Happy Hour Scene: Brixx

We were expecting the young professionals of Houston, lawyers and engineers dressed in business suits we thought, but the people were, for the most part, dressed in jeans and polos/tube tops. And while the place was packed by 7 o'clock, it was mainly large groups hanging out on the patio.

We found an empty slot at the bar and ordered a beer (domestics are $3 during happy hour, which runs until 8 p.m. on weeknights) and focused on a flatscreen above the bar that was broadcasting a large, muscled gentleman pulling a jet airplane with a rope.

The first group of young professionals we tried to network with were two ladies with blonde hair who ordered Stoli and tonic. We said something, which they ignored before walking off. Another woman, who we thought was either a young doctor or a ballerina, also ignored our question. Of course, she was arguing with the bartender about her glass of white wine, so we understood.

We finally thought we found our network when several more young women -- we weren't sure what they did -- strolled up to the bar and started grinding on each other while they waited for their drinks. "Sorry," one of the women said. "She really likes to dance."

But when the lady asked us another question, and we said, "Excuse me?," they both laughed and turned the other way until the alcohol came.

We finished our evening at this social networking event with a shot of whiskey, and the bartender suggested that we try Red Stag, so we did.

"How was it?" he asked us.

"Not too bad," we said.

"Yeah, I've never tried it, but girls sure do enjoy it."