My Tinder Bender- Date #58- On The Road Again
Every time I have a gig in uptown Canada, I wonder ifthey have Tinder there. My experiences on the app differ from city to city, asyou can imagine. This weekend, I had gigs in Sudbury AND North Bay. I know! This girl is on FIRE.
The taglines in Sudbury are hilarious.
Just kicking hippies asses and raisin hell!!!
Okay, I know he meant “raising” there, but too many actual raisins and I’d personally be turned off. I’m less into turning grapes into raisins, and more into grapes turning into wine. Then there was this one:
Attractive guy. Looking for discrete fun now.
K, this guy doesn’t know basic improv skills. Show, don’t tell. Also, he spelled discrete like that. Not me.
There are enough fun comics in town on Friday because of the Sudbury Comedy Festival, so I don’t get the chance to Tinder. Gotta go party with my friends. But when I get to North Bay the next night, I’m back in action. It’s actually shocking that I use Tinder on Saturday nights, seeing as how I spend all day watching shows on Slice like Fatal Vows, A Stranger In My Home, See No Evil… basically any show about relationships that end in murder. Maybe it is time to take up The Big Bang Theory…
As I sit in the Crown and Beaver, eating the most delicious burger of all time, I make a match with a super cute guy. He’s 34, blonde, blue eyes. WHAT? What is going on up here, North Bay? As a city girl, I find it hard to believe there are dream boats in Markham, let alone four hours out of the city. (Sorry, I shouldn’t have said “dream boat”, eh? It’s kind of a funny term, if anyone’s actually still using it.)
I know I’m not going to be done my gig until around 11pm, but I can’t resist seeing if he wants to go out. I must confess, all my life I’ve been coping with a disorder called FOMO. What is FOMO, you ask? Very simple. “The Fear of Missing Out.” It’s SO hard to just stay home! (Unless it’s -20 out.) I can’t help but wonder, “What if this guy is the best ever!? What if North Bay is the best city in the WORLD to party in?” I actually LOVE partying in small towns. Always such unpretentious bars, with people of all ages (aka The Whole Town,) getting level 10 drunk. Who KNOWS who will save the princess?! (And then drop her accidentally.)
I ask him what I assume is a dumb question.
Do you guys have cabs here?
Haha. Yes, we do. But if you trust a northern guy, I can come pick you up. I don’t really drink a lot. I understand if you don’t though.
I usually don’t let people pick me up, but here, I feel safe. We’ve been chatting all day, plus I feel if there was a murderer on the loose here, somebody would have told me already. I already know the lady who works at the hotel's entire life story. When my fellow comics and I pull up to the hotel after the gig, they’re like,
“So you’re just gonna hop in that guy’s car?”
“Yup. He looks pretty normal eh?”
Both comics:
“Actually, yah.”
“Sweet. So if you find me in a ditch tomorrow, that guy did it.”
I hop out of the car, and into his. I give him a quick hug, and introduce myself. Then he says,
“Were your friends like, “So you’re just gonna hop in that guy’s car?”
“Yup. Word for word.”
He had already mentioned during our texts that there’s a fun bar called The Fox and the Fiddle we can check out. Oh I KNOW the Fox and the Fiddle. There’s like 20 of them in Toronto. Two of which I trust the draught beer at.
We walk in, and I can’t tell if the guy greeting us is the host or a bouncer. The band is screeching out a classic Tragically Hip song. Bouncer dude waves us in. FACK! I didn’t get ID’d. My life is over.
The bar is packed. Lots of women who have dressed to impress, middle aged men in puffy vests busting a move to, “Don’t Tell Me What the Poets Are Doing,” celebratory balloons that say “Happy 50th Birthday.” If I celebrate my 50th birthday party at the Fox and the Fiddle just kill me.
I order us two Coors Lights. (Don't judge me. WHEN IN ROME…) We grab a table.
“So, how’s your life going?”
That seems to be my opening line on dates these days. It’s not like I have to limit my question to “How was your day?” You’ve had a million days before I came along. You can pick your best, and talk about that.
He’s sweet, and shy. Super cute. He tells me he’s pretty much lived in North Bay most of his life. The furthest he’s travelled is MONTREAL! That’s when I feel this impulse to blurt out,
“You need to travel!! See the world! Europe! Maui! There are so many great places out there!”
Oh God. I need to shut up. I must sound like a guidance counselor. He’s definitely doing well in life, though. He owns a house, three cars. I confess to him,
“Oh man. I have no assets. I think the most valuable thing I own is a first edition Archie comic. The digest, not the magaziney ones.”
(I know magaziney is not a word. But you get it. Those bigger skinny comics.)
The music in the bar is all classic rock. The band is now playing that “8-6-7-8-3-0-5” song. No idea who does it, and not even sure if I’m putting the numbers in the right order, but people are really rocking to it on the dance. I notice that most of the tables in the bar have just turned into make-shift coat checks. Everybody has a table for their belongings, but they spend the night on the dance floor. Even the bands winter boots are all sitting at the table next to us. They are wearing nice shoes on stage. Classy. I always get nervous my winter boots (totally salt stained) look like shit when I’m on stage.
I tell my date I'm a comedian. He tells me he’s pretty funny at his job. He tells a street joke- something about a doctor. I don’t know why, but I am incapable of remembering street jokes. Probably a good thing for a comedian. The joke totally makes me laugh. Then I try to tell a Ron Josol joke (with credit to Ron, of course) but I screwed it up and bombed. Oopsies. When Ron does it, it’s hilarious. I swear.
Then he tells me the best thing ever:
“I did a quiz on Facebook this week. Which celebrity are you most likely to date?” I got Taylor Swift.”
OMG! WHAT A COINCIDENCE CUZ I’M GOING TO WRITE ABOUT YOU! Who would have known Facebook quizzes were so accurate, eh?
We both nurse our beers, and continue to chat over the loud “I GOT MY FIRST REAL SIX STRING, BOUGHT IT AT THE FIVE AND DIME!” I treat myself to one more beer. I asked for a hoppy one, but I got whatever that is I’m holding in that picture. Also, sorry for my greasy hair. I rely on hotel shampoo and conditioner on the road cuz I like being a light packer. Today’s hotel DIDN’T have conditioner, so I was too scared to wash my hair. Who knows what kind of puffiness would have ended up on my head.
Some more street jokes (I wonder who the man behind street jokes is?) and some pleasant head bopping later, he drives me back to my hotel. I tell him he should become an Uber driver (after explaining what Uber is.) He would kill it out here.
I hug him goodbye and retreat to my room. I’m happy I met this guy tonight. As Valentine’s Day approaches, I will hear dozens of chicks cry, “There’s NOBODY out there! There are NO good guys left!!” That’s simply not true. If I can Tinder down a nice, thirty-something cutie, in a town that's population is roughly 2% of Toronto's, in a matter of hours…. so can you.
You just have to catch the FOMO.
Keep calm and Tinder on,
Walkinsauce:)
P.S. I take that back. I actually might have my 50th birthday party at the Fox and the Fiddle. That might be funny.
