So I got bored
Feb. 5th, 2009 11:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laleiaSo once upon a time, some guy in L.A. posted this on craigslist. Which is sort of like a delightfully sarcastic commentary on the Asian girl - White guy phenomenon. I laughed when I read it the first time. The second time through, I started getting really annoyed, and realized that the writer was kind of a passive-aggressive asshole.
Excerpt:
Ever since Chad took you out back in high school and made you the envy of all homecoming, you’ve understood the magical power of white boys. Your parents balked until they saw how well Chet treated you and made you so so so happy. You tell yourself you don’t see color lines, and that you’re ending racism by only dating white guys – and you give yourself a little pat on the back every night before dreaming of waking up with beautiful blonde hair. You’ve even thrown in a black guy or two, just to get back at daddy. Asian guys? Like, gag me with a spoon!
The girl he was referring to was not me. But it could have been.* So I wrote a response.
To the passive-aggressive Asian "brother" who doesn't have enough guts to ask me out, but seems ballsy enough to expose his insecurities to the world via craigslist:
I'm sorry you misinterpreted my flirting with the cute guy who actually paid me a compliment as to being all about you. I'm sorry my harmless fun infringed on your reading, that suddenly my every action was a reaction to your presence, that the moment you entered the coffeeshop, everything I did was because you were there.
Maybe if you grew a spine once in a while, and asked me out, or paid me a compliment, or, you know, initiated some flirting I would be bringing home a nice Chinese boy and wouldn't have to listen to my parents lecture for me for hours on end.
I'm sorry every white guy out there who has told me I have beautiful eyes apparently only does so because they have an Asian fetish, and only like me because of my hair and eyes and skin color -- not because I'm pretty or kind or smart or witty, or anything like that.
Maybe next time, instead of making assumptions, you could ask me out. Or, you know, not, since you seem to be a passive-aggressive asshole.
P.S. They're not stilettos -- they're kitten heels.
*You know. If I were the kind of girl who flirted, went to coffeeshops, or anything like that.
Excerpt:
Ever since Chad took you out back in high school and made you the envy of all homecoming, you’ve understood the magical power of white boys. Your parents balked until they saw how well Chet treated you and made you so so so happy. You tell yourself you don’t see color lines, and that you’re ending racism by only dating white guys – and you give yourself a little pat on the back every night before dreaming of waking up with beautiful blonde hair. You’ve even thrown in a black guy or two, just to get back at daddy. Asian guys? Like, gag me with a spoon!
The girl he was referring to was not me. But it could have been.* So I wrote a response.
To the passive-aggressive Asian "brother" who doesn't have enough guts to ask me out, but seems ballsy enough to expose his insecurities to the world via craigslist:
I'm sorry you misinterpreted my flirting with the cute guy who actually paid me a compliment as to being all about you. I'm sorry my harmless fun infringed on your reading, that suddenly my every action was a reaction to your presence, that the moment you entered the coffeeshop, everything I did was because you were there.
Maybe if you grew a spine once in a while, and asked me out, or paid me a compliment, or, you know, initiated some flirting I would be bringing home a nice Chinese boy and wouldn't have to listen to my parents lecture for me for hours on end.
I'm sorry every white guy out there who has told me I have beautiful eyes apparently only does so because they have an Asian fetish, and only like me because of my hair and eyes and skin color -- not because I'm pretty or kind or smart or witty, or anything like that.
Maybe next time, instead of making assumptions, you could ask me out. Or, you know, not, since you seem to be a passive-aggressive asshole.
P.S. They're not stilettos -- they're kitten heels.
*You know. If I were the kind of girl who flirted, went to coffeeshops, or anything like that.
