My friend Marie (name changed to protect the not-that-innocent) recently got herself entangled with a real piece of work. She's the one I wrote about weeks ago who went out with the guy who picked her up at her apartment for their first date, although the restaurant they were going to was right across the street from his house, and "quickly and quietly" paid for dinner. The next day, she thought that she might be "falling for him." Well, something happened on her way down.
It's the same old tired story: Boy meets girl. Boy chases girl. Boy catches girl. Boy is lousy in bed. Girl tolerates bad sex. Boy loses interest. But here's the twist. After weeks of acting like a jerk, he came crawling back, tail between his legs, and told her that he is ready for a real relationship. The reason he had begun playing the fool was because he's only living in Buenos Aires for three months (he's from New York), and he was afraid of getting involved with someone and then having to leave her.
Snooze, lose. As you may recall, Marie was already seeing two other guys at the time of the aforementioned first date, which she finally revealed to the wishy-washy unromantic, adding that she wasn't interested in exiting the playing field. You go, girl!
My friend Helen (again, name changed; again, involved with a fickle American, this one from L.A.), who dates like a gay man, also has got game. One persistent sap, who seems to be either addicted to sex or to rejection, recently struck out after less than one week. But Helen thought that maybe she had met her match with another guy, the dreamboat from L.A. with the porn star name. She said he comes from a wealthy family but doesn't talk about it (so, I wondered, how did she find out?), and she said he characterized himself as being very religious with a strong moral backbone.
I chuckled when she told me all of this and advised her to hang on to her heart. This guy was so obviously playing her, and the other night he pulled a real foul. He asked her out, and when she suggested meeting up at 10 p.m., he suddenly remembered a previous engagement: a football game! (¡Qué extranjero! Guys here in Buenos Aires always use the birthday party excuse.) What heterosexual male chooses playing soccer at 10 p.m. over a booty call (excuse my French), unless he's a Boca Junior?
My take: Either he was stacking dates, or he was feeling her out to see if she was available. And guys always want the ones they can't have, don't they? And once they soothe the savage beast that is their ego, it's time to move on. I was beginning to think this was an Argentine malady (they even have a term for it: histérico), but clearly I'd forgotten about my years of experience with boys in the U.S.A.
As for me, they still come and go. And go. And...gone. I'm weeding out losers like the world's fastest gardener. Different guys, same old names. (I beware of Federicos and Martíns, in particular--they're never up to any good.) The other night at Glam, this guy came up to me and spoke in very broken English.
"Are you nice guy?"
"Sure, I am."
"Do you have big dick?"
I walked away without saying a word.
"I thought you said you were nice guy."
The most frustrating thing is that guys in BA don't seem to realize how wrong that question is--and I don't know if that makes it better or worse. But it's nice to know that I'm not the only one juggling jerks, that I don't have to give up on the boys from BA, because the ones from elsewhere aren't any better.
So I stretch out and wait...for butterflies?