I want to reduce my carbon footprint and save the planet from environmental disaster, so I am trying to date locally. Maintaining a five-to-ten mile date radius will save on the consumption of fossil fuels and eliminate hazardous mood-killing road rage that stems from driving long distances on Los Angeles freeways.

Bari Carrelli writes from a lovely Los Angeles suburb....read more

According to a 2005 survey on the city website, my lovely suburban neighborhood is 65 percent married. The remaining 35 percent are single residents ranging from newborn to nursing home. I calculate that there are probably 500 single men in my age range, and based on my dating history, 2 percent would be considered a "good match."

How many men have I already dated in the zone? There was the hot younger guy, the head of a non-profit who mauled me in the parking lot, the stay-at-home dad looking for a new go-to-work wife, the fireman/surfer with a head injury. I keep counting. I have already dated nine men within the five-to-ten mile zone. It's time to find lucky #10.

The universe answers my request the next day with a flyer in the mail that says, "Meet singles in your area!" I imagine a local singles group that provides coffee, snacks and light conversation.

I go to their website, fill out a questionnaire, and wait for a call from a "specialist." A perky woman calls me that afternoon. She puts me on hold for a moment while I listen to "Can't Help Falling in Love;" it's the song my ex-husband sang to me on our wedding day. This is not a good sign.

When she returns she explains that she is with a dating service. She will only say that they have 5,000 members locally, are the oldest and largest service in the country, and they guarantee in writing that I will meet screened men with similar goals who are geographically compatible. For more information I have to come into the office and meet my personal matchmaker. I have never tried a dating service, so I make an appointment.

I get two phone calls to remind me of the time of my appointment and to bring my driver's license and two credit cards to prove my identity. My brain immediately sends out a warning to run from this likely scam, but the twin sirens of curiosity and hope keep me going.

When I arrive the receptionist takes me into an office and gives me a form to fill out. The office has large framed prints on the walls depicting impressionistic couples in very romantic poses. In one a man holds a giant bouquet of roses behind his back as a young woman in a 50's style strapless gown leans in to him with an adoring gaze. Romantic music fills the space.

The receptionist returns with another form to fill out and asks if the room is too warm. The room does feel warm and stuffy but I tell her I'm fine.

When she leaves I notice two notebooks on the desk facing me. The top one is slim and says "Member Profiles," the bottom one looks about four inches thick with photos in plastic sleeves. I wonder if they're hoping I'll peek inside. There are coasters with a large cursive L carved into them. This is a room designed to create the fantasy of romance.

She brings another form asking for financial information. I explain I don't give out financial information. She asks to take my drivers license and credit cards to verify my identity. I tell her she can look at them here but she can't take them out of the office. More relationship questionnaires.

Another woman comes wanting to take my drivers license and credit cards. I tell her she can look at them in my presence. I've been there 45 minutes.

Finally I am told my personal matchmaker is ready to see me. She is young, pretty and energetic, her office is air-conditioned and her desk is covered with greeting cards and photos. It is literally a breath of fresh air.

She says all the right things. She shares her own story about how she was in an abusive relationship and shows me her scars. She thought she would never find love, and is now happily married to a wonderful man...that she met through the dating service. Her mom is married to a wonderful man ... that she met through the dating service.

She shows pictures of her mom and husband and flashes her wedding ring. She tells me about a man who drove hundreds of miles to date the woman he loves...that he met through the dating service. She shows me a thank you card with a wedding picture of a plain woman who is 50 years old with a gorgeous man who looks about 40, but my matchmaker swears is 65.

I wonder if she has a thank you card for every type of client. But I don't care; I am happily buying the fantasy.

She tells me about Mike, who just signed up yesterday. He is my age, lives five miles from me, and is handsome and financially stable, very financially stable. The receptionist comes in and again asks me for my driver's license and credit cards. I say no, but my matchmaker assures me it's just to show their supervisor and then asks if I'm free next week to meet with Mike. I hand over the credit cards.

My matchmaker excuses herself to go to the restroom and hands me a notebook with appreciative emails and pictures of happy couples. My dreams of Mike end when I read the line "at first your service seemed outrageously expensive..."

When my matchmaker returns she's surprised that I've finished looking at the testimonials. She brings out the rate sheet and informs me that a membership is only $9,000. I am stunned. I tell her that the woman I spoke to on the phone refused to give me any information about the service and if I had known the cost I would never have wasted her time. I am a single mother of two children working as a freelance writer.

She grabs my forms and looks through them. Somehow we seem to have gone off script. She tells me this is an investment in my future; that I will meet a man who will pay my bills; that if my parents desperately needed money I would find a way to give it to them, so why shouldn't I invest in myself?

She reminds me of a pretty doll whose paint is cracking and peeling, showing the crude, shoddy materials underneath.

She tells me that because she likes me so much, she might be able to get me a discount. She calls her supervisor on her cell phone. There is a long pause and she says, "No she's not 300 pounds. She's slim and would be a great addition."

I can't tell if this is meant to make me feel good or convince the supervisor. She tells me that she's been authorized to give the best discount, $40 a month. I ask, "for how long?" She says, "four years."

I tell her that it would be fiscally irresponsible for a struggling single mother to make that kind of long-term financial commitment. She gives me her business card and a hug and the meeting is over.

As I walk to the car I start to panic. Maybe this is just a front for an elaborate con that will steal my identity and my money. The office will be empty tomorrow and the matchmakers will be sipping grande caramel macchiatos at Starbucks laughing about all of the stupid women so easily duped by fantasies of Mike.

When I get home I Google the company. The website looks credible and has quotes from "The Wall Street Journal" and "Forbes Magazine." But I remember how everyone had good things to say about Enron until they collapsed, so I dig a little deeper. I find dozens of postings on different sites from angry members who felt deceived. I feel like Pinocchio, who eagerly journeyed to Pleasure Island, only to be turned into a jackass.

I cancel my credits cards and send a letter to my matchmaker reminding her that she viewed my credit cards for identification purposes only and that I had in no way agreed to any kind of contract.

Maybe this is an extreme reaction, but I'm not taking any chances. She calls me a few days later assuring me that my information is confidential and that she hopes that she can help me find love in the future.

There was a time when our country was a leader in science and technology. Now we seem to be very good at selling fantasies for a price that drives us deeper and deeper into debt: homes that we can't afford, transportation that we can't afford, dating that we can't afford.

My search for Mr. In-the-Zone-Lucky #10 continues. My fantasy is that we will meet the old-fashioned way and that he will be thankful that I refrained from spending $9,000 on a guy named Mike.

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