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I usually describe my religion as “Jewish, heavy on the –ish.” (Read: I will not go to services or fast on Yom Kippur, but I will swing by your breaking-the-fast party and bring some schmear.)

But during a dating dry spell that’s longer (and dryer) than Moses’s 40 days of wandering in the desert, I agreed when The Bold Italic asked me to check out some popular religious dating apps and sites. So I spent a month on JSwipe,dharmaMatch,Atheist Passions and Christian Mingle.

I did not meet the religious (or spiritual, or atheist) man of my dreams, but I did laugh — a lot. And I scored one late-night invitation to come over to someone’s house in my pajamas, which I declined.

“Nice” Jewish boy he was not. DTF he was. (Unless he ACTUALLY did want to movie and cuddle, but the “Lol” makes me think not.)

I’ve always wanted to celebrate Christmas. It sucks to be one of the only kids in your elementary school not getting a visit from Santa, and it still sucks as an adult. So when Christian Mingle asked me to fill out what I thought being a Christian means in my bio, I immediately thought of Christmas and filled that in.

I didn’t think I’d have much luck on a site that asked me for my favorite Bible passage. I didn’t have one, so I chose the Old Testament instead. (Hey, it was the one covered in Hebrew school!) My Christian friends informed me that choosing a whole book wasn’t technically a passage, and that I could go with a popular section like “Love is patient, love is kind,” but that brought back too many memories of a dying Mandy Moore in A Walk to Remember.

I chose a profile photo of myself in a Santa onesie. I thought it was thematic. It got approved, as did all my other conservatively dressed photos. Christian Mingle had to approve my bio and photos before they went public.

The app chose my headline for me, which strangely announced that I was a “Single—never been married Woman.” That’s not how I usually introduce myself, but I guess my previous marital status was important to eligible Christians. I also had to choose the kind of Christian I was. I didn’t understand half of the options. I thought choosing “Charismatic” would show how charming and fun I was, but Google informed me that it is in fact a kind of Christianity that “emphasizes the work of the Holy Spirit, spiritual gifts and modern-day miracles as an everyday part of a believer’s life.” Whoops.

At first I kept getting matched with men in their early 20s and was becoming frustrated by a lack of facial hair or bachelor’s degree. My friend Kelsey commented that it might be because religious Christians (at least the ones we knew) get married young, and there wasn’t anyone older. It turned out our stereotypes were wrong and that the problem was that my settings were on the 18- to 23-year-old filer. For just a moment, my cougar destiny had come to fruition.

Some men put their religious needs right out there, like, “I’m looking for something that loves the Lord.” I was very intrigued by the guy who wrote in his bio, “I have not had a full girlfriend relationship, but one thing I have learned is if a girl shows signs of being annoyed by my presence, the best thing to do is back away quietly.”

Not many men seemed enticed by my bio, but I did get a few “smiles,” which, I thought, meant I could chat with them. I was wrong. Christian Mingle charges a subscription fee for you to be able to talk to potential partners. As much as I had hoped to celebrate Christmas one day, $15 a month to flirt behind a screen was a bit steep. I tried “smiling” at a bunch of men, hoping that if they forked over the money, they could talk to me. But it didn’t work. Then I smiled back whenever I received a smile, hoping that there was a loophole (like two smiles = a free introduction). But just like during Lent, the rules were strict here.

Another strange financial aspect to Christian Mingle: I had to promise that I wouldn’t ask any other members for money. No other dating sites asked me about this. Maybe other women had asked men to pick up the cost of the app so they could chat? Smart.

Christian Mingle sent annoying emails every couple of days, especially if my activity dropped off (see the screenshot above). The subject line “Don’t take a first date too seriously” seemed peculiar, given that the people in that picture look to be taking their date very seriously.

Anyway, I wish I could have taken a first date not too seriously, but since I couldn’t do much beyond “smile” at anyone, I never scored. Oh well, there’s always Christmas 2017.

I want to preface that the feelings I have about JSwipe are not just because I’m Jewish. The interface of the app is SO much easier to use than dharmaMatch, Christian Mingle and Atheist Passions. It’s Tinder-like, with some swiping and no payment (insert your cheap-Jew stereotype here). Plus, when you find a match, an animation of someone getting lifted in a traditional wedding chair pops up.

After a disappointing few weeks on Christian Mingle, I was desperate for someone to talk to me. I tested my two-sentence bio on friends to make sure I sounded adorable, approachable and culturally Jewish enough to be on the site. Including the world “bagel” was a clutch.

I got lots of matches on JSwipe (Bubby would be so proud!), so to narrow down the prospects, I stuck to the important issues. I made my opening line “On your latkes: sour cream or applesauce?” (Note to suitors: applesauce is the correct answer; sour cream is gross.)

I was also intrigued by Adam, who told me he was a singer and sent along a link to his new album. (I suspect Adam was only on JSwipe to promote his music to women, which is genius marketing.) Respect, Adam.

However, Adam didn’t answer my adorable (awkward?) flirt asking if he would do a cover of “I Have a Little Dreidel.” Whatever, Adam.

There were a few other interesting characters. This guy is READY to be fruitful and multiply.

This guy’s marketing is on point.

I honestly don’t think Gelacio chose the best bio picture for the site.

This one was a little demanding about vehicle ownership.

And I respected that this gentile was just honest about why he was there.

I was excited for Atheist Passions. I’m atheist, and the name made it sound like the site would be sexy.

I wrongly assumed that without the judgment of God, we would be allowed to be a little more risqué with our cleavage.

Things must have gotten a little TOO sexy in the past, because Atheist Passions had a lot of rules about photos. Images had to be “NON NUDE” and could not feature celebrities, children, significant cleavage or see-though/sheer clothing. I wrongly assumed that without the judgment of God, we would be allowed to be a little more risqué with our cleavage. Also strange: if members didn’t fill out their height and weight, their profile would be deleted — weird, since most people are going to lie anyway. Oh well, at least everyone on the site knows not to challenge me to a limbo contest.

Once I put all my personal information out there for the single atheists of the world to judge, I went to find someone to chat with. But there were only five members online, including me and the lone active man with a creepy photo.

Atheist Passions’ main advertisers were sellers of irreverent T-shirts. The sidebar advertised gems such as this:

Anyway, the bios on the site weren’t very impressive, and some were even offensive. Like this one that read, “I am a nice, smart, polite and honest human being with a good, kind heart. I just can’t be mean at all — well, unless U are a royal biatch.”

This one was just off the wall:

The same company seems to own other sites, like Shy Passions, Gaming Passions, Senior Passions, Trucker Passions, Native American Passions, Cosplay Passions, Punk Passions and so many more. Their success testimonials include very bizarre stories like this about women treating men poorly:

“I will say when I started my pages about nine months ago, it took me a good month before I started seeing interest from people, and actually I have been exceedingly lucky to have found (just two months after I started) a wonderful man. But even he has been on this site (and in the many different passions) for years and has had off and on very hit-or-miss interactions. Even when we first started talking, I treated him very poorly. I was snippy, and he even at one point said, ‘I think I have a crush on you,’ and I told him, ‘Oh, crushes are crushes; you’ll get over it.’ I’m lucky that he kept on talking, ’cause now we’re planning a life together.”

After a month, I never got any messages. Luckily, the FAQ section of the site helped me understand why.

For my own ego, I’m going to assume that everyone was just engaged in chat—not that they weren’t interested. I’m also going to assume this site is actually a joke.

dharmaMatch

I thought dharmaMatch was going to be a website for people practicing Hinduism. After being confused about the abundance of white men on the site, I looked up “dharma” and noted that it also meant “cosmic law and order” in Buddhism. Anyway, the men I found on the site seemed to be spiritual and grounded—and very calm. (Note: these are three words I would not use to describe myself.)

DharmaMatch had a ton of questions for users to fill out, each with a huge number of possible answers. This was great for things such as sexuality and gender.

But it was strange to answer a subjective question about my physical attractiveness — which I had to rate on a scale from “plain” to “supermodel” — followed next by questions about what my partner’s ideal income should be, followed by some really deep spiritual questions, like, “What happens after the body dies?”

A lot of bios had this kind of vibe:

Despite not understanding most of the spiritual verbiage, all of them seemed to have redeeming qualities. As a woman who is about to be living under a Trump regime, there is nothing that gets me hotter than a man annoyed by social injustice, so I put this guy on my “hot list.”

Like on Christian Mingle, it costs money to message on dharmaMatch. Luckily, it costs money only if you message first. So I “smiled” and waited for some guys to message me.

I received my first message from a guy who promised he was “ONE HELLUVA PRANKSTER” on his profile.

His initial message seemed formal but not too abnormal. Plus, he gets Jewish values.

But then a follow-up message arrived before I had a chance to answer. In case I wasn’t convinced about his love for pranks, he sent me a follow-up message with details of his latest joke. I was afraid to message Dave back because he sounded kind of evil, kind of like he also wrote fake Nigerian Prince emails, and also because his prank wasn’t funny at all.

Dave and I didn’t connect. But at least I now know what “dharma” means. And at least I know he can’t prank me, but I am still “freakkkkkkkkkeddddd” out.