If you're having trouble finding that special person, maybe stop and admit that perhaps you may just suck at dating, like me. If dating were a sport, I would be sitting the bench in the JV league. I guess we all can't be good at everything! I know I could use some coaching myself.
My new co-host and work husband Otis on Kiss 95.1 says I am too dorky and I challenge men by being too smart. I will try and be cool and then rattle off some facts about something I read or saw in a museum and lose their interest in the conversation — and me. So should I dumb myself down?
But that's just one explanation of how I screw up dates!
Let's examine how we act on a first date. A first impression is usually a lasting one, and it's easy to make a first date your last.
So here are some coaching tips on plays you should not make in your game:
Talking about your ex. That is the fastest way to scare a guy away. No guy wants to hear about your ex-boyfriend; they want to hear about you. Check your emotional baggage at the door and travel light into your dates.
Getting hammertimed. Clearly, having a couple of drinks softens the awkwardness of a first date, but no guy wants to have to drive you home and tuck you in like a 5-year-old. Plus, being sloppy usually correlates to being slutty.
Not being friendly. The way you treat waiters and waitresses at restaurants is a direct reflection of how you will treat him, as it's representative of how you treat others.
When I first heard about Over the Counter (OTC) Improv’s “I’m SINGLE in Charlotte” show, it piqued my interest. Comedy and matchmaking ... hmmm, how does that work?
I’m happily married, so there’s no reason for me to go. But I was inspired by Jordan’s attempts to find Brittney a date on Match.com. This comedy in match-making dating service left me thinking I could be a sneaky intern, too. Brittney laughs for a living, literally. I'd love to find her someone to laugh with her even when she's off the clock. Plus, I owe her one for coming to my wedding — so I set off on a mission.
I called up the OTC founder Paul Marks and he informed me that 140 people attended the last improv orgy. That is quite the selection of singles for Brittney to play with. And by play, I am referring to improv games. Marks said a game the group uses a lot is the Greeting Game. Groups are given a scenario like "a one night stand” or "bad breath," and everyone has to react to the situation. The idea is to get singles interacting with each other and it works. First dates can be awkward, and what better way to ease the awkwardness than by laughing at it?
I finally found the man of my dreams! The perfect man. My prince charming (and in this case, dorky) .… Dr. Spencer Reid from the A&E show Criminal Minds (played by Matthew Gray Gubler). Too bad he's a fictional character.
When he rattles off nerdy facts dissecting evidence and analyzing psychology as he pulls his loose flowing hair behind his ears, the suspense drama show turns into a romance for me. I go from caring about how the plot unfolds, to wanting to have Dr. Reid’s babies.
The perfect man being a fictional character … sounds about right.
I just started playing for a softball team, The Stock Car Steelers.
Our first game was last week, in which I played catcher (Translation: squatted there and flirted with the batters to distract them).
I got up to bat and swung at the very first thing that was thrown at me. I hit it and got a run … and ran into first base so fast I slid into a split. Not on purpose.
It may have been a hit that got me to first base (barely), but it wasn’t a good one.
I ended up getting a run, which made having a pain in my groin worth it. But then my next turn up to bat, I did the same thing … swung at the first ball that came at me. It was way too high, but turned into a strike by settling for it.
I swung again and got a hit that looked like a deliberate bunt, but no, it was just another bad hit. I moved my short little legs as fast as I could and barely made it to first at the mercy of the other team’s sub-par field game.
When I made it back around to home plate and into the dug out, my best friend Jordan asked me why I swing at everything that comes my way. And I of course turned it into a joke and metaphor for dating.
… you have to try them on before you buy. And just like in a fitting room at the new Nordstrom Rack, you typically need to try on several to find the one that fits just right.
How many dresses have you thought looked great on the rack, but then when you tried them on, they just didn’t fit right. There’s no better feeling than finding that perfect dress for you … and the perfect man to accessorize it with.
I myself have tried hippie dresses, but I prefer a clean living environment. I’ve tried on the bad boy-leather dress, but I like having a clean criminal record, too. I tried on the foreign-made dress, but realized I like to talk too much to have a communication barrier such as language. I have tried on the glamorous cocktail dress, but realized I am more comfortable in cut-off jeans. I have been to just about every store from Ross and TJ Maxx, to Lotus to Julie’s boutique, to BeBe on Rodeo Drive.
I learned that shopping on Rodeo Drive can spoil you, but there’s nothing better than digging through the racks of an outlet store to find that buried treasure. Those cheap dresses tend to fit me more comfortably than the sparkly cocktail dress so tight I have to wear Spanxx.
I asked all my girlfriends, and the majority of them said that their favorite thing in their closet is some random shirt or dress they found for cheap at some random store.
Because that’s what the good ones always are … a find.
We also tend to do this with identities. We change careers, we change paths in life, we try on different decisions to see what makes us happy. And eventually, we will find one that fits.
Just be careful when you’re trying on dresses at Macy’s, specifically — they’ve installed their dressing room door slants upside down so that sales clerks may see in and make sure you’re not a klepto. True story.
I figured out my problem with dating.
I’m too slutty.
Emotionally slutty, that is. While I don’t put out, I put myself out there too much.
It used to be that when I started dating someone, I would send a six-month representative — the person I thought they wanted to get to know. A less-flawed, down-for-anything, eats-small-meals-on-dates version of myself. And the guy would typically send a better version of himself as well. But as time goes on, the true character is always revealed. Be it a lack of ambition, control issues or a negative way of handling stress, they show you their ugly side. Meanwhile, I just looked like an ass trying to make myself seem more attractive, yet I’d have been more attractive to the guy had I just been my uncool self.
Being jaded by meeting too many “six-month representatives,” and worse, for being one myself in certain circumstances, I figured I would correct my mistake of trying too hard — I started being very forthcoming about who I am. Introducing myself with my flaws and my childhood traumas included in my bio, I have turned into an emotional whore.
I figured it would be more fair to him to just show the whole package up front rather than be a used car salesman and break down on him later. But all that does is send the guy running as fast as an NFL wide receiver in training camp trying to keep his job.
Time to find a happy median.
The comedy theater tragedy mask has two faces — a smile and a frown — for a reason. That’s because all comedy comes from tragedy. I typically only show people the smiley, bubbly Britt, never taking off the mask to reveal the real me for which my comedy is derived. Is it too much to ask for someone whom I can be off for every once in a while? Someone who, in the rare instance I’m frowning, wants to turn it back into a smile.
Instead of sending a six-month representative to a new relationship, telling the person what we think they want to hear, we should show our real selves and see if they like it. But maybe try to avoid telling the story about getting raped on the first date — usually not the best dinner conversation.
CMT (Country Music Television) is seeking eligible bachelorettes for the Bachelor knock-off Sweet Home Alabama.
They've now found a bachelor in Alabama and are looking to cast ladies between the ages of 21-32 to compete for his love — and who can manage to get off work to for a four-week shoot at the end of August.
If you wish to fill out a national classified ad, then send the following to firstname.lastname@example.org (yes, they are really casting on Craigslist).
1. Name, Age, Career/Education
2. What is your goal / aspiration related to your studies or occupation?
3. Where did you grow up? City/Town and State. Make sure to include your parents names and occupations.
4. What traditions and values are important to you?
5. What qualities and/or characteristics make you a perfect catch? (Personality, Physical Attributes, Accomplishments)
6. What qualities/characteristics/values are important to find in the guy that you will one day marry?
7. Is marriage and starting a family a big dream or priority for you?
8. Be sure to include your Phone Number, Email, Facebook Page and any other web addresses you might have.
What are you waiting for ladies? Log off this blog and go apply to be the next Emily Maynard, whom I often see at the grocery store in Charlotte — on the cover of magazines.
I caught the bouquet at the wedding I attended this past weekend. Let me rephrase that, I was personally handed the bouquet that went over all the bridesmaids heads and onto one of the tables in the back of the reception tent. The bride has a good arm.
And look who caught the garter belt ... he's 5. He looks more horrified than my boyfriends when they take off my bra and my boobs disappear. Talk about awkward. Typically I prefer older men.
Is this all that's left for single women in their 30s?
Getting a foot rub is perhaps the greatest organic aphrodisiac. I pay people to do reflexology just so I can get a foot rub.
I was actually getting reflexology the other day at Massage Envy in Huntersville when I asked her to massage my ovaries via the nerve ending in my feet, to offset the inevitable incoming period cramps. She said she had to be careful around my feet because certain trigger points on your feet can make you fertile.
I yanked my feet away dramatically.
"How in the hell can you make me get pregnant by rubbing my feet?" I asked her frightened, and curious.
Turns out there is an actual fertility massage.
"That's OK ... scratch that. How about a lower back and glute massage instead?" I would rather endure the most painful of massage treatments rather than increase my chances of getting pregnant. But that's just me. There are a lot of women who, unlike me, are good candidates for reproducing, and are trying to.
So they should call Julie Snow at Massage Envy Huntersville.
She uses accu-pressure points like reflexology on your ovaries around the ankle bones and fallopian tubes around the top surface of the foot. "Massaging those stimulates those organs and their functions," Julie educated me. "It helps women ovulate."
She also uses primrose oil on the feet and a Castrol oil pack on the stomach and pelvic bones that "get the ovaries working harder," as she put it.
Based on success rate of her clients, two to three sessions will knock you up. She's like the baby-making witch doctor — she’s been practicing and knocking people up for 14 years.
Considering my life is like one long Saturday Night Live skit, I figured I would at least make a profit from it. I'm currently in Chicago performing at The Second City. And while I am here fantasizing about being Tina Fey's protege and playing improv games, I find myself playing a different game while out in Chicago's "Viagra Triangle," a sector of nightlife coined for its old money and old men. The new game we invented: "Dad or Date?"
How do you play? Simple. You observe all the silver-haired men fine dining and wining hot young girls, and then try to determine the dynamic of the relationship. Are they having a father-daughter dinner, or is he just trying to be her big daddy. Father's Day was a few weeks ago ... just saying.
But while these young ladies are someone's daughter, when they're calling these male cougars "daddy" or "pappi," it's probably not in the same context.
If only these men would put a little less energy into dating girls their daughters' age, and more into being better fathers, then there would far fewer women with daddy complexes, dating men 20 years their senior, to substitute for the lack of a father figure in their life.
Speaking of dads, another edition of Sh!t My Dad Says, in honor of Father's Day: "As hard as you've tried, you can't ride two horses with one ass Brittney. That's what I want for Father's Day: You to sit your ass down."