So to the people who know me, it's no secret that I am Asian. In fact, much of my identity is defined by my Asianess. For example:

Person 1: Yeah, Anny's going to be there.
Person 2: Asian Anny?!
Person 1: Yeah man, that one.

Now, I should mention that 9 times out of 10 I am the only Anny possible to be considered going somewhere. Also, all the other Annys, Annies and Anis are Asian as well ... defeating the confirmation if the Anny in question is indeed Asian.

Another thing about my identity is the fact that I do not exhibit much behavioural signs of being Asian. Some "Asian" things about me include my fondness for video games, rice, designer shoes and white guys.

I dig white guys. Somewhere in the midst of the pseudo-nationalistic indoctrination my well-meaning parents inflicted upon me, I stopped paying attention and allowed tall(er), skinny, white boys steal my heart.

What’s up with the race treason? One theory: They love me. Asian fetish, yellow fever. Whatever you call it, there’s plenty of literature out there telling white men that slant-eyed princesses are the exotic, submissive, and hypersexualized women of their dreams.

This post, however, is not about why white guys live in a delusional fantasy world. It’s a dissertation on why, despite the tawdry roots of our suitors’ affection, I just eat it up. One economist says it’s because Asian women are the least discriminatory female demographic “the white man-Asian woman pairing was the most common form of interracial dating … because of the women’s neutrality, not the men’s pronounced preference.” (second to last paragraph)

Uh, okay. Whatever. What about my strict father and sheltered childhood? Plus, we all saw how well that John Lennon/Yoko Ono thing worked out. And I can’t resist everything white men have to offer ... and no, I’m not talking about that. White men indulge my deepest PDA-fantasies; they hold my hand, they aren’t terribly cerebral about their emotions, and they will, heaven forbid, tell their parents that we’re actually dating. Asian parents don’t do any of that gross hand-holding, making-out stuff. My brother learned the lesson; me, not so much.

Lastly, if you think this is all a pile of BS, we all can agree on one tangible reason the Asian/white pairing works so well. God knows we all just want highly attractive children, and halfie babies are so damn cute.

I just read my last post over and I'm pretty sure that it looks like I am waging and all out war on mothers and their young children since I blogged about them a couple other times (will add links later). I also noticed that my last post was raped with punctuation and grammatical errors, along with terrible sentence fragments (will not correct).

I've come to realize that some of the world's greatest insults involve a mother's young child. Sometimes, you don't have to even say anything to get the evil side eye from them. Cases in point:

1. I was at Tim Horton's hoping to get my fix of a greasy toasted, buttered onion bagel with Swiss cheese and bacon, I decided to go inside since I can't maneuver around those drive thrus and usually end up colliding with the yellow post ... and it's usually not padded when I hit it. I digress. So I was in line and a young mother and her 5 year old were in front of me ordering their shit. Cool, I guess ... it was a beautiful day and I wasn't about to go off on a rant about how 5 year olds really haven't earned the privilege to order their own shit quite yet. I suppose my only concern was why this school aged child was not in school at 1 in the afternoon on a Thursday. Not my place to voice my thoughts on the subject anyway. Plus, I could care less -- one less child meant one less kid's education to pay for come tax season.

Anyway, Little Junior decided to go for a "choco-chip muffin!". As I was secretly cursing this child for inspiring me to add more unnecessary carbs to my diet, his mother began praising him for being a "smart little boy for picking out his lunch!". Okay, cool ... doting parents are a good thing. I mean my parents were and look how I turned out ...

I guess it was kind of cute that Little Junior beamed with pride after his mother showered him with false acclamation. What wasn't cute was Mrs. Little Junior turned around to me and said (in that tone you use with your 5 year old son) "Isn't he the smartest boy in the world?! He can already read those labels! He's a genius, you know ... that's why we home school him."

I should remind you that I was having a relatively good day that bordered on great so in a sense, it was 'grood'. Until Mrs. (Ms.?) Little Junior decided to use me as a way to shop around for a compliment. I could have pointed out the following things to her about her statements:

a) "Isn't he the smartest boy in the world?!"

No. Actually the smartest boy in the world was born in 1992 or 1993 somewhere in India. Trust me, it gets more interesting. Akrit Jaswal pretty much started walking right out of his mother's womb and started to speak when he was about a year old - and not that "baba" crap either. Alright, so your little sister started walking around 6 months and began putting sentences together around 18 months. Pretty impressive, but did your little sister start reading Shakespeare at age 5? I doubt it. And I doubt Little Junior was getting his choco-chip muffin to enjoy MacBeth with. So walking, talking and reading doesn't impress you. Well, how about this? Akrit performed surgery. At age 6. And he didn't watch an episode of Manswers to learn how to wedge a bullet out of your arm either. He performed an operation on an 8 year old girl whose fingers were fused together. So yeah, fuck you and your "smart" boy. I'll consider it when I see him properly wield a scalpel.

b) "He can already read those labels!"

Uh, no he can't. You see, Mrs. LJ, those little black things are called chocolate chips. And if my exemplary studies on White Anglo Saxons are correct, then I am right to assume that LJ's short childhood has been riddled and showered upon with all things chocolate chip. So I am also right to assume that he'll eat everything that has anything resembling chocolate chips in it. Yes, even that dried up bird shit with flecks of dirt in it. No, he can't read ... he just recognizes the chocolate chips in the muffins -- not the label. On another note, Mrs LJ, do YOU even read the labels when you order your usual crap from Tim's?

c) "He's a genius, you know ... that's why we home-school him."

If he were an actual genius, he would have asked for a CHOCOLATE chip muffin. But he didn't. So he isn't. And why the hell would you home school a child as young as that? Mrs. LJ looked about 24 so I'm going to assume that she either has no other kids or has ones younger than LJ. Either way, not enrolling your average kid in school is detrimental to his well being. He's obviously not socializing with children his own age on a regular basis and with the Mrs's meaningless glorifications for mediocre behaviour ... I'm also going to assume that he'll grow up to be that prick with an asshole sense of entitlement where no one really likes him but puts up with him because they have to. And you probably "home school" him because you coddled him to the point where he was kicking and and screaming everyday when you dropped him off at kindergarten.

So anyway, while I was ruminating over what I could say to make this woman's day as bad as mine has now become (which was a long time), she looked at me indignantly when I couldn't come up with a proper way to schmooze her child. Mission: Accomplished.

2. So luck of the draw, I managed to sit beside another young mother with her newborn daughter. Cool, I guess ... at least she won't boast about her child's intellect since it seems to only consist of crying, eating and shitting. Which is quite impressive, considering most newborns do it all at once. Anyway, I took a quick side glance at this infant -- quick enough to catch a glimpse but not lingering enough to warrant a comment about The Other Compliment Fisher. Yep, you know it. As I was about to take a bite into cholesterol heaven I inconspicuously hear "Aww ... my little girl is so pretty! Aren't you just the cutest little thing ever?!" So I take my cue and REALLY look at this child. And dear God, what a child she was.

Now, I should mention that I used to work in a hospital as an intern when I toyed with the idea of being an OB-GYN. So I've seen about 137 newborns make their way into this depressing world. How many of those 137 newborns do I consider cute? I guess you can say all of them because they were small and small things are cute in a kawaii (Google it) sense. But cute as in aesthetically pleasing? None of them. Even after they're washed up and smelling like Baby Dove soap. Newborns are just ... weird looking. Especially if they are birthed naturally. Think about it ... all that bone to push through? Yeah, baby's black eye isn't quite sexy. And no matter how dilated you are, lady, that baby is still going to be bigger than that cervix of yours. Luckily, Mother Nature was kind enough to give our fresh infants a head soft enough to not kill mommy when they blaze triumphantly out of her. So you know what happens to a soft, pliable cranium shooting out of a hole that is usually supple and taut? It kind of resembles this:


Dan Aykroyd's stand in.

Yeah, not so pretty. The head rounds out and becomes normal after a week or so. But even after that, babies under 4 months of age are just not good looking. They're anatomically disproportioned. They may still have that weird fuzz on them that isn't hair and not quite fuzz. Their circulatory system is all mushed up inside them, giving them a bizarre purple tinge. And when it does all work out, they're terrifyingly pink. There is a reason why they use infants 6 months of age and older to portray their younger friends.

Listen, if I think your kid is remotely pleasing to the eye, I'll tell you. If I truly think s/he is the most adorable/prettiest/handsomest thing on Earth, I will truly gush to you about it (it's in the lady genes to do so). But when I don't think your child is that special, I'll try to compensate by saying something along the lines of "her outfit is SO frilly!" or "Wow, look at all his hair!". Trust me, it's better than the truth.

So when I failed to answer Mrs. Little Miss, I kind of gave a half smiled and mustered "her fingers are really long." She took this as a sign of me telling her that her child's appearance was worthy of being thrown off a cliff a la 300 (the movie) and turned her back on me. I soon decided that I was born to disappoint ALL mothers and not just my own.

Slightly content with ruining a second person's day in a row, I looked down and realized that unconditional love bypasses any flaw your little one may have when I saw my bagel sandwich.

IKEA furniture + a perfectionist father + a non handy mom + stubborn me = clusterfuck.

My doting father who usually praises me for almost everything managed to disown, belittle and curse me during this whole ordeal. It's safe to assume that IKEA frustration is universal.

Do you notice that people don't sit on a backward chair anymore?

Anyway, got into my program at U of T (University of Toronto, for you internationals). Am I looking forward to another (at minimum) 18 (straight) months of school? No. Am I going to go anywhere with what I have right now? No. Do I want to work any harder than I already have in order to achieve my long term goals? No. So this is what most people may call a "lack of motivation" ... I call it a clusterfuck. I should have left my goals at becoming a trophy wife. Sometimes, I regret not going into a trade right out of high school. I look at my millwright, welder, even plumber friends and see that they have (or are close to) what I hope to have in a few years' time. Sure, they may not have the prestige of 83 letters attached to their names. Nor do people talk to them in awe on their intelligence (I use 'intelligence' very loosely here). But in the end, it doesn't fucken matter. At the end of the day, some of my trade school friends are able to easily feed their family of four, pay the rent/mortgage and have cash left over to get wasted. Me? I have to scrape the bottom of my purse to buy a round of beers once a week.

So why do people put so much emphasis on education? Probably because they get a cut of my fucken tuition and in return I am able to use words like emphasis with confidence and authority.