From
Razorcake #39.
Feng Shui For Your CooterThere are a few things in life that I know and understand with great certainty and conviction.
1. Sparks will make your vomit orange.
2. Riding a bike is better than driving a car.
3. I’ll never get laid in China.
Tons of ex-pats can get booty in the Middle Kingdom. They’re mostly of the straight, white, entitled male type who may or may not have paid for said sex, but at least they’re getting some. I’m more of the Asian-American, bespectacled, tattooed, weighing more than 100 pounds, obnoxious, loud-mouthed, girl variety—and that hasn’t bode well for my sex life. And it blows. Not in the oral sexual kinda way, or else I wouldn’t be writing this shiz.
In the States I had some semblance of
game. Let’s say I’m at a party, I could Sharpie ™ “Let’s Make Out” on the palm of my hand, flash it to as many pairs of eyes as possible until someone thinks, “I’ve got nothing else to do, why not?” We find a dark corner to get our mack, on, with breaks in between our makeout session to refill our plastic cup before the keg’s tapped. A good ol’ fashioned we-got-drunk-at-a-house-show-and-totally-s
ucked-face story. Warms my heart and I miss it so.
In China, I can barely articulate myself when I’m out shopping, so negotiating a hook-up is nearly impossible. I don’t know the rules, so I can’t play the game. I need help from something beyond a Mandarin phrasebook. I need a ying for my yang.
Feng shui is the old school Chinese art of laying out and arranging buildings and rooms for the proper flow of qi (energy). It is a belief that the orientation of objects and living spaces can positively influence your life by creating a harmonious ying-yang balance through the movement of qi. For example, one of the basic guidelines to optimize proper qi movement is to avoid having the front and back doors aligned because the qi will shoot right through your house. Instead, you want qi to cycle through slowly, so that the goodness will hang out and flow around for a while. Another rule is that chairs and sofas should not be placed with their backs to windows, as that will leave you vulnerable to attacks. Attacks from what? I dunno, but you don’t wanna funk with Chinese voodoo.
New age yuppies spend fistfuls of cash to gurus to come to their homes and offices to move furniture around. Life, liberty and the pursuit of interior design zen.
Since I’m Asian, one might assume that my kung fu is unbeatable, my va-jay-jay is slanted and that I’m an innate feng shui practitioner. While all of the above is true, my feng shui skills are actually pretty weak, as exemplified by my inability to get someone to stick their qi in me.
Although, I’m no feng shui master, I have learned plenty about what not to do if one wanted to achieve carnal pleasure in China. In the spirit of human enlightenment, I present to you
Amy Adoyzie’s Feng Shui for Your Cooter (or Reasons Why My VaChina is Depressed Due to Lack of Social Activity).
- I am Chinese-American.In
mei guo (America), there’s a brethren of brothas and sistas who are afflicted with yellow fever—which means that they would all find me undeniably adorable and irresistible based solely on my ethnicity. Racist fetishism aside, it meant guaranteed bootay across the U.S.A. However, in a country with 1.3 billion Chinesies, my Asianness is a hindrance.
Due to the one-child policy and preference for sons, many baby girls were victims of infanticide and this caused a massive imbalance between the genders. Even though Chinese women my age are at a premium, I’m still denied because of Americaness. My American passport is intimidating because this is very much a patriarchal society, and a Chinese dude doesn’t want a girl who’ll tell them to fuck off because she’d rather be in America where there’s freedom of speech and junk.
- I’m a total nerd.Punk rock librarians and indie-pop bartenders might list geekery and bookishness as turn-ons, but the general Chinese population would disagree. I prefer my horn-rimmed eyeglasses over eyeliner, my SPF15 lip balm over lip gloss, my old-school American-made Vans over uncomfortable sparkly heels. I’m pretty lo-fi and it takes me all of 15 minutes to get ready.
I’d rather spend hours perusing Wikipedia to find obscure facts about cancelled television shows and Mitch Hedberg quotes than investing energy on primping and plucking so’s that other people can judge me based on how every strand of hair is in its place.
Chinese people are all about appearances and putting on a good front. The expanding Chinese middle-class likes to show off their expendable income with tailored clothes and flat-iron hair. The women are so obsessed with making sure everything is in its place that they straighten their straight black hair.
No thanks.
The extent of my hair regiment involves shampoo and conditioner, rinse and repeat.
- I’ve got a few tattoos.Generally speaking, the only types of Chinese women who have tattoos are prostitutes or freak shows. While I will admit to being a little bit of both, I have never been paid for sex nor have I ever belonged to a traveling circus. As far as the Chinese are concerned, I obviously have no respect for myself and my body to permanently scar it with beautiful pieces of art that have deep meaning to me.
Chinese standards of beauty prize pale skin and there’s a whole industry of skin-lightening making billions of yuan based off self-hate and the theory that only working-class folks are dark, and no one wants to be working class. Even freckles are frowned upon and is regarded as facial blemishes rather than as adorable lil’ love specks that God sprinkled on our beautiful faces. One can imagine that if those are the standards by which I am measured, my olive, freckly, tattooed ass isn’t being scouted for modeling campaigns.
- I weigh more than a hundred pounds.I’ve been lucky in that I was born and raised in a first-world nation, a country that is bulging with an obesity epidemic and where competitive eating is considered a sport. I’m no waif, nor am I built like a brick shithouse. I’m the proud owner of a beer belly, but I can still fit comfortably into a youth large t-shirt. And I’ve got booty to boot. In the States, my 5’1” frame is considered a small/medium, but in China I’ve grown to gargantuan proportions and the only clothes that will fit me usually bear two letters: X and L.
The Chinese do not regard heftiness as a sign of wealth, like you're fat because you can afford to sit on your ass all day rather than hauling buckets of dirt on your shoulders. Instead, it is viewed as more of a failure in self-control and the inability to endure hunger. Chinese peeps are good at suffering. If it ain't state-sanctioned starving via the Cultural Revolution, it's 21st century image-conscious deprivation in order to shrink themselves away.
Chi ku. Eat bitter. It's a staple in the Chinese diet. It means to just grin and bear it, you're shit outta luck and that life is hard, so just deal with it.
I'd prefer an In N' Out grilled cheese sandwich and real ice cream chocolate milkshake. I don't think I'll ever adapt to the bitter diet.
- I enjoy being obnoxious and loud.For all the shit that I’ve talked during my short adult life, I’m surprised I haven’t been treated to a royal ass-whoopin’. Like the time I was a house party for a girl who was trying to raise money for some medical bills and I was gauche enough to say that she looked like
faces of meth. Or when asked about whether I would ever do the nasty with one of our fellow teachers, I said
only if I were blind and couldn’t say no. Or the other time when I told the Modern Machines that they were
hit or miss.
The junk that comes stumbling out of my mouth can only be described as rude, uncouth or total bullshit. But I secretly enjoy being an asshole because it cracks my friends up, and if I'm anything—I'm a good friend.
It's unfortunate that the Chinese are not privy to my swearword-laden missives and ridiculous sense of humor. Words like douchebaggery and cumrag don't translate well, so all my witticisms are lost on their yellow ears and all they hear is gobbly-gook. How am I supposed the charm the pants off the Chinesies if they can't understand me?
And it's not ladylike to laugh out loud, an activity that I wholeheartedly endorse. It's offensive that girls are told to suppress their joy and cover their mouths should a giggle emerge. I can't imagine never laughing so hard that you can't breathe, your cheeks hurt and your belly is sore afterwards. But that type of physical manifestation of happiness is considered a grotesque display.
If unabashed expression of ridiculous amounts of joy is ugly, then I'm hideous.
- I am a girl.Who am I, a
Chinese-American girl, to find pleasure from fucking?! How dare I know what I want and then ask for it? Wait, I'm not a virgin?!
* * * * *Luckily, all of this will be a distant memory in a couple months. My
game will be restored once the custom officials pound my passport with a Chinese departure stamp. I shall return to the land of plenty and grab me a piece of certifiable American ass.
My cooter doesn’t need feng shui. It needs to go home.
