On Dating in Spain

Within a short time, it's easy to learn the ropes of many things about living in a foreign country: conversation, food choices, public transport, tipping... but one thing I'm STILL learning, 1.5 years later, is how to date. Although there's no shortage of people wanting to step in and meddle. When I solicit advice, it's appreciated, but I feel completely confused when others give unsolicited help.

"Who cares if a twenty-two year old hits on you? Just sleep with him for the sex!" YOU'RE NOT HELPING ME.

"I have a friend for you...you're okay with people over 50, right?"  YOU'RE NOT HELPING ME.

"Next time you walk home with a guy, just say, 'Listen, let's go back to my house, and have a roll in the hay.' Women in Spain are more aggressive." YOU'RE NOT HELPING ME (although you're helping me sound like a whore).

Lots of people, mostly people I barely know (like my hairdresser) ask me almost every time, "Do you have a boyfriend yet?" Talk about pressure. I don't think any Olympic athlete would appreciate being asked, "Do you have a gold medal yet?" Or any musician, being asked, "Do you have a Grammy yet?"

I don't mind being asked for my opinions about the dating scene, because I have many. I have learned a lot, but feel like I have many more lessons to go. Trying to convey what I mean in Spanish, along with the nuances of body language, make every beer with a stranger feel like I'm taking a final exam in a Foreign Culture course. I better study hard to get that A.

Top Chef Birthday

I had a nice, quiet birthday this year. Not quiet by Canadian standards, as I was out until at least 3 a.m., three nights in a row (my night in Villacarrillo ended at 7 a.m.!). One thing that I do love to do is have a theme - remember last year's Ugly Christmas Sweater birthday? This year, it was Top Chef. I really love this Spanish show. The problem is that it starts at 10:30 p.m. and ends at midnight, even 12:30 a.m. sometimes. Not good news when you have to get up at 7:30 the next day.

Victor, Marc, y Peña. Just kidding.

What did I cook? Lasagna, a simple recipe my mother taught me. It's my standard go-to to please a crowd. The others whipped up an awesome four-cheese quiche, and a delicious chocolate pie. Those who ask who the winner was, my response is we all won. The food was good! We were so full we almost didn't go out.
To be honest, it feels very strange to say my age. But it comes up a lot, because there are certain behaviourisms I have that make others think, "How old is she, exactly?" Like when I start to sing the lyrics to old Depeche Mode and NKOTB songs. Or when I cringe seeing clothes I used to wear on younger people. Or when I tell kids that I used to make mixed cassettes for friends, and they ask, "What's a cassette?"
But, there's no denying that age conquers all. Rather than shrink inside myself when I tell people how old I am, it's probably better to just outright declare it, proudly. After all, I've accomplished many dreams in my time on this planet, and there are many more to go.

I Be Old

Last night, I received a spontaneous message from a friend inviting me to drinks. Eager to meet more people, I said yes. We went to El Chato, an old bar with a homey atmosphere. We drank at the stand-up bar outside, as it was completely full inside. Even though it was only 8 Celsius, I didn't mind because I had my winter coat and boots. It was great speaking Spanish with the guys. I'm sure they were pronouncing very carefully for me, which I appreciated because the Jaén accent and talking speed are difficult to understand. An hour later some auxiliaries arrived, and the waiter granted us a table.

As we ate, one of the auxiliaries asked what I did before I moved to Spain to teach. Hardly anyone in our program was a teacher before coming here, and not many continue teaching once they leave. I stated, very proudly, “I was a video editor. I worked at a t.v. news station for thirteen years.”

She stared. “Did you say 'thirteen'? How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

“WHAT?!?” She then proceeded to translate for the French auxiliary what I'd said.

The French girl was confused. “Vingt-six?”

“No,” her friend answered, “TRENTE-six!”

“Dude! My roomate's 20. You could be his mom!”

Everytime this happens, it makes me laugh but I also feel a bit embarassed. I asked everyone else's ages, and it turned out that I was the oldest at the table. The girls were flipping out, saying I looked ten years younger. It's cool that I could get away with wearing short skirts and wild hair colors (if I wanted to), but one disadvantage is that once people find out my age, it tends to change the atmosphere. People stare at me, flabbergasted. 

In my circle of close friends, there are those in their twenties, and older ones who are 40, 45, 50...I get along well with all of them, although with the youngins, I'm usually the one to go home earliest, as in midnight or 1 a.m. I think what matters in forming friendships is not the age, but the attitude you carry.