Singles Mixer Snooze-Fest

Last night I went to a singles mixer at Parlour on Adelaide. Remember Cici the yoga instructor from my Vegas trip? Well she was my wing man for the night -- or rather, I think I was hers. I was just NOT in the mood to be charming, so I let her take the lead.

I tried out a hairstyle I saw in a magazine last night for the first time. It was supposed to give me beachy waves, but instead gave me Shirley Temple. And then the humidity on the walk to the bar gave me frizz. (I can't win.) Having bad hair at a singles mixer instantly saps your confidence, but on we went.

I wasn't wearing my glasses so I couldn't get a good sense of who was there, but Cici immediately noticed that the ratio of women to men was about 6 to 1. She seemed pretty discouraged, while I remained mostly indifferent. We did a short lap around the room and landed on a couch next to two very quiet Iranian men. Cici kept the conversation going while I tried very hard not to be bored. (I did, however, take a strong interest in my gin & tonic.)

On the way back from getting another drink, we chatted up one of the event organizers. He had the unforgettable name of Chris Brown. We talked about the statistics of dating events, and which events were more likely to attract either of the sexes. Pretty interesting stuff actually. Apparently their wine tasting event was packed with guys. (Will definitely make a note to go to their next one.)


It's worth mentioning that our chat with Chris Brown was interrupted by a man who simply walked up to us, put his hand out, and said "Hi there. And you are?" I shook my hand and said, "Kiki", and Chris and Cici followed suit, but we never caught his name -- he left immediately after learning ours. So awkward! Chris thought it was really brave, but I was thinking more along the line of Asperger's.

At this point Cici got peckish, so we headed to the sandwich tray. Here we found a good-looking guy stuffing his face with smoked meat. But the minute we started talking to him, he became much less good-looking. He talked a LOT about himself, and didn't ask any questions at all. Then he would make sweeping statements about dating and relationships, and when I tried to interject with something like "Well research shows..." he would just cut me off. I don't know if it was me, or the lack of air conditioning, but I found myself making a lot of sarcastic asshole remarks. Since the topic was human mate selection, and this is what I studied for my undergraduate thesis, I was totally prepared with a lot of interjections -- it's just too bad I never got a chance. I would have loved to take him down a notch.

Speaking of being a smartypants, I've noticed that it's becoming a hindrance when meeting people for the first time. In a group conversation, I seem incapable of not jumping in with a piece of knowledge or a fact, and I'm pretty sure this annoys people. Partly I do it because I don't know what else to say, and partly I do it because, as a know-it-all, I believe other people should want to learn from each other, including me. I created a few awkward moments last night, causing Cici to jump in with "Isn't she so smart?"  I think she was trying to smooth over the weirdness, but somehow drawing attention to it made me feel like a social failure.  (Note to self -- work on small talk.)

Oh, and another thing I learned from last night is that I need to come up with a good answer for the question, "So what do you do?" I tried out a few answers, all unsuccessful:

DUDE:  So what do you do?
KIKI:  I'm an IT Consultant.
DUDE:  So you can fix my computer!
KIKI:  No, I don't know anything about computers.
*Crickets chirping*


DUDE:  So what do you do?

KIKI:  I organize electronic information on corporate intranets so that users can easily browse and navigate to what they need.
*Dude backs away slowly*

Cici is so lucky that her answer is "Tire Specialist". Have you ever heard of one? Me either! What a fantastic ice breaker.

After leaving the mixer we walked back to my place, grabbing Starbucks on the way. We enjoyed our drinks on the roof of my building, until a very drunk guy came along and started hitting on Cici. He introduced himself as a personal trainer/ real estate agent. (Of course he did.) He offered to trade yoga and personal training services with Cici, and gave her his card.  (I did a LOT of eye-rolling.)

THE END