Parties, Pools, and Poison Ivy, Oh My!
Howdy again from Chile. For those of you who haven’t already figured it out, the blog has recently devolved into being more or less an account of our weekend. Today will be absolutely no exception, as nothing particularly noteworthy seems to happen during the week anymore (unless you count students learning how to use the phrase “used to” correctly in a sentence). Obviously, I suppose this was to be expected, although it’s a little disappointing to realize you’ve traveled thousands of miles away from home just to become part of a different country’s work force. Still, that’s how it goes. Let’s have at it.
This weekend was a party weekend, which inevitably makes Erin very excited and me grit my teeth. Despite my best efforts, Erin has managed to make us a couple friends who actually seem to like us (Erin) for who we are. One of these people is a Scottish teacher, who Erin met online, named Fiona. Despite the inherent creepiness of making friends over the internet, she turned out to be a very nice person and in no way a member of a cult. She’s also about the thousandth female traveler I’ve met here who came specifically because of a Chilean boyfriend. Maybe there’s something unbelievably irresistible about Chilean men that’s not inherently obvious beneath their universally crappy haircuts (seriously, it’s a major problem around here…it’s kept me from getting a haircut for four months), but whatever it is, they attract foreign chicks like moths to flames. I don’t get it, but it may be because the general image I have of the average Chilean dude is the same guy catcalling my girlfriend as we walk down the street together. I will say that many (many) of the girls I meet here, speak openly about wanting a Chilean boyfriend, so I think there’s a little bit of a predisposition in the lady population. This is actually something Erin and I had an argument about not so long ago, so I suppose we might as well air our grievances in public and see what you folks think. I claimed (much to Erin’s disapproval) that it is inherently shallow to come to a foreign country and specifically go looking for a local boyfriend (or girlfriend, I suppose, although it never seems to come up), much the same as it would be shallow to go fishing for a rich husband or a trophy wife. My argument is that you’re essentially focusing on non-personality/character traits. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against being shallow. I just want it acknowledged that this is a shallow dating practice…which it is. Erin’s counter-argument, although she will surely post an editor’s note correcting me and making me out as stupid and thick-headed (which I may very well be), goes something like, “Why would you come to a foreign country and date a white boy?” I’m pretty sure that’s nearly an exact quote. I’ll let her explain it, and feel free to post your own opinions. But I digress…
This weekend was a party weekend. First off, the previously-mentioned Fiona invited us to her apartment where her incredibly hot-accented, Scottish friends were visiting for the week. This mostly involved drinking wine and chatting and was a perfectly fine time. We went with another friend we’ve made and after a couple of hours of her and Erin drinking wine and flirting with all the Chilean boys they could lock in conversation, I took the opportunity to skip out a little early and catch up on some of the sleep I haven’t been getting during the week. Saturday, I forced Erin to embrace her inner old man and go look at antiques with me. A museum up the street from our work was having an antiques exhibition, and I wanted to go look at the furniture. Erin, to her credit, did not enjoy herself one bit, and complained mercilessly pretty much the whole time, with the one notable exception of when she saw an old, sexually suggestive movie poster and inquired about the price. I on the other hand had a pretty good time, since I’m completely lame and dorky like that. It’s true. There were old motorcycles to look at, an early-model MGB, some cool paintings, and interesting furniture. It was more or less a nice little Saturday afternoon. Party number two was Saturday evening, and it was an asado (that’s barbeque), which was also right up my alley. Some girls from our company, decided to throw themselves a going away party and everyone got invited. We grilled a little choripan and talked with the folks we work with, plus anyone they cared to bring along, although nothing more exciting than that really happened. Oh, Erin got into a semi-confrontation with the girls who had thrown the party. A Chilean girl had asked her if she could show her how to hook her MP3 player up to the stereo, and Erin was in the process of explaining it when these girls told her they had already (no doubt, carefully) planned the music for the entire eight hour party, and there unfortunately wouldn’t be time for the Chilean girl to play one song. Seem a little bitchy to you? It did to me.
On Sunday afternoon, WE WENT HERE!!?!
Other than that, I have only two relatively mindless ramblings to share for the week. Number one, I got a phantom case of poison ivy. It appeared in small, random patches on my arms and one leg. I’m completely confused about how it happened, because in the days prior to getting it, the most nature I’d come in contact with was Gus, our bonsai tree, who is still alive and kicking despite all odds. Number two, some of you may recall me rambling on in some previous blog entry about how the Chileans refuse to walk on one side of the sidewalk. Well, the Santiago metro people must have heard me complaining, because just this week in all the metro stations, there began appearing yellow lines accompanied by small signs asking people to please circula por su derecha (walk to the right), because es mas comodo. It’s the start of big things for this country.
This weekend was a party weekend, which inevitably makes Erin very excited and me grit my teeth. Despite my best efforts, Erin has managed to make us a couple friends who actually seem to like us (Erin) for who we are. One of these people is a Scottish teacher, who Erin met online, named Fiona. Despite the inherent creepiness of making friends over the internet, she turned out to be a very nice person and in no way a member of a cult. She’s also about the thousandth female traveler I’ve met here who came specifically because of a Chilean boyfriend. Maybe there’s something unbelievably irresistible about Chilean men that’s not inherently obvious beneath their universally crappy haircuts (seriously, it’s a major problem around here…it’s kept me from getting a haircut for four months), but whatever it is, they attract foreign chicks like moths to flames. I don’t get it, but it may be because the general image I have of the average Chilean dude is the same guy catcalling my girlfriend as we walk down the street together. I will say that many (many) of the girls I meet here, speak openly about wanting a Chilean boyfriend, so I think there’s a little bit of a predisposition in the lady population. This is actually something Erin and I had an argument about not so long ago, so I suppose we might as well air our grievances in public and see what you folks think. I claimed (much to Erin’s disapproval) that it is inherently shallow to come to a foreign country and specifically go looking for a local boyfriend (or girlfriend, I suppose, although it never seems to come up), much the same as it would be shallow to go fishing for a rich husband or a trophy wife. My argument is that you’re essentially focusing on non-personality/character traits. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against being shallow. I just want it acknowledged that this is a shallow dating practice…which it is. Erin’s counter-argument, although she will surely post an editor’s note correcting me and making me out as stupid and thick-headed (which I may very well be), goes something like, “Why would you come to a foreign country and date a white boy?” I’m pretty sure that’s nearly an exact quote. I’ll let her explain it, and feel free to post your own opinions. But I digress…
This weekend was a party weekend. First off, the previously-mentioned Fiona invited us to her apartment where her incredibly hot-accented, Scottish friends were visiting for the week. This mostly involved drinking wine and chatting and was a perfectly fine time. We went with another friend we’ve made and after a couple of hours of her and Erin drinking wine and flirting with all the Chilean boys they could lock in conversation, I took the opportunity to skip out a little early and catch up on some of the sleep I haven’t been getting during the week. Saturday, I forced Erin to embrace her inner old man and go look at antiques with me. A museum up the street from our work was having an antiques exhibition, and I wanted to go look at the furniture. Erin, to her credit, did not enjoy herself one bit, and complained mercilessly pretty much the whole time, with the one notable exception of when she saw an old, sexually suggestive movie poster and inquired about the price. I on the other hand had a pretty good time, since I’m completely lame and dorky like that. It’s true. There were old motorcycles to look at, an early-model MGB, some cool paintings, and interesting furniture. It was more or less a nice little Saturday afternoon. Party number two was Saturday evening, and it was an asado (that’s barbeque), which was also right up my alley. Some girls from our company, decided to throw themselves a going away party and everyone got invited. We grilled a little choripan and talked with the folks we work with, plus anyone they cared to bring along, although nothing more exciting than that really happened. Oh, Erin got into a semi-confrontation with the girls who had thrown the party. A Chilean girl had asked her if she could show her how to hook her MP3 player up to the stereo, and Erin was in the process of explaining it when these girls told her they had already (no doubt, carefully) planned the music for the entire eight hour party, and there unfortunately wouldn’t be time for the Chilean girl to play one song. Seem a little bitchy to you? It did to me.
On Sunday afternoon, WE WENT HERE!!?!
It was absolutely fantastic. We alternated between burning up in the sun and freezing to death in the pool for the entire day. This weekend was apparently the Chilean equivalent of Memorial Day weekend, and therefore the unofficial beginning of summer. Eat your hearts out. Endless summer…WHOO!!?!
Below, Erin, a Peruvian girl we met in the taxi ride up, and I are all hanging out and perfecting our bikini tans. We don't know who the guy is with the baby on the right. That picture was, for some unknown reason, attached to the picture of us.
Other than that, I have only two relatively mindless ramblings to share for the week. Number one, I got a phantom case of poison ivy. It appeared in small, random patches on my arms and one leg. I’m completely confused about how it happened, because in the days prior to getting it, the most nature I’d come in contact with was Gus, our bonsai tree, who is still alive and kicking despite all odds. Number two, some of you may recall me rambling on in some previous blog entry about how the Chileans refuse to walk on one side of the sidewalk. Well, the Santiago metro people must have heard me complaining, because just this week in all the metro stations, there began appearing yellow lines accompanied by small signs asking people to please circula por su derecha (walk to the right), because es mas comodo. It’s the start of big things for this country.
posted by Erin and Nate at
5:21 PM
1 Comments:
When you say someone is "essentially focusing on non-personality/character traits," and Erin says, "why would you come to a foreign country and date a white boy?” She has, essentially, proven your point. Nate 1, Erin 0. (I'm sure the actual running score is different, but that's how I'm scoring this particular match.)
Ladies, as a "white boy", I say you gotta date the whiteys while abroad. Imagine going to a fancy restaraunt and ordering something from the "Favorites" page. Sure, it's gonna be good, but EVERYBODY has had something from the Favorites page.
White boys are like the Specials for the evening. You may be at an Italian restaraunt, but wouldn't it be interesting to try their interpretation of traditional Ethiopian cuisine? It might be a disaster, but you just gotta try it.
"But hey," you say, "I can get traditional Ethiopian cuisine any time back home. I came to the Italian restaraunt for pasta."
All I can say that love, like real estate, is all about location, location, location.
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