DATING AND OTHER DISASTERS

I don’t think I will ever run out of things to talk about regarding my exile in America. I have, as anthropologists say “gone native”, I believe my accent is almost gone (unless you ask me to say the word focus, or rural and then I’m screwed). One of the new things I had to experience as I got used to living in this country was dating.

I, like any good Latina girl was used to having boyfriends. Friends that you like and then they ask you to go steady and in a heady moment of wet kisses and teenage hormones you say yes and are now allowed to bring him home, hold hands in the streets and celebrate week "anniversaries" and give each other presents because you have been together for two months, aw those were the days.

The concept of dating was as foreign to me as ketchup on eggs (excuse me while I vomit), the only knowledge I had from dating was from watching the character from “Friends” go through it. It never occurred to me that I would have to go through it too!

American men are so incredibly different from Hispanic ones. The boldest American man I have met has nothing on a Hispanic guy. Hispanic men act like they are a gift to women-kind (you know you do, don’t hate) they act as if THEY are doing YOU a favor by approaching you with sex in their eyes and a dirty “Hey, mami” and a cheesy line like “I appreciate your physique” (true story) or actually pointing at your ass and giving you a thumps up (I couldn’t make this shit up!) or simply standing behind you in a club and thrusting their crotch at your ass expecting you to find their semi-erection sexy.

American men, bless their heart, are constant teenagers (like all men regardless of their nationality), in a never ending quest for the next pussy but they are so much more afraid aware of the possibility of rejection. If a Hispanic guy approaches a woman and gets rejected he immediately thinks her a lesbian, ugly, a bitch and scoffs at his friend the ever popular “why did I approach her in the first place, I must be drunk” line. American men, I’ve found, would take it more to heart, so their approach, as bold as it is, it's always so much more… humble. Which I definitely appreciate.

In my own pursue for a relationship I discovered that Hispanic men here are different from the ones I left behind. At home they are just men, here they are “foreign men” and the distinction makes them (in their deluded heads) extra special. Kind of like the Big Mac's secret sauce is just plain 1000 island dressing but to them, oh no! it's the secret sauce!. Therefore, they think their accent, the color of their skin, the fact that they can dance, makes them a commodity and they don't shy away from telling all and sundry that they are a better lay because their hips know how to move (you know who you are).

So, prepared and forewarned with the knowledge of the the shortcomings of the men in my culture I decided to try to date American guys. Say what you may! But there is something about the endless cultural differences that make a date so much more interesting.

After a failed relationship with a guy (who to this day lives with his mother), I went on a date with a guy I met on MySpace. He was a sports writer guy who sent me a flirty message saying he thought I was beautiful (giggle) and I was instantly drawn because he was the only guy who ever emailed me to tell me he thought I was hot without being demeaning, disgusting and spelled the words correctly. After months of emailing back and forth we exchanged numbers and agreed to meet in his house for a Super bowl party (another American mystery). I took Erin, my partner in crime, and our friend Becca to the date (I figured if the guy ended up being some ax murderer he would go for Becca who was definitely the prettiest one of us).

We drove to his house in the middle of the rain and with shaky hands I knocked on the door. He stood at the door smiling at my goofily and said "I am so glad you are here!" The girls and I looked at each other and Erin leaned over my shoulder to whisper “Is Frodo Baggins!” Oh Okay, so he wasn’t that short, but I swear he looked just like him! He had huge blue eyes and a bristly-rough mop on his head that looked like pubic hair. He had a cute smile and I am not enough of a bitch to bail on a guy simply because he looks like he escaped the set of The Two Towers.

That moment of weakness noble gesture made me go through hours of Chinese Torture football, of getting insulted by his girl friends (apparently Frodo had fans) and insulted by one of his guy friends who was affronted by my liking of country music.

There I was living the joys of the dating world at its fullest, the awkwardness, the uncomfortable silences, the judgmental friends, when a blood curling wail broke my train of thought and I turned around to see my Mr. Baggins date curled on the floor crying over the loss of the Bears to the Colts.

That was my cue to the get the fuck out of there.