Party Boat and Mr. Scientist

I know I haven't written since my ending it with Mr. Quiet and I apologize because I'm sure you're all sitting by your computers incessently hitting refresh hoping to read about new dating adventures.  Unfortunately though, there is nothing terribly exciting to report.

While there haven't been any reassuring experiences lately, I am still going on dates and seeing what's out there.  This past Sunday, I had plans to go on a singles' cruise type of party.  It sounded like a fun idea in theory...I went with two friends and we first, wisely, had about three glasses of wine at one of our apartments.  Slightly buzzed and even less slightly hopeful, we ventured to the party boat.  Upon arrival, we took one look at the line of freaks people waiting to board the boat, and instantly knew this was not where we would find our dream men. Or any men really for that matter, as most of the people there were scantily clad girls who didn't seem to mind the fact that it was 40 degrees out and they were wearing clothes no bigger than my hand towels.

We quickly decided to ditch the party boat and took our dressed-up selves to a fun beer bar (I happen to have pissed off the owner of this bar once but it was fine, because I wasn't planning to use my credit card, so they'd have no way of knowing who I was).  The three of us ordered flights of beer and discussed men and dating and it ended up being a really nice night.  The best part?  I was at home by 9 and in bed by 10! 

Then, last night I went out with a guy who I'll call Mr. Scientist.  He was cute, really smart and had a really interesting job.  He studies genetics looking for indications of mental illness (I think that's the gist of it...but, I could be way off).  I was interested in his profession, so I asked a million questions, mainly about how to tell if one will eventually suffer a mental breakdown and lose his/her mind.  But, then I began to worry that maybe he thought I was asking for my own personal knowledge.  So, I cooled it on the mental illness talk.

The date was o.k...nothing special.  By 10 pm, I was getting tired and we had run out of things to talk about, so he kept laughing nervously and I kept racking my brain for another question to ask.  Finally, he got the bill and I offered to split it with him.  He said, it's up to you if you want to...but, you don't have to.  That annoyed me, so I said, ok thanks and put my wallet away.  The old Ruby would've split it because she felt bad.  The current Ruby is over that.

On top of that, when we left the bar, he kept putting his arms around me in an attempt to warm me up and laughing.  As we all know by now, I do not appreciate this type unwelcome touching.  Maybe I'm more reserved than others, but seriously, if I'm not reciprocating, then keep your hands to yourself buddy.

That's all for now.  I contemplated sharing a few more stories of bad dates from last year.  But, I'm thinking it's best to just look forward and hope for better.  Examples of those include: the guy who asked me on the first date to go back to his apartment to smoke pot , the British low talker, and the Aussie who I was having a great time with only to have the three hour date end awkwardly and then never hear from him again.  Good times.