Café Nostalgia

Finally made it over to Café Nostalgia for lunch: vegetable quesadillas. My jog today consisted of trying to find this place and dropping off my yellow coat at the cleaners. After Con complimented it, “I really like that coat,” and Matt responded “Yeah, except for that spot right there,” I figured it was time to have it cleaned. Luckily it is warm enough today for short sleeves. With a hoodie tucked into my purse for later. Yesterday when Jenny and I were walking home the wrong way along Juan B. Justo because she refuses to look at a map a man in a taller said to me in Spanish, “Ah, the sun has arrived!” as I passed by clad in yellow. He was sweet. Even though the area was a bit dodgy. You know what else is a bit dodgy? Apparently last night on the news they announced that Francis Ford Coppola is in trouble for tax evasion and won’t be paying his extras. I heard that last night at the Expat Connection Happy Hour. You know what’s fun? When people think you’re being flirty but really you’re just doing your job. Okay, so it is fun toward the beginning of the night. Two of the American guys called me la flaca tejana. I don’t feel very flaca right now, although I’m still about to eat. Smells good, looks good. And I like the décor. Another place with an Austin coffee-house vibe.

That was pretty dang good! I should come back. $20 pesos for quesadillas though. But they served it with an excellent green salad. With alfalfa sprouts! I still want ice cream though. Just one of those days. This is where I could use a gym instead of this white bread carbohydrate-laden roll I’m noshing on. People here don’t need South Beach: they have a lot more self-restraint than Americans. Well, that and eating disorders. Americans drink a lot more than Argentines. And tip a lot more too. The bar made quite a bit of money last night; and most of that was on $5 peso happy hour drinks. And they all had one free drink ticket. I let one man use his on hot tea. $5 pesos, same difference. And he seemed so nervous to tell me he didn’t drink alcohol. And there were the two Nigerians, one of whom told me he rode a lion to school each day and had to cross the river by swinging on his vine rope swing. But then there was the table in the back who kept ordering litros of Stella Artois and tequila shots. They’d tip me $3 pesos a time. I figured there was no way they were from here. But they were. Two from Argentina, two from Uruguay. Tequila shot man was from Argentina and asked me for a kiss on the lips. I told him I can’t kiss on the job, which is a joke, because Matt ended up snogging two girls before we closed at 4 am: the cute brunette outside and the flirty blonde inside behind the column. Maybe I should tell people I can’t give out my number while I’m working. But how would I swing that? I now feel guilty about giving out fake numbers. A moral hangover if you will. These are real people too; I should be gentle with their feelings.