TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

Democrats Abroad Mimic the McCain Campaign

It's amazing.  But true.  You would think that these people would know better.  It would be hysterically funny but it is not if they were not planning to publicly execute Yanqui Mike the guy who started the chapter here.  It is amazing what happens to people where their egos grow to titanic proportions.

About two years ago I discovered Democrats Abroad.  I also discovered that Argentina had no local chapter.  I put my name on a list.  I was too busy to think about starting a local chapter, but I would support one, if someone else ever had the inclination to start one up.  That someone was Yanqui Mike.

Before Mike started Democrats Abroad I only knew him as a fellow blogger.  We had spoken a few times by telephone.  He was a little brash and outspoken, but fun.  I liked his writing style.  Like me, he was here for the long haul.  He wasn't here on his summer vacation, or trying to find himself, or because Mommy and Daddy sent him here after graduating from college.  He and his Argentine wife Alicia were here to live and make their life in Argentina.

Mike threw himself into Democrats Abroad.  Democrats winning the 2008 election was very important to him and he saw the votes from outside the US as being key. He pushed and pushed.  He used his own money.  He begged.  He did whatever he could.  He got people to sign up.  He held events.  He emailed.  Democrats Abroad Argentina became the most successful chapter because of Mike Skowronek.  He pushed people to register to vote. 

Anyone who has ever worked with a non-profit knows it is a thankless task.  You know that 10% of the people do 90% of the work.  Democrats Abroad had a board of directors.  Mike was still doing most of the work.  He was the front man.  He was the guy who went to the convention.  He was the guy who got interviewed by the press here in Argentina and by the US press as well. He was the guy who sent the emails, who kept up the blog and website.  He was the one who was mobilizing the troops. Vote, vote, vote. Obama sent his point man for South America to Argentina.  I know because he stayed with me for a month. (Zak, not Obama)   I was amazed at how well organized things were.  

The elections were over.  Obama won.  Then out of the clear blue.  I get an email from the so called "Executive Committee" of Democratic Abroad Argentina asking for a vote of no-confidence on Mike. Huh?  Did I miss something?  They go on to say that they asked him to resign but he would not.  They follow with innuendos that would be great if you wanted to run for Freshman class president, but guys, we are a little old for this.  So I email Mike to ask what is going on.

He tells me they want him out.  They have pages of reasons, but they will not share them.  They want to control the organization.  In my opinion, it all boils down to jealousy.  What is so amazing, is that the elections for Democrats Abroad are in two months.  So all of this is unnecessary.  Let him finish out his term, then vote someone else in. 

BUT there is more.  Ms. Megan Dorah the Vice Chair who no longer even lives in Argentina (imagine that) and is pushing for this is emailing us fast and furious.  She keeps flip floppin on the issues.  Whatever they are.  She is just like McCain. Her sidekick Maria Emilia Ramirez is the Sarah Palin of Democrats Abroad Argentina Spam.  We are treated to lengthy email spams almost daily imploring us to get rid of Mike for the horrible sins he has committed as president of Democrats Abroad.

I am still trying to figure them out.  Poor Maria Emilia Ramirez has been unduly traumatized by Mike.  She writes about them in her emails.  He is unorganized, he drank too much at one event, and oh my God he talked to long to CNN.  He refused to publish an essay that was worded in a way that would have been offensive to Argentines and Argentine/Americans. (Too many foreigners here live in a cultural bubble) I wonder if she has been so traumatized she and her cat will have to go back to the US to live, because Mike has made it so unbearable for her here. 

These are the reasons they want Mike to be removed as President of Democrats Abroad Argentina.  Can you believe this?  If you cannot, then please come to a meeting on December 3 at 6:00 pm.  You need to support Mike.  He did so much to not only start this chapter but in helping to elect Barak Obama.  You need to be an American citizen.  You can join Democrats Abroad by clicking on this linkDemocrats Abroad  If you don't want to do that, show up with your US passport.  The address is Austria 2660, 6th Floor.  The time is 6pm. What is truly sad is these people don't understand is that some of us actually work here, and that 6 pm is not a good time to hold a meeting. (That is what happens when you live in a bubble)  There is talk they won't let you enter if you arrive late.  So please try to come early.

If you want to create some of your own spam email these two women and let them know that you support Mike . Here are the emai addresses of Megan and Emilia meghanmd@gmail.com  memiliar@gmail.com 

La comida Mexicana:Andale los Argentinos y los Yanquis

People often ask me what I miss living here.  Not too much really.  I have adapted to life here. At first I missed lots of things, now I hardly think about them.  There is one thing though and that is good Mexican food.  There is nothing even close in Argentina.  There are lots of Mexican "themed" restaurants, but I would rather not waste my pesos.

When I want really good Mexican food, I make it.  I have masa.  My friends who visit from California brought me a couple of 5lb bags of it. Here it is contraband.  You can't find it.  Argentines don't use this type of flour.  You would have to go North to Colombia or Venezuela, maybe even Peru.
Masa is used to make corn tortillas. 

About a month ago a group of us decided to get together and cook.  Or at least contribute parts of the dinner.  It took forever to figure out a date when we could all get together.  We are an interesting group.  Half Americans and half Argentines.  Argentines who actually like spicy hot food.  Interestingly enough, the Americans were either from San Francisco, Chicago or New York. 

I woke up early.  I don't know what it is about me, but I just don't sleep that much during the summer.  Maybe 4 hours a night.  I start to get everything ready.  By the time Mira gets up I am well organized.  I have boiled beans for the refried beans, chopped tomatoes, onions, and cilantro, and I am getting the table ready.  Somehow, I will always be a business analyst.

I ask everyone to come around 4 pm.  We decide that we will all cook together.  There are two teams of tortilla makers or really two shifts.  Team one is me, Patrick, and Mira.  Team two is Amy, Yanqui Mike, and Donald.  Patrick gets so into pressing the tortillas he breaks the handle of my tortilla press. "I'll buy you a new one." he says as he apologizes to me. I laugh, "Where do you think you are?"

This of course does not stop either team from making the tortillas.

We are very creative here in the land of empanadas and carne.    My friends are amazed that I even have masa.  So the lack of a handle on a tortilla press is just a minor detail.

Amy is hard at work frying those tortillas.  The guys are turning them out pretty fast.  They keep coming up with new ways to make them.

Now that the elections are over Yanqui Mike can concentrate on more serious things like the masa for the tortillas.

I have to admit Team 2 did a much better job than Team 1 at turning out the tortillas.  Maybe they learned from our mistakes.  Making refried beans without manteca - lard was interesting.  I used the Argentine version of Crisco and onions.  They came out good.  They don't have pinto beans here, so I used red beans.  You have to use what you can.

I made 3 kinds of salsa and labeled them.  There was a plain salsa with no chiles.  That was for Argentines.  A salsa with a few chiles for brave Argentines and wimpy Americans.  Then the salsa for the daring.  Unfortunately one of my Argentine friends - Roberto, didn't understand and he ate the most spicy salsa.  He came running into the kitchen having a major nightmare.  It was the first time I ever heard him link 10 bad words together and ask for a beer.  We told him he is in training for California.  We think he is having second thoughts about coming to visit there, we also told him he can't smoke outside.

My friend Gina also brought salsa and an amazing mango dessert.  Her salsa was gone in minutes.  Amy brought an avocado salsa that was incredible. 
Greg and Marcos brought a shredded chicken they cooked with spices.

Along with queso blanco and the mexican sauces I have been hoarding we had "real" comida Mexicana.  You don't see food like this in the restaurants here, and even if you do, it is never this hot.

Marcos is chowing down on a taco.  Like everyone else he could not get enough of the food.  We made I think about 50 tortillas for 20 people.

As you can see by the empty table, everyone totally enjoyed the food.  There was almost nothing left.  Not even the pizza flavored Doritos.

 

These guys are debating the merits of salsa.  Jorge does not like really spicy salsa and is making his case to Marcos an Argentine and Greg.  Unfortunately for him, they love spicy food.

My friend Donald is the best.  All those little packages are chocolate.  High end gourmet chocolate that I can just paste to my hips.  Whoever knew that they put chile into chocolate?  See what happens when you live in Argentina?  Your chocolate only has nuts or raisins but no chiles.

These guys were banished to the balcony.  I do not allow smoking in my apartment.  I called my balcony the "salon de los fumadores."  They were out there almost the whole time....gross.

One thing that is really cool about parties here is that people dance.  At all the parties I have gone to at people's houses there is always dancing - rock and roll, tango, salsa.  Of course a party at my house is going to have tango.  What else?             

I think that the most important thing was that we all had a great time.  Sunday afternoons are special. Whether you are eating Mexican food or sharing empanadas.  The important thing is that you are with friends.                         

                                                                                                      

How many personalities does it take to eat chocolate volcan?

Patrick calls.  Thank God.  I thought I killed him.  It is not a good idea to kill someone who shares not only your birthday, but your rising sign.  There is something inherently karmic in that.

Yesterday I took him to a private class with my friend Dreamfeet.  Since meeting him in March we have actually become quite good friends.  Now I know why he has "Dreamfeet."  He has a professional resume 80 miles long.  He is a classically trained dancer from the Teatro Colon.  These dancers are considered some of the best in Argentina.  He has danced in many of the major shows, (Viejo Almacen, MIchaelangelo, Caminito) acted and danced on television, (more than just my cute little stint on Canal 7)and much much more.  What I found most amazing is that he is so normal.  He says that is because he is not a "milonga guy."  That he always had a normal life.  A wife who was his partner and a family.  Dancing and acting is a profession.

From time to time I assist him by translating.  He speaks no English.  I refer students to him who I think can benefit from a class with him.  He has a very elegant style.  He understands physiology.  He tries to give dancers more elegance to their dance.  He is not a milonga style dancer, so he is not for everyone.  However some dancers who look more like they are stomping on cockroaches rather than dancing tango usually benefit from a private lesson or two with him.  Others who are confused about movements also do well with him.

Patrick wanted a private lesson with a male teacher.  After an hour he wanted to keep on going.  He liked the simpleness of how things were broken down for him.  Here teachers have their ways of students working on their balance and axis.  For men it is using a series of turns. (Known as giros) The class is supposed to be an hour, but Patrick wants to keep going.  So he does a double class.

These classes are not easy.  Many teachers when they teach private lessons to foreigners spend most of the class talking about themselves.  They are very good at it.  The students really think they are getting something.  They are - screwed.  They pay anywhere from 3 to 4 times more for a class to hear the ego of the teacher.  They get maybe 10 minutes of value out of the hour.

When the class is over, Patrick looks dead.  Our plan is to go on to a group class that Mimi has.  I take one look at Patrick's face and know that this is not going to happen.  Instead I take him for shoes.  Then he goes back to his apartment promising to call.  On Tuesdays I dance at Maipu.  I have invited him to join me.  He did not surface again until Wednesday.  Which is why I thought I killed him.

"Oh my God!" I say to him, "You are not dead!" Patrick laughs, "Of course I am not dead."  He tells me how he went home and rested and then decided to just chill the rest of the night.  He is not disappointed when I tell him I cannot dance tonight.  My body still rebels against me.

We decide to go to dinner and talk.  Because we share the same birthday and rising sign this is almost like having dinner with a mirror.  Not exactly because the rest of my chart is air and Patrick's is not. A little yin and yang so to say.  An interesting person.

For me I always enjoy good conversation.  Bay Area men have been beaten over the head for so many years to accept women as equals.  They get it.  Even when they don't, they know better than to say something.  Patrick wants a good steak.  I am not a meat eater.  I take him to one of my favorite restaurants where everyone has assured me the meat is incredible.  I usually eat chicken or salmon or even just a salad.

We enter Don Julios.  The waiters come to greet me.  "Donde estabas?" they ask me.  "Tanto tiempo." "Estas mas flaca." (Where have you been, long time, you are much thinner) We are given a choice of tables. I tell Patrick to select.  As soon as we do a waiter comes to clear away the extra settings.

They give Patrick a menu in English.  Although I pretty much know this menu, I get one in Spanish.  I order our dinners.  Patrick is very interested in my life here.  Most people are.  I think beyond the tango, the life is so different here, people are always interested in how I made the transistion.

"It's not easy to live here."  I tell Patrick.  "This is not a place for an organizational freak. Nothing is ever the way it should be or the way you think it should be.  If you can accept that, then OK.  If  not then you will be very frustrated living here.  I am used to it now."  I tell him how I really just don't worry about much anymore.  I used to worry all the time.  I don't live 100% for the moment, but compared to how I used to be, I do.

I listen to him talk about his darling cats, being a TV producer, and the antics of that.  He is so quiet and soft spoken, I cannot imagine him in that cut throat world.  He is a gemini, and everyone knows we have two sides to our personalities.

We decide after dinner to have coffee in another cafe.  It is a nice night to walk.  We take our 4 personalities and head outside.  I promise my waiters to come back soon.  They think I am too thin. Rediculous...you can never be too thin or too rich.  Besides, how can I be too thin?  I live in Argentina, the #1 place for anorexia.  (Which I do not have)

We walk through Palermo SoHo.  I point out buildings of interest to Patrick.  Between the cobblestones on Guatemala you can see the tracks where a tram used to run.  I decide we should have dessert at Pastry.  The dessert there are to die for.  They are house made.  

We walk in.  We seem to be the only patrons.  Patrick's eyes go right to the pastry.  They light up like the sky on the 4th of July.  I on the other hand am checking out the male kitchen and wait staff. No calories, but probably equally as dangerous.  We decide to sit inside with A/C rather than on the terraza without AC and smokers.

We asked to share a chocolate volcan.  Somehow the word "share" got mislaid and they brought two beautiful plates of chocolate volcans decorated with fresh fruit.  A chocolate volcan is an individual dark dark chocolate cake that has liquid chocolate on the inside.  I am hesitant to eat mine.  I stopped eating desserts.  But chocolate volcan...maybe an exception.  I take a bite of heaven.  No turning back now.  I must finish the whole thing and punnish myself tomorrow at the gym.

We walk back towards my apartment.  I thank Patrick for a beautiful evening with excellent conversation.  Tomorrow we will go to dance.  All 4 personalities..or 6..

Another day, another night...

Mira asks me if we can please find some milongas with people less than 90 years old.  That was before she went to Canning and the Canning experience of being banged into on the dance floor.  I did not participate in this excellent adventure.  I tell her that on Sunday we will go look for younger, kinder milongas.

We spend the first part of Sunday hanging out on my balcony.  I am rather proud of my balcony.  It is not as big as my deck that I had in California, but I have managed get lots of plants and flowers onto it.  I have a great view and with the spectacular weather, it is nice to read the paper and have coffee.  Mira is reading Spanish grammar (ugh) and I am reading the Sunday paper.

Patrick calls.  He is from San Francisco.  He was referred by friends.  I unfortunately had no room for him, but told him to call me so he could hang out with us.  I tell him Mira and I plan to go shopping in Plaza Serrano.  He surprises me when he says he would like to come with us.  Brave man.  Shopping with two women.

He comes to my apartment, and we head off to Plaza Serrano.  Mira and I are in shopping heaven.  I love Plaza Serrano.  I can buy clothes here that are different.  I have my favorite designers.  I bring a pair of shoes that I have been unable to find a dress for.  I am hoping that Nancy has something.

Mira and I drag Patrick from stall to stall.  We look at the bright colored clothing. This is cute, this is not.  This is ugly. This is adorable.  So far nothing good enough to try.  Patrick is enthralled by the scene.  Restaurants that become clothing markets on the weekend.  Only in Buenos Aires.

Finally we get to Nancy's stall.  "¡Que flaca sos!"   She says to me as she grabs me in a hug.  I laugh.  I have not seen her in awhile.  I look over her dresses and I see it.  One that I think will go with the shoes.  I pull it out, a beautiful orange and gold dress.  I pull out my shoes.  Leo made these shoes for me over two years ago.  They were to be for an exhibition I was going to dance.  It never happened.  Antonio spent two years remaking the shoes so I could wear them now.  They are an odd color of orange with gold and this dress if it fits, will be perfect. 

I disappear into the dressing rooms.  Nancy follows me.  She still cannot believe how much weight I have lost.  Actually I am back to where I was before the accident.  But she never knew me this way. I put on the dress.  It fits perfect.  I slip the shoes on. Nancy adjusts the ties.  "¿Que piensas?"  I ask her.  "¡Divina!"  But then she wants to sell a dress.  I go out and ask Patrick and Mira.  They love it.  Even with my black bra hanging out of it. Sold!

Mira picks up a pair of pants.  It's really too hot and too crowded to shop.  We decide to go back and take our stuff to the apartment.  We count our change and head for San Telmo.  I point out places of interest before we land near the plaza.  We walk a little down Defensa.  I tell them how the Mayor who owns a concrete company would like to pave over the cobblestones, turn Defensa into a pedestrian mall and build a 5 star hotel.  Hasn't anyone ever told the non-existent city planners here that there is a world crisis and tourism is down?

When we get to the Plaza El Indio is dancing.  Patrick and Mira watch him.  After I go to say hello to him.  I have known him for what seems like forever.  He is surprised to see me and teases me "Cada vez sos mas Porteña".  He asks me if I am happy, how every thing is.  He is a good guy.  

We run into my friend Fabio.  We decide until there are more people in the plaza to go have a coffee and maybe a snack.  I end up the translator.  I am glad Mira speaks some Spanish.  Mostly I translate between Fabio and Patrick.  It is a lively cross cultural conversation.  There is a natural curiosity on both sides about cultural differences.

After we go back to the plaza.  Fabio dances with Mira several tandas.  Then there is a folkloric lessons.  We sit it out and talk.  When this is over they dance a few more tandas. Fabio needs to go. We decide to go back, change, and head for El Beso.

Once dressed for El Beso we have to take a taxi.  None of have any change.  The moneda situation this weekend seems to be crucial. There is no change anywhere.  Signs have been posted alerting people. Even the taxi driver has no change.

Once inside Mira is enchanted with the place. "Wow" she says to me.  "I like this place."  Patrick too, agrees that El Beso has a certain cachet. It looks crowded and I advise them we probably won't get a table.  I wait for the organizer to come over.  She greets me and demands to know where I have been. She wants to give Mira and I front table, but I do not want to leave Patrick alone.  I explain that to her.  She is impressed that I do not try to make her life miserable and accept a back row table with no complaints.

Mira is immediately swept away by a young man.  She is a gorgeous young woman and has no problem getting dances.  I go to greet my friends. Pibe Avellaneda hands me a glass of champagne.   I am surprised to see so many people here.  I have always liked this milonga.

I dance several tandas and as I am trying to maneuver through the room a man recognizes me from my blog.  He is from Canada.  I stop to talk to him and then we dance.  He is so sweet.  I meet his girlfriend who had been emailing to me.

I finally get back to the table.  Patrick and I have a great conversation while Mira comes to rest in between her numerous dances.  She is floating.  The men here are less than 90 and she has had many good dances.  My friend Tony a handsome young man asks about her and invites her to dance.  She is very happy.

I try to get Patrick to dance but he is shy.  I don't push him  I ask him how he can be so shy in his line of work.  He tells me that he is a gemini.  I tell him I am too.  He tells me that he has virgo rising.  "WOW!! ME TOO!!  I laugh.  "Wen is your birthday?"  I ask him.  "May 24th" he says to me. My eyes go huge, "No way!!! Mine too!  You are too cool birthday man!"  I tell him.  I cannot believe it.  Someone other than Queen Victoria who has the same birthday as me.  (OK and Bob Dylan too.)

"What a great day"  I say to Mira, when she comes back to the table, "I found birthday man." She gives me that look when I know I need to explain myself, so I do. Then I add, and I found my dress too.  And you found men under 90 who can dance.  She looks around.  "I like this place." 

It's 3:00 am and almost everyone has left.  We go out to the street to catch a taxi.  Another day. Another night.

Three boxes, a concert, and a bowl of soup

I am on the bus.  The couple standing next to me appear to be tourists.  American tourists.  They don't understand why they got 10 centavos back.  You would think it was one of the great mysteries of life.  It is only 10 centavos, less than 1 cent.   Finally I tell them "The fare is only 90 centavos, not 1 peso."  Their heads snap around towards me and the husband says to me "You speak very good English."  I laugh, "I am American."  I say to him.

This starts a conversation.  "We are too."  He says to me.  "From New York.  We love Buenos Aires. We come here every year."  he says to me.  I smile back.  "I am learning Spanish, but it is hard. How long have you been here?" he asks me.  "4 years."  I tell him.  "You have an accent to your English." he says. I tell him that I am a mimic.  That I pick up accents easily.  When I speak more Spanish than English, my English becomes accented.

"Where are you from?" he asks.  "I used to live in California, Oakland - San Francisco."  I tell him.  "San Francisco?"  he says.  "You left San Francisco? That is one of the most beautiful places in the world."  He is incredulous. "No one leaves San Francisco.  Our daughter went there on vacation and never came back." he tells me shaking his head.  "Yes"  I agree with him, "The Bay Area in my opinion is the best place to live in the U.S., but I like it here better."

 "Why did you come here?" he asks.  "Because I love it here.  I love the culture.  I love the people. The lifestyle is more suited to me."  I tell him. "I would move here in a minute." the husband says.  The wife is looking out the window. "But my wife won't do it."  He looks over at her. "We live very well when we come here."  I don't have any comments.  I don't want to go where I know this conversation will go. 

"We are retired." he tells me.  "With our retirement, we can live very well here. We can do things here we can't do in NY. You know how it is."  he smiles at me.  I smile back, "You have American dollars," I say to him, "I live in pesos.  For me, for us, it is very hard, the inflation is terrible."  He doesn't get it.

He continues. "Last night we went to a restaurant. We had a great dinner.  It was spectacular. Really great.  Then the check came." he laughs. "You couldn't get a bowl of soup for what that dinner costs in NY."  "Yes" I tell him "and I can't take taxis anymore."  "Yeah, sure." he says and continues, "life is good for us here."  "Yes, because you are living with your dollars." I remind him. "For Argentines and for people like me who live here, it is not so easy.  Inflation is terrible. For us it is difficult."

He doesn't care.  He continues "Life is difficult everywhere. The US is a mess.  Why shouldn't we come somewhere where we can live better?" he says to me.  "The Europeans are doing it.  They come to the US on shopping trips and then go home."  I want to tell him it is an attitude more than anything, but I don't think he will understand this.  Europeans come here too.  But they don't see Argentina as a giant Wal-Mart.  I am not sure what to say to him, but I can see he is getting angry.  I am a little embarrassed.  I hope that there are few Argentines on this bus who understand English.

"You need to understand" he says to me, "the US is a mess.  It is expensive.  People are rude. No one cares about anything but their selves.  We come here and people are nice to us."  "Sure I tell him. Because you are spending money. You don't live here.  Things are always different when you live somewhere.  You don't speak the language and you are here on vacation.  So you should just enjoy yourself."  I am hoping this shuts him up.  I see that we are at Callao and I am going to get off at Rodriguez Peña.  I stand up.  "Enjoy your vacation."  I say to him.  He is frowning.  As I get off I say to his wife, "Don't take all your husband's money."  She laughs.

I get off the bus and cross the street.  I come to the corner and wait for the light to change.  There are two Americans in front of me talking loudly as Americans tend to do.  Why do we do that?  I always have to ask my American guests to lower their voices.  Funny what are cultural norms.  When the light changes the young american woman crumbles a piece of paper and lets it fall to the sidewalk as she crosses the street.

The Argentine woman next to me comments "Did you see that?  It is bad enough Argentines are disrepectful of their city, but they are not even from here!"  I say to her sadly "They are from my country, the US."  She looks at me "¡Sos extranjera!"  "Si, pero vivo aca."  I tell her.  She smiles at me and pats me on the arm. She walks on.  I am behind the young American woman and her Young American male friend.

I listen to their conversation. They are talking about partying.  That is probably their main reason for being here.  They can party all night and day.  She is complaining because they went to an open air concert and there was no beer.  "How stupid of the Argentines.  Who has a concert with no beer?" she complains.  I want to tell her with her body, beer is one of the last things she needs, but of course I say nothing.  I also want to tell her, maybe the Argentines A) don't think of booze going with concerts (hasn't she noticed this is not a bar culture?) B) maybe they know what happens when people drink too much in a crowd.

She continues to tell her friend that they called another friend who hid two joints in her bra and poured whiskey into her contact lense bottle.  They were really proud of being able to get smashed and avoid the security in the concert.  "I need to party when I go to a concert like that. They just don't get it here." she tells her friend.  No she doesn't get it along with her shorts and chubby cellulite legs.

I have a doctor's appointment, but I am early.  I decide to shop a little bit.  I go into a store, sort of a Victoria Secret type of store.  I ask to see something.  The clerk pulls out some items. They are beautiful.  I look at them.  I ask her how much. "$40 pesos." she tells me.  This is almost a joke.  I do not want to offend her, so I say to her, "Son lindas, pero tienes algo mas económica?"  I know that I can buy what I want for around 16 pesos.  She looks at her shelves and pulls down a box and presents me with another item.  I inspect it.  "¿Cuanto sale?"  I ask.  "$34 pesos." she tells me.

This is very rediculous. "Señora, son lindas, pero son caras, no tienes algos cerca de 16?"  I ask her. She stares at me like I just asked her if there is pizza in Buenos Aires.  I continue.  "Vivo aca, como vos, en pesos.°  She smiles, now she gets it, "Ahhh, hablas muy bien castellano, pero pense que estas paseando."  (You speak very good Spanish, but I thought that you are on vacation)With that, she turned around and pulled down 3 boxes.

THANK GOD! I AM STILL SINGLE!!! THANK YOU OBAMA!!!

I told my friends that if Obama didn't win, I would have to marry an Argentine.  A fate almost worst than death. (just kidding...sort of..) Marriage or having children is the only way to obtain Argentine citizenship.  My friend Yanqui Mike the organizer of the local Democrats Abroad here in BA said I would probably marry one anyway.  Nooooooo....... but this is another topic completely.

Today is history.  Not just for the United States, but for the world. The United States did an astounding thing by electing the first African American president, they chose to elect a man who hopefully will bring change not only to the United States, but to the world.

The United States is a world leader.  Other countries look to us. Our position in the world affects not only the United States, it affects everyone.  A world leader should set an example.  Our example was embarrassing.  It was amazing to me in the first place that Bush got elected. (You have to remember I used to live in Oakland California - next to Berkeley)  But he did.  In 8 years he ruined my country.
He caused the United States of American to become a world embarrassment.  The world hated us. 

I am proud that my country saw past the color of this man's skin to elect him.  I remember when my friend Susan from Minneapolis became an early backer of Obama I thought she was crazy.  Like most women of my generation I backed Hilary.  I thought Obama had no chance to win.  Besides admiring and believing in Hilary, I wanted a Democrat to win.  I didn't think the country could suffer through another 4 years of Republican leadership.

I wasn't happy that Hilary wasn't the winner.  She was my candidate.  I would back the Democratic candidate regardless.  There was no way I was going to back the Republicans.  Understand that if they had a suitable candidate it would be one thing, but they did not and as time went on they proved their candidate had no ability to  make decisions; begining with his heinous choice of a vice president running mate.

I was worried that Obama had no chance of winning.  I know my country.  Or maybe I thought I knew my country. I never thought a black man (sorry  I live here) had a chance to win.  While the Republicans slung mud, tried to dig up dirt, Obama chugged along.  He brought his message to the people.  He told them he knew the country was a mess.  He told them he knew that their country was not taking care of them.  People listened. 

Obama has a tough road.  He has a nightmare of an economy to deal with.  A country full of social ills. A country full of corruption, scandals. He needs to mend our relationship with other countries.  He has to deal with the wars started in Iraq and Afganistan.  Wars bleeding not only in those countries but in the US as well. 

I didn't leave the U.S. for Argentina because of the political climate.  I left because I love the lifestyle and culture in Argentina.  It is more suited to me, in spite of my grumblings about the men.  I love Argentina and here is my home. I probably will live here the rest of my life. Argentina is my adopted country.   I will always be an American.  That is something that will never change.  Last night, my native country made me proud to be an American.