When I had roommates, my cool roommate, Kerry, and I constantly talked about dating. We were both hopeless at it (she was far more prolific, but we still ended up in roughly the same spot). She said a few times, “Post something on Craigslist. You probably won’t meet anyone, but it’ll be a big ego boost.” So I posted something about how I didn’t really know what I was all about, but here’s what I did know: I love dahlias, I played bluegrass, blah blah blah.

A few months later, I was emailing with a friend of an ex, and he said, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, do you like dahlias?”

The way I remember it, which may not have been what actually happened, is that I was at work, frozen, jaw dropped, staring at my screen for about five minutes, while some part of my subconscious worked furiously on a plan to cash out my limited assets and leave the country immediately.

I definitely freaked out. Not on him. Well, a little bit on him. But I felt so violated. I felt that some part of me had been laid bare. As if I found out there was some sex tape of me out on the Internet somewhere.

He had a good excuse: he felt like he couldn’t not acknowledge it. He’d seen it, he had to own up. That made sense. And, honestly, no matter how he brought it up, I would have been shocked.

But still, I’ve never posted anything on Craigslist again. It was too embarrassing.

Today, I got a message from Match. Hooray! I thought. I am wildly unpopular on Match.

Then I read it.

Hey, stranger.

Fancy meeting you here. How is this match.com thing working for you?

From: the biggest d-bag of a bluegrass promoter in town. The guy who bills my all-gal band as “girls girls girls” like we’re g.d. strippers. The guy who books 3 bands, charges $12 at the door, and somehow, even when the place is packed, the bands only end up with $50 each — as in, each band, not each person. The guy who EVERYONE has seen totally hit on girls who are clearly trying to get away from him.

He thinks I’m as desperate as he is. And, let’s be honest: I am.

The thing with the bluegrass scene is that everyone knows my business. My last long-term relationship was with someone else in the scene, and everyone knew about it. Everyone knows he’s dating someone else. Everyone knows we don’t talk. And everyone blames me. Allegedly crazy me.

This is why I hate online dating. As much as I contribute to gossip, I do believe that some things should be allowed to be personal. (Yes, I realize how ironic it is that I’m writing this on a public blog. I’m starting to rethink this whole thing, too.)

Arrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh.