Mixing for Schmooie

I did something the other day I’ve never tried before. I went to a Jewish singles mixer--an actual Valentine’s Day affair at a restaurant/comedy club in a very classy area of town that happens to have a lot of Jews. It was free complete with happy hour prices on food and drinks all night. What did I have to lose? Plus, if the comedians were bad but the people around me were laughing, I would instantly be able to weed out who was likely Schmooie material from the pack.

When I first arrived, there was barely anyone to talk to. The stand out person to monopolize on our ears was a girl who could not stop telling everyone about the woes of the new car she had just bought. Although everyone was friendly, the lack of interesting people to talk to was saddening at first. So I went to the bathroom for awhile. I figured I’d leave early if things didn’t improve.  

Luckily, things did get a little more entertaining as more people arrived. I made some interesting conversation with a very bohemian lady. A heavy set geeky guy made the mistake of trying to call me a geek in order to make me think we had something in common. Never call me fat or geeky if you want to get anywhere with me. There was a balding older looking man who thought we had a great deal in common just because he was a pharmaceutical sales rep and I’m in the healthcare field. Nope, not going to work. Then, there was a David Schwimmer look-alike who was actually somewhat cute and interesting to talk to, but I fear our interesting talk maybe more friendly than of a romantic potential. I actually recognized two people from the very famous Jewish dating site I recently joined. Even stranger, one of those dudes had actually tried contacting me not too long ago on that famous Jewish dating site. Our online e-mails didn’t go anywhere and neither did any in person communication. The other dude had checked my profile on the famous Jewish dating site and looked a lot less creepy in person. So in a surreal way, it was like dating these online Schmooie wanna-be’s without having to go through the process of fielding them out on that famous Jewish dating site.

Based on the attention I received from these strange Schmooie wanna-be’s, my sister said she pictured me sitting in a fancy den being fed grapes by a group of hopeful men. Just when I thought how great it was to have a baby sister that hangs on my every word, she added, “or maybe it was more like throwing a piece of raw meat to into a dark room full of dingoes.”

All in all, the event was far superior to other Jewish group mixers I’ve been to. I also learned something very interesting about dating. People no longer exchange phone numbers on a scrap of paper or put someone’s number in their phone never to look at again. They exchange business cards or go right on Facebook and friend each other in the moment. The sad part is it makes communication ironically more difficult. Some privacy goes away. You can constantly read the updates on the potential date who may or may not decide to go to the next step beyond Facebook friendship. Meanwhile, the person you really didn’t want to friend but felt obligated at the moment can also pine away for you as you post your status updates. Thank you, Mr.  Zuckerberg, for complicating the search for Schmooie.