I used to think that having black hair and slanted eyes was enough to make me Asian, but then I actually went to Asia and discovered I was kind of wrong. Sure, having certain physical features was enough to get me through the door, but from a cultural standpoint my Asianness was pretty watered down compared to the residents of the Motherland.
 
 …Yes, I said “residents” instead of “Asians” because I know that citizenship is no longer limited by continental boundaries (say “yes!” to globalization!)–i.e., you don’t have to live in a certain place because of your race (say “yes!” to rhyming!). Only people who live in caves think otherwise…they also eat twigs and make friends with wall paintings.

Anyway, this epiphany got me thinking: if my Asianness is watered down, then there has to be someone whose Asianness is more concentrated (hmm…suddenly I feel like having some orange juice)…so what makes someone hardcore Asian? Besides never knowing that “99 Ranch Market” had a cereal aisle even though he or she had been buying groceries there for centuries. There has to be some common factors amongst the more-Asianness community, right?

I decided to snoop around my friends’ and relatives’ stuff do some very scientific research and found 10 things that make someone more Asian (I’m 100% sure there are more than 10 things, but I got really lazy…please feel free to make suggestions!). It doesn’t matter what your race is; you’ve got some Asian in you if you do any of these things:

1. There is a bag of dried shiitake mushrooms somewhere in your kitchen…most likely near a bag of tiny, dried shrimps.

2. You will never be seen buying a bag of rice that doesn’t weigh 20 pounds.

3. You can eat street food without ever getting explosive diarrhea (how I envy you).

4. Tea bags are for the weak! Your drink of choice is dried plant matter swimming in hot water.

5. It’s not “stomach lining;” it’s called “tripe.”

6. You are lactose intolerant.

7. You are a badass when it comes to eating fish and chicken: you chew from one side of your mouth while spitting out bones from the other.

8. You knew who Edison Chen was before he became famous for being an avid beaver photographer.

9. You know what “boba” really means—and it doesn’t have anything to do with brown tapioca balls.

10. Just because it smells like ass doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t eat it.
 

Here’s a message I received today that I guess is a response to my most recent post. I’m not going to reveal the writer’s identity because he has taken the pussy route and enabled Xanga Lock, but I did leave all the spelling errors and bad grammar intact—a huge sacrifice as I am the queen of grammar whores.

Silivia,

I was originally going to respond to this message privately, but changed my mind after I remembered that I’m not the type to pass up on an opportunity to publicly humiliate someone. Yes, crapping on someone’s self-esteem is already pretty entertaining—but whatever joy I experience is exponentially increased when shared with others. And when more people feel joy in their lives, the world becomes a happier place. Thus, when you think about it, by deriving amusement at someone else’s expense I’m really doing something good for human kind.

But you’re not the type to consider such minor details. The only thing you overly sensitive, self-righteous assholes care about is making society bear the burden of someone else’s responsibilities. When a kid does something violent, you don’t blame his parents for failing to teach him basic moral principles; you instead blame the companies associated with television shows, movies, and video games that depict violence. It doesn’t matter that the kid hasn’t seen any of that stuff; you believe the companies should be held accountable because if it hadn’t been for them, rotten children wouldn’t exist—although that doesn’t explain why a majority of kids manage not to rot despite all this violent media threatening to poison their minds. I wonder if it has something to do with most parents realizing that their children are their responsibility, and not society’s…

Naturally then, it’s not the individual’s fault they have body issues—it’s my fault because my blog had the words “diet pill,” “Alli,” and “eating disorder.”

Seriously, instead of fighting battles that aren’t there, why don’t you do something productive like shoving your douche baggery up your butt? And after that, you can learn how to read and write properly…because if anyone should be ashamed–I mean “ahsamed”–it’s you for being a walking turd.

People who have successfully dealt with “One False Move Moments” tend to have better analytical skills, and can quickly find the correct solution out of the trillions of incorrect ones. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people for I tend to choose the worst solutions imaginable. Going back to my outfit example, if I were caught in the nightmarish situation of having to tell a woman that her attire makes her look fat, there is a 99.9999% chance that I would say, “you look like a sausage being choked to death by its own casing” instead of “that color does not do you justice.” I’m sorry, but I can’t ignore the obvious when it is parading in front of my face. I’m cursed, I tell you, cursed!

Anyway, I experienced another awkward situation while having lunch with one of my friends–let’s call her “Friend”…and while we’re at it, let’s call me “Creative Genius at Coming Up With Fake Names.”

ME: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

I uhh’d for about a minute; that’s my go-to plan whenever I find myself on the verge of saying something that is either offensive or could easily be interpreted as such. Although doing this makes me look like a dumbass, it has saved me many times…well, no…that’s not true. It actually prolongs the agony.

FRIEND: What?

ME: Because….

Maybe I’m wrong, but if I ever saw myself buying diet pills I’d immediately think “eating disorder” instead of “she’s buying it for a friend.” 

Since I didn’t feel like being scrutinized that day, I therefore didn’t feel like doing her that favor. But saying it outright would have been rude; it would’ve instead been better to say something like “‘Alli’ makes your butt leak oil” or “exercise is more effective than diet pills,” or maybe even “I heard ‘Alli’ is manufactured in sweatshops and the secret ingredient is feces.” And I would have gone with any of those three choices had I been blessed with a couple more IQ points–but I wasn’t, hence why I said:

ME: You would probably do better getting it on your own. It makes more sense.

Threat neutralized! I am awesome!

FRIEND: What do you mean by that?

ME: You’re on a diet–and “Alli” is for dieters. So…?

I am screwed!

FRIEND: Are you calling me fat?

ME: No…but…uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

I ended up agreeing to help Friend out because, as expected, I offended her with my piss-poor attempt at conquering the “One False Move Moment.” And guess what happened when I went to buy those freaking “Alli” pills…

The “Street Fighter” references I made in my recent posts got me reminiscing about a time when I thought that game was the best thing ever. I started playing it when my parents took my sister and me out to dinner at a restaurant that had a “Street Fighter II” arcade system, and after spending $2.00 getting my ass beat, I was totally hooked. I ended up buying an SNES specifically so I could play that game.

And of course, like every other female gamer, my character of choice was Chun Li. Why? Because she was the only one with a vagina. Back then, there was no Cammy or that dyke version of Ryu who had a severe cocaine problem (hence why she was always playing with her nose). So if you wanted a girl fighter, you had to stick with Chun Li or the other feminine character, Vega.

Chun Li was almost like my Capcom-created twin because she was Asian and female…key word: almost. The problem was that her signature moves were horrible–i.e., only better than Balrog’s. The fireball was disgustingly slow, and too hard for me to pull off. I think I only managed to use it twice, and that was because I wore a sock over my hand to help my thumb glide over the controller buttons. And that Whirlwind Kick was useless against the computer; all it had to do was kick me to dispel it. The only way that move could be successful was if you were playing against a pervert who was easily distracted by nonexistent panty shots.

What was left was the button-mashing-friendly Lightning Kick, but even that was a turd pile. I mean, as useful as it was, Chun Li would keep kicking a few seconds after I stopped button-mashing and thus could not defend or evade. And people took advantage of my momentary immobilization by jumping over me and then kicking my ass from behind.

Pfft! You suck, Chun Li!

And yes, she’s speaking Chingrish!

Forgive me for inadvertently giving you all the silent treatment. I have been in China for the past few days to check out mail-order brides and train for the Olympics. I’m trying to get a gold medal in the “How Long One Can Survive a Public Bathroom in a Chinese Mall” competition. What do you mean that’s not a sport? Using a public bathroom in China (and Taiwan, for that matter) requires the power of steroids, er, strength of mind and body or else you will never be able to survive the suffocating smell of old, rancid urine. It’s an endurance sport, I tell you! Endurance! visit friends and family, and unfortunately Xanga is one of the sites the Internet always has trouble connecting to. Must be because the government knows democracy can be purchased with Credits.
 
Anyway…
 
While I don’t consider myself a violent person, when I feel like I am being taken advantage of, it really makes me wish I could have a Michael-Corleone-bathroom-gun-scene moment and punish that person like a total badass. I would even go so far as to give up a vital organ if it meant I could get the chance to make mashed potatoes out of the nuts of some jerk who thought he could profit off my vulnerabilities.
 
For example, this asshat cab driver I came across in Shanghai. I was having a late dinner with my cousin and a friend, and by the time we were done the subway had stopped running for evening; it was also raining pretty hard. Apparently, when these two factors occur, it gives cab drivers the right to inflate their fees. Thus, although the cab ride from our hotels to the restaurant was only 30 yuan (about $4), it was going to cost us 130 yuan ($18) to get home! 
 
Luckily—and I use that word very, very loosely—we managed to get a cab to take us back for a mere 100 yuan ($ do the math yourself). This was after we had been trying to find a legitimate driver for almost half an hour, while at the same time fending off the many shady weirdoes who offered us rides. So by the time I was finally able to get into a cab, I was not only tired–I was also incredibly pissed-the-f*ck-off…so pissed that during the entire ride home, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to ninja star the cab driver’s face, or Wolverine one of his ears off. Imagine how badass I would be if, right when he dropped us off and demanded his money, I Hadoken’d his dumbass and then beat him with a rubber hose covered in lice. Oh man…sometimes I turn myself on!
 
But…knowing me, it is better that I lack the power to badassly punish people since I’d most likely end up using it in situations were badassing would be excessive and completely unnecessary.

Bad Fast Food Badassing!

Bad Hygenic Gym Behavior Badassing!