Can true love be found over eggs benedict?
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The Brit
Well, randomly meeting men on planes or in restaurants didn't seem to be working, so I was delighted when a male friend of mine from graduate school e-mailed me out of the clear blue sky and said that he was thinking about a quick visit.
"When?"
"Well, I start my new job on the 31st, so...sometime in the next few days..."
The next thing I knew, my friend Tom was sending me his flight itinerary for arrival--in two days!!!
In graduate school, we had both been seriously dating other people, and now was the first time that both he and I were extricated from other relationships and free to date--each other.
When he arrived, he came bearing champagne and marmelades and all sorts of splendid things. We caught up on friends from school, and for the first time, I had the chance to spend a lot of private time with him. I knew from school that he was intelligent, ambitious, perceptive and hard-working. What I came to realize as we spent more time together is that he is also affectionate, charming, generous, indulgent and makes the most of what comes his way. I also found that he had a folder full of photos labeled with my name on them on his hard drive. Had he had a crush on me since graduate school?
We went away together for the weekend, and as we both marveled, we didn't run out things to talk about nor did we need private time away from each other. But then, when we kissed, it was just...awkward. We tried again...still awkward. As affectionate friends and colleagues-- great. As man and woman, potential lovers and mate-- it just didn't feel comfortable. I could sense that he felt conflicted about his former fiancee-- whom I did not realize he was still e-mailing everyday even though they had broken up a year ago and even his mom noted they "were just not suited." I guess he wasn't free to try things out after all...although even if he wasn't still emotionally intertwined, I'm still not sure if would have made a difference between us.
When we parted ways at the airport, we were sad, wistful, affectionate...and wondering.
$$ Sexy Banker $$
I met the most amazing guy on the plane (yes, again...)...kind, funny, sexy, sweet. Didn't live with his parents. Financially solvent. Had his own apartment...
So of course I was excited when he asked me out for a coffee the next time I was in town.
No fool I, after Mojito, I had my friend run a background check on him. No kids. Good job. And most importantly...no spouse. Looking good...
Before our date, I went and got a manicure. Light pink or bright red? I was leaning towards the bright red, but figured that he was probably more conservative, so opted for the light pink.
During our coffee, we had a terrific time-- he was so easy to talk to, so handsome, everything just flowed. He mentioned how some friends of his were going to the gay club that night for Halloween, and had invited him along. And then he leaned over and said, "Do you have a lot of gay friends?" And I said, "Yes, of course," and he said, "Good-- I'm gay."
Oh my God.
How could I not have seen this coming? How had my legendary gaydar failed me?!
And then I was delighted-- what's better: a crappy date that would go nowhere or my new best male gay/ friend consort to squire me to clubs and show me all the fun places?
AND he would appreciate the bright red.
So of course I was excited when he asked me out for a coffee the next time I was in town.
No fool I, after Mojito, I had my friend run a background check on him. No kids. Good job. And most importantly...no spouse. Looking good...
Before our date, I went and got a manicure. Light pink or bright red? I was leaning towards the bright red, but figured that he was probably more conservative, so opted for the light pink.
During our coffee, we had a terrific time-- he was so easy to talk to, so handsome, everything just flowed. He mentioned how some friends of his were going to the gay club that night for Halloween, and had invited him along. And then he leaned over and said, "Do you have a lot of gay friends?" And I said, "Yes, of course," and he said, "Good-- I'm gay."
Oh my God.
How could I not have seen this coming? How had my legendary gaydar failed me?!
And then I was delighted-- what's better: a crappy date that would go nowhere or my new best male gay/ friend consort to squire me to clubs and show me all the fun places?
AND he would appreciate the bright red.
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Gringa Dilemma
The Gringa Dilemma: Is he married? Is he married not? That is the question...
In Latin America, it's difficult to know if the man courting you is actually available to do so. As a rule of thumb, men get married earlier in Latin America. Divorce is not as common here as in some other countries. A lot of men don't divorce, but decide that they are "separated" --even if their wives are not aware of this arrangement. Plus, many Latin men do not wear their wedding rings.
In Latin America, it's difficult to know if the man courting you is actually available to do so. As a rule of thumb, men get married earlier in Latin America. Divorce is not as common here as in some other countries. A lot of men don't divorce, but decide that they are "separated" --even if their wives are not aware of this arrangement. Plus, many Latin men do not wear their wedding rings.
It seems like having a girlfriend is kind of de rigeur. My chiropractor told me a story about one of his female friends who was approached by a guy who said to her, "I'm married, but I have only one girlfriend...may I take you out for dinner?"
And, alas, in general, American/Canadian/Western European men are not in Latin America to date gringas (they can do that at home); they're in Latin America to date Latinas, so that really doesn't work, either.
So what is a pretty, young, single American expat woman to do? Go young...
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
El Cubano
"Linda perra, Linda perra, linda perra"
-- a woman's voice whispered malevolently into the phone.
Stirring from my slumbering stupor, I propped myself up and thought "What?! --It's 2:30 in the morning. What was she saying? Was she saying "Pretty female dog?"
And then I thought-- Isn't that kind of incongruous? I mean, if you're going to call someone a name at 2:30 in the morning, wouldn't you call that person an ugly b*tch, not a pretty one? Well, better a pretty one than an ugly one. What sort of insult was that? Who IS this woman? And why is she calling me?
And then I remembered...how could I forget...El Cubano.
El Cubano (aka "Mojito" as he was known to my friends) was my smooth, delicious, minty/ guilty pleasure. My fair-haired, sexy Cuban waiter with the gorgeous green eyes who stared at me the minute I walked through the door of the restaurant. The man who put a heart in my cappucino cup (which my friend had to point out to me after I accused him of liking her, not me), and then asked me for my number and out for a glass of wine the next night.
So imagine my embarassment when I received a phone call on my cell shortly after leaving the restaurant and he said, "You didn't pay your bill." And I responded, "What? That's impossible. Of course I paid my bill." And he insisted, "No, you gave me your credit card..but you didn't sign the receipt." Oops-- distraction! So of course, my friend Meli and I turned around and went back to the restaurant. I was surprised he still wanted to keep the date.
When we met up the next night, he was the ultimate caballero- he was on time, he was sitting and waiting for me at the table, and he stood up to pull out my chair for me-- In Latin America, that's the triple crown. He waxed eloquently about how he wanted the simple life, now that he was divorced and had two kids. He was charming, fun, smart, quite a foodie, and great to speak with.
For our next date, he picked me up after work and we went dancing. It was like the night was designed for us-- great drinks, great dancing, and the band was playing Cuban music all night long. Although he swore he hadn't been dancing in years, we moved together effortlessly and like we had danced together a thousand times before. Our chemistry was electric. He told me he wanted me to go with him to Cuba, and it didn't seem ridiculous. It seemed like, "Of COURSE you want me to go with you to Cuba! Wouldn't that be fun?!" At 3am, as he was driving me to my place, he suggested we just keep driving and go to the beach. By that point, I was ready to sleep, so I suggested we take a cat nap and then think about it.
We didn't leave the house all day long. Someone seemed eager to get ahold of him, but it was Mother's Day, and he said it was his Mom wondering where he was, so he called her back and left it at that.
And then...the nightmare began. He moved in. And he just didn't leave. I told him that I had to get to bed early, because I start working early, and he would turn up at 10pm at night and want to have a glass of wine to wind down and talk until midnight or one in the morning. I told him that I could only see him on the weekends, and that he could not live in my house, but he just kept showing up. I noticed that a small pile of clothes were developing in the corner of my bedroom-- his clothes. When we went to open his car one day, I noticed a whole bunch of clothes and stuff in the back, and I said, "Are you LIVING out of your car? I thought you had a house. " I noticed that he had gone through several bottles of wine and nearly wiped out my bottle of Grey Goose-- all one week.
Then the phone calls started. A strange woman called me and wanted to know if I was his girlfriend. When I asked her who she was and how she had gotten my phone number, she just repeated the question. When I told her that I was "a friend," she seemed satisfied and hung up. There was radio silence for a few days, and then I would receive phone calls and hangs ups at night.
Then he told he wasn't really divorced, he was separated from his wife and had been for two years. He said that they had had a huge falling out over an issue-- which later turned out to be his third child born to a previous relationship. Then he told me about the credit card debt, his failed business ventures, the foreclosed farm and his fraudulent first marriage ("it was on paper only') to his long-term Cuban girlfriend in order to secure citizenship of where he was living now. So he went from cute, single guy to a guy with one ex-wife, one wife and three kids-- only two of whom he recognized. My God-- could this situation get any worse? This telenovela was not my life.
He had even introduced me to his family (no, not that family)-- his Mom, sister and niece.
After things became clear, I told him please not to drop by. When he tried to call me at 10:05, I soaked in a luxurious bubble bath. By the time I called him back at 10:30, he told me he was on the road to his Mom's and that I had all his clothes. I had all his clothes? Good Lord. And evidently, his wallet, too. Who doesn't carry their wallet with them? This was just too much.
The next day, he texted me to ask me if he could pick up his things. He walked in, gave me a formal peck on the cheek, asked me for a bag to carry his belongings, and left. And that was that. Or so I thought.
Until I received that phone call last night. As Meli (who feels terribly guilty about introducing us in the first place) pointed out, it's just confirmation I made the right decision-- because obviously he was at someone else's house.
-- a woman's voice whispered malevolently into the phone.
Stirring from my slumbering stupor, I propped myself up and thought "What?! --It's 2:30 in the morning. What was she saying? Was she saying "Pretty female dog?"
And then I thought-- Isn't that kind of incongruous? I mean, if you're going to call someone a name at 2:30 in the morning, wouldn't you call that person an ugly b*tch, not a pretty one? Well, better a pretty one than an ugly one. What sort of insult was that? Who IS this woman? And why is she calling me?
And then I remembered...how could I forget...El Cubano.
El Cubano (aka "Mojito" as he was known to my friends) was my smooth, delicious, minty/ guilty pleasure. My fair-haired, sexy Cuban waiter with the gorgeous green eyes who stared at me the minute I walked through the door of the restaurant. The man who put a heart in my cappucino cup (which my friend had to point out to me after I accused him of liking her, not me), and then asked me for my number and out for a glass of wine the next night.
So imagine my embarassment when I received a phone call on my cell shortly after leaving the restaurant and he said, "You didn't pay your bill." And I responded, "What? That's impossible. Of course I paid my bill." And he insisted, "No, you gave me your credit card..but you didn't sign the receipt." Oops-- distraction! So of course, my friend Meli and I turned around and went back to the restaurant. I was surprised he still wanted to keep the date.
When we met up the next night, he was the ultimate caballero- he was on time, he was sitting and waiting for me at the table, and he stood up to pull out my chair for me-- In Latin America, that's the triple crown. He waxed eloquently about how he wanted the simple life, now that he was divorced and had two kids. He was charming, fun, smart, quite a foodie, and great to speak with.
For our next date, he picked me up after work and we went dancing. It was like the night was designed for us-- great drinks, great dancing, and the band was playing Cuban music all night long. Although he swore he hadn't been dancing in years, we moved together effortlessly and like we had danced together a thousand times before. Our chemistry was electric. He told me he wanted me to go with him to Cuba, and it didn't seem ridiculous. It seemed like, "Of COURSE you want me to go with you to Cuba! Wouldn't that be fun?!" At 3am, as he was driving me to my place, he suggested we just keep driving and go to the beach. By that point, I was ready to sleep, so I suggested we take a cat nap and then think about it.
We didn't leave the house all day long. Someone seemed eager to get ahold of him, but it was Mother's Day, and he said it was his Mom wondering where he was, so he called her back and left it at that.
And then...the nightmare began. He moved in. And he just didn't leave. I told him that I had to get to bed early, because I start working early, and he would turn up at 10pm at night and want to have a glass of wine to wind down and talk until midnight or one in the morning. I told him that I could only see him on the weekends, and that he could not live in my house, but he just kept showing up. I noticed that a small pile of clothes were developing in the corner of my bedroom-- his clothes. When we went to open his car one day, I noticed a whole bunch of clothes and stuff in the back, and I said, "Are you LIVING out of your car? I thought you had a house. " I noticed that he had gone through several bottles of wine and nearly wiped out my bottle of Grey Goose-- all one week.
Then the phone calls started. A strange woman called me and wanted to know if I was his girlfriend. When I asked her who she was and how she had gotten my phone number, she just repeated the question. When I told her that I was "a friend," she seemed satisfied and hung up. There was radio silence for a few days, and then I would receive phone calls and hangs ups at night.
Then he told he wasn't really divorced, he was separated from his wife and had been for two years. He said that they had had a huge falling out over an issue-- which later turned out to be his third child born to a previous relationship. Then he told me about the credit card debt, his failed business ventures, the foreclosed farm and his fraudulent first marriage ("it was on paper only') to his long-term Cuban girlfriend in order to secure citizenship of where he was living now. So he went from cute, single guy to a guy with one ex-wife, one wife and three kids-- only two of whom he recognized. My God-- could this situation get any worse? This telenovela was not my life.
He had even introduced me to his family (no, not that family)-- his Mom, sister and niece.
After things became clear, I told him please not to drop by. When he tried to call me at 10:05, I soaked in a luxurious bubble bath. By the time I called him back at 10:30, he told me he was on the road to his Mom's and that I had all his clothes. I had all his clothes? Good Lord. And evidently, his wallet, too. Who doesn't carry their wallet with them? This was just too much.
The next day, he texted me to ask me if he could pick up his things. He walked in, gave me a formal peck on the cheek, asked me for a bag to carry his belongings, and left. And that was that. Or so I thought.
Until I received that phone call last night. As Meli (who feels terribly guilty about introducing us in the first place) pointed out, it's just confirmation I made the right decision-- because obviously he was at someone else's house.
A Housecall from Alfonso
I'm getting a housecall tonight!
Today I slipped and fell and totally banged up my knee (and other knee and elbow) as I was crossing the threshold into work today. Aaah...the perils of rainy season. Fearing worker's comp, the nurse sent me home to rest.
As luck would have it, I have a male admirer who happens to be a paramedic (and helicopter pilot and football player). He has gallantly offered to come by this evening, check out my knee, and even make me dinner.
He is sending me texts filled with delicious suggestions of hot chocolate, movies, good music and wine.
It's handy having a male admirer who is so talented on so many fronts.
Yummy!
Today I slipped and fell and totally banged up my knee (and other knee and elbow) as I was crossing the threshold into work today. Aaah...the perils of rainy season. Fearing worker's comp, the nurse sent me home to rest.
As luck would have it, I have a male admirer who happens to be a paramedic (and helicopter pilot and football player). He has gallantly offered to come by this evening, check out my knee, and even make me dinner.
He is sending me texts filled with delicious suggestions of hot chocolate, movies, good music and wine.
It's handy having a male admirer who is so talented on so many fronts.
Yummy!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Alejandro
What do you do with a man who is destined to cross paths with you? And then disappears?
Several years ago, a fortune teller told me that I would meet my husband somewhere in the U.S. en route to some sort of conference or meeting...or something like that. But he wouldn't be American, would speak great English, be a dr, in his 40's and divorced.
So imagine my annoyance when my flight was delayed in Newark and I had no way to contact my seven months' pregnant friend who was waiting for me in London. With mounting desperation, I approached a man who was busily working on his computer and asked to borrow it to send an e-mail--something I would be mortified to do almost under any other circumstance. Graciously, he closed out of about 20 windows andoffered to let me use his phone to call as well. I then realized that he looked like George Clooney, and after chatting for a bit, that we lived in the same country. And that he had a PhD, was divorced, in his late 40's, speaks good English, and was from Argentina. Interesting.
After the flight, he helped me with my bags and asked if I was taking the train into London. When I answered yes, he told me that he would wait for me. We had a lovely ride (although my friends wondered why it took me three hours to get from the airport to their place and why I rode the Tube instead of the Express!)
Once we arrived back home, it took several months for our schedules to synch up. When we finally met up, he drove into the capital and we had a terrific dinner . He was kind, sophisticated, gently teasing, worldy, handsome, courtly. He even ordered for me for dinner.
So does that make him old-school...or just old?
Well, either way, he has completely disappeared. He did so courteously-- he sent me an e-mail telling me that his schedule has completely shifted and that it looks bad until the end of the year. As my Brazilian love advisor told me, "He's either full of sh*t, or he's genuine-- it could go either way."
Several years ago, a fortune teller told me that I would meet my husband somewhere in the U.S. en route to some sort of conference or meeting...or something like that. But he wouldn't be American, would speak great English, be a dr, in his 40's and divorced.
So imagine my annoyance when my flight was delayed in Newark and I had no way to contact my seven months' pregnant friend who was waiting for me in London. With mounting desperation, I approached a man who was busily working on his computer and asked to borrow it to send an e-mail--something I would be mortified to do almost under any other circumstance. Graciously, he closed out of about 20 windows andoffered to let me use his phone to call as well. I then realized that he looked like George Clooney, and after chatting for a bit, that we lived in the same country. And that he had a PhD, was divorced, in his late 40's, speaks good English, and was from Argentina. Interesting.
After the flight, he helped me with my bags and asked if I was taking the train into London. When I answered yes, he told me that he would wait for me. We had a lovely ride (although my friends wondered why it took me three hours to get from the airport to their place and why I rode the Tube instead of the Express!)
Once we arrived back home, it took several months for our schedules to synch up. When we finally met up, he drove into the capital and we had a terrific dinner . He was kind, sophisticated, gently teasing, worldy, handsome, courtly. He even ordered for me for dinner.
So does that make him old-school...or just old?
Well, either way, he has completely disappeared. He did so courteously-- he sent me an e-mail telling me that his schedule has completely shifted and that it looks bad until the end of the year. As my Brazilian love advisor told me, "He's either full of sh*t, or he's genuine-- it could go either way."
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