Sometimes it's hard to be single. While all of your friends are canoodling on their couches, you're spending your evenings curled up with Ben and Jerry and your Seinfeld box set. It is in these desperate times that one might consider turning to the Web for love.

According to msn.com, 40 million Americans use online dating services, a number that represents about 40 percent of U.S. singles.

So I figured: These people must be onto something. Maybe Internet dating Web sites aren't as creepy as I thought?

I decided to do a little investigating. After browsing through a few profiles on match.com, I had a pretty good idea of what these online daters were looking for and I whipped up a profile.

My alias, "MeltNmyMouth69" is a 21-year-old Penn State student and model who is turned on by skinny dipping, erotica and thunderstorms (there was a prompt for these activities. I'm not that perverse). Her perfect date is an 18- to 120-year-old man, somewhere between 3 and 8 feet tall with black eyes, because apparently, Satan is looking for online love.

I plastered my profile with winky faces and clichés about how naughty/sexy/flirty I was. And although I wasn't about to pay to become a subscriber and let the entire match.com world have access to my personal information, I signed up for the free membership.

Unfortunately I won't be "matched" with anyone or be able to directly contact any other members, but I can be "winked" at, which is basically the match.com equivalent of a Facebook poke. Subsequently, I can see the profiles of these winkees -- which provided me with hours of entertainment.

In the first few hours of being accepted, about 10 creepers had winked at me. My favorite of these was artist32. Straight out of Boulder, Colo., this 40-year-old sexpot is looking for a "curvy muse/goddess type." How intriguing. I couldn't resist winking back.

Twenty-four hours later, my junk box was overflowing with winks from my possible suitors. I could barely contain myself when saltshaker237_28 winked at me. From his name, I assumed he was a member of the Ying Yang Twins. I was wrong -- but not disappointed.

This delicious slab of man-meat loves NASCAR, trucks and his dog. And he's turned on by thunderstorms, too! I spent the rest of the night fantasizing about curling up in his pudgy arms, which are undoubtedly marked by a farmer's tan, after a night of passionate lovemaking to the claps of thunder.

I'm going to resist the temptation to call out all of you Penn Staters who have cheesy match.com profiles -- there are too many to list anyway. I hate to break it to you, but what you're seeing on dating service Web sites is the product of an hour-long self-photo shoot by desperate and horny individuals. We go to school with 40,000 people -- one of them will have sex with you.

Even Facebook is stepping over the line with its new "chat" application. Now weirdos from an economics class are going to be instant messaging me. Gone are the days when a guy took his date to the drive-in, and if he was lucky, they'd neck in the backseat of his Chevy after dating for a few years. We've resorted to one-night-stands with complete strangers, with whom we share interests such as thunderstorm sex.

So for all of you who are considering online matchmaking, I have a suggestion: Get off the computer and get out into the real world. You will not find love on the Internet.

Mary Kanaskie is a senior majoring in psychology and advertising and is a Collegian columnist. Her e-mail address is mlk5006@psu.edu.