Today at lunch my friend Trish told me I should write about my dating experiences in my blog. I told her that I am tired of talking about my dating experiences. "But they are so funny." she said. "You would make a lot of people laugh." "I don't know, maybe. I will think about it." I told her.
It has been a long time since I wrote about the men in my blog. My two posts The Men The Men and The Men The Men What About The Men Revisted are my two most hit blog posts in Google. Everyone wants to know about Argentine men. I wrote those posts in 2006 about 2 years after I came to live here. I wrote another post about a year later.
Now that I have been living here 7 years, I understand the culture, I speak the local dialect and understand it, things really have not changed too much. I appreciate more my life in the Bay Area with regards to male female relationships. I never realized how much back then I was treated as a person, than as an object. Still today it is difficult to explain this to both Argentine men and to women.
The sexual revolution happened over a period of years in the states. It was intellectual. Here it happened via the Internet and it happened in a short period. As an outsider I watched things change from the year 2000 until now. Most of the transformation was starting from 2006 until now.
If you think men in the states didn't cope with the changes of women in the workforce, women becoming independent, women earning their own money. Come here. It is a whole new ball game. The sexuality gets mixed up. It is very interesting as an outsider to this culture to watch it all and still try to date and be a part of it. While I have adapted, there are still parts of me, that cannot adapt and probably never will. It is what being an immigrant is all about.
Today in the restaurant there was a table of 3 men having a meeting behind us. One man was overtly flirting with me. Trish and I both noticed it. He was nice looking. He would turn around and smile at me. He would get up walk around and smile at me. He reminded me of Rafael Ferro who plays Victor Grande in the novela Un Año Para Recordar.
He heard us speaking English and asked us where we were from. I smiled at him and told him in Spanish I was from 8 blocks away and asked him where he was from. He said close by. So Argentine. To interrupt a business meeting to flirt with a woman. Then I noticed his ring. His wedding ring. Game over. On my side.
Trish and I continued our lunch. I told her about some of my dates. When men could care less about conversation. They go on and on about how beautiful I am, my eyes, my lips. I told her I find it so boring. They don't want to make conversation with me. After they hear "MY STORY" they only want to tell me how beautiful I am, because they figure the more times I hear it the faster they can push me into bed. Only it doesn't work with me. It bores me to death. I know they would say this to any woman regardless of how she looks. I am not special.
My American men friends or the other foreign men I know say that if they don't tell the Argentine woman at least 20 times during the date how great she looks she won't sleep with them. Different cultures to be sure.
I want dialog. To talk. Politics. Cinema, books, theater. I give her some examples of some conversations I have had with some men "Do you like movies?" "Yeah, yeah, I like movies." "What was the last movie you saw?" "I don't don't remember, que hermoso ojos tenes." When one man told me for the 10th time how beautiful I was, I told "I am beautiful inside." He told me "I don't know that. I could know you 20 years and not know that. But I look at you now and I know you are beautiful." Sometimes I feel I am a clear example of women should be seen and not heard. I never felt that way in the Bay Area.
Perhaps if I was from this culture I would find it charming and wonderful to always be told about the superficial. But I am not. I am from a culture that values different things. That values intelligence, kindness, loyalty, sense of humor. I spent too much time with geeks.
If you look around the restaurants women are not talking. They are looking adoringly with vacant eyes at some guy while he talks. OR no one is talking. How boring. I would rather be dancing. A relationship is two people. A least in tango I can interact. I am not that desperate to have someone. It is probably why I don't.
The business meeting breaks up. Mr. Victor Grande look alike comes to our table. "I would like to have your phone number." he says to me. I look him in the eye. "Señor, you are wearing a ring. you are married." He looks at me. "No," he says, "I am not married." "You are wearing a gold ring." I say to him as I point to his hand. He looks at his hand as though he has never seen it before.
"This?" he says. "This is not a ring." I look at Trish. She speaks Spanish, and she is blown away, listening. "No? Ahh, it's your mother's correct.?" He nods. "Mejor, tu abuelo's" With that he rushes away, without even saying good bye.
Trish is appalled. "I can't believe it. You are so fast." she says to me. "I live here." I tell her. "I have to be. Sometimes they don't even wear a ring. You have to make sure they take you out on a Saturday night. That you meet their friends, their family. You have to go to their apartment. Sometimes that isn't enough. It can be hard work."
Trishe's eyes are wide. "Wow!" she says, "You have taught me a lot." She is still blown away by the Victor Grande look alike. I am sure that there are some really nice guys here. Somewhere. I am still looking.