grayspike

2005 expired without regret. Its passing did not leave melancholy behind. There werent any wistful glances back nor sadness at matters left undone.

Adi-fucking-os, baby!

At least 2006 started promisingly. We enjoyed a significant improvement in our New Years Eve swilling. Plus no hang over. That augurs well, doesnt it?

Tatiana has regained her independence. Not only is she single again but her children are emancipated. Best of all after selling her house she is like me debt free for the first time since high school.

Dependents. Debts. Two conditions which fulfill the modern myth of Sisyphus.

Anticipating her restored freedom, Tatiana spoke in November about buying Argentine land. People whod been beguiled by the country especially me put the bug in her ear. (Theres a colloquialism that will have readers unfamiliar with American English shaking their heads.)

Actually hyped beyond enthusiasm, Tatiana talked, I listened. Truthfully she spouted as my lips grazed the length of her neck while my hands squeezed her ass and played with her tits.

If Id taken such initiatives when we were undergrads, we probably wouldve jumped the broom, done and gotten bored with family life, split, rancid bitterness bonding and repulsing us forever.

On one hand, theres the road not taken. On the other, sometimes its good to start journeys later in the day.

Back in November Tatiana plotted and schemed about buying an Argentine vineyard. (!) She envisioned her great legion of friends and relatives taking turns living there, her proxy presences whenever she played elsewhere.

A romantic notion, admittedly. Argentine land is cheap. In truth, however, horse wagering she knows; agriculture exposes her utter urban nature. Although some friends or relatives can ably putter around their gardens, nurturing marketable grapes is beyond their cumulative knowledge.

Nonetheless caught up in the feel of her still firm backside against my palm, uh, the enthusiasm she espoused, I made some rudimentary inquiries. I found a Realtor down there who could begin the process.

Jerry Dog, a fellow with whom Id gone to high school, had become a vintner. If required, Id make his re-acquaintance then shamelessly exploit our mutual imbecilic days in order to harvest his current expertise.

In the early going I started seeing Tatiana as a Malbec Queen.

Since Ive been to Argentina, Tatiana wanted me to accompany her when matters solidified. Shed even catch my airfare. Like I really need incentive to return to Argentina.

I wouldnt have been her guide. No way she needs my help finding loud crowded places that stay open until 6 a.m. More of an escort, I guess. She had no desire to be a North American blonde alone in a Latin American country. I suppose my hovering nearby ought have dissuaded a lot of undue male insistence.

Ive heard I can be intimidating. Look at it like this: if people want to be intimidated, they will be.

Throughout December the Argentine dream fell apart. It collapsed the day before New Years Eve.

Bad enough in her eyes South America is drifting leftward politically. Talk in her clique persuaded her that the Kirschner government is socialist. Oh, horrors! Yeah, socialism is one mere step away from nationalization and ex-appropriation, all right. Then Evo getting elected Bolivian president and receiving Castros adulation further darkened the continents pink trend.

What truly cooled her ardor, though, was the rumor about the Argentines intending to ascertain whether foreign owners actually resided on their holdings. Possible crackdowns on absentee landowners was the last straw.

Having endured failed marriages, Tatiana now knows enough to avoid anything bearing the tiniest reek of complication.

Of course tomorrow should Argentina suddenly swing right, her ardor might resume its previous heat. As we know from experience, societies swearing fealty to law, order, morality and conservatism are far easier to bribe than those professing justice, equality and bread for the poor.

So Tatiana has turned her eyes on France. Not a vineyard. Just a house in the countryside. Great. We might finally start living out our own Eric Rohmer parables.

I get the same deal as in Argentina. This time as an escort whod deflect red-blooded Frenchmen whod otherwise prey on an unattached American blonde.