Her #2

So there are moments in dating when you don't understand why someone has asked you out, as they clearly don't really know you, but . . . for the benefit of my readers (as well as to prove a point to my bro) I agree to a date with bachelor #2. He is GU, which has made setting a date a challenge, but we work it out for a Sunday evening. This happened to be the final night of a Yankees/Red Sox series, and as yours truly worships the house that Babe Ruth built, I had to get the game in before dinner. I suggested we meet somewhere to watch the game and then head to dinner. As #2 is GU, he does not know my city . . . but decides to recommend a bar at which to watch the game, and defer to my choice of restaurant (we will both live to regret this). #2 suggests a place near my place. Great, right? Ummmm . . . no. He suggests the absolutely douchy-est bar that exists in this city. Think 22 year olds, LOUD bad music, and, oh yes, beer pong. This should be amusing.
As happens in this great city, Sunday Funday is a drinkfest that often involves bar crawls done in costumes, etc. #2 sends me a text letting me know to "look for the old person at the bar". Shocking. I enter, and said bar (to which I had formerly prided myself on having never entered) is everything that I had dreamed it would be. Music BLARING, drunk post sorority/fraternity crowd (many of whom are in costume) in various stages of dancing, stumbling, etc, and a ROUSING game of flip cup and beer pong in the back. Ick. Mercifully, #2 has gotten 2 seats at the bar right near the TV. CC's pitching, Yanks are winning, small talk ensues. I see a girl with a Red Sox hat on and boo her. She doesn't get it. I try to explain . . . she still doesn't get it. She goes to play flip cup. REALLY drunk couple is dirty dancing behind me. Girl standing next to me at the bar keeps leaning into me. Pocahantas is also there. Oi. Someone comes to ask us if we want to play beer pong. I haven't read the article about how it is increasing the spread of mono and herpes, but I can assure you that if I am ever going to play, it will NOT be here. I continue sipping my sweet tea vodka and lemonade (it's the new black, after all!) and text my brother to try and make our dates meet up. We end up deciding against, but it perhaps we could've introduced our dates to one another.
We leave as Mariano is taking the mound (the Yankees are well in the lead, yet the closer is sent in. You NEVER pitch your closer in a non-save situation. My diagnosis? Bad management) and head to dinner. #2 drives.
We arrive, and there are only seats at the bar. I'm up for it. I'd been to the sister restaurant of this one, and was really eager to try (please note that whether or not I have a good date, I am determined to have a good meal). Food starts arriving, and we start nibbling. #2 begins to sop his brow with the napkin. Ummmm . . . I don't THINK it's hot in here . . . do I apologize? Offer to move? I let it go, and make sure the ice water keeps coming. This is not working. I finally mention that it is hot in there, and apologize, to which he explains to me that he sweats from spicy food. Ummm . . . you think he would've shared this with me when I asked "Is there anything that you can't/don't like to eat?" Never mind. When he went to the restroom to do a final wipedown, I paid the bill and readied myself to head out.
Look . . . he was nice . . . but we didn't click. No worse off for a Sunday night . . .
NEXT?