Nice is not a Nice word

But she’s nice. Really really nice.

Words of Doom to the single male.

But why? Why can’t men be with a woman who is really nice, even if she has a face that Halloween mask sculptors would envy?

Or a body that requires a special chair to be brought out at dinner.

Is vanity a natural trait? Or one indicative of a failure to mature?

If a prospective intimate partner has all the traits you want in a mate, minus the attractive look, shouldn’t the 2 out of 3 principle count. Or is it better to be the CAUSE of the hypergrowth in anxiety women feel about their bodies?

In addition to the personal conflict of consummating with the teacher and the landlady, I was saddled with another foreign soil drama. And its one that happens all over the world.
Especially near Bob Marley flags. Why is he so popular? If he only ate tofu and beets, refusing to smoke, would he still be so cool to the freedom seekers of the world?

Ah…but where to start young one. Ok. How ‘bout…

When visiting a foreign place, even another city in your own country, its important to ‘go out on the town’. Its just an easy way to get to know locals. Really. That’s it.

Now, when your alone, the task is a bit more daunting.

Somehow, during the Great 472nd bash of Quito, I found myself chasing a cell phone of a newfound Quito friend. Having buried my own mobilelifeline deep into a file cabinet, I was forced to find phone cabins every 15 minutes. After being unable to locate my Quito buddy among the innumerable street revelers, I decided I could make my own friends.

Do you if join to you ok my mind?

What?

Uh, can I with you to join ok?

{odd looks precede a bewildered exodus]

Such are the difficulties when thinking grammar is irrelevant in learning a new language.
Hopefully, somebody will teach me.

So striking up conversation among locals was a bit tough. And resorting to speaking English to other foreigners seemed defeatist. Goddammit. I was hear to learn about the locals and speak their language. But how many ‘turnaways’ can you put up with?

After befriending a young petite male bouncer (no…there is a no leadup to gaylove here) at a presumed upscale nightspot, I was invited from the joyous throngs, to the elite upstairs enclave.

And yet another universal trait becomes apparent. The Velvet Rope syndrome. Whenever you see the Velvet Rope, anxious mobs barricaded by it’s furry power, the bystander is left in wonder. What is that place all about…IF only

And for those unlucky enough to wait and gain entry…a room full or stiffs attempting to impersonate former stiffs they saw on television. And these places always seem to have some one word esoteric name.

This one was named SUTRA.

The Indian Foreign Ministry should collect a royalty tax on their stocknames: BUDDHA, YOGA, KARMA, SUTRA, TANTRA, SLURPEE. And all they need to do is look in any pretentious gathering spot, where they are bound to find a group of people Hinduism would probably drop off at the doors of the local Mosque; refusing their worship and poor Malaysian reproductions of their catchphrases.

So, you know you’ve entered a place gone IndoHip, when you find brightly colored pillows strewn about the floor, and furniture acquired from Midget Surplus. In addition, these establishments manage to find 17 varieties of the Buddha to fill their fauxopium dens.

And how do you think that corpulent little Asian fellow feels about the drunk & Vain getting shitfaced under the watchful eyes of his peaceful belly?

There is only one other religion with a known action figure, and the only drinking establishment J.C. seems present in, is in the back corner of Mexican Dive bars.
How’s that for comparing religious tolerance among the East vs. West?

Well, upon entry in the coveted Sutra, I ended up Barside, befriended by the owner, getting shitfaced with her lover, another gal -- a knockout Brasilian, and her Yoga instructor. This is not the beginning of a joke.

Another crosscultural phenomenon was about to take place.

The COCKBLOCK.

But nothing stings more then getting cockblocked by another woman.

The cockblock is an ancient tradition where one knight would step gingerly in front of the other night, preventing him from raping his peasant subject. The Knight who stepped in front would then proceed to clang his heavy armor in a vain attempt to woo the potential rapee. His results would usually end in the rapee fleeing, preventing neither the original Raping Knight, or his cockblocking predecessor from embarking on the rape.

Things have changed over the generations, and the technique is not only used during rapes, but also during nonessential miscellaneous pick-ups in places littered with the sexually desperate.

And the Brazilian was such a stereotypical Brazilian, that you had to be thankful for stereotypes.

Although, speaking a second language to a person who knows neither your first or second is kind of like speaking in tounges to a Blind Jew. So maybe the cockblock simply prevented me from further embarrassing myself.

Alas, one arrives at the dilemma. One heard around the world:
She may not be physically attractive. But..She is bright. Hip. Witty. Sweet. She knows how to dance. Uh…
But yet, you just want her to be your friend. Will you..be…my..friend?

Who says that after they meet someone? But I knew. We ended up spending many more hours together under the eyes of the intranslatable Brasilian. But I was merely a tease.

I didn’t mean to be. A tease. It was a great cultural moment. And not a word uttered in English.

However, and this however must be noted. After a couple of hours of singing, dancing, drinking, talking, she explained, in Spanish how she used to teach in a small American University. Literature. English Literature. What the fuck.

[in English} You speak English….

Of course, silly. Didn’t you hear what I told you? I wansn’t teaching Cervantes. {In perfect American English}

That’s weird.

It was like I just met someone speaking in Tongues. Possessed. You struggle for hours to put your thoughts in another language, only to find out the person can easily communicate at your native level.

And odder still, was during that brief out of body experience, I realized how utterly unattractive the English Language was. Spoken, anyway.

The Pre-Conceived Idiom Affect is not only available in Latin women with English Lit. degrees. For further case study, We shall visit the world’s most traveled migrant. The Chinaman.

Americans (or sub in any nationality living among the Chinese), have come to expect two sounds emanating from Chinese mouths.
1. the apparent sounds of the Chinese language
2. the apparent sounds of the American English language
When the subject’s mouth behaves as the native’s mind is conditioned, then all sides are at peace.

Now imagine the Chinese denizen speaking in Spanish. The once notorious proprietor of MSG laced products, has abandoned your expectations. In complete violation of the Pre-Conceived Idiom Affect. Bastard.

It’s just plain weird. Chinese people speaking Spanish. And abandoning the Queen’s tounge.

Maybe further explanation is needed of the Pre-Conceived Idiom Affect. Since, its not only human subjects who fall prey to it’s dire consequences.

Allow us to witness the Dog. Man’s good friend and Garbage can. Even the Chinese can take part in this experiment.

On initial contact with Ecuador’s dogs, I immediately tried to communicate my feelings in English. Despite the fact that I had refused to use the language with fellow humans.

Come here. Come on. Be a good Dog. Wait. Stay. Come. Sit. You little fucker.

No response. Nothing. Until I realized I had been a victim of the Pre-Conceived Idiom Affect.

Obviously, well—obvious now, these critters only knew Spanish, or Quechua –the Incan language.

Bueno perrito. Bueno perro. Todo es bien. Ven aqui. Venga. Por Favor. Queda. Queda. Sienta se. SIENTA SE. Podimos ser amigos? Solo amigos. Puta.
{Good Doggy. Good Dog. Everything is ok. Come here. Come. Please. Stay. STAY.
Sit. SIT. Can we be friends? Only Friends. BITCH!}

Speaking to a dog in a second language, and having no response from that dog, is more dejecting then women failing to recognize your lines of seduction. Cause at least the women respond, with such phrases as, ‘What?”, “I don’t understand” or “Bastard”. Sometimes you even get drastic facial expressions.

But with a dog, all you get is a blank stare. Absolute zero validity that you exist. At that very moment, you are worthless to the planet. And that hurts.

Earlier in the evening, on a public bus, trying to find my stop in the dark, I had befriended my seatmate. A smiling cute local girl/woman.

It was a Friday night during the city’s biggest festival of the year. And she was flirting with me.

I wanted to follow her to whatever party she was going to.

I don’t drink. I’m going to Church. I always go to Church at this time.

Yikes. Do you follow that girl to Church?

While many single guys would say, OF COURSE, JACKASS. ALL THE NICE ONES ARE MET AT CHURCH. My mind has been cursed with a conscience.

Single women in poorer countries are not single women in ‘Western’ countries, raised with values that allow them to have meaningless affairs with men, and move on to more money and more men.

In South America, The women of the upper middle class and beyond do share these values. Thank god for the Rich.

But women from poorer families are looking to start a family, live close to the parents, have a married life, all those terrible values that America luckily has abandoned.

And this concept may work for some people. But if you violate these known sentiments, you end up with a woman obsessed with you, devastated that you don’t return her letters/calls/emails and on the verge of suicide.

Don’t mistake this for cockiness. This has nothing to do with what the male looks like.
But the impoverished female will contemplate suicide, or worse, a marriage to a Canadian. I can’t do that. No way.
Not in my first week in the city. Maybe I’ll see her again in a few more weeks.

My mind filled with that thought, as I was, yet again, in the same evening facing a dilemma.

Should it be? How many times has a girl said she only wanted to be friends?
Friends are good. Friends play cards with you. Watch movies with you. And listen as you tell them how you struck out with some girl you met. Apparently, she only wanted to be friends.

The journey continues with this masked woman, as we enjoy the city together, as I try to explain the South Park movie in Spanish, and why Americans find being shit on quite funny. I can’t bear to tell her that Im not attracted to her. I feel so rude. So vain.
I want to think she calls me daily, at the home of the Taboo Mommy, simply to practice Spanish with me, or catch another cultural event.

Cause I like those things. I really do. As friends.