TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

Medio Vaga

I feel like I waste  a lot of time since I started living here.  I spend too much time on Facebook, emails, and hanging out with friends, when I should be working or looking for work.  Before I moved to Buenos Aires I was a classic type A personality.  I worked all the time.  I made every minute count.  I was always looking to be more efficient. Now I don't care.

My Argentine friends think that I am "muy trabajadora."  A hard worker.  I rent the rooms in my apartment, I teach English, I translate, and I write.  I took two contract jobs in IT, which was the career I had before I moved here.   It made me realize why I moved here.  They were too stressful and I had less free time.  I was always working.

When I started my search for an apartment to buy I devised a spreadsheet and a system to look at as many apartments as possible.  Real estate agents here are worthless.  They don't really do much to help you.   I was on a mission.  I had a spreadsheet of all the places I visited.  I could sort it in a any number of ways.

Every weekend I would get the paper and reference all the apartments that had open houses on a copy of a street map.    I would arrange things so I could see 10 - 15 apartments in a day.  I had a separate sheet for comments.  Everything would be transferred to the spreadsheet.  My Argentine friends were in awe.  "You act like this is work!" they would say to me.

When I started to look for things to buy I did the same thing.  I made lists.  I used to be a great one for lists. I would go from store to store comparing prices.  Then I discovered that prices are basically the same everywhere in Buenos Aires. In the US fair competition is the ability to sell things at competitive prices.  Here that does not exist.  Stores sell things at more or less the same price regardless if it is Wal-Mart or a mom and pop.

Since I moved here in 2004 I have stopped making lists and I no longer wear a watch.   When I lived in the US I had a clock in every room.  Even the bathroom.  Now, somehow, I get where I need to go without the time obsession.  I remember what I need to do or buy without lists or spreadsheets.  I still have an agenda but only to keep the appointments I make, not to plan my life months in advance, like before.

I gave up much materially to move to Buenos Aires.  My friends still talk about the "things" that I had. I know that while I gave up many things, I gained a lot more by moving here.  I never saw myself as a laid back person, but compared to how I was, I certainly am now.  I have lost the need to plan every minute of my life.  I take things as they come.  If they don't get done today, no big deal.  I can always do it tomorrow.  Or next week.

This post was originally written for Affordable Calling Cards

Life in Buenos Aires: Un asado and a pair of shoes

Sammy and I are off to Quilmes.  We are going to Leo’s for an asado.  Leo has been my shoemaker for almost 10 years.  It is a family business.  Shoemaking has been in her husband Antonio’s family for 4 generations.  Ariel, their son is the 4th generation of zapateros.  Silvia runs the store on Garay, Leo handles the orders for the shows and the professional dancers.  Antonio and Ariel make the shoes.  They are very efficient.  When they tell you 10 days for shoes, you have your shoes in 10 days.

Sammy is going to do a web site for them.  I have convinced them they need one.  They know that they need one, but it never was high on the priority list.  Making quality shoes has always been the main priority.

Silvia and Antonio pick us up in front of the store.  That way we don’t have to take the bus all the way to Quilmes.  I am still getting over the flu and I don’t want to get chilled.  The cold damp weather of Buenos Aires makes it easy to get sick again.

On the drive I catch up with the news of their family and I tell them what has been going on with me.  Not much since I have had the flu.  Everyone is complaining about the economy.  Silvia tells me they are busy creating shoes for a private collection of a well known dancer who is going to sell them in the U.S.  I am happy they have the business.

When we arrive at their house in Quilmes Leo and Ariel come out to greet us.  Ariel tells us that his wife will come later with the kids for the asado.  Before we go to the workrooms Leo want to show us the terrazza.  This is the newest addition to their home.

We climb the stairs to the roof.  They made a beautiful enclosed room on the roof complete with a parrilla.  We can look out over the city of Quilmes.  Like usual I am freezing.  I keep my down coat on.  The temperature is not that low, but the dampness really gets to me.  I forgot to put on a sweater so I could take my coat off.

The room has high ceilings, large glass windows.  There is a long table so everyone in the family along with friends can sit and eat together.  Sammy goes out onto the terraza to take pictures.  Leo and Silvia laugh.  He is on top of the roof next door taking pictures.  Arial and Antonio are building the fire in the parrilla.

They ask me if they should take Sammy downstairs to the work room.  I say yes because that is why we came.  I am translating the whole time.  Sammy doesn’t really speak much Spanish and they speak almost no English.

We go downstairs and Antonio opens the door to the work room.  Sammy’s eyes light up.  Antonio takes us into the area where he makes the shoes.  He shows Sammy all the wooden molds and explains how he forms the shoes.  “Everything is made of leather.” he tells Sammy.  “Others mix cardboard into the leather, my shoes are still 100% leather.  People do not understand that just because the upper part of the shoe is leather, it does not mean the shoe is constructed of leather.”

Antonio sits down at his workbench.  He pulls out dozens of tiny nails.  “I put them in my mouth.” he tells us.  “I have worked this way my whole life.”  He shows us how he pulls the nails and then taps them into the shoes that are perfectly formed around the wooden molds to whatever the custom measurements are.

“Our shoes are 100% hand made.  Nothing is made by machine or computer. Our shoes are all leather.  Dancers feet need to breathe.” He explains to Sammy.  He shows Sammy how the heels mold perfectly to the sole of the shoe.  “Our heels are guaranteed.  They support the dancer.  The plastic or painted heel cannot.”  He shows us the difference. How it is just glued to the shoe.  “We will use this heel but we do not guarantee it like we do the others.”

Sammy asks Antonio how they got started.  Antonio explains that his family has made shoes for generations.  He is a third generation shoe maker.  One day, one of the dancers from Tango Argentino came to him.  He was having problems with his feet and needed to dance many hours in the show.  Antonio designed a pair of shoes for him.  That started their tango shoe business.  They made shoes for the cast.

Word spread and later they began to make shoes for many of the shows and professional dancers. Their shoes began to gain a reputation for being the best quality.  Leo would go to the shows, salons, and even hotel rooms to take the measurements and Antonio and Ariel would make the shoes. 

Later they opened a small store in San Telmo so Leo would not have to run around.  Silvia their daughter now runs the store.  Leo still manages the major accounts from their home in Quilmes.  Dancers who wear their shoes are loyal.  The store does not have a huge inventory.  Their business is almost all custom order.  Once in awhile Ariel makes shoes for the store, or shoes that did not work out for a customer are sold in the store.

I was referred to Leo by a dancer in Forever Tango.  She made my first pair of shoes in 2000 during my first trip to Buenos Aires.  When I came back in March 2001 I had her make me 2 more pair.  I remember when she made me my first pair of shoes with a 9 cm heel.  She didn’t want to do it.  When they were ready I tried them on in the store.  Leo was ready to make fun of me wobbling.  But when I walked straight ahead she gave me a big smile.

After the accident when I could walk on crutches I brought a client to her store.  Leo burst into tears when she saw me.  By that time I had known her 6 years and probably 50 pair of shoes later.  The doctors had said I probably would not be able to dance in heels again.  I was determined to prove them wrong.

Leo and Antonio helped me.  When I was able to start to dance again I absolutely refused to wear ugly shoes.  I could not do it.   I sat in the store and cried. I could not believe those shoes were going to be my future.  Leo designed a comfortable but attractive low heeled shoe for me. She kept telling me I would dance again in heels. 

Once I regained my balance Antonio took all my 9cm shoes and cut them down to 8cm and reworked them to accommodate my messed up body. It was their present to me. “You know,”  Leo said to me, “We never use more than a 7 or 8cm heel for the shows. We only have the 9cm heel because we have to.”

Leo is amazing.  She knows an incredible amount about shoes.  She can tell you exactly why a shoe is not comfortable or why you can't dance well in it.  She knows exactly how to fix it.  Once in awhile they make a pair of shoes for me that just don't work right.  Leo know exactly why.  They guarantee their shoes.  I had one pair of shoes that became a challenge.  They were made for me before the accident. It took almost 2 years to make them right.  Now they are one of my most comfortable shoes to dance in. 

Leo always says “We make shoes for dancing, not for photos.”  She takes Sammy to a wall and points out all the famous dancers who wear their shoes. It is like a Who's Who of Tango.  The names mean nothing to Sammy.  She looks at me. “How come we have never had a photo of you?”  I shrug my shoulders.  Sammy tells her he will take one.

We move over to another area.  “This is where Ariel works.” Leo tells us.  “He cuts the shoes.  Antonio opens a box and shows us forms.  He explains what they are and how they use them to create the shoes to custom measurements.  They have one machine where they stitch the forms together. 

They take us to a room where the shoes that are completed are laid out and covered.  “The leather needs to dry properly before it is worn.” Antonio explains to us.  I know one shoemaker who tells people they can have their shoes in 5 days.  I see the dye all over my guests feet when they wear the shoes.  Not only that, the shoes stretch out.  “There is no way to hurry the process.  You cannot make a pair shoes faster than 10 days.  They have to dry.”

Leo is laying out shoes for Sammy to see.  He starts snapping pictures.  They are surprised because the cloth is ugly that the shoes are on.  I explain the wonders of Photoshop to them.  They are impressed.

By this time we are all hungry.  Ariel has come downstairs to announce the asado is ready.  His wife and kids are here.  We go back up to the roof.  The food is wonderful.  Chicken, chorizo, morcilla, and or course asado.  Salad, bread, wine.  Sammy calls the wine the great language equalizer.

Leo is fascinated by Sammy coming to Argentina.  She thinks it is wonderful how he has made a life here.  We talk about politics.  We talk about inflation and how much harder we all have to work now.

Ariel’s kids are adorable.  Antonio says to Sammy “That is going to be the 5th generation zapatero.” pointing to his grandson. “Every day after school he comes to be with his father.  One day when he was 3 he picked up a hammer and started pound a form.  That was when we knew, we had another zapatero in the family.”

I remember when Ariel first started to make shoes.  I could always tell if he made my shoes or Antonio.  Now it is impossible to tell the difference.  It was a big joke before.  I motion for Ariel’s son to come over.  I ask him “Are you going to be a zapatero like your daddy?”  He looks at me very seriously and nods his head.  “Do you think you can help me with my shoes?”  He looks at my feet.  I have on black boots.  He looks at his dad and then his grandfather, then my feet again, and then nods.  “Good.”  I tell him.  “I will wait for you.”

I always wondered who was going to make my shoes if Antonio retired.  I don’t have to wonder anymore.  This is a family of zapateros. The tradition of quality will be carried down another generation.

Artesanías "AR-SIL"  Avenida Juan de Garay 908 4362-3936  ar_sil_leo@yahoo.com.ar

Are you listening La Presidenta? The people have spoken.

I love politics.  I love politics the way some people love movies or television.  Only to me politics are real.  I have loved politics since I was a teenager.  I don’t remember exactly when it was I began my love affair with them, but I suspect it was when Lyndon Johnson ran for President. I was mesmerized with the entire process.  It was much more interesting than the Miss America contest.  At least to me, young as I was.  I was too fat for a bathing suit, although I loved the talent contest. I never wanted to be Miss America. Never.  The bathing suit thing was a real hangup. Besides, listening to all those senators was much more interesting.  They really had something to say.

I never remember a time where I was not involved in politics at some level, national, city, state, and even neighborhood.  I was always fascinated by how the machine moved and who moved it.  It was like playing checkers. 

Now I live here, in Argentina. I am happy Obama is the president of the U.S., but to be honest, I am not really all that interested in U.S. politics anymore.  They do not affect me on a daily basis.  It is the politics of Argentina that affect me.  They cause my daily expenses to go out of control.  Make life a little less secure.

Argentine politics are complex.  Especially when you need to learn about them in another language.  I don’t read the Wall Street Journal and Mary O’Grady to get my opinions. She would probably prefer to colonize Latin America and be done with it. The Economist is another.  While maybe they don’t want to colonize Latin America they certainly think that the Western world is the only world that knows how.  (They certainly do, just look at the mess they created.)

I read both papers – Clarin and La Nacion.  I read Perfil, Pagina 12 and my all time favorite, the magazine Noticias.  Noticias is not afraid to come out and say what they really think about the government. Then there are the taxi drivers.  They always have an opinion.  I am a news junkie.  I started watching Argentine TV news when I got here to better understand the accent and pick up the language. TN, AN, TeleFe, C5N.  I watch them all.  Little by little I started to understand.

What was becoming obvious is that the media was not printing or broadcasting was was really going on.  The emperor’s new clothes was becoming the reality of living in Argentina. The government would quote figures that were unreal.  Prices were going higher and higher, yet the government said they were not.  The signs were all around the economy was going to “baja” and La Presidenta was saying how great things were.

Christina and Nestor wanted to rule forever.  They had this dynasty thing going on. Along with Hugo in Venezuela they thought they had things figured out.  It was amazing to me how a President would continually ignore the demands of the people. It is amazing to me how arrogant she and her husband are, and how they think they can get away with it.

Then things began to change. First Julio Cobos the vice president voted against her and voted with the “campo”.  It was a historic vote.  Amazing when you stop to think about it.  Rather than hold out the olive branch and take a step towards healing wounds, “La Presidenta” raccoon eyes and all chose to ignore the situation as well as the vice president.  To this day she has refused to speak to him and has turned him into a hero.  He is adored throughout the country for taking a stand on principle. He has continued to speak in favor of the people and go against the president and her policies.

Little by little the support for the old Peronist party was falling away.  We needed change here.  The old way of doing business was not working.  People here admired Obama and felt sorry for him having to deal with years of corruption.  “We need an Obama.” is what they would say to me.  To preserve the dynasty the President decided to move up the October elections to June figuring the opposition would never have time to mount a reasonable campaign and her husband, the other part of the dynamic duo decided to run for diputado. (Congressman of the lower house)The official excuse was we the people would be too bothered with a bad economy in October to deal with elections.  Huh?

What they didn’t plan on was Francisco De Narváez a wealthy businessman running a well organized campaign.   He admired Obama.  He spent time analyzing the Obama campaign and met with representatives of Obama’s campaign staff.  He patterned his campaign much like Obama’s.

He is an interesting guy.  He dropped out of school, yet Harvard Business School uses as a model his company Casa Tia.  He owns many companies including American TV. He is a Colombian by birth.  He came to Argentina when he was 3 and is a naturalized citizen.

He united with Mauricio Macri the mayor of Buenos Aires and Gabriela Michetti to run his campaign.  People were doubtful he would win.  “They will pay people to vote for Kirchner.” is what my friends said.  “They will falsify ballots.” “They will do what they have to win.”  I did not want Nestor Kirchner to win.  I did not know anyone who did.

What was the turning point?  Was it when Christina helped Hugo buy an Argentine business in Venezuela?  That seemed to scare the hell out of the business community here.  Finally.  De Narváez asked people “Do you want to be like Chile and Brasil?  Or do you want to be like Venezuela?” No one wants to be like Venezuela and the sale of Techint to the Venezuela government pushed the envelope. It was a wake up call.

Or maybe it was when they tried to make De Narváez look like an ephedrine drug lord because one of his 350 employees used one of his 350 company cell phones in his name to make drug buys. They were trying to get a hearing against him 2 weeks before the election. Jeesh! Even my cleaning lady saw through the dirty politics of that maneuver.

When all fails in dirty politics you can always use the flu.  Five days before the election the government was going loco publicizing the swine flu.  50 times a minute were the perils of the “gripe porcina.”  Along with the travails of the “gripe porcina” were the dangers of voting.  Explicit instructions were given on how to best vote during this horrid epidemic of flu.

What effect do you think this had? In my building I overheard a conversation between several neighbors debating whether or not to go vote because of the flu. La norteamericana stepped in “You have to go vote.”  I told them.  “You have to. They are using the flu to manipulate you to not vote.”  Can you imagine?  All eyes were on me.  “Look,”  I told them, “This flu is bad, but last year in Argentina over 8,000 people died of the flu, this year there are 17.  My HMO is not full of people.  It is the same as always.”

My neighbors are shocked.  How come they never think of these things?  Too many years of living in the Bay Area.  “You can check the numbers on Google.”  I tell them. “They don’t want you to vote.  Intelligent people are not going to vote for Kirchner.” They laugh. “Vote.”  I tell them. “You have to vote.”

On Sunday at 6:00 pm I turn on the television.  At 6:02 all the stations except the American network are declaring Kirchner the winner. “KIRCHNER GANO” blares across the screen.  How disgusting.  They are paid to do this.  The government subsidizes the media and therefore on some levels controls it.  It was a law that went into effect during the crisis to help when advertising revenues went down.  Now it is used to control the media. 

The returns are starting to come in.  I am glued to the TV and channel surfing – TN, AN, TeleFE, C5N, Cronica, 26.  The center of the country has gone completely for the opposition or other parties, the same for Santa Cruz, home of the Kirchners.  Then at 8:00 De Narváez takes a lead that never lets up.  I watch anxiously.

At 10:00 pm it is obvious the President and her husband are getting the pants beaten off of them.  What is most amazing is the attitude of the news media.  Before they were cautious, pro-government, but when the returns were overwhelming for Santa Fe, Cordoba, La Pampa, Santa Cruz, and Buenos Aires, one newscaster broke into a huge grin and said “Oh well, tomorrow we begin with a new country.”  At that point the news media on all stations became no holds barred.  They began to report the news, not the sanitized versions, they were supposed to report.  The Kirchner loss was a gain in other areas.

I stayed glued to the television.   Like everyone else I wanted to know if the lead would stay and if there would be any word from the “K” factions.  None came. De Narváez  was out and visible thanking his supporters.  There were t-shirts that said “895 days until De Narváez is governor” others that said “Mauricio for President.” (Mauricio Macri, mayor of Buenos Aires) Daniel Scioli on the K side canceled his press conference. De Narváez never lost his lead.  When they interviewed Macri his comment was he hoped the president was watching.

Finally at 2:00 am or so the Pinguino (Kirchner) came out to concede. He said he would not contest the election. He said his wife would not step down.  He was pretty boring.  Argentines are not good losers.  At 2:45 am I finally went to bed saturated with the news.

In the morning when I woke up the headlines were blaring.  De Narváez told the president he hoped that she reads well the results of the election.  That remains to be seen.  Nestor stepped down as President of the Peronist party.

The president does not have the majority any more.  But in her press conference this afternoon when she had all the opportunity to once again hold out an olive branch, she harped on how it was only 2 points between her husband and De Narváez .  Perhaps Christina needs to be reminded of another President who was trounced in mid year elections and didn’t want to listen.  His name was de la Rúa.

Life in Buenos Aires: Pura Ficción..and maybe a little more about the men

My ISP Arnet often gives free tickets to the theater or the movies.  When I can I like to take advantage of it. On Wednesday I invited my "hermanita" (little sister) Amy to go with me. She is part of a group of girls I call my little sisters.  They are beautiful women mostly in their mid to late 20s.  Some are Argentine, some are American, and one is Mexican.  They live here, they are getting their masters degrees in International Finance and or Business.  The Americans are all bi-lingual.  I enjoy their company. 

I didn't know much about the play other than Oscar Martinez is making a big comeback after 7 years.  He wrote, directed, and acts in the play.  All the big stars came to the opening.  He acts with Claudia Fontán, a well known actress.  The play was billed as a comedy.

I love the theater.  Amy and I were excited to go.  The free tickets give me an excuse, and if the play is not that good, I have not lost anything.  We decide to have dinner after the show rather than before.  After all, this is Buenos Aires.  Who eats before 8:00 pm here?

We take our seats in the Pablo Neruda theater.  It is a small but beautiful theater located off Corrientes.  I was here about 6 years ago to see another production.  The only problem was then I could not understand a word. 

The play begins to unfold. Oliver Martinez is on the phone. He and Fontán play actors in the play who are also a couple.  She comes in.  She asks a question about their daughter and he immediately lashes out at her.  OK, in my culture, Northamerican culture, this is what we perceive this type of behavior to be.  He does not talk to her, he talks at her, as if she is an annoying fly bugging him.  She cowers.

Amy and I watch at first in disbelief and then in horror as this play unfolds.  Martinez constantly puts  Fontán on the defensive. He makes fun of her. He puts her down. Fontán struggles to maintain her self esteem which Martinez also makes fun of.  She wants to know his relationship with his ex-wife, he treats her like an idiot.  The audience laughs.

Amy and I look at each other.  Both of us understand this play.  There is no language barrier. I say to her "I guess this is a cultural thing we don't get."  She says to me "How can anyone think this is funny?" It isn't like the audience is erupting in huge gales of laughter, but they are laughing, at him, putting her down.

As the play continues, for us it becomes more depressing. Amy comments to me "They are not communicating.  They talk at each other.  When she tries to talk to him he talks louder. He finds something hurtful to say to her."  I say to Amy "There are 3 of my relationships up there on the stage. Arrogant jerks who would refuse to listen."  "He makes everything her fault." Amy says to me.

The play ended with her wearing a dress fit for a 20 year old.  The stereotypical Porteño relationship.  Him pontificating, her hanging on every word.   She afraid in the end to say anything.  Better to have a man than no man at all.  Keep your anger inside.  They don't listen anyway.

This is a comedy?  OK, I understand, I am not from this culture.  Just maybe Martinez was being funny being insulting and putting down Fontán throughout the play. Then how come it was not a two way street?  All the laughs were at her expense, none at his.  Just like in real life.

I could imagine the same subject matter with someone like Enrique Pinti.  I am sure it would be hysterically funny and not at the expense of the woman.  This was another example to us how women are undermined here.  I am sure there was a message in this play.  I just didn't get it. Neither did Amy.

We went for dinner after the play.  My little sis wants to talk.  "How am I ever going to survive in this culture?" she asks me.  "I am not an object."  "Then do not let men treat you as one."  I tell her. "You know how I always say I have my first and last date on the same date.  There is no reason to stick around if the guy has that mentality.  It doesn't matter how sweet, how nice, because eventually they are what they are."  "Remember when he said the part about the emails?"  she says.  We both laugh.  Both of us have had men become angry with us because we did not answer emails or text messages fast enough.  The fact that we were working or busy does not matter.  You are girfriend on demand.

I am in my 5th year of living here.  I have learned alot. This is not my culture although I have adapted to it. I love living here.  I am not the same person I was when I came here, but in some ways I am still a California girl in my independence.  In my belief that women need to have their own life, that women should be able to choose their own path, and most important, that I do not need a man to be a complete person.

I do not accept the subtle ways that men put women down here.  Their need to constantly feel superior.  That went out in the 50s for us.  I will not pander to that ego.  Yet I watch my friends, all women who work, who are "independent" cloy for the attention of a man and if they have to - claw each other to death to get it.  I prefer to sit on the sidelines and watch.

There are women here who break up the relationships of other women.  Not because they want that man, but because they are jealous their friend has something they don't. So they do what they can to ruin it.  Once the relationship is ruined they are happy.  Can you imagine?  I cannot.  I am sure there are women like that everywhere, but there are an abundance here.

I watch my friends sit by the phone waiting for their "boyfriends" to call.  They trip over themselves to text their messages, they cancel plans with friends, the second the boyfriend demands attention.  To not do these things means losing the boyfriend.  He will be punitive.  There is no talking it out, negotiating, communicating.  Yet, the women all complain about the men and they support this behavior.

Men complain that women are manipulative - histerica.  I don't support that behavior either, but when no one listens to you and constantly puts you down?  What do you do to get attention?  If you are insecure you become manipulative to get what you want.

I find in conversations with men they tell me I am "exigente" - demanding.  Women are not supposed to be exigente.  It is not feminine.  You are just supposed to accept what is said to you, smile, and move on.  I of course tend to stand up for myself, which is unheard of, without histerica or manipulation.

Yesterday with a man I am seeing we were talking about relationships. I told him I do not like how the men talk to women, the tone of voice they use.  He told me that I need to understand the economic responsibilities that men have. I was shocked but wanted to hear his line of thinking.  He went on to say about how men have to provide and women expect certain things and they have all this pressure on them.  I wanted to strangle him.

Instead I counted to 10 and said to him, "I don't care what pressures you have, you have no right to talk to anyone, let alone your wife or girlfriend like she is a dog."  He looked at me like I was from Outer Space, but then I am used to that look. He started to tell me how difficult his life has been how he had to start working at 14.  I cut him off. I am so tired of hearing about the history of Argentina.

I say to him "I don't feel sorry for you.  I work.  I have worked my whole life and I continue to work. I started working at 14 as well.  I never depended on a man for anything. Working and having problems still does not give you the right to treat anyone like an object."  I continue "You have a great life. What does it matter what happened in the past? Look at what happened to me?  I came here with my mangled Spanish, I had to learn Argentine Spanish, your customs.  I was in a horrible car accident.  I still suffer from the damage done to my body. How can you justify men talking to women the way they do because they had "economic hardships?  With your reasoning I should be able to go out and commit murder."

He blinks. "Estas muy dura." he says to me. "Exigente tambien." I say to him. Then he starts the crap about working since he was 14. I want to punch him. "But you are Argentine, this is your country, you speak the language. Can you imagine how I felt not being able to walk, my so called boyfriend walking out on me after he ran the red light that caused all the damage to my body? Here I was in Argentina with all these problems and you are complaining about working since you are 14.  I am sorry I don't feel sorry for you."

"Do you regret coming here?" he asks. "Not at all."  I say to him.  "If I did, I would leave." His mouth drops open in shock.  I think now the full force of my independence has hit him between the eyes. "Why would I stay somewhere I didn't want to be?  I would just leave. I could go back to my country, to Australia, Spain.  I would never stay anywhere I didn't want to be."

 

Being single in Buenos Aires: Chinese food with a mysterious man

So I met that guy at the mixer.  We exchanged numbers.  He stuck to me all night.  It wasn't all that bad. He was very attractive, well traveled, a business owner, and a great conversationalist.  Just I would have liked to have met some of the other guys there too.  Oh well, next time.

The next day he texts me "Would you like to go to the Chinese restaurant tonight?" Well of course my Argentine side is indignant.  I remember the words of one of my amigas "I am not a fire sale item." Then my California side thinks, "Well why not." The two sides argue back and forth. Talk about being a schizophrenic. Si, no, si, no... Then I realize that the thing that frosts me the most is the text message.  I mean, why can't he just call?  What kind of an impression is this? So I decline.."No gracias, tengo planes. Tal vez un otro dia." 

My friend David calls.  He is always good for a debate.  I tell him what happens.  He tells me I should be more relaxed. "Yeah, but text messaging for a first date?"  I hear silence.  I tell David "Look I am not that high mainteance.  But I think for a first date, the guy should at least call you in advance and on the phone. Not just text message you in the afternoon."  Again I hear silence then he says, "Well maybe you are right."

"Hey if we are already dating it is one thing, but NOT the first date." I say again.  I think my favorite friend is a guilty man.  "I guess I don't think like a girl." he says to me.  "It is not thinking like a girl" I say to him.  "Look, how would you feel if I texted you two hours before a date and said gee, I can't go, besos." Silence. "It's not the same."  he says.  I explain to him the concept of respect.  "You know," he says "maybe I should try it your way." Bang...

The next day he texts again and asks.  He gets the same answer. He texts back to let me know when I am not busy because he would like to see me.  I can see this guy is not going to get the message.  Maybe he is dense like David.

On Monday I am tired and my back hurts.  I am not sure I want to go dancing.  So I decide to text Mr. No-Plan and ask him if he would like to take me to Chinese tonight.  I get this long text message back to which I reply "Can you please call me."  I have had enough of these f**cking text messages.

In two minutes he calls.  We arrange a time for him to come get me.  He is adamant about picking me up.  He must have a nice car.  He wanted to take me home from the mixer.  I know it was because he wanted me to see his car.  He doesn't understand.  I don't care about his stupid car.  I lived in California.  Here woman go gaa gaa over a Honda Accord.  Brande and I used to make jokes about it.  We still do. 

At 9:30 he comes to call for me.  I am dressed casual.  I figure a Chinese restaurant in San Telmo cannot be all that fancy.  "Que linda que sos!" he says to me.  "Que hermosa."  I am trying not to roll my eyes.  I give my best imitation of an Argentine woman (Sandra is my teacher) "Gracias, gracias." This is so un-me.  He leads me to his car.  Yup, a new car and a nice one. How predictable.

I get in and immediately go for the seatbelt.  That is the best part about a new car.  It has seatbelts that work.  He starts to ask me to put on my seatbelt when he sees I have it on already. We have this conversation about seatbelts and how he has to fight with Argentines to use them.  I humor him and look around his car and ask if it is new.  He smiles and says "Si."  I am bad, again, the Academy Award please, "Que linda coche, que divino."  I go on for 5 minutes.  It is the job of the woman to do this.  I cannot imagine more than "Hey cool, new car." in my old life.

Soon we are in San Telmo and he pulls into a parking garage and leaves his car. As we get on the street he informs me "By the way, this restaurant is only delivery." What the f**ck? Is what I am thinking but I say "Otra vez?"  He says it again.  I stop in the street and glare at him.  Not just any glare mind you, but the extra heavy duty Brown Connection glare, guaranteed to peel wallpaper off your walls.

I ask him "And where are we going to eat this "delivery Chinese food?"  As if I did not know the answer.  My glare along with my direct approach has him squeaking out the answer. "Ahh my apartment."  I continue to glare at him. "No precupes"  he tells me.  "Soy un buen tipo." I continue "Oh and if you weren't you are going to tell me?"  Now I know I have this guy a little freaked out.  He thought I was going to be so easy.

We are walking towards his building.  I realize I have to make a decision.  The guy really doesn't scare me.  Actually I think he is scared of me.  Which is good.  I am silent while he is pointing stuff out to me.  I still have the Belle Brown look on my face.  This is actually not as bad as my mother's look.  That look could probably scare the Taliban.  I hold it in reserve.

When we enter his building I can tell he is nervous.  Good.  I check to see what the exit points are. Someone on the door.  We go up to his apartment.  Small but nice.  I check to see how the door locks. Too many police television shows and mystery novels. 

He asks me what kind of Chinese food I like.  Now I am going to be difficult.  I prefer to tell him what I don't like.  "I hate sweet and sour."  I see his face drop.  "I don't like fried either." Another disappointed look.  "And I don't eat meat." At this point he hands me the menu while telling me how this is the greatest place in Buenos Aires.  I look at the menu. Boring. Not nearly as good as the two places I go to.  It actually crosses my mind to say I don´t like anything on the menu, but I decide not to. I don't say anything.  

Finally he decides we should have fried rice and chow mein. OK.  Whatever.  He orders it.  We sit and wait for the food to come.  He sets the table.  This is pretty interesting.  The conversation is still pretty good considering. The food comes in 15 minutes.

I decide to be polite.  I tell him it tastes fresh.  I ask for soy sauce.  This is such a bizarre evening.  I know all those women on BANewcomers who are complaining about Argentine men grabbing their tits and asses on the streets if they are reading this are probably having major heart failure.  They are ready to arm themselves with pepper spray and martial arts classes and here I am in some wierd guy's apartment having bland delivery Chinese food.

As soon as we finish eating he leaves me, clears the table to go into the kitchen to wash and dry the dishes.  Even I am not that obsessive.  It is not like we just had a six course meal.  "I won't be long." he tells me.  I guess not.  So I sit and wait. He comes back, puts everything away and then we resume our conversation.

About 20 minutes later he asks me if I want ice cream. I love ice cream.  I ask if we can go to get it. "No" he tells me. Why am I not surprised.  I am begining to feel like the prisioner of Zenda.  It is ice cream from Saverio.  I have always wanted to try their ice cream so I will be tranquila.  I pick 2 flavors he picks 1.  The ice cream gets ordered and we continue to converse waiting for it.

Just like the dinner, although the ice cream is spectacular, we eat the ice cream, then he collects the dishes, leaves me to go wash them, dry them, and then put them away.  The Brown Connection would be proud of him.

By this time it is 12:30 am.  I want to go home. He is trying to take my hand.  Eeew.  He looks at me "Do you have a boyfriend?" What a funny question to ask me.  He is the one not wanting to be seen in public. "No, why?"  I answer him. I get the typical stupid answer "Because you are so beautiful." I keep myself from rolling my eyes, "y muy complicada". 

He asks if I want something more to drink, "whiskey, lemoncello?" "No gracias." I tell him.  Then he leans over to try and kiss me.  This is definitely not going to happen or I will be stuck here. No way. I stand up. "I have to go home."  I tell him.  I see the surprise on his face. "My puppy needs to go outside or she will destroy my apartment." Little does  he know Maximiliana is crated. After the big story he has given me about being an animal lover and the pictures of his dogs, what choice does he have?

I already have my jacket on and I have grabbed my purse.  I have made it clear I want to go.  We leave his apartment and go to the car.  I have been there for almost 3 hours.  He has a great view, but I am tired.  Time to go.  All the way to Palermo he is chatting me up.  We finally get to my apartment. I see no way out.  He leans over and kisses me. OK. Then again. "Gracias" I tell him, "Hablamos" before I can get out the door he grabs me again and kisses me.  Jeesh, trapped in the car.  Well better than the apartment. Finally I am able to break loose.  "I'll call you."  he says.  "I like you a lot."  I smile and bolt for my apartment door.  Then before I get to my apartment he texts me that he had a great time. This guy is hopeless.