Your Kid May Ride the Short Bus, but He's Still a Genius to You

I often think back to the first week I had my puppy, Moose. He had the sweetest face, a big round belly, and beautiful green eyes. At nine weeks old, he was a rolly, polly fat boy. The first time he snuggled his cute little mug into my neck and I smelled his perfect puppy breath, I knew I was in love.

Like most new dog owners, I got him all the cool stuff; the great collar and leash with “Moose Gilbert” proudly sparkling from his new tag, the toys, the bed, everything. “I’ll spare no expense on this little guy.” What a joke, although I’m sure I’ll do the same with my first-born child.

I vividly remember my first of many walks with my chocolate companion. Typical of new puppies, he wouldn’t walk with a leash. After a few attempts of yanking him around the block, I simply gave up, took off the leash and started walking. To my utter shock and amazement, this little-bitty puppy leisurely strolled next to me, making sure he was always within one or two steps of my feet. I got home and called Mama G and bragged about how great my puppy was.

I’m not a superstitious person, but I believe I tested fate and lost the second I let those words slip out of my mouth. From that day forward, Moose became a little terror. He ate expensive shoes, prescription glasses, he got into trash, jumped up on counters to grab food, but the most impressive feat I saw, was the successful passage of a certain feminine product that a roommate left at “Moose-Level.” The similarities between “Marly and Me” are countless and hilarious (only after the fact, when I’ve cooled down).

Sure, I taught little Moose-Knuckle the basics; “sit, stay, shake, roll over, sit pretty, and the infamous, speak!” Yet, all these cute tricks can’t mask the undeniable fact that my dog is absolutely and utterly stupid. No sir, he is not the sharpest crayon in the box, but he’s mine and I love him that much more for his flaws.

Don’t worry; I’m rounding the bases to my point. Every day I am amazed at how smart the dogs in Buenos Aires are. Sure, you’ll see the odd dumb ass here and there, but the majority of dogs are remarkably intelligent, especially in comparison to my “Indiana-country-bumpkin” of a dog.

The most impressive characteristic of the pooch population in BA is that they walk by themselves. There’s no need for a leash and they don’t take off when something catches their eye, or their nose. Moose has this radar can sense a tennis ball or a scrap of food within a 100 ft; the bane of our existence while walking… His canine counterparts in S. America even know when it’s safe to cross a busy street. I mean come on!! Now you’re just showing off! Dogs are color blind; there’s no way you knew that light just turned green!!

Moose recently passed “Puppy Boot Camp” with the parentals, however he was made the example quite a few times of “what not to do.” No, he’s not the smartest of animals; what he lacks in intelligence, he makes up with a larger than life personality. And to all the dogs in Buenos Aires, I scoff at you and your polished intelligence. I like my dogs like I like my men; Midwestern, corn fed and proud!!

Assimilation Is A B**CH!

I often find myself wondering, "When did I become the Ugly American?"

Back during my glory days (i.e. my college years), more importantly my introduction to the global community via Semester At Sea, I first heard the word "ethnocentrism." I'm not going to point and laugh at those of you who don't know what this means, at least not while you're looking.

Here is the 'ol MacBook definition of Ethnocentrism: "the tendency to believe that one's ethnic or cultural group is centrally important, and that all other groups are measured in relation to one's own. The ethnocentric individual will judge other groups relative to his or her own particular ethnic group or culture, etc..." blah blah blah, you get the gist.

Picture someone coming down to Buenos Aires who has on a "God Bless America, and F*ck Everyone Else" t-shirt yelling "Hoorahh" (no offense Sammy-boy)... That is a prime example of ethnocentrism. While I understand that judging another culture is wrong, when you have decided to leave all your loved ones and uproot your life to a foreign country, you may have some gripes from time to time. Sometimes I feel like the "ugly-american" thinking that we have it all figured out in the states (or Canada eh). It's not my fault we have functional internet and sewer systems that actually drain water... pshh.

I have been here for a month and a half and am still working on assimilating to the Argentinean culture. First, for example, I have been dutifully observing the Argie standard for staying up late on the weekends. Yes, I had my wild nights in college, but Sports has nothing on discos that don't even open until 3:00 am. It's a difficult life to go out until sunrise, drinking champagne, and dancing all night, but someone's gotta do it; it's my cross to bear in life...

Secondly, I have slowly been acclimating myself to a quieter vocal level. Remember in grade school when your teacher obnoxiously said, "6 inch voices kids." Allegedly, I was the kid they were directing that at. My Irish roommate Jessica, first coined the phrase "American-Level" about three weeks ago. I've been told that when I get extremely excited (which tends to happen often), I raise my voice to an unreasonable level, at which time Jess corrects me. I, like my fellow North-Americans, am not aware of how loud I speak. I keep telling her that I'm one of the quietest in the Gilbert clan, but I'm not sure she believes me.

(No one used their 6 inch voices when a cockroach decided to crash on our floor. Poor taste buddy.

Now you have to die.)

Finally, I have fully accepted the fact that I will have to make do without a microwave, a freezer that is functional, and a big, comfy bed. Oh, we also have a stove that will one day singe off my eyebrows while being lit, I just know it. Nope, I'm not letting myself get sucked into negative thinking... Screw you ethnocentrism!! I can make my quesadillas in a pan, I don't like ice cream that much (bold-face lie) to need some handy in the freezer, and I curl up in a ball when I sleep anyway... Ok, the stove thing really does freak me out, so there's no candy-coating that one.

Like anyone else, living anywhere in the world, I have my good days and I have my bad days. Yet, each day I wake with excitement up wondering what kind of ridiculousness will happen that I can share with friends and family back home (my devoted readers-ha!). Whether it be a tag-team grope fest on the subte that makes me want to cry, trying new foods (both good and bad), or sharing a laugh with friends who have quickly become my support system, each day has been unique and special.

Simply put, I love it down here. With all the good, the bad, and the ugly, I am proud to call Buenos Aires home.

Going For Broke, but At Least Looking Good While Doing It

When researching teaching abroad, there was one harsh pill that I had to swallow; I am inevitably going to be poor (or rich in life experiences to put it optimistically). To date, my two biggest passions are 1. Traveling and 2. my little Moose-Knuckle, both of which have consumed much of my time and most of my money. Someone recently inquired as to how I've been able to see so much of the world by the age of 24.

Ask and you shall receive... Here is how I've done it, without trying to sound like I'm passing judgement. The most expensive pair of jeans I own set me back $75; my most expensive purse is around $50. I don't have fake nails and my hair isn't fried from constant highlighting. Hell, the most expensive thing I have to my name is my dog, who cost me a pretty penny when he decided to eat carpet, which then got stuck in his stomach, which I in turn paid to have surgically removed. I'm thrifty and resourceful and have always been good at saving money. I am on a "beer" budget and luckily for me, I thoroughly enjoy beer (especially while watching a Bears game, I digress, lo siento).

When comparing US dollars to pesos, the dollar is strong and things appear to be quite inexpensive by our North American standards. A 24 oz Stella will cost you a little more than one US dollar just to give you a rough estimate. I've been sitting pretty exchanging my dollars, getting 4 times the amount back and life has been good. I've been working for about a month, and cannot wait for my first payday which is due in 4 days. I pray getting paid here isn't a bureaucratic nightmare...

Before arriving, I had saved up a nice chunk of change to fall back on; not money to depend on. It's difficult for me to take money out of my savings once it's in there even when all my (womanly) instincts are telling me to spend, spend, spend!

Here's where you will need to brace yourselves... The most I will ever make while down here, with a full-time schedule (Argentine standard of 25.5 hours/week), is $926 USD per month. This year, factoring in the "summer" schedule, I will be earning less than $9,000 and that's being very generous.

I have since gone through the "Seven Steps of Grieving" in regards to my monetary standing.

1. Shock and Denial: "Holy mother, I'm going to have to spend my savings?! No, no, no..."

2. Pain and Guilt: "I can't believe I just spent 300 pesos in two days at Jumbo..."

3. Anger and Bargaining: "10 pesos for a poster?!? I'll give you 2 and not a cussing cent more!!!!"

4. Depression and Loneliness: "My wallet can't bear to be without bills in it..."

5. Upward Turn: "If I get really desperate, I could always moon-light as a dog walker, especially since I wouldn't have to pick up poop. It's all good."

6. Reconstruction and Working Through it: "I definitely like hot dogs enough to eat them every day."

7. Acceptance and Hope: "I may come home broke, but what a great story to tell my kids."

Being poor is a fact for many expats living and working around the world. That is, unless you move to South Korea where the money flows like water. People have found creative ways to earn money freelancing or teaching. The most ingenious story I've heard about making ends-meat has been writing "match.com-like" emails for men in Russia to send to English speaking women. To me it sounds like a botched mail-order-bride gig, but if it pays the bills, more power to them. While we may not have much money, we always have one hell of a good time.

Yes, you all can finally say you know a true "Po-Folk." And don't worry, the next round is on me and my food stamps...

A Dummies Guide to Dating Like a Porteño

Ladies and Gentlemen (Damas y Caballeros):

Thankfully my work schedule has allowed me loads of free time to observe the city and the culture down here. If anyone has been considering visiting, I would thoroughly recommend it. The city has something magnetic about it; I believe it's one part "la-la-land" to two parts Fernet (the local alcoholic specialty).

If you find yourself sitting at home in the States, wishing you could find an exotic lover, then Buenos Aires is the city for you. It is the Paris of the Southern Hemisphere, the City of Romance (or at least the city of perpetual flings). It took a little searching and a new apartment, but I have found that the men and women of Argentina are extremely attractive. They really are quite captivating; it could be the soft way they speak, or the warmth in their smiles, but what appears to drive all the ladies (and men) wild, is their aloofness.

For all those who are interested in dating an Argentinean, I have compiled a list for both men and women. Please feel free to print off a pocket sized copy to bring with you during your stay.

Men, follow this easy guide to land yourself a Porteña (applicable for all ages):

1. Grab a group of your best mates and head to the local Kiosko.

2. Purchase individual Quilmes (don't forget your empties for the 1 peso deposit, alcoholics aren't immune to this recession).

3. Drink and wait. Designate one person to be the "sniper" on constant lookout.

4. Once a female is spotted, the sniper must immediately notify the group.

5. This next step is very important: quickly glance at the upcoming female making sure not to spend too much time on the face. Focus your energy on the body and most importantly the backside.

6. Consecutively shout out various phrases from our vocabulary list:

a. Que hermosa! or Que linda! (either gets your point across)

b.Puedo morirme un hombre feliz (I can die a happy man).

c. Te quiero.

d. If all these have been used, a whistle or a "hey baby" will suffice.

7. Sit back and watch the ladies swoon.

8. Consider switching locals if they aren't biting.

("Hola, me llamo Laura y yo soy una extranjera")

Now for all my extranjeras; landing an Argie is about as easy as tying your shoes. Here is my advice for getting your Mr. Right (or Mr. Right-Now, whatever your please):

1. Leave those heels at home. There is nothing sexy about teetering on stilts while walking down a cobblestone sidewalk.

2. Keep makeup fresh and light and ditch the fake-n-bake; men want natural.

3. To maximize attention, wear your hair in pigtails; this is from personal experience, drives the men loco!

4. Brush up on your Spanish vocab, for example: "Ay papi" and a simple "mas" will do the trick; it's not like the men are looking to converse with you.

5. Smile a lot and bat your perfectly curled lashes and you'll be in like flynn.

It's a simple cat and mouse game; learn the rules and play the game properly. And if you get a visit to a Telo (rent by the hour hotel room) out of it, you'll know that your efforts have paid off. That, ladies and gentlmen, is how to score yourself a certified Porteño/a.

(Ladies, another suggestion: befriend a female Argie (exhibit A) and have her teach you how to make empanadas. Going for the stomach is a universal tool to lure men.)

In a Perfect World...

**Warning: for those of you who are expecting wit this time around, you will be sadly disappointed**

When I was in college I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Some people grow up knowing exactly what they want to do, where they want to do it, etc. It's almost unfair that schools force students to decide what they want to do when they are 18 or 19 years old. I mean, when I was 18, I still thought Pitaya pants were awesome (reference to all my Carmel girls out there). The girl that I was when I was 18 isn't even a glimpse of who I am now.

From 18-24 I have made various life choices; one of which includes traveling the world. If you haven't done much traveling, I encourage you to start. There really isn't anything else like it. Whether it be by planes, trains, or automobiles, every time I have crossed another boarder I can't help but smile.

After celebrating my first month in Argentina I began to wonder why it is that I came down here. All one would need to do is open my passport(s) to see that traveling has been a huge priority in my life. But why? Is it for the rush of the unknown? Is it for the bragging rights? Or is it something deeper?

I have thus finalized my top three reasons for being down here. 1.) Spanish language and culture immersion, 2.) to step out of my comfort zone and 3.) to get others opinions out of my head. One and two are pretty self explanatory. I've found a great spanish tutor to help me work on my grammar, vocab, etc; living in Indy was killing me and I needed a huge change.

Then there is reason #3... I have always been very thick skinned which means that friends and family let their opinions be known, sometimes at my expense. Now, this isn't anything I would ever change and this is not a guilt trip, it is just a simple fact. Something I have always struggled with is letting peoples opinions dictate my actions. It may sound ridiculous, but being in Buenos Aires has helped me tune out all the noise, all the distractions, and has given me the time to be alone with my thoughts. All I need is a cigarette (kids, don't smoke), some black coffee, and my plastic rimmed glasses and I'd be a genuine hipster. Could I have achieved this in the States? Sure, but it's not as good of a story...

Here is the part where I may upset some people and for that I'm sorry, but I don't care. When I was 22, I met this person. We will call him "Sam" for all intensive purposes. So, this person was quite interesting and very intriguing. He asked for my number while I was bartending, not uncommon (I mean, I'm the cutest girl-next-door ever!), but this time I actually gave my real number. Weird. Anyhoo, we went on our first date and I knew I was screwed.

I'm not the type of girl who thinks about my wedding day or my dress, or what I want to name my kids. I am however, the type of girl who has compiled a list of attributes in my head of what I would want in my "perfect" guy. Here's the Readers Digest version: someone who grew up on a lake, attractive, blonde with blue eyes, above 6'0", can make me laugh, career oriented, close with their family, athletic, rugged on the outside and sweet on the inside (a guy's-guy if you will). Oh, and their last name starting in "S" because I want my initials to read "LEGS" (thank you 5th grade MASH games). I mean I'm not asking for much people! Unfortunately for me, all of these attributes were found in "Sam" at the absolute worst time in my life.

I'm now 24 and have kept in contact with this person despite all of the ridiculousness that should have made us stop talking. Do I realize that by talking to him I may be losing friends? Yes, but you can't live your life based on what others think, hence the reasoning behind moving. I'm 24 and can make my own decisions, gosh dangit!!

I recently received a gift from said person and it will be very difficult for others to top; it made me cry which isn't always the easiest thing to do. I'm sure Mama G will give him a run for his money in this department! I still have another 11 or so months down here and am looking forward to have this time for myself; time to be independent. Another part of me is even more excited to get back to the states to see what could happen with this person, even if that means moving to small town Indiana... (I know right?! Could there be anything worse!?!)

And for all of you "realists" out there.. Yes, I do realize that there is a chance things will not work out. But like the millions that pour into Vegas year in and year out... I've just gotta play the odds and cross my fingers for the jackpot. At some point everyone will face a situation where the rewards outweigh the risks; I stared mine in the face at Japonaise a few years ago and haven't turned back since.

Sorry, I needed to get that written down... Next post will be back to testing my comical chops! If you have taken anything away from reading this, then I have done my job.

Until next time my friends!