Like a loser, I crept in late to The World's Largest Singles Conference. The bus never came and I couldn't get a cab. Just stamp a big L on my forehead.

I was there on assignment for a Major Women's Magazine. The magazine wanted a story that was "edgy, but warm." Ultimately the piece got killed because I couldn't get it warm enough. Oh well.

So I walked up to the reception desk and immediately uncovered a scam. Apparently this event qualified as the World's Largest Singles Conference simply because it was the only one at which every attendee was OFFICIALLY CERTIFIED SINGLE. This meant that everyone had to sign a pledge at the door saying they were legally eligible for marriage, or they wouldn't be admitted. As the information packet breathlessly put it, "This will help prevent the tragedy that millions of singles have experienced of falling in love with someone who is legally still married!" Horrors!

The sterile San Francisco hotel ballroom was filled with attractive women of all ages (but mostly mid-30s) and a smattering of generally-less-attractive men (mostly mid-40s). The keynote speaker, Lonnie Barbach, was in the middle of her address on "Going the Distance: Finding and Keeping Lifelong Love." It seemed to consist of meaningless platitudes like "intimacy is about sharing and healing," "we all want to be validated and heard." and "the downside is part of the upside." My mind wandered and I noticed that I was sitting next to a drag queen.

She was wearing heavy foundation and mock Chanel, her hands crossed demurely in her lap. Barbach was earnestly saying, "Be curious rather than furious." So I started whispering with my neighbor, who introduced herself as Marissa. We agreed that this speech was a weird way to kick off a singles convention, since it seemed aimed at people already in relationships. Marissa had huge eyes, bangs and a sweet smile. She reminded me of Mamie Eisenhower. We chatted a bit, and she confessed that she was actually a he (I acted shocked, shocked), a straight man who liked to wear women's clothes. "It's hard to find women who are comfortable with that," he said in his whispery voice. "I thought I'd come here and strike up a friendship with a woman to see if she might be receptive."

Suddenly a woman rose from the crowd, royally peeved. "The listing said this was about finding and keeping lifelong love! You're only talking about the keeping!" An older woman stood and shook her fist. "And it's too LOUD outside! You'll have to speak up! Isn't there anyone in authority here?!" The ladies were cranky. The men looked nervous.

Barbach finished, smiling benevolently, and everyone was urged to mingle while the ballroom was rearranged for the dance party. Marissa and I hit the bar for a refreshing alcoholic beverage. I confessed my reporter status. Both of us were too shy to talk to anyone else. So we decided to force ourselves separate and report back to each other in a couple of hours.

I headed for the exhibition tables, picked up Single Again magazine and was immediately engrossed. It was filled with ads for matchmaking services in Asia, Latin America, and Russia (presumably a good bet for those men who find American women too assertive and fluent in English); detective services ("Unsure about your potential partner? A confidential BACKGROUND INVESTIGATION will put your mind at ease"); and the Stuttering Foundation of America. I played with a computer displaying match.com and was roundly ignored by a video salesman pitching "How to Meet Women Easily" and "What Women Really Want." I gathered info on various cruises for Christian singles. Nothing for us Jews. Presumably we have no trouble meeting each other over goat sacrifices.

I chatted with Julianna, who was running the "on-site glamour photo shoot" booth. She was from Hungary. She explained how her business worked: you invite 15 or 20 people to your house, the makeup artist and photographer groom everyone and take pictures, and you get a cut of the proceeds. Everyone is happy. "Ze self-esteem," Julianna explained. "Ve don't care if a voman is on welfare, she gots to feel good about herself. Ve haff payment plans." She was a giver.

More men were arriving for the dance. The more I told myself not to be nervous, the more anxious I got. (By 11 at night, there were many cute ones, but the early arrivals made Ernest Borgnine look like Antonio Banderas.) I sensed them circling me like turkey vultures. Finally one darted directly into my face and yelped, "Hi! You're beautiful!" "Thanks!" I gulped, and fled to the ladies room, where I overheard:

"There was a guy looking at you."
"Oh, yuck."
"No, not the old man, the one with the Dutch Boy haircut."
"Oh! I wonder if he's still there. OK, we've drunk enough water to counteract the alcohol."
"Let's go. This time I'm not going to wear my glasses."

I went back into the ballroom. The dance was in full swing. Marissa was shimmying up a storm. I looked into my heart and found it jealous. Why was I too judgmental to have a good time? Marissa didn't see me, and I left quietly, defeated.

The next afternoon, I returned with renewed determination. Susan Bradley, RN, author of How to Be Irresistible to the Opposite Sex, led us on a "Flirting Safari." She was hilarious, barking directives like "Grab a guy's shirt and say, 'Excuse me, can I borrow this when you're done with it?'" and "Sit on the edge of your chair! The higher you cross your legs, the more available you are! Smile! With teeth! Otherwise you don't look approachable! You have to practice! Sigh, as a way to get him to look at you! Men love when women sigh!" It was so over-the-top, it was inspiring. People giggled and made eye contact. By the time she finished, the room was crackling with energy. Then the conference organizer got up and winked smarmily, "We're gonna be watching you all to make sure you engage in your flirting safari tonight!" The upbeat air of the room deflated a bit.

More speakers followed: a middle-aged, chunky couple wearing natural fibers and Birkenstocks, engaging in tag-team psychobabble about being present and healing your unfinished business with your parents and remembering to be real. Once again, oddly, the speech seemed aimed at people already in relationships. A woman behind me muttered to her friend, "I can't believe I put on control-top pantyhose on a Saturday." The head of Cupid's Network, another online personals service, discussed "Finding Love in Cyberspace." As he got up to speak, dozens of women left the room. (Probably because the Internet consists entirely of pedophiles and stalkers. I read about it in Time.) "For a woman it's like being a kid in a candy store!" the guy said. Sounding like a character in Fargo, he argued that meeting people on the Net is more comfortable than in real life ("Why in the flip aren't there classes in school in how to meet people!?"), and more secure, too ("We'd be in deep cahooties if we gave out customer profiles to everyone!").

Evening fell, and it was time to dahhnce. A testy instructor taught us how to merengue, waltz and cha-cha. He was pissed that we were so inept, but that made us bond in hatred of him. This completed the International portion of the entertainment. Soon "Like a Virgin" and "Shake, Rattle and Roll" were blaring from the speakers. I was feeling more confident (thanks, Susan!), so I approached everyone who looked like they would have snubbed me in high school. Monica, a beautiful blonde in her mid-20s, told me, "I thought this would be more diverse. But it's still fun. The duds who come by, you keep moving, you go to the bathroom. I didn't have expectations, and that makes it better." A tall, attractive frat-yuppie ad salesguy was buying her drinks. Adboy said he'd never been to a singles event before, but wanted to check it out. "It's cool. You mingle. You don't make eye contact unless you're interested." Deneice, an attractive 40something African-American woman in a silk dress, told me. "I recently ended a three-year relationship and I'm just trying to get out there again. It's just for fun. If I meet someone, great, if not, it's okay." I discussed volleyball strategy with a guy who looked like Anthony Edwards--with hair! If I'd met him on the court, I'd have been attracted. However, I was squicked because he was at a singles conference. Yes, I know, my moral flaw. But I bet it's a common one, even among people who attend singles conferences. (Talk about self-subverting.) Who among us hasn't asked herself, "If he's so great, why is he single/here/talking to me?" Low self-esteem is endemic. Huge news flash, I know.

I spied two very attractive women sitting alone at a table. One was tiny, with flashing black eyes and dark hair, and one was curvy, with flaming red hair. A cute boy was standing at some distance, looking at them. They didn't look back. "We read The Rules," one of them informed me. "You want to respond to the natural urges men have. You want to appear as young as possible. You learn how to find out a guy's income without appearing rude. You never ask a guy to dance, you wait till he asks you. If you give it to them too easily they'll be looking for one who's harder to get." Then they excused themselves to leave the room and come back in. (The Rules advocates making repeated dramatic entrances.) The cute boy drifted away.

By this time the room was rocking, with maybe 400 people boogying like mad. Couples were definitely forming. The party crowd was younger and better-looking than the much smaller daytime self-help crowd. I chatted with folks who'd come from as far away as Vancouver and Oregon. But I was exhausted from the stress of smiling and trying to look alert and open and loving and daring and sharing. I don't know if it was reassuring or depressing that when I went to the bathroom again, there were lots of women hiding there, the way I had the day before.

What's so awful about being single? Speak your mind in our forum.