Cupped bread and sweets sat untouched in the center of Sugarcane’s lounge (save the two fellow CultureMap writer Jennifer Patterson and I gobbled up). Edward Sanchez, local celebrity makeup artist, bounced between single flowers flaunting petals prime for plucking in the casting call for a new singles reality TV show called, Catch Me If You Can.

Sanchez danced around the room with his HD Flip camera filming footage to be viewed by the budding show’s producers looking for 10 bachelors and 10 bachelorettes to be cast in the reality show concept.

As if there wasn’t enough icing on the cake, the casting call also doubled as a speed-dating party and fundraiser for The Citizens for Animal Protection (CAP), a local “no kill” facility.

While, my companion and I proved to be no match in fashion or wallet girth (holy crap, $40 for three drinks), we certainly were the youngest, unblemished gals there. Mistress of Ceremonies and Houston socialite princess/law student/reality TV star Erica Rose sat seemingly uninterested and tired, in a dark corner of the lounge, accompanied by a dark-haired, Washington Heights-inspired beauty.

“Hi…” Rose said dryly to Patterson and me.

Shaking Rose's hand felt like shaking with a life-size Barbie doll — plastic, hollow and lifeless. She was nice enough.

The competition was horrifying. We spied Miss Texas 2009 wearing skin-tight bedazzled jeans and our hearts sunk.

Patterson and I shirked away from the Rose garden and attempted to chat it up with two other female potentials there. They asked us to take their photo in front of one of the cupcake peaks (which they didn’t lay a finger on), and soon after we began conversing, I took a break to the ladies’ room and Patterson kept the fort. Just as I started back to the party, Patterson tripped into the bathroom.

“Those girls were awful,” Patterson gasped. “I asked one of them if she was having a good time and she just sort of smiled and looked off into the distance.”

“Maybe it’s because they’re older,” I suggested, while reapplying lipstick.

Tube in hand, my eyes shifted to the right corner and saw the one of the said “older” ladies Patterson had just been grumbling over. This classy lady, whipped a smirk at me, tussled her auburn hair and pranced out of the powder room.

We were floored.

Bravely, we returned to the bar and continued our evening. Sanchez handed out nuts to the women and screws to the men — all in varying colors and we were assigned to match up. The game began. My nut got screwed (ha ha) by an oil-refinery-something named Rob. We didn’t have much in common, so most of the conversation focused on different ways we like to cook onions and mushrooms. It ended on a not-so-promising, “I’ll see you soon.”

Yes, most of the evening Patterson and I were weeded out due to our young age and pauper taste, but at least we left with the contestant gift bags loaded with the best in plastic cosmetic upkeep.

If this is life in reality TV, I'll pass.