I’ve dated online. There. I said it.

It shouldn’t be a big deal, but there’s an uncanny stigma associated with finding a date online, like you’re cheating fate somehow. It used to be that you had to sit on a park bench with your hair combed and wait to be picked up by a handsome businessman passing by, but now you can eat Fritos on your bed and chat up menfolk who think you go around looking like your profile picture all the time – little do they know that sucker was taken at your cousin’s wedding when you paid a hairdresser 40 clams to slap some make-up on your face that wasn’t cherry-flavored Blistex.

It makes perfect sense to date online, given the technology these days. I can scroll through my BlackBerry to find the nearest Chinese take-out, so I should be able to access my future babydaddy with the same ease. There’s certainly no shortage of sites – Match.com, eHarmony, plentyoffish.com –all you have to do is whip up a profile, post a photo that doesn’t make you look like water buffalo, and your dream dude is a click away.

Oh, if it were only that simple.

Filling out the profile is the only part I really like, since it calls for a little creativity. I enjoy the process: grab an iced tea and put on a little Dolly Parton to set the man-catchin’ mood, then let the fireworks begin.

The profile builder inevitably asks: WHAT ARE YOUR INTERESTS?

I think for a moment, then answer, quite honestly: Extreme croquet, burning anything I try to bake, watching “COPS” in my underwear.

WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN A MATE?

Someone who isn’t going to murder me and use my skin for a lampshade in their TV room. Also employed, preferably not as a street pharmacist.

DESCRIBE YOUR IDEAL FIRST DATE.

We go for coffee. You’re charmed by how well I match my lipstick to my purse. I listen intently while you tell me about the time you accidentally set fire to one of your fraternity brothers.

The truth is, my profile could be completely in Hungarian and, when translated, declare that I enjoy taking 3-hour baths in tubs filled with mayonnaise, and dudes would still e-mail me because I am a carbon-based life form with female parts. It’s just the nature of online dating, according to a good friend of mine, who wishes to remain anonymous: “Girls have no idea how hard it is to get their attention on these sites,” he swears. “Women get a barrage of e-mail as soon as they join. You almost don’t want to e-mail them because 7 times out of 10, it gets shuffled to the bottom of their inbox.”

I can see where Brian Sullivan of Chesapeake, Virginia – I mean, Anonymous –  is coming from. My problem with online dating has never been finding a date; it’s been sorting through an avalanche of e-mails from men who have sniffed out new potential online loves, and some strange ones at that:  “DAGGONE GIRL U HAVE PRETTY EYES AND STUFF WOULD U LIKE TO MEET UP FOR A ROUND OF POOL I HAVE A PASS FOR A FREE GAME AT PINBOYS.”

That’s not to say I haven’t had some success. I dated three or four guys I met online quasi-seriously, and because of this I’m not of the opinion that meeting someone on the computer is somehow any less authentic than meeting someone in “real” life. This is especially true when the guys I’ve dated through a real-life-meeting have included a torrid love affair with a man at a Halloween party who was dressed as John Oates. Is it more awkward to tell my grandchildren that I met their PeePaw on a structured, electronic personals ad or when he was still singing “You Make My Dreams Come True” while vomiting gin and tonics in my apartment parking lot?

I’m sure my stint with online dating is not over. There’s a certain exhilaration in knowing that with the next page refresh, you could have an e-mail from someone you really hit it off with, someone who understands who you are, realizes that you have your strengths and your weaknesses, and not only accepts them, but loves you madly for it.

Or you’ll get a free game of pool at Pinboys. Either way, win-win, pretty eyes.