I will not be going on another blind date for a very long time. After my experience with this strange dating ritual, I refuse to subject myself to the large amount of awkwardness I experienced ever again.

It all started several weeks ago when I got a call from a friend who wanted to set me up on a blind date. After the initial phone call, I didn't hear anything from the date organizers and was hoping the whole charade was canceled, until last week when the fateful details were finalized — 9 p.m. on Thursday.

The night of the date I had a million things going on, and the evening's event was more or less the last thing on my personal list of priorities. But being an "amazing" friend, I decided to sacrifice the awkwardness and accompany her to meet her potential soul mate.

I was about 30 minutes late, because I was subconsciously dragging my feet getting ready and getting out the door. But when I walked into the date's location, the date planners' apartment, I had a good outlook and hoped that the night would at least be fun.

The door opened to a trail of half-dead rose petals lining the hallway leading to the living room. I was impressed with the thought and was waiting for some other surprise to pop out of a closet. My blind-date friend and I sat down awaiting the mysterious "dates" to be revealed, even though I had known for weeks who we had been paired with.

They came out of a room in the apartment bearing roses (again, half-dead) and dressed in blazers. I later found out that the roses were an old gift from their neighbor's boyfriend. How sweet.

It was like one of those dating game shows, because the host introduced us to our respective dates and outlined the agenda for the evening, which included "getting to know" our date and "possibly having a new friend out of the night." It seemed harmless and I was game for the entertaining experience.

Then it started to get weird.

The four of us were left to get to know each other and my date pulled out a "Dungeons & Dragons" profile with detailed information about himself. I learned that he saw himself as an "adventurer" and could slam dunk and do flips. He also prepared a lengthy list of good questions to get the conversation going. Unfortunately, they were mostly about supernatural powers or "Star Wars," two things I know little of.

I mean, usually I can swim in any conversation — music, politics, religion — but there was no way I could tell him what I thought about mutant forces or who was better looking, Han Solo or Indiana Jones?

As if it couldn't get worse, the date host came out and told the four of us we were going to have a photo shoot as part of the date. We were told to go into the bathroom, get behind the shower curtain and smile. What?

After several more posed pictures with my date, we sat down to an elegant meal of browned beef, macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes, with raw pieces of potato mixed in. Although it wasn't the most appetizing, I was impressed with my hosting friends, who went through all the trouble to prepare the food.

However, conversation still dragged and the awkwardness level continued to increase. We played chess as a "team-building experience," and I don't even know how to play. Then we watched a homemade German movie, and I don't even know German.

But the kicker, the big conclusion to this unique experience, was a slow dance. One of the hosts brought out a disco ball and turned on Howie Day and announced a couples' slow dance. All those years of thinking slow dances were uncomfortable in middle school looked so great at that moment.

I let out a huge sigh of relief when the date was done, because while the guys involved were all very nice and decent, I just wasn't able to make any sort of conversation, without feeling pained.

I don't know how I got involved, I don't know why I was picked. But I just know that this girl will be getting to know her dates beforehand from now on.

Laura Collins is the State News academics reporter. Reach her colli313@msu.edu.