Funny Hernan. He is very entertaining for me, but he also brings out the most of my insecurities. It didn't help that he told me he was dating this guy while he was in Quebec who turned out to be the biggest pop star there. He didn't know who the guy was, but when he told people who he was dating, they couldn't believe it. Not that Hernan and I are dating or anything, but still, I'm just a lowly ESL teacher who lives a very boring, domestic life. (I say that as I begin my 5 months in Argentina).
Anyway, I went to the Disco with Hernan and we got some food for him since my stomach was not up for the original plan for dinner - beef milanesa with puree de papas - somehow a breaded and fried piece of steak with mashed potatoes didn't seem like the kind of meal my delicate stomach needed. Hernan said it was a typical Argentine Sunday meal.
Going to the Disco with Hernan was fun. He was also confused about some things there and I was able to direct him. But he had the language advantage that I don't have. I realized that when I went earlier I made a mistake by asking the guy who weighs the vegetables if I needed a price for my carrots and celery. Instead I should have asked if I needed him to weigh them. When I asked about the price, he looked confused and looked over at the shelf where the price was clearly marked and read it to me. I still wasn't sure if he had to weigh them and put a price sticker on them. He took them from me, put them on the scale and put a sticker on them, so that answered the question. When I went back with Hernan and listened as he asked about weighing something, I realized the mistake I made. Rather than ask if I needed a price, I should have asked if I needed them weighed.
The Disco has become the place that I seem to go the most, where I am speaking the most Spanish, and where I am making the most mistakes. I hope in my Spanish lesson on Thursday we will be able to clear up some of my confusion and possibly not go over the homework that I am not enjoying. Juliana gave me a book about an Argentine illustrator who died last year - Fontanarossa. I remember when he died. Everyone talked about the fact that he was a Rosarino - from Rosario. To me that means nothing. I have been trying to read it but am just not connecting with it. Instead, I want to know what to say when I am not sure if I need to get my vegetables weighed. It seems I am in the same position as last year of wanting my Spanish class to address my daily needs as opposed to some high-level literary ideals.
Well, anyway, back to Hernan.
He is now smoking cigarettes, which I don't remember him doing last year. He smoked only three or four last night, but I had to spray my bed with lavendar to get rid of the smell. I hate the smell of cigarettes. I guess my only option is to start smoking myself so I won't notice it anymore (just kidding).
He bought some creme and said he was going to make desert. I don't have a wire whisk or an electric beater, so he had to beat the cream using a small fork. There was cream flying all over the kitchen. It was in his hair, in his eyes, on the floor and all over the counter. I think he lost about half of the cream from it flying out of the bowl. It must have taken him over 30 minutes to whip it until it was stiff. He served it on top of some sweet potato desert that we got at the Disco. It was good. Very sweet. Very Argentine. And way too much work for me to even try it on my own.
Instead of frying up a breaded steak, he bought caneloni, which I knew I would not like because they were covered in this thick white sauce and filled with spinach, which seems to have the taste of dirt here. He heated them up along with some mashed squash. I heated up some of the chicken and rice soup I made earlier which was about all my stomach could handle.
When we were done, there was a huge pile of dishes in the sink. It was a major mess. Hernan told me that if I paid Norma a little extra she would do the dishes, but she is not coming until Thursday. I volunteered to clean it up because it seemed that Hernan was not going to. First I had to empty the sink of all of the trash that he threw in there. Then as I began washing dishes I found that he had put the bowl of rice that I had on the counter in the sink, so now there was rice all stuck in the drain that I had to scoop out. It was not pretty, but I felt better when it was all clean.
I kind of felt like I was obsessive compulsive because it seemed like I was following him around putting things back where they belonged. This apartment is not very big, it is sparsly decorated and the dark wood floors show every speck of dirt. I spent the night with Hernan doing things like putting the toothpaste back into the medicine cabinet, closing up the bag of coffee and putting it away, wiping up spills, etc. I definitely learned that I could never live with Hernan.
Due to my flu, Hernan spent the night on the sofa. I'm still getting sweaty at night and alternate between being hot and cold, so the covers are either getting thrown off of me or pulled up to my neck. I'm not as achy as I was, but I also seem to need to move around alot in bed. I thought it would be better for both of us if he slept on the couch. He needed a place to stay because he is returning to his apartment in San Telmo today. He didn't mind the couch.
It was fun hanging out with Hernan, as always. He is a character. He tells funny stories, listens to interesting music and has unusual taste in things like movies and art. Even though I am open to most of the things he shares with me, they are not my default tastes. I feel a little awkward with him sometimes. If we smoke or drink wine, I find that I feel even more awkward, because my Spanish skills seem to deteriorate (we're still in the English speaking phase though). It will be interesting to see what kinds of things Hernan can show me, not only about life in Argentina, the arts, etc., but also about how I see myself. I'm learning a lot already.
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