Tuesday, October 7, 2008


This past weekend was not my finest moment. I won't divulge any of the gruesome details other than to say that what began as a relaxed dinner for two (my friend Cara and I) on Saturday turned into a night to remember and to try to forget. In fact, if I could turn back time to, say, Thursday, there are a few things I would I do differently, the first being taking that bus to Rosario--Argentina's third biggest city, which is only a few hours away from the capital--for my long-desired weekend getaway.

But to paraphrase Toni Braxton on one of my favorite TB songs, first thing Tuesday morning (she actually sang, "Monday morning," but hey, it's already Monday evening, and I'm still in physical, mental and emotional recovery), I'm gonna pack my tears away. Not that I cried this weekend--or today--but you get my drift. Tomorrow is a brand new day. (Scarlett O'Hara would be so proud!) Back to running, back to Pilates, back to the gym (actually, I'll save that for Wednesday), back to writing, back to feeling alive. It's springtime in Buenos Aires, and aside from the off-the-charts pollen count and air particles that make your eye balls feel like they're being attacked by a million grains of sand, the weather couldn't be more lovely.

I've been thinking about getting a dog. I've always wanted one. As a kid, I couldn't because my father was allergic. As an adult, I was the one who became allergic--to the responsibility. But on second, third and fourth thought, maybe getting a dog is a bit too drastic. I think I'll start by walking Cara's pug, Sammy. You know, baby steps.

(Speaking of walking a dog, I've always wondered how the dog walkers here in Buenos Aires--el pasea perros in Spanish--keep track of which pups have done their, ahem, stuff, and which ones haven't. But that's probably something deep and meaningful to ponder another day.)

I think this dog thing might be a stand-in for the baby fever I've recently been feeling. You know, baby steps--actual baby steps, which, as I've mentioned before, I've been dreaming about for a while now. But since being a daddy at this stage in my life is pretty much a long shot, given my fear of responsibility and commitment (though as indicated in my last post, far less qualified guys than I are becoming baby daddies all over Buenos Aires), a dog seems to be more reasonable.

And Cara insists that walking a dog is a great way to meet guys. But wait! More guys? Oh, no! As Prince would say (I promise, this is the last song reference of this post), I need another lover like I need a hole in my head. Maybe Sammy and I can just bond in the comfort of Cara's apartment, far far away from the maddening crowd of BA's boys.
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