When I think of all the bad dates I've had (and I've had my fair share), there's always one in particular that tops the list. One of my first experiences dating a fiery Argentinian, was this guy named Hernan. He was Latin sexy, tall, dark and handsome. I met him at an upscale restaurant/bar which was once a mansion that's been converted. He and his friends were sitting at a table ordering rounds of champagne, when he invited me and my friend over to join them. They were very curteous, buying us drinks all night long and engaging in conversation in broken English. He regaled me with stories of his house in the ritzy beach resort town of Punta del Este, in Uruguay. His eyes were dreamy and his voice seductive, and when he looked at me, his intensity burned. He got my phone number and called me immediately the following day, inviting me on date. We went out to a steak dinner (obvs), then a bar for drinks after, and everything was lovely. It was a weeknight and getting late so I asked him to take me home, but he flat out refused. "Just another drink" he begged, which turned into another bottle of champagne, which turned into it being 4 am (their 4 am is like our 12 am), and me very cranky and pissed off. I finally left him at the bar and took a cab home, promising to never see him again.
Then I got bored. There were a number of more dates over the next couple of months, always with a new twist. His passionate intensity that first drew me in, turned out to be more closely related to anger. I found myself fighting with him over the most inane things all the time, and it was hard to tell if it was rooted in translation difficulties (as my Spanish at that time wasn't exactly stellar) or general disagreements. But things were always interesting and even though I knew he wasn't for me, he provided me with distractions, stories, and experiences that I thought made him worth the trouble
The last date (and here's where the real fun begins) I went on with him was to a bar with a bunch of his friends. He insisted that I leave my friends to come join him, only to ignore me soon after I arrived, and leave into another part of the bar for a while. He returned to the table arm in arm with a breathtaking Argentinian woman. "OMG, did he just pick her up in the other room, with me here? What the F is going on?" I thought. They sat at the other end of the long table from me, chatting intimately, and when I asked who she was, the reply I unanimously received from his friends was that she was his "cousin." Well I didn't know the laws very well in Argentina, but cousins DO NOT KISS LIKE THAT! (Unless of course you're Karen from the movie Mean Girls).
He would later drive away like a bat out of hell with her in the passenger seat, no explanation or regret. In the following days and weeks I got calls and texts, explaining that she was an ex, it meant nothing, they were really over now. But we were through. When I told him I didn't want to see him anymore, that he seemed too angry a person for me, he said he wasn't angry, that was just his face. I guess I wasn't the first person to tell him that.
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