Back in my dating days, I liked to keep a firewall between my friends and my dates. It was just too complicated to combine the two–in my experience, it's something akin to introducing an alligator to a wildebeest—someone's going to get killed and it could be me. The first interaction between the two was carefully vetted before it happened—a crowded, noisy, neutral spot, no extended trips down memory lane and no photos.

When a boyfriend did finally meet my posse, there was one simple rule: "Agree with everything I say, for now. If the relationship should last longer than a month, please feel free to set the record straight." Perhaps that seems harsh to you, but it was tempered by that Cold War chestnut—mutually assured destruction or MAD. Should my pal tell that story about the time I gave a sangria-induced water-ballet performance in an above-ground pool in Fishkill, N.Y., I could easily get my revenge by telling her new "friend" about the time she almost got a ticket for public nudity in Central Park. It was an ingenious plan, really, with very little downside.

That's why Zoosk.com completely befuddles me. Zoosk is an online dating site that lets you use social networking to make love matches. For those of you not familiar with Web 2.0 practices, it means your Facebook friends can be active participants in your dating life from the exciting beginning to the bitter end. That's a terrible idea—really awful. Friends know things you don't want new boyfriends to know. And nursing a new relationship requires a level of honesty just slightly above compulsive lying. (You think I'm wrong? How many dates have you told that you looooove jazz and you never eat red meat? … I rest my case.) I'm telling you—combining friending and dating is the worst thing to happen to romance since venereal disease.

But my late-20th-century ideas about relationships must be as old-fashioned as grunge rock because apparently the young people like it. (I'm defining young people as those under 35.) Zoosk has grown from 16.5 million users at the beginning of this year to more than 30 million users to date. It's the No. 1 dating application on Facebook and is available in more than a dozen languages. Isn't that shocking?

On its face, Zoosk works just like its Web 1.0 counterparts Match.com or eHarmony.com. You fill out a date card with your vitals, upload a photo and write a few words about yourself, your perfect match and your movie and music preferences. (I started a date card but didn't finish it because I'm married and it didn't feel right. I can't have my husband afraid I'll dump him over a wink from Steve, 34, Chicago, who loves "sarcasm," rehabbed pit bulls, Star Trek and the Killers.) Potential dates can send you flirts and winks and virtual flowers delivered straight to your MySpace or Facebook page. Nothing says "I'm serious about you" like animated flowers!

Your friends come into it in the form of testimonials. Yup, not only do you have to tell your peeps that you're dating online; but you have to ask them to write you a recommendation. Sounds like a recipe for merciless teasing to me. But if you think about it, those recommendations are really useless. If you have buddies like mine, they'll just pork up your profile with glowing nonsense. What are they going to say other than "Raina rocks!" or "I wish I could date Raina!" Any truth-telling such as "Raina hates fennel" or "Raina's favorite band is Hall & Oates" would be strictly prohibited and would result in MAD. (By the way, I do hate fennel. I don't care if it is a superstylish food additive. It tastes like soapy licorice.)