Dating Dayton (Vol. 3): Andrew and the Greek Dude (But It's Not What You Think)

Romance.

Romance is a mystery everyone longs for but few know how to navigate. That's where Poptek's Andrew Ingram comes to help. A world traveler and a world reknown lover, your questions will finally have some answers as Ingram shares his vast wisdom of the wonder of when a man becomes enravished in the beauty of a woman.

Dating Dayton (Vol 3.): Andrew and the Greek Dude (But It's Not What You Think).

Here is some very, very important advice for all of you men. And I'll get to the spoiler right away. Dating Advice #7: A good woman is precious, special, rare, valuable, and unique. She is worth any sacrifice or humiliation you have to go through to prove your love to.

If we, as men, think a woman is an attraction who we can just pay for and walk away from, then we are doing it wrong. If we think women are free to have or gaze upon for our pleasure, without any cost or sacrifice, we are also doing it wrong. Love is so much more than a quick arousal. I have learned this lesson the hard way so let me tell you about my greatest mistake.

I was on my way to Greece to get away, experience a new place, and to celebrate Easter a week later than non-Greeks observe. Athens was my first destination and I would continue on to the islands of Rhodes and Patmos. I received some friendly travel advice from a Greek friend of mine. It's OK. I won't mention him by name but I am sure you all can guess who it was. His advice was that Greeks love, love, love the foreigner. So he assured me I would feel right at home.

A few hours after my arrival, I was aimlessly walking around the streets of Athens when I was approached by a local asking for the time. This older man, probably in his 60's, clean shaven and wearing silver hair, a polo and khakis, approached me speaking English. It was obvious he thought I was American or British. I really hope he thought I was British. After giving him the time, we struck up a long conversation, right there on the street corner, full of broken English, confused nods, and details about how this man, I call him Corfu George, had retired from the oil industry in Houston, was returning home to Corfu, and just loved America and us Americans.

My friend's comment about the hospitality of the Greeks was playing out right before my eyes, but I wasn't so sure yet. It takes a long time for me to come to trust someone, much less a stranger on the streets of a country I do not know. Since it was Easter, I decided to randomly drop the one Greek phrase that I know in to the conversation. "Christos Anesti" ("Χριστός ἀνέστη!"- Christ is Risen) is a call and response used on Easter. Those who know respond "Alithos Anesti" ("Ἀληθῶς ἀνέστη!" - "Truly He is Risen!" or "He Has Risen Indeed!"). So I Greek-phrase-dropped. Corfu George responded accordingly. My guard was now down.

Then the situation changed. Like in a Eureka moment, George suddenly exclaimed "Let's go get a drink." "Wow, Greeks really are hospitable", I thought. So we walked and walked. We passed many other watering holes. After at least ten blocks we arrived at the Kremlin Music Club. It was a small, clean, quiet place. We entered, passed the bartender as he was serving two customers, to go and take our place among two couches at the back of the club. George was jovially carrying the conversation with a wierd concoction of Greek expressions and English phrases that I just confusingly nodded in agreement with.

Here is a secret, I do this a lot. I pride myself on being a good listener. Dating Advice #8: Every woman wants to be with a good listener. Yet even in conversations in my native tongue, I hate conflict so much that I may just nod along in apparent agreement, just to avoid breaking up the flow of the conversation. If I get to the point when I just silently glare at you, without any nods or vocal confirmations, that's when I am in absolute and angered disagreement. But you will never be able to know that. And that is the way I like it.

So back to Corfu George. After a few minutes more of awkward but friendly conversation, the situation changed yet again. The two who we passed at the bar, who I thought were regulars, came back to join us. Turns out they were "regulars" indeed- two young, attractive women who "wanted to talk". They "wanted to talk", to me, a handomish 30-something man. That was completely understandable. I was with Corfu George though, not George Clooney. Let's just say that George was way past his prime and that he had no desire to make his post-prime looks in any way presentable. So even though I don't know any Greek besides what I have lifted from my friends' Greek Easter celebrations, I could tell that "talking" in Greece is much more explicit than I learned earning a Communications degree in the States.

My heart dropped. Feelings that I can describe in no other way than "uckiness" rushed to my extremities. I was aware of what was happening yet completely confused and in shock. My guard was back up and so I refused their advances. For all that I said previously about hating conflcit, I can be a jerk to someone in no time flat if I really need to be.

The drinks that were supposed to be a treat from Corfu George now were on my Euro so that I could get out of there. George's countenance manicly changed from happy-go-lucky to dim and sad. With a frown and in a heavy Greek accent he asked "What, you don't like?" When I finally shook my head in disapproval, he then unexpectedly asked "Want to go get fish?". Again, I don't know Greek and so I have no idea what that means but I was not going to find out. I got out of there, still not sure what I had escaped, but feeling scarred and dirty nonetheless.

I hurriedly walked as far away as I could get and then when I knew I would not run in to Corfu George again, I made my way to my hotel. The feelings of violation and filth hadn't blown away with the Athenian wind during the hurried escape. I felt like I needed to vent and make myself accountable to my friends back home. Had I done something wrong? Was I guilty by association? Did I partially fall for one of the oldest tourist cons in the book? Regardless of my innocence, that close of a brush with something so illegal just made me feel guilty. So from the hotel I sent a bunch of emails to those I trust the most. My Greek friend, who will shall remain unnamed, responded, "Oh yeah, prostitution is legal over there."

Corfu George was trying to get his jollies on, and was probably trying to get me to foot the bill. Or they were all trying to get my clothes off and steal my money. Whatever the illicit intention, that leads us to this, Dating Advice #9: Never trust your Greek bandmate's advice.

Dating Dayton (Vol. 2): Andrew and the Catalan

Romance.

Romance is a mystery everyone longs for but few know how to navigate. That's where Poptek's Andrew Ingram comes to help. A world traveler and a world reknown lover, your questions will finally have some answers as Ingram shares his vast wisdom of the wonder of when a man becomes enravished in the beauty of a woman.

Dating Dayton (Vol. 2): Andrew and the Catalan.

We met in the patio bar of the Hotel Neri. Yes, I lavishly take care of myself when I travel. I had just made it to Barcelona, still distraught over losing my one true love, Jeanette. Jeanette Picard. But that was three hours ago. It was time to move on with my life.

I was in Barcelona to attend El Clásico. That is the heated and annual football match between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid. I can describe it as heated as the two teams represent not only the two largest cities in Spain, and the two most dominant teams in La Liga, but also two different political ideologies present in Spain. Barcelona represents Catalunya, or the Catalans, an ethnic group born and based in Northeast Spain. Catalunya recently voted to seceed from Spain to form their own country. We'll all see how that goes. Real Madrid represents nationalistic Spain, who at their worst points under Francisco Franco banned the Catalan language and even executed rival Catalans.

El Clásico was in a few days, I first had to check in to my hotel and what better way to decompress from jetlag and a failed, cross-cultural, almost-engagement than to get a drink in the hotel bar.

I don't "drink", by the way. With a face like I have, drunkeness is too great of a risk of being taken advantage of. So when I travel, I have found that Coca-Cola tastes so much sweeter than in the States.

In romance, there has to be a commonality that brings two people together. For us it was that we were two attractive, eligible people, in the same expensive hotel bar who enjoyed over-priced, non-alcoholic drinks. Her name was Inés. Inés Siempre. And she could win La Señorita España pageant in any year that she competed. There was no way that I, nor any heterosexual male, could have missed her.

She caught my eye, not only by her exotic beauty, but in the way she actually demanded my attention. I had already noticed her as soon as I walked in to the bar. She looked my way from across the patio and motioned for me to come sit at her table. In the aggressiveness of her affection I just thought that, "Spanish girls really are as saucey as advertised". And in my hurried pace to accept her invitation, I smoothly caught the waiter to order another of what she was having. She likes Sprite.

Inés' advances were surely surprising but my charm was trained and prepared for this moment. Men you have to be ready for moments like this. I cannot stress that enough.

Pretty soon after I sat down with Inés, we began sipping our drinks and playing this charming game where she would go from one table to the next, never sitting still and moving as soon as I followed and sat down. It was quite a turn-on how "hard to get" and yet assertive she was playing. Our conversations oscillated between crescendoes and whispers, all depending on how close she would have me approach. We covered so much in so little time. From politics to God to Spanish economics to her family and her Catalunian people, we had an ease and openess between us that allowed us to discuss anything at any time without any fear.

Inés was an absolute celebrity, maybe not to the rest of the world but in the way I saw her. Though I should not have lost track of another celebrity, a real superstar, who I passed upon entering the patio bar. Loitering near the fringes of the bar, like most thugs do, was the famous French striker in town playing for Real Madrid (and who shall remain unnamed due to pending investigations related to legal charges brought by other women not named Inés). I mean I didn't really miss him upon my arrival. I was at first star struck when I saw him. Like most awestruck experiences, even involving icons you may absolutely despise, all criticisms temporarily disappear replaced by fanboyish nervousness and the overwhelming need to get a picture. I didn't though. All those feelings of awe were happening in the same moment when Inés was capturing my heart. So I rushed right past the thug and paid him no attention because I had a beautiful woman to woo.

All of this was not lost on me though. Famous soccer players in the same hotel. Firey spanish women. All of this within 20 minutes of check-in. Spain was turning out to be everything I dreamt it to be.

But it didn't turn out to be a good dream.

To all my women readers, I will let you in on a secret that most men may not admit to. We all have insecurities. If your man acts like he doesn't, well then you need to dump him and find one of us shy, sensitive, bookish types. We are the real deal.

As exciting as my new found relationship was with Inés, she was way out of my league, and every doubt I had about myself was being alarmed.

Those alarms went through the roof when the scene changed and the Frenchman came over to our table. Dating Advice #4: Determination is 90% of any lasting relationship . . . that and avoiding restraining orders. My disdane for the Striker returned as I questioned him (in slow, rough Spanish) as to why he was invading our space. Inés obviously had a history with him as the argument transitioned from me yelling at him to them yelling at each other. Dating Advice #5: Never get involved with someone who has been involved with any player from Real Madrid. The type of players Real Madrid attracts all weave a tight web of restraining orders and legal battles and it's just too much to navigate. Our argument turned into a tussle between the American and the Frenchman. Thankfully I didn't contract any STDs from the punch to the gut I landed. It did land us both in jail though. Turns out Inés had already alerted the authorities concerning the Striker before I had even arrived. Our table-to-table game was hot, but was really her attempt to avoid eye contact and close proximity with the Frenchman. I felt used. But oh well, she was really pretty and worth the embarrassment.

Now if you have never been in a Spanish police van, it is truely an experience. They are short and skinny, with a really annoying, high-pitched, rhythmic siren. I have to say that the experience didn't invoke any fear of being disciplined. Rather, I felt like I was in a Monty Python sketch. The clowns never appeared though. And on the ride to jail I did get the Frenchman's autograph. We actually talk on the telly once a month now. Though I told him that I won't testify for him in a court of law. He's famous but he's very, very guilty.

Dating Advice #6. Never go to Spain. It looks just like Florida and Spanish women just aren't worth the emotional ride they take you on.