Tough Ruv

One of my Asian acquaintances, "Tuan," recently announced that he'd found a new boyfriend, further strengthening the idea that I'll be the only single guy in my circle of friends and inciting a new level of pity from them as well. He went on about how they're such a good fit and I tried my best not to choke on the maraschino cherry I was eating. I am by no means a bitter person. I just hate hearing people gush about love.

My ears perked up when I heard that Tuan's newest love interest was a notorious rice queen who'd constantly tried to get a slice of my pie a few months ago. Rice queens are men who love Asians, and self-proclaimed rice queens rank extremely low on my priority list of types of people I would save if I knew that aliens were going to destroy the human race and I had a chance to do something about it.

This guy threw a party a few months ago and I had the pleasure of viewing his extensive gallery of past boyfriends who just happened to be small-framed, smooth Asian boys. It wasn't until I saw the rice cooker in his kitchen that I was officially freaked out.

You're probably wondering why I feel so strongly against rice queens, considering how hard it is for gay Asian males to get dates in Chicago because of negative stereotypes (insert pinky finger gesture here). But how can you be with someone in a romantic sense, knowing that the only reason why they're with you is because you're Asian. That's something over which you have no control. It's something that you didn't work hard to cultivate or polish, so snagging someone just because you happen to fit a certain racial criteria isn't something you should be proud of.

Imagine going on The Newlywed Game and it's the part of the show where Bob Eubanks asks your husband what first attracted him to you and he says: "I loved the way he resembled a twelve year old boy when I had him on all fours, even though he's thirty years old." or "I loved his slanted eyes and his fondness for Kimchi." I'd much rather have a guy who tells a funny story about how we met at a street corner and fought over the last issue of The Onion in the newspaper box. I want a guy who is a self-proclaimed "neuron queen," attracted to my intelligence.

I don't know Tuan very well, and maybe he's happy living in his tapioca bubble. Maybe it's none of my business and I shouldn't say anything to him. He'll be at a cocktail party next week with his new man and I could go and be a silent witness to the beginning their doomed relationship... but drunken tirades that reveal embarrassing truths about others are so much more fun!