Fitting In--At least attempting it...

I was telling my friend, Jason, today that I'm constantly on my toes here--encountering the extraordinary and making friends with the absurd--or attempting to. These days, the overabundance of the absurd is a bit overwhelming.

Interactions with the Señora aside, my desk at work was moved from the therapists' office to the administrative office this week. Although it is quieter which is helpful for my research/grantwriting, it's cut my already-limited contact with the therapeutic side of things even further.

Later, I observed a staff meeting taking place while I was left alone in the office. I'm feeling a bit disconnected.

Today, I was told we wouldn't be eating lunch together anymore. The administrative staff would wolf down something quickly, so they could get back to work at their desks. Meanwhile, the clients and therapeutic staff had a more leisurely and lunch.

And there it was. Aside from my one-hour English class each week (which has been going horribly, because one hour is not enough time to make progress and everyone is getting frustrated)...aside from this, I'm at my desk all day.

So, I came to Buenos Aires to watch the Vice Presidential debate. I just had to see Palin in action, and the Democrats Abroad group was hosting a debate party at a bar in the city. I got into the city a bit early, since it was easiest to come straight from work, but I didn't realize how early, since they said 8:00. Once I got there, I realized it didn't start until 10. And it was in a neighborhood called "Palermo Hollywood" (as opposed to Old Palermo, Upper Palermo, or any other Porteño neighborhood)...on a Thursday night, which is almost as big for going out as a Saturday night.



Still, I arrive at the Sacramento at 8, expecting a laid-back pub full of American expats with their pints, and instead find myself in an empty (as it's still way-early) yet über-trendy disco, in my all-too casual cords and sweater from work.


Bueno, I need to eat something if we won't get out before midnight, so I stroll out in search of a bite. As though I'd only arrived in Argentina hours ago, I'm commiting major cultural crimes, and am so locked into my American way of doing things, I don't know how to stop myself...

• I'm alone--Argentines are such social creatures, you almost never see them out alone, unless they're in the process of going from Point A to Point B.
• I'm underdressed--While Porteños dress up more than we do, in this neighborhood, on a Thursday night, my clothes that were so comfy at work now feel like something I pulled off my closet while blindfolded.
• I'm early--Restaurants haven't opened yet, or the few that have are still empty. Assuming they'd seat me by myself...and that I wouldn't feel like a leper sitting on my own. What makes this more tragic is that Palermo has some of the best restaurants in the city.

For a desperate moment, I contemplate the McDonald's back on Santa Fe, then seek out an empanadas shop. But alas, all that appears are pancho stands--hotdogs. I contemplated getting a super-pancho, minus the pancho. Some stands offer 30 or more toppings.

Finally, I sought respite in a theater cafe, which seemed to serve food and a beer, the Velma Cafe...now that the beer is almost gone, am I ready to return to an all-too glamorous reality on the streets of Hollywood?