Meet Up Mixup

Quite a few of my friends have dropped the "meetup" concept in my lap over the past few months. One of my good friends actually met someone (someone he began dating shortly afterward, I believe) through a meetup.

In other words, the idea has been positively referred to me from multiple sources. For me, this is a good thing. It spurred me to research them here in Houston. I found a few that I was interested in and, earlier this week, I joined one for concert goers.

A few people wondered why join one here in Houston when I am moving to Austin in such a short time.

My response: Why not? It's not like I won't be back here in Houston on a somewhat regular basis. And, it is a networking opportunity, if nothing else.

As much as I have had to endure it, I always feel self-conscious and conspicuously out of place when I go out alone. I have blogged about my feelings on this topic more than once before. Not sure why I should continue to feel like this. I keep thinking at some point it will become second nature.

Yep...but not tonight.

The venue was a place called Fitzgeralds in Houston. Dark, worn, loud, marginally claustrophobic (or it could have been with more people there). Just the way it should be. 

Scattered loners, just like me, wander around or plant themselves at the bar. They try to look like they belong, try to fit in. I can't help wondering who they are waiting for? What is their reason for being here solo? Then, I figure they are probably thinking the same about me. Or maybe not...

Everyone who comes in during my short 45 minutes of warming the stool is, in my mind, a potential "meetup" groupie.

I approach one guy who is sitting at the bar. He kind of resembles the website picture of the organizer.

Me (at the bar, ordering my second Shiner Blonde): "Your name wouldn't happen to be Brad, would it?"

Him: (pause, for a little too long): "Nooo..."

Me: "Oh, OK. I am supposed to meet a guy named Brad here."

I finish the last mouthfuls of my first beer, swig my second, then turn and walk back to my table.

Of couse, you know that as I walk away my brain is processing that scenario like meat through a grinder: Why his pause? It's a simple question. Did he think I was some psycho? Was he running through his chances of hitting on me? Was he gay and not used to women approaching him? Was he just not in the mood? Was he waiting for someone named Brad too?

No matter. He wasn't my type, and he certainly didn't have the personality to make up for it. Cruel, but true.

Back at my table for one, it suddenly dawns on me that I don't even know what band is playing. There are so many "band" members milling around, some carrying guitars, that I figure something must be starting soon. I look around but there is no indication of who "they" are...until one of the "band" members starts pouring and sorting merchandise out on a table. Even in the darkness, it isn't difficult to see their name: We Were Wolves. They are all identifiable by the matching tattoos on various part of their bodies. If you ever see someone with this tattoo, you can now identify them!

I really wanted to hear their music. If they had begun playing right then, I probably would have stuck around despite the "date" with one of my besties to go see Men in Black 3.

But waiting is not my thing. And I could Google them later. By this time it is already 8:40p. So much for punctual...on the part of both the band and the members of my supposed "meetup".

Another solo experience...another notch on the loner belt. Man, that belt is getting long.

As I walk to my car, I wonder about this whole "meetup" thing. Mixup? Misunderstanding on my part? Flaky people who probably arrived after 9 in an effort to be "fashionably late"?

Who knows....I will give it one more try here in Houston. After all, I am arriving solo, so no substantial difference if I end up solo at the end.

Just chalk it up to another experience.