Singles Brunch

Has anyone ever been to an organized “singles event”?  No, you probably haven’t.  Because the majority of people in their 20’s are married with 2 kids, own a house, hopefully have a dog vs. a cat, and have never experienced these “oh so fun” events.  Or maybe you have.  I’m just a bit tardy to the party.  This was the first.  And I would like to be able to say it was the last, but stupidly, we’ve already signed up for another excruciating similar-type event in a few weeks.  Writing on the wall?  But if you start with low expectations….

The event sounded intriguing enough, a casual brunch at Gravitas.  I’m always up to experience something new, so my good girlfriend and I got sucked in.  Plus it was at yet another restaurant in Houston I hadn’t been to.  The pitch was:

The answer to “Where do I meet quality, intelligent, single professionals?”…..stop rolling your eyes.

If you have to ask, and then you attend the event to try to convince someone of that, you’ve probably already pitched your tent permanently in the lobby. Nobody mentioned the crazies on that website.

We pulled up to the restaurant with the parking lot full of quite a few minivans, and walked in.  One sharpie-written sticky nametag, a smile, and 3 full-restaurant glances later, complete compunction.  A nap sounded so much more enticing.  But we did our best to be “social”.  After all, there was a fee for this event.  A $48.00 per person fee.  Penalty flag.  Don’t get me started.  I left this stadium a long time ago.  No need for subsequent ridicule.

“Hi, I’m ____.”  We will call him Jersey Shore.  Now you have a visual.  Here is a list of Jersey Shore’s quotes to me sporadically interjected into conversations I was having with other people throughout the morning.

1.       You have a really great smile. (Not a bad start)

2.       I like your dress. (One compliment was fine, thank you)

3.       Your earrings and your necklace are really nice.  Do you like guys that wear earrings?  (It depends on the edginess of the guy, but this pond is closed buddy.  Stop fishing.) 

4.       Can you see my pierced earlobe holes?  (This is going to be painful) 

5.       You look like you’re really in shape; do you pump a lot of iron? (Yah. 6am, gym, full make-up, matching outfit.  Ughh.  Truly, your keen sense of how to converse with a woman is jaw-dropping)

6.       I really like the patterns on your dress.  (Child’s play, starring…)

7.       So, you’re a veterinarian?  Like, of all animals?  (…all but you)

8.       Do you have any tattoos and where? (Shouted diagonally across the table, this is an 11 am Sunday brunch.  Thank God for my girlfriend who witnessed my dumbfounded, speechless expression and turned the question back around)

9.       So you wouldn’t sky-dive, but what about sex on Mt. Everest? (At this point it’s a traffic accident.  No one can look away.  Did I mention 11am Sunday brunch?  And I am in no way, shape, or form exaggerating these lines at all)

And while all of this was happening, I failed to recognize Miss Jersey Shore at the opposite end of the table who was about to steal the show.  The cherry on this cupcake was an actual scene involving seat stealing and curse words.  Now the way the table was configured, if anyone on the opposite side had to get up for any reason, the entire line of people had to stand up to let that person out.  Of course I’d predicted that potential scenario way before ever-so-wisely choosing my seat at the start of the brunch.  The instigator: the hematologist who worked at MD Anderson who I spent the majority of the brunch conversing with whom also got up 5 times to go- “who knows where” -and who apparently forgot to call “seat check”.   After the fifth time of being asked to get up, Miss Jersey Shore relocated to Mr. MD Anderson’s seat, serendipitously seated next to Mr. Jersey Shore.  Charming.  “Hey, I like your earrings.” 

5,4,3,2…1.  “That is my seat, and I want it back”.  Mr. MD Anderson was less than impressed and more than tactful.  Ha.  The Jerseys tossed around a few inappropriate words and relocated to a quaint little table off in a dark corner.  What kind of pissing contest of crazies is this?

My friend and I both looked at our unfinished plates and made our way to the minivan packed parking lot.   “Can we just get like, 5 minutes of normal?” 

The moral: Mr. Jersey Shore infallibly finds Miss Jersey Shore every time.  The cover charge at a club was a cheaper option and possibly more intellectual.  Currently sitting in my chair on pins and needles facing the cave wall waiting for the next shadow…