So, when it comes to me and Internet dating, remind me to just say 'no.'

In two months on Match.com, I've had four dates. Two bad, two good, but none that blossomed. The bad ones included the sadly geeky computer tech and the short, baselessly arrogant staff trainer who claimed to be not only the company vice president, but an attorney (when in fact he does only pro bono work).

The good ones - a big-n-tall, nice-looking divorced dad who trained sales people in the pharmaceutical industry. Sounds dull? Perhaps, but his job included shades of mine, enough so that we had plenty to talk about. With him, there was an immediate sexual draw. I felt it the moment he stepped out of his truck, and knew he did, too. We had a pleasant meal at one of the best Italian restaurants in Denver, and at the end, he moved close to me in the parking lot. I knew he wanted a kiss, but I held back. He called several times after that and then ... he disappeared.

I think now it was perhaps just as well. I get into trouble with guys who ignite that immediate sexual spark because, well, inevitably, I sleep with them. Too soon. And fall for them for all the wrong reasons. This is a tendency I have yet to learn to correct. Thus, I conclude that I should avoid men I'm attracted to, yes?

Which was why I gave the fourth guy three dates in which to prove himself. He was smart, witty and not unattractive, but upon first meeting, I felt no spark whatsoever. On the second date, something sparked. I felt it the moment I saw him, an unexpected jolt of pleasure. During dinner, the conversation turned to politics, then still larger issues. And he began to rant about mankind, the shortsightedness of the world's decision makers, the environment, and then onto space.

I let him go. His eyes sparkled and he smiled as he spoke. He settled back in the booth, drew up a leg as though he were lounging on a couch and finally, ran down.

He radiated passion and intelligence, the attraction grew exponentially, and I felt my heart soften toward him. I hoped that night for a kiss. I got a hug.

He called the next day to say how much fun he'd had, to apologize for his ranting.

Then he asked me out again.

This time: Nothing. In fact, worse than nothing.

He had forgotten what I did for a living. Forgotten, too, not only whether or not I had a son or daughter, but that I had a child at all. I stared at him when he admitted this, stung by it and even more so, by what it revealed about his interest in me. I joked with him about it, trying to pass it off, but the tiny spark that was left sputtered and died.

Midway through our meal, he said, "We've established the fact we're just going to be friends, right?"

I nodded dumbly.

Then he told me about the Match.com women he'd recently dated: One that had recently confessed she was bisexual, another who'd told him she was sleeping with several other men. He shook his head. He didn't understand any of it.

"You haven't told me any of your latest wild dating stories," he said.

I shrugged. I had none. He was the only one I was still dating. And now, well, it seemed he wasn't a date after all.

What the hell, I let him pick up the ticket anyway.

He gave me a light hug in the parking lot. "See you in about a month?"

"Sure," I said, too confused to say any more.

I e-mailed him a few days later to say thanks but no thanks. I'm not looking for another friend, I said, and that I was surprised he'd forgotten the basic facts of my life. I complimented him for his wit and wished him well.

He apologized, said he'd thought we'd end up friends anyway, and that it had been fun meeting me.

I shut down my computer that night with a familiar sense of resignation.

What is it men are looking for? Not only this man, but the others on Match.com. My photo is good. My profile is, too. Lightly witty, honest, to the point. But it generates no e-mails, and I am tired of reaching out to try to draw them in myself. It has, overall, been hard on my always-fragile ego.

With Mark, I had hope. I figured the spark might return, that if it had been there on the second date, it could be back for the fourth and eventually, become constant.

But instead, Mark sat across from me last week, shaking his head in confusion over women who have disappointed him. So busy pondering it he forgot the woman with whom he shared the evening. He couldn't figure it all out. Neither could I.

A friend of mine has speculated that I perform poorly in one-on-one, high-pressure encounters like those created by Match.com. Perhaps she is right. There is something about me that doesn't translate in print and photos, something that even I, as a writer, can't manage to convey.

Apparently, it is only there live. Perhaps, as with Mark, it's the sparkle in my eyes that makes me shine brightly enough to be noticed.

Friday night, I joined the singles group at a downtown piano bar. The entertainers there invite audience participation. They sing bald and nasty songs. I laughed in from-the-gut, genuine delight, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. I was having fun. At evening's end, the gentleman next to me asked for my phone number. He is not what I consider my type, but if he calls, I will go. I will give it a chance.

And if he doesn't, that's OK, too. Because he gave me something that night, just by asking. He gave me back some of my confidence, the belief it took me years to absorb that I am attractive, something upon which Internet dating trampled.

On the bright side, I got four dinners, a lunch and several glasses of wine out of this round of dating. The service cost $50. I'd say I got my money's worth.