know a Bernard?

Ack. And it would appear that he either neglected to read or just doesn’t care about the part where I’m only 22 and my brothers will go into super protective mode if their little sister attempts to date anyone near their age range.

He likes my smile? Hmm. Well. I suppose a little flattery could at least get him a return friendly email but that is it. No more. You have to start somewhere. And this is where I’m starting. And then abruptly stopping.

And given my allergy to commitment, a return email is a big deal.

a/s/l?

I’m a journalist. I ask the questions.

These dating sites beg to differ. And boy do they beg for more than just my age, sex and location.

Name: Amy. (This is easy!)

Birthday: If I tell you will you send me a cake?

Do you have any children? Pretty sure the angel Gabriel hasn’t made any headlines in 2008.

Do you agree with the church’s teaching on the sacrament of Holy Orders? Is the Pope Catholic?

Describe the person you are seeking. Um. Hm. Let’s start with male. Not really old, not married and not a priest. And not crazy. Or a criminal. Preferably a big fan of the Ten Commandments. As in the real thing not the movie. Then again my sister’s husband really loves the movie and he’s pretty much awesome. Ok he can like both the real thing and the movie.

Favorite periodical. Catholic Herald. Duh.

Favorite saint. Seriously? Fine. St. George…didn’t he slay a dragon or something?

Who knew it would take an entire day just to complete five dating profiles?

Not the way to woo a Packers fan

I just received a message from a significantly older gent that clearly identifies him as a man that is friends with the devil.

"Go Giants. :P"

Umm...I think not. There's a time to be playful and tease, but when dealing with my Packers, there is never ever EVER a time for that.

Rule #76: No excuses, play like a champion

Good morning everyone!

Hope all is well in your world this Thursday! :)

If you're new here this morning be sure to scroll down and check out my welcome message so you all know what you're in for.

I got a question from a Marquette friend of mine that is definitely worth addressing right away, so before we let the blog go where it will (hopefully into make you giggle territory), I think it's good to have a DTR (define the relationship) entry.

A lot of people have asked whether or not I'm going to tell the guys that I'm communicating with that this adventure is partially a work assignment and that I'm blogging about it... which may mean I'm blogging about them.

Seeing as these guys are all part of the body of Christ, I have positively no intentions of turning them into Britney Spears and sharing every single little detail about their interactions with me. That's not fair and definitely breaks the Golden Rule.

Therefore I am announcing the official rule of the blog:

I promise to never reveal any pictures, screennames, or ridiculously personal or identifying information on any of these guys. I shall treat all of these nice gents the way I would like to be treated.

As for letting the guys know that I'm partially doing this for work and blogging about it, I'll determine that with each guy as we go along in our online courting. Obviously the guys in the Milwaukee area will have a heads up. Definitely when we get to the point where we're past the winking and sending flirts stage it will be brought up. I refuse to let this turn into some "How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days" fiasco.

To set the record straight on my own personal intentions with this endeavor...

-- I am single. I am Catholic. I'm open to any relationship-- whether friendship, dating, whatever I may find on these sites. I'm going into this foremost as a young, single Catholic woman. I'm not initiating relationships with any of these guys for the sake of a story. If I send a guy a smile, I do it because I mean it. If I respond to a guy's request to chat, I do it because I want to.

I'll admit, if it wasn't for the paper, I likely wouldn't have signed up for an online dating site (much less five at one time) for a good ten years or so. But since I've got some great folks standing behind me and it's bound to make for a great story-- even if five months from now I'm still single (and mingling!), I figured why not.

So now that we've got all the basics out of the way, let the dating (and fun) begin!

Welcome to my world...

My first ever boy-girl relationship lasted a whole four hours.

At 2:45 he shoved some sort of note in my seventh grade locker asking me to go out with him.

At 2:52 I responded (on paper of course) with a very feeble yes.

At 3:01 we shared a two minute bus ride.

And at 6:05 I was on the phone, breaking his poor little heart, explaining to him that I liked baseball and he liked softball. For this reason, and this reason alone it could never work.

So began my love-hate relationship with the world of dating.

Welcome to “Can I get a Matthew, Mark, Luke or John?” your Catholic Herald’s blog about a day in the life of a young, single Catholic girl just trying find to Mr. Right.

Via Catholic dating websites.

Hi. I’m Amy. *Waves*

I don’t claim to be the dating expert. There’s a reason I said, “Sure, why not?” when the idea was being thrown about to sign me up for not one, but multiple soulmate searchers.

That reason mainly being my friends are more likely to say, “That sounds like something that would only happen to you,” as in something strange/bad/quirky when referring to my relationships with the opposite sex rather than, “Oh…you two are so cute.”

This is probably because more often than not, there is no “two” to speak of.

Over the next five months I ask for your advice, comments, anecdotes and own personal stories—this blog does have a comment feature and you can email me by clicking on my profile, so by all means use it. If you've got questions, I've got answers. If you've got an adventure for the young, single and Catholic in me to try give a holler, I'm usually up for just about anything. Or maybe you're just bored at work and want to say, "Hi-- I think you're crazy." I'm up for that too.

Or maybe, "I know a really cute, normal, single, Catholic guy...wanna meet up at a fish fry?" :)

And, if by some stroke of luck the laundry machine and parking meter haven't eaten all your quarters and you're headed to mass, light a couple vigil candles for me if you feel so inclined. Between now and May I could likely use all the faith fire I can get.

So what then, can I give you in return? In terms of the whole trying to revamp my love life via these dating sites, I guarantee you there will be squeals of excitement, which luckily for your ears you won’t be able to hear unless you have the ability to pick up frequencies only dogs are familiar with. I guarantee you there will be tears, even if this is partially an “assignment” (and lucky for you, you won’t have to see that either. I’m an ugly crier). And I guarantee there will be laughs. Oh there will definitely be laughs.

And do please feel free to laugh at me, not with me. There’s bound to be at least one blog entry that calls for that.

When it's not full steam ahead in terms of mingling with all these Catholic singles, I'll attempt to explore just what it means to be young, single and Catholic in the archdiocese of Milwaukee. Which may involve a fish fry or two... and I'm always looking for good fish fry companions.

Have I mentioned I love fish fries?

So log on. And log on often. :)