Swimming with Sharks

As a single guy, I’m usually on the prowl. It’s just the nature of the single guy, I think. We’re like sharks in that way. Sure, it looks like we’re just leisurely swimming along, but don't be fooled. We’re always watching. Sizing things up. This doesn’t necessarily mean it’s always sexual. Sometimes it’s as simple as “could I date her?” (though, let’s be honest, sometimes it’s purely physical) Anyway, this past weekend I found myself attending two events in which prowling was simply not an option. The shark wasn’t hungry.

Situation #1:

Imagine this, fellow single man. You’re in a social atmosphere filled with young, attractive people. You’re surrounded by a lot of familiar faces, but on the same token, a lot of faces you’ve never seen. However, you feel comfortable with these new people and there’s no hesitation as you approach them to talk. There’s a lot of booze. Everyone is happy, convivial, at ease. But at no point do your thoughts turn to romance and, in actuality, the thought of it makes you physically ill. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the family reunion.

Yup. I spent Friday, Saturday and Sunday at the Lost Pines Hyatt chatting with my dad’s half of the family. There were cousins there I’d only met one or two times before. There were cousins there I’d never met (side note: for the sake of simplicity, I’m going to refer to everyone outside of my immediate family as a cousin).

There’s a long, strange history there that started with my grandparents’ generation. My great-grandfather was a West Texas oilman. Translation: he was rich. So when he died, I guess there was a free-for-all money-grab and it ended up dividing the siblings, including my grandmother. This weirdness continued on with my dad’s generation, and none of the cousins really spoke. So now there’s a lot of healing, a lot of moving on and my generation is working to get to know each other (though it’s taken work, considering we never saw each other in our formative years). So the weekend was good, but there was certainly a healthy dose of awkwardness as well.

(side note: I was afraid to find anyone at the resort attractive, lest I discover I was leering at my second cousin, twice removed. This is despite the fact that our family made up maybe 1% of the guests staying there. Hot lady in the fitness center? Look away, Robert! Look away! Ooh, check out that woman by the pool! I mean…shit! Look away!!)


Situation #2:

Saturday afternoon I left the resort and drove back to Houston to attend another event. Again, it was social. There were a lot of young, attractive people (and none of them relatives!). There were familiar faces and new faces. There was booze. But again, there was no point for the shark to work up an appetite, because it simply wasn’t gonna happen. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my friend’s wedding.


Now I know what you’re thinking! “What are you nuts?! Think of all the drunk, lonely bridesmaids!” Let me just debunk this myth right now. There is no such thing as a “drunk, lonely bridesmaid.” She’s a unicorn. Actually, she is a chupacabra. There are certain people that swear she exists and you’ll occasionally hear friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend stories about how their cousin in Mexico slept with the hottest bridesmaid ever/saw the chubacabra devouring a live goat, but you know that’s just folklore.


So I went into the wedding with low expectations, and despite meeting some fantastic people, cemented my opinion about the fabled goat-eating bridesmaid. Guess I’ll just keep swimming.