It is amazing how many people read my blog. What is more amazing is that people seem to like my dating failures more than any other posts. I hear from people all over the world and they all ask for more. Too bad I can't get paid to do this. I suppose I could motivate myself to do a vblog. My own version of the "Dating Game." Can you imagine? Me and Tinelli.
Once again after Mr. Silverfish, I found myself perusing Zonacitas. I receive a message from a man we shall call for now, Mr. X. Nice looking, stocky, and he says he is 55 years old. No info about kids. Says he is divorced and a businessman. Now businessman here can be anything from a guy who works in a convenience store (oh yes, really) to someone that actually owns or manages a business.
We have a few brief repartees through the online chat and exchange numbers. He calls me through Whats App. "Ahh," he says. "You have a nice voice. I am glad that you are actually a woman." Buenos Aires has a very large transvestite/transgender population. I don't think I need to explain more. We speak a bit more and make a plan to meet. It turns out we live a few blocks from each other. He tells me he will call me on Wednesday to arrange the place, somewhere in the barrio.
On Wednesday he calls. He tells me to meet him in the bar of the hotel on Thames and Charcas. I know the hotel, but I don't think that there is a bar in there. I ask him where the bar is. He gets a little testy as if I am stupid. "On the corner." The only thing on the corner next to the hotel is an ice cream place. If this is his idea of a bar, we are going to get along fine. I much prefer ice cream to alcoholic libations. We set a time for 6:30.
5 minutes before I walk out the door, I convince myself that I am going to be my charming, funny self. Being a gemini I have many selves. Just ask Gigi. Or Sam. Or really anyone who has known me for more than 10 minutes. I am not exactly Sybil, but I have my moments.
Today is a good hair day. You know how that goes. Not like you can whip short hair up into a ponytail. You are stuck with it. Actually today is what my mother would call "one of my pretty days." She used to tell me that I had "pretty days" and "ugly days." Somehow growing up I had more "ugly days" than "pretty days" and you wonder why I am so neurotic over my appearance? Now you know.
As I come to the intersection I see Mr. X sitting in the window. He is checking out the traffic when he spies me. I can see he is relieved that I am not 20 kilos heavier and that I basically look like my pictures. (What a concept) He on the other hand is maybe 5 years older than the pictures on his profile and a little "stockier." Still a good looking guy.
He almost trips over himself to get to me when I walk in the door. I do my best imitation of an Argentine "Coqueta". (A flirty chick) I am doing my best to be sweet, funny, and happy. I can be that way naturally, but these dating situations sometimes make it a little difficult. Mr. X takes me to where he has been sitting.
He pulls the chair out next to window and the one next to it. "Here," he says, "I want to look at you." I really hate this. I hate this. Yes, I hate this. I want him on his side of the table, not mine. Too much intimacy. Plus, these guys try to touch you, and I might have to kill him. Ok. Be nice.
I sit down. Facing him. But, he is not looking at me. He is looking the other way. This is a little weird. He asks me about me. They all want to know A) Why am I here, B) What am I doing here, C) Why don't I have a boyfriend. Sometimes I think I should just print up a little booklet and present it beforehand, so we don't have to spend all this time on "WHY IS DEBY IN ARGENTINA?" I am a little sick of that story.
I try to change the topic. I ask about him. I notice his eyes are doing this really wacked out thing. It is like he cannot focus. He still doesn't look at me. He doesn't really want to talk about him, and this is not good. I am not going to spend an hour talking about me. Maybe I should make stuff up. I was wanted in 30 states for being an ax murder...I ran away to Argentina.
The eye thing is driving me crazy. He tells me that he is happily surprised by how I look. He tells me that the last woman he met was a mess. She smoked, she was 20 years older than her picture. He told me when she got in his car, he asked her where her sister was. Nice. (What is it with women getting into cars with strange men they meet on the Internet? I would NEVER do that. When they offer, I always tell them, that is another kind of woman, but I don't think they get it.) Then he proceeds to tell me that women over than 50 are a disaster. "They lose their shape." He says. "You are gorgeous." He tells me while his eyes are bouncing everywhere. He goes on and on about what I look like. "You could tell people that you are in your 40s." I am more than annoyed. While I realize that I look good for an old lady, I do not think he should be bashing women like this. He isn't exactly star material himself.
I ask him if he knows how old I am. He tells me that he is 55. (I don't think soooo) I tell him my age. His jaw drops and for the first time, he looks at me. "This is not possible." He tells me. I ask him why I would lie about this. He has no answer. We sit in silence for a bit.
He then tells me that he had brain surgery. That he is still recovering. That is why the shifty eyes. He tells me a bit about himself. Where he works. What he likes to do. Then out the blue, he says to me "You know, you are pretty funny." (I am trying) "Funny, but weird. Definitely weird." I am not sure whether or not to be offended when he continues, "You know you have a problem." Excuse me? I am not the one with the wacked out eyes all over the place. " What? I have a problem?" I ask him. "Yes, you know, you're very intelligent." This is a problem??? "So I say to him, " I don't understand, how is being intelligent a problem?" Like I need to ask.
"A beautiful woman who is intelligent, is dangerous." He continues, "You can't lie to them. They figure it out." I count to 10. "Why would you want to lie? Why would you go into a relationship thinking you need to lie or trick the other person? I say to him. He gives me a snarky, weak smile and shrugs his shoulders. "Well you know." he says. "No, I don't know." I say to him. "Well, it's how guys are." He says. Right.
We get up to leave. He walks me to the corner where I live. He had told me that he lived 3 blocks to the right of me, but he is going to go left. "I thought you live on Oro." I say to him. He is surprised I remember. Did he forgot that I am "intelligent?" "Oh yes, but tonight I am going to visit my daughter on Armenia." The daughter he doesn't have.