Tuesday, January 10, 2012


Since my mind is still mostly in Argentina, here is a little snippet about a guy I met there several months ago...

This was the time I chose plain vanilla. Canadian. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Here I was in the land of exotic limited-time, special edition flavors like delicious caramel and toffee. I chose vanilla. (Honestly the caramel probably would've given me gas anyway) It started off great right off the bat as I walked into a conversation he was having with my friend Jenny about how much he hated the U.S...

Sidebar: People from other countries LOVE to talk shit about the U.S. to U.S. citizens. It's like the U.S. is the star quarterback from that famous football team that is currently winning in the playoffs.

"You heard about that quarterback that slept with all those sexy women and has all that money and is handsome? Well, I heard he steals money from other quarterbacks and he has a big hairy mole on his back that he never shows anyone and also he has a misshapen anus"

And in response you feel, first, uncomfortable, how did they know that? And then, angry, because that quarterback happens to be your dad. Misshapen anus and all, he's still your blood.

Other than the red white & blue bashing he seemed pretty soft spoken and quiet, (read: uninteresting and/or uninterested, more on this later). He had on a Black Keys shirt which I thought was a plus at the time. We went on a few dates, one in which he refused to sit in a restaurant where there was karaoke, apparently his only achilles heel. I learned he worked for Haliburton (hisssssss), had lived in Indonesia for a while and traveled all over the world, even built a motorbike to travel from the U.S. to Mexico.

What did he have to say about these amazingly interesting things? Mostly nothing. He talked about them as matter-of-factly as I talk about having to buy face wash at CVS or that I found a tiny pile of cat puke on the corner of my bed comforter, (even then I probably sounded more animated than him). I have such a knack for finding guys who are void of emotion, feeling and excitement, I'm starting to think I emit an odor that only they can smell. I am the chum and these indifferent mother fuckers are the hammerheads that circle me. Am I a character in an Ayn Rand book?

He eventually went to work in Patagonia for a while which was probably just okay to him. "These glaciers are kind of nice," he probably said, to nobody. Aufedersein, safe, sad, aryan prince.

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