Yes Means No

I went on a date last night.

Yes. Me. On a date. Shocking, I'm sure.

My coworker fixed me up with her husband's best friend... let's call him Johnathon.

It has to be said that Johnathon was intelligent, pleasant, fun to be around, and best of all, Irish. He's good looking, mature... all those key things you look for in a man.

But, unfortunately, there was no "spark."

And I think that was the case for both of us: I didn't spark for him, he didn't spark for me. Two good looking, intelligent, fun people who probably don't have much chemistry.

It has to be said that I'm biased... especially at the moment because I'm coming out of something that definitely "sparked". That is another story which will probably never appear on this blog... but I will say that I am lucky to come out of the situation with a good friend.

Anyway... back to Johnathon.

Things were going good. We all had a drink in front of us, we ordered dinner, and the conversation was flowing. Johnathon is the first generation in his family to be born in the US (everyone else was born in Ireland) and he was genuinely so fun to talk to. He knows a lot about beer and wine... my kind of guy... and seemed to value friends and family as much as I do. Plus, Yes (the band) was playing in the background... I think it was "Owner of a Lonely Heart."

But we hit a little bump in the road when he said, "Obama is a terrorist-consorting socialist."

Terrorist.

Consorting.

Socialist.

Contrary to what some of you might think, I did not whip out my keys, web them between my fingers, and hit him in the face. I smiled. Genuinely.

We then proceeded to have a great political debate... much like the blog entries from a few weeks ago. It was very much fun. Really. And Johnathan does not have ignorant or uninformed opinions... they are just very different than mine.

So someone changes the subject and we end up talking about wine. Johnathon says, "I hate getting drunk off wine."

As I'm drinking my second glass.

Of wine.

Which is my drink of choice.

This. Will. Never. Work.

So the bill comes and, as any lady should, I pull out my credit card and put it on the table. Johnathon pulls out his card, lays it down next to mine, and asks the server to divide the bill by seats.

I mean seriously, you would think the one benefit to dating a republican would be that he pays for my dinner.