I Coulda Been a Contenda: My Blog, the TLC, Randy in Cincinnati, and How I Almost Became A Reality Star

It’s every blogger’s dream: getting “discovered.” And no, I don’t mean by your long-lost third cousin Shirley whom you haven’t seen since she was the toddler who pooped in your wadding pool.

I mean by someone like a literary agent. Or better yet, someone in Hollywood. I mean, by someone with the pop-culture clout to turn you into an overnight sensation who gets to appear on “Late, Late Night with Craig Ferguson.”

In the blogosphere, we're all waiting for Columbus to discover us and put us on the map.

Back in January, “They Told me to Find a Rich Husband” was discovered.

A casting director  in LA was on the hunt for a handful of women willing to be followed by the TLC as they embarked on a  quest to find the perfect mate in 2012. Somehow, she read my blog and thought I’d be perfect.

The next thing you know, I was on weekly conference calls to the West Coast, in part being investigated in part, investigating.

It was all very exciting. As I sat down to my video interview, my heart pounded with all the thoughts of the possible — the problematic along with the positive.

Was this going to be my fast track to literary stardom? Or would I become the butt of late-night jokes as America watched me fumble through Meet-ups and “How to Grout your Bathroom Tiles” classes at the Home Depot?

Would I be a success in the world of reality TV? Or would I fall flat... again.

Was my “50 First Date Project” going to launch me into dating infamy? Or endear me to the hearts of single, educated women across the country?

Would people find me funny, or would I fall flat?

How big is my butt going to look in HD?

Eventually, the project quieted and I took it as a sign that it might be best to leave the story of my dating life to the written word rather than the world of reality TV. The premise of the show read like a feeder for “Say Yes to the Dress,” and I’m not the 26-year-old who’s ready to commit to a wedding in the next 9 months… even with a pending apocalypse.

Randy's semi, with its 200 wedding dresses, was parked outside my hotel in Cincinnati. One of those could have been mine?

And then I arrived in Cincinnati, Ohio and the Netherland Plaza Hotel. As is the case with me, my timing was impeccable. The TLC was in town, at my hotel, filming “Randy to the Rescue.” Randy, as in Randy Fenoli, as in the wedding dress guru who always saves the day in “Say Yes to the Dress” — my guilty, single-gal Friday night at home pleasure.

Standing next to Randy while waiting for the elevator, I sized him up.

“I coulda been a contender!” I cried, shaking my fist, just as his assistant had begun to say something, I’m sure, relatively unimportant.

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