Ding.

That bell could mean one of two things.

One, the end of an awkward conversation I felt should've ended five minutes sooner. Or two, an annoying interruption to a chat I felt was just getting started.

Much to my surprise, the ding more often than not meant the latter.

Most Saturdays, I spend my nights with friends at Elixirs or The Wonder Bar. We usually sit at a table in the corner where we can laugh about inside jokes and gossip about the men or lack of men in our lives.

Last Saturday, my night was driven by that little silver desk bell.

It rang every six minutes, signaling the end of one date and the start of another.

I had seen speed dating in the movies. In "Hitch," Will Smith bursts into a session to yell at his ex-girlfriend. In "The 40-Year-Old Virgin," four men meet an array of women with crazy quirks.

When I casually mentioned speed dating at the Casper Recreation Center to my editor, a smile came across his face. He told me the only way to cover this was to go as my single self.

Great! My editor just told me I basically had to go on 10 blind dates if I wanted to keep my job.

I said I would go speed dating in the name of journalism.

Secretly, I thought this was a perfect excuse to meet guys.

As I dolled myself up Saturday night, butterflies began to creep into my stomach and chest. I begged my best friend, Lindsey, to go with me. I offered to pay the $10 it would cost her to speed date and treat her to a movie the following day, but she still refused.

She made me leave the apartment alone with a stomachache.

It took me the rest of the weekend to forgive her.

I walked into the big room at the rec center happy to see there were about 20 people ready to speed date. I thought to myself, "Everyone looks pretty normal."

Most people, including me, wore jeans.

Jennifer Haines, our host and official bell ringer, told us speed dating was not nearly as odd as the movies made it look, and we should all calm down. I guess she could feel the anxiety pulsating from most of us.

I was still nervous. The feeling heightened as I walked to the table I would sit at for the next two hours.

Each of the 11 women had their own and the nine men moved to a different table every time the bell rang.

Haines told the men they could pick where they wanted to start.

"What?," I said to myself. I thought I was already guaranteed a date. I didn't know I had to be chosen.

I didn't sign up for this humiliation -- then a man with curly brown hair and glasses walked to my table.

My nerves subsided the minute I heard that first ding.

As soon as I started talking to the first guy, I realized I was just asking questions of people and listening. As a newspaper reporter, that's basically my job.

There were some awkward pauses in the first meeting and I could tell the guy was really nervous.

Then conversations flowed smoothly.

Throughout the next two hours, I met men who owned their own businesses, won national fishing competitions and shared my love of traveling.

Ireland, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, Niagara Falls, Death Valley -- these guys get around as much as I do.

Some of the guys grew up in Wyoming, others did not

The age range for the event was 23 to 43. I'm 23, so I was worried many of the men would be a lot older. But most of the guys were in their 20s.

The women actually appeared older than the men.

The woman at the table to my right told a man that this wasn't nearly as scary as she thought.

Most importantly, I didn't know any of the men in the room, and the evening proved there are a lot of people in Casper I have never met.

I don't know why, but after living here only a year and a half, I thought I had met almost everyone.

The last round brought a 23-year-old who had just moved here from Oklahoma less than a month ago. He said the only bar he had been to was the Beacon Club.

I knew immediately I had to show him my stomping grounds.

After I heard the last ding of the evening, I checked the yes box for number 21.

If he checked yes, too, we would both receive each other's contact information from Haines.

Wednesday, I received an email from number 21. "I am the good-looking, cunning, friendly guy you met that was your age. Just kidding. Anyways, I just wanted to say hi and it was nice to actually meet someone my age here in Casper."

I asked him out -- with me and my friends.

In the real world, when the dating conversation gets awkward, I won't have a silver bell to move him along.