The Nation History Museum (eh, the visit took 15 minutes...I'm gonna write about food)

We wandered down to the neighborhood of San Telmo to visit the National History Museum. We were the only people there, which means we were outnumbered by security guards 12:1. No sword- or other-old-artifact-stealing possible today, folks. On the way back we stopped for Indian food.

The absence of ethnic food options here is alarming. In a city the size of Buenos Aires, you'd think you'd be able to find whatever you wanted. And it's not that you can't, necessarily, it's just that you might have to travel a long way to do it. We've come across three Indian restaurants (which we found out today are all the same one, in three locations), a couple of Thai and Chinese restaurants (not counting in Barrio Chino, where there are a dozen or more within a few blocks), a few sushi places, and two Mexican establishments. Twelve million people, but they're all eating steaks.

Spicy is just not on the menu here. The first time we went to the Mexican restaurant down the street, Brent asked for hot sauce. The waiter looked puzzled and pointed to the red sauce already on the table. Nope. Not spicy.

Sometimes we buy peppers at the vegetable stands, and the vendador swears up and down that they're muy picante, which we usually find to be untrue when we get them home and chop them up in our food. (Except for the time I found jalepeños, a rare treat in these parts, and I blended half of one into a curry. Brent was sweating.)

At the bar, locals consistently ask for picante aparte or no hot sauce at all on the chicken wings. Just the other night, I cleared a plate of wings that had hardly been touched, and the woman explained to me that they were just too hot, with a look that clearly said I should do something about that. (To be fair, that sauce actually is pretty hot.)

The apartment hunt is ON.

Things we would like to find in our new apartment that are lacking in this one:

• No mold.
• Access to sunlight.
• A balcony.
• Ceilings that are high enough to walk under without hitting your head.
• A functioning stereo.
• Space for OUR stuff amidst the owner's stuff.
• Windows that are not broken.
• A non-leaking toilet.
• Kitchen cabinets or shelves.
• A faucet that stays attached.
• An oven with actual numbered temperature choices.
• Non-slip stairs.
• Outlets in logical places.

Picking up the tab, and the waitress.

The other night at the bar, I waited on a table of three men and one woman. They were there for three or four hours, spent about AR$300.

Toward the end of the evening, the woman gestured for me to follow her down the hall. It's quieter back there, so I figured she needed to tell me something important, though I couldn't fathom what that might be.

"My English isn't very good," she said, which, of course, means that it's fine. She proceeded to explain that her friend, not the one in the hat but the other one, wanted me to call him, and he put his number on this bill. However, if I should decide not to call, I should take care to scratch out the number, since he doesn't want just anyone calling him. Understandably.

She handed me the five-peso bill (that's just a little more than one US dollar, for those keeping track at home) with his number on it, and the party of four left the bar.

Three things:

• I´m not going to call, because I'm blissfully coupled already, thank you. 
• If you wanted me to call, it would´ve been nice had you made some sort of effort to smile at me and say "Adiós" as you left.
• If you wanted me to call, you should´ve written that number on a $50.

Introducing...Bod•ē from Vemma

As a fitness instructor, I'm usually the one telling people to get off the couch, especially if they're trying to lose weight. And I still say that, and will always say that, whether you're trying to lose weight or not. Movement is an art, a great joy of life, and the best way to celebrate your body is to use it.

But now Vemma has come out with Bod•ē, a weight loss product and program with all the Vemma science we know and love. Yes, you need to eat right. Yes, you need to exercise. But there's help! And it's from Vemma! And it makes me very happy and excited.

The success stories and before-and-after pictures are impressive and inspiring, and I can't wait to see some members of my own team with similar tales to tell.

Just stand on your head and sing the national anthem, you're good.

Every time I meet an ex-pat or extended-stay tourist, I ask them how they went about doing it the legal way. And everyone has a different answer.

We've been told that we have to spend 72 hours outside the country every three months, that we can just leave and come back in the same day, that we have to have residency to pay taxes, that we'll never get residency and we can just pay our taxes, that we can overstay our tourist visa and pay the fine, that we can go to the airport and get a 10-year visa (like the one they give in Chile for $140), that we can go to the airport and get a 3-month extension, that we can visit the immigration office (only once) and get a 3-month extension.

We're about due for another trip out of the country. While as of the last one we had hoped to have more figured out by now as to how to go about staying here long-term, we do not, so we will probably be taking this second trip to Uruguay (possibly Montevideo this time!). After that, I'm leaning toward our bar-owner buddy's advice: just pay the taxes for your business and stay on a tourist visa. Clean and simple, unlike the removal of the mold from our bathroom wall.

Another happy new year.

This holiday season was both strange and wonderful. Brent and I shared our first Thanksgiving (falafel, strawberry champagne, and movies), our first Christmas Eve (traditional Argentine sweetbread, amaretto sours, and working at the bar), our first Christmas (pancakes, opening presents, and movies), and our first New Year's Eve (no food, champagne, and getting violently ill in the bar bathroom).

Side note: I have decent alcohol smarts, and am still not sure what caused me to get so sick. I hadn't had very much to drink. One minute I was fine, the next minute it hurt to open my eyes, hurt to stand up straight. It was a sickness that seemed more like food poisoning, but the only suspect was a couple of chicken fingers dipped in some sauce at the bar. After an hour, Brent was ready to carry me home on his shoulders, but luckily the bartender stepped in and talked me to my feet, and I was able to walk to my own bed.

Which brings us to our first New Year's Day (water, blueberry pancakes, and movies). Today I'm fine, more or less, with a slight fever and a general inclination to stay on the couch.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, there wasn't a lot of indication that Christmas was coming. There were very few decorations around the city (though there was a mall Santa), and none of the stores had any impressive sales. Only a few special-for-Christmas foods showed up in the grocery store, none of which included egg nog (to my lasting disappointment). I can't say I miss the snow, but I will admit that it was kind of weird that it was 90 degrees outside.

The whole season was different and delightful (and could have been improved only by the presence of egg nog, fudge, and the handful of people who read this), and I got to spend it with this really cool guy I know. 2012 is going to be fantastic.