If you asked us how we met, and you’d get two different answers.
I’d say, “We met dancing.”
My Chinese-American fiancé Andy would say, “We met at a bar.” He’d assume a nonchalant air, but you’d see his chest puff out, just a bit, as if to say, “I’m a player. That’s how I roll, scooping up white girls at the bar, every Friday night. I have moves. No woman can resist.” Continue reading You Can Dance, If You Want To. If Not, They’ll Make You. (#43)
One of my favorite shows is So You Think You Can Dance. The choreography is incredible, and the level of talent among the finalists is outstanding. The one thing I hate? The auditions. Continue reading White Assholes (#39)
Not long after my Chinese-American fiancé proposed, I caught a nasty cold. I am sure it had nothing to do with an engagement made stressful by stubborn Chinese parents. Continue reading Bitter Tea (#28)
Today I met my boyfriend’s family. I also discovered I was unworthy of my college gradation honors.
What kind of history major doesn’t do research?