Lock this Single up Tight, and Throw away the key!

I’ve officially gone off the deep end with this whole dating stuff. Who knew it could be so scary? I’m a somewhat attractive and successful female, so there has to be somewhat attractive and successful single males out there too, right? Except where are they all hiding?

Who knows. But I’ll tell you where they’re NOT hiding—at Space City Mixer single events.
Take a warning from me.

DO.
NOT.
ATTEND.
A.
SPACE.
CITY.
MIXER.
LOCK.
AND.
KEY.
PARTY.

I’m going to try to express just how horrible this Lock and Key party was last night, but seriously, words cannot describe.

Sarah and I are on a serious dating kick lately. We’re trying new things and generally just attempting to get ourselves out there and take advantage of this time in our life where our bodies and looks will probably be the best ever. (Depressing, isn’t it?) So, we decided to attend a 20s and 30s Lock and Key party at SeeSound Lounge last night. What the hec? The description online sounded fun:

The Lock and Key Encounter is an interactive social mixing game where every female attendee receives a lock, and every male attendee receives a key. The object is to find the lock that fits the key and the key that fits the lock. For two hours, you try and meet each person at the event, getting to know them and of course, trying to match the lock and key. The object is to find as many “Matches” as possible. You will not go away from this event only meeting a few people... Here, you will have the opportunity to meet them all! You'll end the night with scores of new friends and possibly more.

Of course, we pictured throngs of good-looking, tall, dark and handsome types with great smiles, sparkling personalities and gads of entertaining conversations just waiting on the tips of their tongues. Ha! Does that give you a little glimpse into just how delusional we are?

We walked into the bar as the first two women to arrive. I felt like I was at a junior high dance. The crowd was sparse and mostly awkward, gangly guys, staring at the women—which happened to only be the two of us. We decided to beeline to the bathroom and collect our thoughts before starting the adventure. I prepped her, she prepped me, a little boost, a little pat…and VOILA! When we walk back out, all the fashionably late guys will have arrived.

Guess again.

Maybe six more geeks and four more beasts.

It was terrible. Really, every bone in my body was telling me to just walk out the front door and pretend like I would NEVER be so lame as to sign up for one of these “SINGLE events.” Adding insult to injury—the bar staff was gorgeous. I mean drool-worthy gorgeous. And Sarah and I were obviously there to attend a single’s event that we signed up for on the Internet. I’m not sure if I can show my face in SeeSound again.

Always trying to make the best of every situation, I just decided that I’d have to suck it up, put a smile on my face, and try to be as nice as possible to each and every goon in there. The host explained the game, handed out the locks and keys, rang the bell and the madness began. And I’m not using that adjective lightly. It. was. Crazy. Two fish in a shark tank crazy.

Sarah and I were by far the best looking girls there. And that’s not conceit. Just put anyone you know against Dottie from Kent with missing teeth and the chubby 35-something plus frumpy woman, and it’s really no contest. Hell, I wish the crowd at this Lock and Key thing would be the pickings for women at every bar; I’m sure I could get a lot more dates.

So, you get the crowd. And I got BOMBARDED. I would try to have a three-minute conversation with someone and there’d be six guys sticking their locks in my face. I’d turn one lock in and try to get another, and when I turned around, half the room was waiting to try my new lock. Every time I found a match, I had to spend countless minutes listening to myself drone on and on about my job, which I had explained to nine different people already. And other boring stuff. I got so sick of talking about myself, that really it was emotionally draining. I just stopped being nice. They’d ask, “So, what do you do?” And I’d just groan and say that I physically couldn’t talk about myself anymore.

It was agonizing. I’ve never been so fake, smiley, upbeat and nice for such a long period of time. Seriously. I didn’t want to seem shallow, so I was Miss Congeniality U.S.A. the whole night.

And I wanted to punch Miss Congeniality in the face, smoke six cigarettes, get a tattoo and jump on the back of a motorbike by the time it was over.

Oh, but did I mention I got Mike’s number? Oh yes, Mike who lives in Everett and is a mechanic for a motor-racing track. Hello lover!
You know I’ll be drunk dialing him tonight and telling him how I want him to oil my spokes, or whatever.

Yeah.
Right.