Don’t Whine, Ditch That White Boy (#259)

There’s plenty of whining on social media.

My favorite GOP whine, which I find hilarious as a former Washingtonian, comes from current Trump/ Republican staffers in D.C. The Trumpers complained that they are harassed and ostracized by locals; instead of touting their proximity to power as Obama staffers did, they vaguely mumble about working for the government when asked about their jobs. (I love you, D.C.!)

A similarly entertaining whine comes from the 62% of white American males who voted for Trump: women hate them. Women won’t date them. Women will actually ditch them in the middle of a date, upon learning that they are GOP supporters. Women have divorced husbands who voted for Trump.

Meanwhile, on Twitter and Instagram, my fellow white women are also whining, especially those who are college-educated and have advanced degrees. It’s apparently quite hard to find a white partner who is educated, motivated, unthreatened by a woman’s success, shares domestic chores, and doesn’t cheat.

That squares with what I remember back when I was dating.

It also squares with what I’ve heard from other Mom-friends at book clubs or playdates: their white husbands suck.

Take Nurse Mom, who supported her wanna-be restauranteur husband through at least three failed business ventures while having three children. Her white husband does no childcare and thinks nothing of dropping his dirty clothes right next to the hamper. Not only is he not doing laundry, he can’t even be bothered drop his clothes six inches to the right, into the actual hamper.

There’s Marketing Mom, with two children, insane work hours, and husband who was supposedly a contractor. Or a chef. Only he did neither of those things. She cooked and payed for childcare while he was working out with friends. Also, he’s been remodeling their house for four years. It’s not done.

Cop Mom managed all the cooking, cleaning, and childcare while working full-time for the LAPD. Her LAPD husband ditched her and the kids every weekend to watch sports in either Vegas or at the Elk’s Lodge. And of course he thought they should have a 3rd kid, because it wouldn’t impact his life at all. (I thought she should take his gun and shoot him.)

I could add horror stories about the husbands of Dr. Mom, Teacher Mom, Yoga Mom, Realtor Mom, or Screenwriter Mom. Some of these moms have since divorced and are so much happier. Some are just waiting for their kids to leave the house so they can bolt, too. Some —okay, ONE—is still convinced her husband is fabulous.

Every single one of these women expressed envy and amazement when they learned that my Chinese-American husband:

  • Handled 80% of the marketing and cooking.
  • Changed 80% of the diapers when he was home.
  • Took care of his own child and pets when his wife had plans/ conferences/ needed a girl’s weekend away.

“You’re so lucky,” these wives of white men would marvel.

Initially, I would agree with them (and sometimes pour salt in their wounds by telling them Andy can also dance and is handy around the house).

But eventually, it got old.

The last time Cop Mom bitched about her do-nothing husband and how lucky I was to have Andy, I went off.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” I snarled.  “I’m smart. Smart enough not to limit myself to the white man dating scene, which is literally littered with entitled misogynists who think they’re God’s gift. Instead, I found the son of immigrants whose parents worked hard and expected him to do the same. His mother didn’t pick up after him–she was busy working. His father didn’t raise him to think he was entitled to a good job or hot women. Andy spent the weekends doing chores until he got a job and he worked his way through college and grad school. And then he worked on himself and worked out and learned to cook and dance. So you’d better believe that when I meet a guy like that, who laughs at my jokes and thinks I’m amazing, I’m hanging on to him. I’m only lucky that I met him. Everything else is because I’m SMART!”

I may have yelled that last sentence because Cop Mom was backing hurriedly out of the room. Too much truth is hard for some people. (Especially cops, but that’s another post.)

I know various readers are going to argue that they know/ are married to decent white guys. Like my friend JM (yes, JM, your husband didn’t make the “Shitty Men in Hollywood List,” and he cooks, I know, he’s a keeper). For those insisting that there are some hard working white men who treat women well out there, you aren’t wrong. Of the 1/3 of them that didn’t vote for Trump, maybe 1/3 of them will cook. Maybe another third will handle childcare and do dishes and MAYBE 1/3 of those men aren’t gay.

The numbers are not in your favor, my fellow American white women.

But kudos to all of you who’ve kicked a misogynist, racist Trump voter to the curb.

Next up, find yourself an immigrant, or the son of immigrants. Or at least a person with some melanin, for chrissakes. They’re less likely to support Trump. They’re increasingly likely to be educated, whereas white men are not. They haven’t been raised by Moms, Dads, and American media to think that the sun shines out of their white ass.

And in the immortal words of Lin Manuel Miranda:

Cop Mom eventually filed for divorce. Last I heard, she was dating a Latino.

The Beat Down at an English Pub (#134)

Did I smell a rat at the pub?
Did I smell a rat at the British pub?

My Chinese-American husband and I have been lucky. Unlike so many other AMWF couples, Andy and I have never been harassed by racists. Maybe it’s because we live in Los Angeles, multi-racial city. Or maybe it’s because Angelenos are too self-absorbed to notice other people’s skin color.

Probably it’s because skin color doesn’t register when you’re always looking at your phone. Continue reading The Beat Down at an English Pub (#134)

When East Dates West: 1 Year Anniversary Post (#116)

IMG_2287Today is my website’s one year anniversary!

I’m amazed that I’ve been blogging for an entire year.

I’m beyond amazed that my blog averages four hundred human hits daily (though this is small potatoes to some bloggers, I remember when twenty hits was a good day).

I’m not really amazed that many of those hits come from porn-seekers.

A sincere thank you to all the readers who weren’t looking for porn.

A special thank you to all those readers who were looking for porn and decided to read on anyway. Continue reading When East Dates West: 1 Year Anniversary Post (#116)

Son-in-Law vs. Daughter-in-Law (#110)

IMG_5730When I butted heads with my in-laws, I had a secret weapon. Well, more like a secret label, really. I was able to avoid taking their criticism personally by calling it “a cultural difference.”

Doubling the number of bridesmaids to 8 due to Chinese superstitions about the Voldemort of numbers? It’s a pain in the ass, but fine, I’ll respect your superstition.

Ignoring the fact that I hate seafood and making sure every dish at the Chinese Wedding Banquet was marine? Well, each dish had some cultural significance and my in-laws paid for it. I fed my portions to my new husband and said nothing. Continue reading Son-in-Law vs. Daughter-in-Law (#110)

Gifting East (#86)


I’ve seen quite a few blogs about the pitfalls of intercultural gift-giving. One Chinese-Canadian woman overwhelmed her new boyfriend’s parents with “over-the-top” gifts. Western blogger Ruby Ronin nearly drowned in food and red envelopes from the parents of various Asian boyfriends.

Meanwhile, I lived in a veritable gift vacuum. I received NO RED ENVELOPES from Andy’s Chinese-born parents. Continue reading Gifting East (#86)

Surname Siege (#80)

Knight looks elsewhere
Guess who’s the white pawn?

Last you heard, our interracial lovers got married and flew off into the sunsets of Playa del Carmen.

It should be the end of this blog, right? I mean, West met East, fell in love, got engaged, and got married, and lived happily ever after. End of story.

In fact, the battles had only just begun. Continue reading Surname Siege (#80)

No Thank You (#65)


My Southern grandmother drilled old-fashioned etiquette into my mother’s head. My mother drilled that same etiquette into mine. Which is weird, really. My mother turned her back on much of her upbringing when she became a liberated woman. She reclaimed her maiden name. She mortified my grandmother by embracing their Cherokee heritage and getting suntans so dark my racist grandmother would insist – in the most DIRE tones — that “her daughter was turning black.” My mother discarded “Mrs.,” bras, hats, gloves, and the idea that all ladies should be competent with a stove or a vacuum. Continue reading No Thank You (#65)

An Interview with Andy & Instructions for Meeting Women (#55)

This was supposed to be my first “Guest Post,” written entirely by my Chinese-American guy, Andy.  It only took me five months of badgering, and I was super excited about it.  His deadline was yesterday.

This morning, Andy showed me his post.  It was a one-page flow chart. Continue reading An Interview with Andy & Instructions for Meeting Women (#55)

Dirty Laundry (#53)


Dan Savage has a very funny and oh-so-true post about the myth of finding “the one:”

…[when] you meet somebody for the first time…they’re presenting their idealized self to you… Continue reading Dirty Laundry (#53)

Once Upon a Time, When We Were Just Friends (#50)

You can learn a lot about a guy when you’re stuck in airport lines.

My Chinese-American fiancé and I were friends and dance partners for a long time before we got romantically involved. We spent a ton of time together at airports and hotels, not to mention the dance floor. We got to know each other very well. Continue reading Once Upon a Time, When We Were Just Friends (#50)