Setting a six-minute record

The other night, I did something I have never done before.

I believe that a lot of people want to try it, but are afraid to talk about it because they don't want to look sick or weird.

That's what I'm here for.

I admit, it was awkward at first. I mean, I knew basically how you were supposed to do it, but wasn't real sure on the details. Of course you can't ask for help because that's just embarrassing, so I was forced to just push through.

While it was uncomfortable at times, the alcohol helped me get over the rough patches and overall I'd have to say, it was kind of fun.

I don't know if the ladies (there were seven of them) agree, but I had a good time.

That's right, I went speed-dating, or "the easy way to get shot down seven times in under an hour."

For those of you who don't know how this works, let me share my experience.

My adventure began long before arriving at the bar. I carefully chose my ensemble for the evening. I wanted something that said "hip, but not into men."

Unfortunately, I was using my closet, so it came off as "poor and desperately trying too hard."

As I arrived at the bar, I noticed a gentleman about my age walking in ahead of me, and I knew he was part of the event. This bothered me because, well, he was prettier than me.

I think that everyone going speed-dating for the first time has the same thought, "Just please don't let me be the worst one there."

And I wasn't, but it was a closer race than I would have liked. Thank goodness for the guy with the pinkie ring.

Slightly shaken by the strong competition, I got my name tag and instructions and hit the bar quicker than a blind guy in a gymnastics facility.

"OK, got my drink, got my name tag, got my notecards with predetermined interesting things to talk about. I'm good, I can do this, let's go."

Here's how it goes. You sit across from your date and talk to each other for six minutes. She tries to disguise her disappointment, and you try not to stare at her chest. Then you hear a bell, and the men move to the next table.

While the common belief is that the men move because it's polite decorum, I think it's because it gives the ladies a chance to better scope out the merchandise. Men, on the other hand, are in no way concerned about the physical appearance of our potential dates.

Hey, stop laughing. It could be true.

After each date, you mark "Let's talk!" or "No thanks" in your scorecard by their number.

While I imagine the common fear is not having anything to talk about, that has never been a problem for me. My fear was that I would bring up some topic that will get me "no thanks'd" faster than Mr. Pinkie Ring.

Overall, I think I did pretty good, and I decided to say "yes" to four of the seven girls. Now comes the rub, they have to say "yes" to me, or I get shot down faster than the Canadian Air Force.

To be honest, while all four of my "yes" ladies would have been fun to get to know, there was really only one I was hoping for.

Several days went by, and I got my matches. There were three women who had said "yes" to me. Two I said "no" to and the one I had hoped for.

While I have no doubt that it won't be long before I screw it up, it was quite a change to not be immediately rejected. I was kind of happy, that is until I realized that now I have to talk to her without the safety net of knowing a bell is going to save me six minutes from now.

What the hell am I going to talk to her about?