According to UrbanDictionary.com, the meaning of the word “desperate” lies somewhere between having to pee so badly you’re about to wet your pants and blue-balling to the point that you’ll sleep with anything with two legs.

In my case, “desperate” refers to signing up last week for a site called CrazyBlindDate.com, since, let’s face it, the only thing more desperate than letting the Internet set you up on a blind date is writing a column so that you have an excuse to let the Internet set you up on a blind date.

Just launched Nov. 7 by the organization behind the dating site OkCupid!, Crazy Blind Date sets up local area users with their choice of either single or double dates. Daters pick which times they are available, and then can put down general requirements for potential partners, such as being taller than four feet or younger than 70.

Working with a 4 p.m. Monday deadline, I had no choice but to be similarly liberal with my own restrictions. Drawing the line at the five-foot mark and at age 45, I gave insipidly amiable answers to questions regarding my interests and expectations for the date and submitted my profile. Within 24 hours, I had a response.

Mike, praise the lord, was a puerile 22. He also claimed to be tallish, average, blessed with lots of dark hair and also really hot (obviously).

From the Crazy Blind Date-blurred picture accompanying his profile, I had exactly 0 percent visual confirmation of any of this. His profile stated, however, that he was good at talking about five things: “Tech, cars, you, me, us.”

Yikes. The Web site reviewer Clipmarks.com got it right when they characterized Crazy Blind Date as for the “Fearless-But-REALLY-Lonely ONLY.” I figured there was a pretty decent chance that anyone going on this site probably had some sort of huge social handicap. Like being a serial killer, or not potty-trained.

There was also the equally likely chance that they were even more desperate than I was. The kind of people who, as a commenter on the blog TechCrunch puts it, try Crazy Blind Date once: “Just after ballroom dancing classes, and before the suicide bomb.”

Finding Mike at a Los Altos coffee shop this Sunday, I was shocked when he actually didn’t seem to fit my abysmal expectations. Certainly no Quasimodo, Mike even appeared exceedingly normal, and, for the first four minutes, everything seemed to be going fine. Then we ran out of things to talk about.

I said I’m a Stanford student and never mentioned this column. He said he works for a software company in San Jose, and he and his co-workers like trying out different Silicon Valley cafeterias for lunch. Had he ever been to the Google cafeteria in Mountain View? No. Had I? No.

Silence.

A few minutes later, it looked like we had struck gold when he mentioned he liked going to the shooting range — something I had just done for last week’s column. Unfortunately, it turns out that being able to write 800 words on a subject actually only translates into being able to hold a 60-second conversation about it. We floundered.

When some time later Mike suggested that it might be fun for us to go to San Francisco together sometime, I knew that this little ol’ crazy blind date had run its course.

Meeting someone you don’t know for coffee is one thing. But spending a whole day in the city talking about tech and cars? Now that’s crazy.

As I gave Mike a line that may or may not have included the phrase “It’s not you, it’s me,” I told him that I wasn’t really looking to date anyone right now. I excused myself, but as I hid in the back of the coffee shop waiting for him to leave, I couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about the whole thing.

On the scale between ballroom dancing lessons and the suicide bomb, I’m not sure whether the non-psychopathic and (presumably) potty-trained Mike represents ultimate desperation or just bright-eyed optimism.

Using Crazy Blind Date because you feel like you can only get a date using a blurred photograph and a profile full of pick-up lines is one thing. Using it because you’re open-minded to absolutely anyone being the love of your life is another. What if Mike was the latter?

Fortunately or unfortunately, I think I’m at least a fair ways away from both states right now. But come my 22nd birthday in seven months, I might just feel differently. And when my undercover-college-reporter-blind date silently makes a mockery of me from across the table, well, maybe I’ll regret not taking up Mike’s offer for a San Francisco-bound, tech and cars second date after all.