Normally, anyone who's been in the dating game for, oh, 20 minutes or so, knows that finding the right partner is tantamount to scaling Mount Everest. Once the pinnacle is reached the victory is sweet but the climb is often both arduous and exhilerating, challenging and trecherous yet exciting to all the senses.

One path to the pinnacle for today's big city singles is the classified ad. It seems that more and more of the unattached are taking this proactive approach to seeking out the opposite sex in order to find a mate. Though fraught with a few pitfalls and travails, this method has worked for numerous couples. Here is my experience with the method. (Note: You can laugh at anytime, there is no punch line; it was all one big joke!)

Earring & Ponytail Optional . . .
as long as you have the heart of a rebel. Uninhibited, mischievous, 34, leggy and cultured black beauty looking for fun-loving, unconventional white guy 35-40+ with a romantic soul and an unrestrained passion for life.

This was my wish list in 40 words or less.

It all started as a lark, a whim. My aim originally was only to boost a sagging ego. My girl friends and I put our heads together and came up with a plan. I was to place a free ad in a local weekly alternative paper, then sit back and listen to all the men wanting to talk to, to go out with me. This daily dose of adulation was to make me feel wanted again, to drive home the notion that there were more fish in the sea. Well, it worked in theory.

Reality was a whole different story.

First, there was the whole set up process itself. After receving my email application, a perky young representative from the newspaper called to notify me of the 9-digit romance line phone number, my 4-digit box number, my 6-digit security code, the 3 weekly run dates and the expiration date of my message box. She then suggested that I record my outgoing message promptly and said good luck and goodbye. After valiantly making my way through a phone system which is second in complexity only to the IRS system, I choked at my outgoing message at least 7 times. Finally, settling for a basic "Hi, my name is . . . I like to . . . leave me your name, number and the best time to call", I hung up with a big sigh of relief.

Next came the wait for the flood of callers to begin. Thursday - the paper comes out but it's a weeknight, apparently no one is up reading the classifieds. Friday, wrapping up the work week, watching X-Files, again no time to search the paper. We begin to realize that we have greatly overestimated the desperation of "men seeking women." Finally, Saturday, the first call. After which calls dibbled in at the underwelming rate of one every other day or so.

Here is a sampling of the calls, callers and results.

He said: 46 y/o, 5"10', 175 lbs, works out, runs, lived all over the world, drives a BMW roadster and Range Rover, divorced 4 yrs.
He was: A jerk. Very boring on the first call but I gave him a second shot at a good first impression which he used to verbally berate me after I turned down his invitation to a nudist convention.

He said: 36 y/o, 6"2', 177 lbs, beard/mustache, active, loves museums, theater, travel, good eats, rides a motorcycle.
He was: A great phone conversationalist but tongue-tied in person. Fun but certainly not worldy. He misunderstood something I said and left thinking I was a call girl by profession.

He said: SWM 41, ponytail, new to area, reads a lot, loves film, theater, dining.
He was: Definitely reading a prepared message and substituting my name in the blanks labelled "insert name here." He did NOT get a return call.

Needless to say, I did not find true love in the classifieds. All in all, the experience left me feeling like the last dog in the sled team. The entire race having been spent trailing the rest of the pack, stepping in, often times slipping on, poop, I was just happy to get back to my stall to curl up for a little R and R!