Going on the Show

When Holidate came to cast in Charlotte not only did I get e-mails about the show from my girlfriends, but someone actually sent in my information stating they felt like they were “filling in a national classified ad for me.” Well, considering I’ve made a living writing about my love life (or lack thereof) in “Sex and the Queen City” in Charlotte’s Creative Loafing & ELEVATE Magazine, and for Lemondrop.com on AOL. Casting called, and I answered.

The girls of Charlotte should thank me really, as I have been keeping the bad, fundamentally undateable, emotionally unavailable men off the market. I somehow managed to conjure up my own real life “Mr.Big” that didn’t end in a fairytale like it did in “Sex and the City.” And when I did finally meet a nice guy, my date with him went from dessert to disaster when I had an allergic reaction to shellfish that somehow snuck into my food and I blew up like Will Smith in “Hitch.” But he really was a nice guy, considering he administered an emergency Epipen for me … in my butt. Let’s just say my pride hurt more than the needle. Well, that pretty much sums up my luck of dating in Charlotte (I’m just glad that didn’t happen on the show).

Going on the show I didn’t have any reservations – nor did I make any expectations, because when you make expectations, you only get let down – I figured I’d make a friend, or three, at least. And that I did. And I made friends with the crew while I was at it. Going on the show was worth the experience in itself because in addition to meeting cool new people, it forced me to step not only outside of my comfort city – but outside of the box.

Above all, I fell in love with the city. Like the comedy school in Chicago I’ve attended, Chicago truly is my Second City. Charlotte is the perfect big town, small city: a median between a big city and a small town. But I might have to cheat on Charlotte and have an affair with Chicago. Chicago has everything I could ask for in a city: culture, comedy, and Cubs. Everyone has their own style. It just gets a little too cold there for this southern girl.

Dating Blindly

I didn’t think blind dates existed anymore with the invention of facebook. My girls would tell me they want to hook me up with someone and then send me a link to their facebook, where I not only got to see what he looked like, but basically his entire resume and daily activities based off his info page and status updates.

But with Holidate I was able to go on a real, actual blind date. 3 of them in fact. Patrycja told me nothing but the guys names and a bi-line of information regarding why I would like them. When the date went from blind to having sight, I thought all the guys were cute. Although when I first saw Dave I thought he was wearing a yarmulke, but as it turns out, it was just a bald spot.

I always say that I just want someone I can be myself around. Well, it’s a little hard to be yourself when there’s a mic in your bra and a camera in your face. But the guys were cool enough that they made that irrelevant and made me feel comfortable being my silly self, and in turn they felt comfortable enough to be themselves . Or well, the representative of themselves (because on first dates guys tend to send their publicist). That said, I wasn’t really able to get to know the guys all that well, but I look forward to getting to know Matt better.

From Date to Dare

My favorite of the 3 dates was my last one with Dave … due to its comedic value. I wouldn’t say that I was necessarily falling in love, but I was falling to the ground laughing. However, I am in love with laughing – and he made me laugh so hard my dimples got sore. Although I’m not quite sure if I was laughing with him . Or at him.

After going to the Sears, or (What you talking bout) Willis tower rather, Dave turned to me in the limo on the way to dinner and said, “I have freakishly long toes.” I got it. He was telling me that because he wanted to advertise the fact that other parts of his body are freakishly long as well. When I called him out on it he tried to change the subject, but I didn’t let him get away with saying something like that and not proving it. About his toes that is of course. When he took his shoe and sock off I gasped like I had just seen Freddy Krueger, because in a sense, I did.  His toes were longer than my fingers and slightly resembled Kruger’s hands. Let’s just say he wasn’t kidding.

He then proceeded to brag about his abilities and said he can actually use his toes like fingers. So I dared him to, using his finger-toes, toast me with the champagne that was conveniently waiting for us in the limo. But Dave is a teacher, thus he’s smart. Smart enough to upgrade that dare to a bet at least, wagering a kiss. Now, I am not the kind of girl that kisses on a first date, but I risked life and lips for the sake of good entertainment. He indeed picked up a champagne glass and toasted me — with his toes (on national television).  It is safe to say that no one has ever gone to that much effort to kiss me, but by the end of the night he gave me no other option but to reneg my bet. Sorry, Dave.

Like the song says when gambling, “you gotta know when to hold em’ know when to fold em’ know when to walk away, know when to run.” And well, it was time to run. Back to my first date, Matt.

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