The Other Side: Chinese Women Who Have Married Big Stupid Foreign Jerks and Regret It Deeply

Just in case you've been thinking I'm a bit harsh on Chinese women, let me present the other side of the argument, the nice Chinese girl who marries (or worse, lives with but doesn't get him to commit) a Foreign Guy. There are so many asshats in this town, foreign riff raft that couldn't possibly get a job in their own country, and as most are men--and foreign men are at a premium here--they pretty much can do zip and still live comfortably. The typical unskilled foreign worker without any Chinese language skills can still land an ok job "teaching" English, despite the lack of qualifications, knowledge, background, skill, or even a command of basic syntax.

Enter the long-suffering patient Chinese girlfriend who really IS a nice person, who "loves" her foreign boyfriend, and who ends up borrowing a lot of money from her family to buy an apartment and a car so her boyfriend doesn't ever have to find a real job. Most of my male friends who married local girls treat them like shit, to be honest, and the girls tolerate it because Divorce is Bad and also, they're waiting for the payoff, a cute pale baby, and the opportunity to flaunt their exotic boyfriend/husband at the company New Year dinner.

Here is a True Tale of a horrific marriage.

She: a really lovely woman (ok, lovely on the INSIDE, but that's where it really counts) with a Master's in something bright from an American university.

He: Slope-shouldered wannabe musician.

Family: They have a baby. They have two different maids for the baby, plus someone who does the scut work (a scullery maid of sorts.) While She works a demanding job, He stays at home and strums his guitar, plays Wii, and fucks one of the nannies in his wife's bed.  No kidding. I was over there a few weeks ago and he disappeared into the back room. I heard a whistle---visions of the Von Trapp family dancing in my head--and Nanny 1 looked up from the child she was tending, deeply annoyed, handed the baby off to Nanny 2, and strode into the bedroom, where I heard the unmistakable sound of humping. Ten minutes later she emerged, exchanged a look with Nanny 2, and went back to playing with the baby. He emerged shortly, not having so much as showered, picked up his guitar, and said, "Right, did you want to warm up your voice before we start recording?"

I said, rather stingingly I thought, "How's your wife?" and he replied amiably, "Pretty good. I gave her a pickle tickle before she left for work this morning, so that ought to hold her for a few days."

Gallantry may not be dead, but it's hard to find in China.

How Foreign Guys Get Fooled by the Local Girls in China

Gentlemen:

If you are not that hot or popular in your country, why do you think you are suddenly God's gift to women in THIS one? Is it the air? The lovely filmy haze that prevents us from seeing the sky, which suddenly veils your flaws and gives you the appearance of a Greek god? Or is it--gasp--the fact you are someone's ticket out of here?

Two things to note: several of the best marriages I have seen are mixed, between people of different countries. Of these, almost none are Foreign Man-Chinese Woman. Second, I have several Beijing-born women friends  who are married to foreigners and only ONE has told me it was a love match and that she'd do it all over again. ONE! So if you're here, or thinking of coming here, read on:

For a woman of a certain age (over 25) and possibly divorced as well, a foreign man is the ONLY chance they have of a better life. Chinese men like younger women: rich men look for young mistresses, the preferred age being a freshman at university, and most "nice" boys are married off a year or two after university ends, as soon as their families can cough up enough money to buy the bride, the apartment, the car, etc. While salaries have gone up, most female teachers work like dogs and still earn only about 4,000 RMB a month. The hope of finding a love match is slim, as what decent family would want an "old" bride, one who is not a virgin, who is saddled with the curse of a divorce? Enter The Foreign Man.

He probably doesn't speak any Chinese, or it's limited. So the Chinese girl's English skills, however minimal, are not as important as the fact she can get things done, like read the shut-off notice from the gas company and go in, raise hell, and get the gas turned back on. Unless she's a top graduate of a famous university, she's not going far in her career, and let's face it, if you have the choice between driving your half-foreign kids to school in a Mercedes every day, or having to ride your bicycle in the rain to your dreary job as a receptionist or sales clerk, which would you choose?

As a Greek friend put it, "In Greece we love our friends and use money: Here, they use their friends and love money." If you're dating a Chinese girl, she will expect financial security, and soon. She may say she's ok "waiting and loving you" until your divorce is through, but you better pony up a very large engagement ring the day you're free, or else.

Let me share some tips, small things I have observed.

Number One: She will say your dick is big. Huge. So big, in fact, she can't get it in! Anecdotal evidence: I once lived next door to a semi-hooker who had a new foreign boyfriend every two weeks. Night one, she'd invite him in for a nightcap then lie and say she was a virgin good girl but maybe, if they went out again, she's consider giving in...Night two, she'd pretend she'd never given a blow job before, and her monologue consisted of, "Oh, it so big! I just want put in mouth! Oh, neber I do dis before!" Night three, she'd scream in pretend pain, "Oh, it so big! I neber know West man so big!" Night four, she'd be screaming, "Oh, only West cock make me satisfy!" Night five, post-coital tears, and a plea to buy her her own apartment as "Bad neighbor so jealous." Night six, refuse to put out until he bought apartment. Night seven, go out and look for a new sucker.

Anecdote two: I almost feel bad for mentioning this one, as a woman of my acquaintance actually pulled it on a friend of mine, WHO BELIEVED IT, but since it brought him out of a year-long funk, who the hell am I to tell him? Here it is: when you try to bed her, she's going to lie and say she can't get it in because it's too big. When, after about 28 hours of "trying" it DOES slip in dock she will scream/groan and let you know you have stretched her Hello Kitty to hell and back and now you owe her. In truth, now she owns you.

Number Two: Chinese women are incredibly selfish and manipulative and you probably won't find this out until long after the wedding, if you're lucky. The young ones were brought up as Little Empresses with four doting grandparents, parents who came into big money about 10 years ago, and with a media that insists that girls are brainless twits who deserve to be pushed around in shopping carts by long-suffering pouty boyfriends while munching sweets and whining like a demented four-year-old.  Or you can be like one poor soul I know who got engaged recently to a local girl he's known for a good three months only to be told that she believes in celibacy and will continue to be celibate after marriage. Well, as I told him, at least she told you up front.  Friend number two, also recently engaged to a girl he met last month, told me he and Comrade Right  had the following conversation this morning.

He: Remember, we're going to Dan's birthday dinner tonight.

She: No, we're not.

He: Huh?

She: I told you you can't go. I don't want to go so you can't go. You will go with me shopping.

He: But I told Dan we're going! We're taking him out to dinner.

She: We are not wasting our money on him. He can have dinner by himself.

Nice, eh? For the record, I did tell this guy to grow a pair and tell her to back off. But my phone just rang and it was Dan wondering where the hell they were and were they with me by any chance. And once I post this, the chances that they will ever grace me with their presence will diminish like your testicles post wedded bliss.

The Fifteen Minute Orgasm and Triple Testosterone Man

I have a pal at school, my age, whom I thought I could talk to about pop culture. He's the only one I know who can throw off a witty line using terms like "peer-reviewed journal" which to me is a real plus in someone to hang with. So, we're sitting in the cafeteria at school, surrounded by students, when he confesses he's eating light to --and I quote---triple his testosterone and have fifteen minute orgasms. Again--lunch time--surrounded by students. There must be some part of me that takes sick delight in the crazy shit people say and do, because I didn't get up and walk out at that point. Oh, no, I asked more, specifically, why would he want to triple his testosterone and what did 15 minute orgasms have to do with anything. Now I'm sure he has his side of this story--"She was fascinated and turned on!" but in truth I was really quite shocked and not sure what to say. I know this guy has a Chinese girlfriend--helloooooo, white man, single, in China--although he's been at great pains never to mention her around me. (Which I also find interesting, but that's another post.)

Oh, he amended, the 15 minute orgasm is for the woman. But he hasn't read that chapter in the book yet, he's just on the four-hour body building and diet section. But he's going to spend the weekend on the 15 minute thing.

All right: eew. It gets worse. Three thoughts are running through my head; first, what a cad to talk about this during lunch. Second, what a cad to talk about this to ME, as he knows damn well I just broke up with a lover and lost a friend in the process and I am definitely not in the mood to hear about sex, and third, if this is his way of letting me know he has a girlfriend so I don't "get ideas" what an absurdly stupid way to go about it. Dude, I not only know he has a very thin young chick but that he's cheating on her with a girl he met at Chocolate (a bar) six weeks ago. THAT'S the sort of town this is. So I said, "You know I just broke up with someone. Discussing this with me is like waving a box of caramels in front of a diabetic." He countered with something or other--I don't recall what--and I responded with, "This is you telling me about a great party you're throwing with champagne to which I am NOT invited." The subject changed, as a student came up and asked a question and he sent her off on a merry chase, but in my soul I just thought, yeeeeech.

Remember how I said it gets worse? Well, right after a staff meeting he sat and talked with me about--of all things--Christmas day when he was a child. I was thinking that perhaps the 15 minute orgasm was firmly off the table when he whipped out his iPad and showed me the chapter on that topic. Reader, I read: I critiqued. I know the research and the researchers and I read on and made my usual witty and pithy comments. Suddenly he slammed it shut and told me he had promised himself to go play his sax and he left. I went home and felt awful. Jesus, am I the sort of woman men think of as one of the guys?

So today I put on a Mutton-Dressed-As-Lamb pink dress, took a deep breath, and when he brought up the 15 minute thingy again I said I was not one of the boys and this talk was not right. I'm no prude, but I don't want to hear about other women. Change of subject. Then he mentioned he's going to stay at a hotel in a nearby city and I directed him to one of my favorites. I stayed there once with Mr.-He-Broke-My-Heart-Recently and then I felt really bummed out. I just sent someone to shag at my favorite hotel and he's not shagging me.  Ugh. I went home, ate dinner, took a nap, and hooked up my Wii for a good work out. I do feel better now but I am wondering a bit: why would someone--even someone as basically clueless as this man--think it's ok to talk about sex techniques at a high school during lunch to a woman he doesn't even date? I mean, why the HELL would THAT subject come up between people who have never had so much as a beer together? Anyone who has an answer, don't hesitate to write. Sigh.

The Persuaders

Since tomorrow is Easter, I am going to go to brunch somewhere swank--St. Regis, perhaps--and drink champagne. I am not big on champagne, as a rule: I do like a good champagne cocktail (pink, preferably) but they're hard to find unless I mix it myself. Since I have been in bed at nights with a combination of pain killers and sleeping pills, cocktails have been out of the picture for some time, but that may well explain my sudden craving for what looks like the most hideous cocktail of all time, the Creole Scream.

I found this cocktail in episode one of The Persuaders, a 1971 tv show starring--get this--Roger Moore and Tony Curtis. It is actually a fine thing to watch on your laptop in bed before drifting off to a drug-induced stupor. First of all, it has a lot of fighting (Tony did his own stunts, which probably explains the matching leather driving gloves he wears in almost every scene) and car chases, but it also has crushingly awful dialogue, girls in bikinis and teased hair, and lots of shots of the Cote d'Azur. The protagonists get into an argument about the Creole Scream--one olive or two?--and as the thing is a mixture of white rum, vermouth, grenadine, bitters, and a hint of ice, the thought of adding one olive, let alone two, to this potentially nauseating mixture seems --well, nauseating.  However, as I have to go into school today and prep lessons, I have to go drug free, which means after school I will come home and mix myself up a Creole Scream (the scream is when you ruin the rum by adding vermouth, bitters, and ugh, grenadine) and see for myself if it is indeed the type of cocktail manly men like Tony and Roger would indeed have dug back in the day. I'll let you know. 

On Being A Modern Siren

In the sixties, we were extorted to be Domestic Goddesses, cleaning the house in our well-fitted two to three inch heels, resting fully dressed three to four minutes on our freshly waxed floors, and having a chilled cocktail waiting for Him when he walked through the door, the scent of martini wafting gently over the smell of floor wax, pot roast, and a fresh Lysol douche.

In the seventies, we had two paths: Angry Feminist with Granola partner, or Total Woman. Like the Domestic Goddess, the Total Woman was expected to manage the household competently but unlike Betty Crocker, be a competent seductress who (probably) also gave head. I don't recall that head is mentioned in the Total Woman book, but since every page is basically a hymn to penis power (particularly the higher wage) it might as well be.

In the 80's, Roseanne Barr took the piss out of the Domestic Goddess, and we permed our bangs to amazing heights.

The 90's brought us the Promise Keepers, "good" Christian men who banded together and vowed to actually honor their marriage vows and to bring home the bacon to boot.

Anything after that is kind of a fog to me, having been expatriated for so long. But one thing is sure: at 48 I realize the value of having another income to buoy up the family, and if your husband not only changes the lightbulbs but can support you well enough so that all you have to do is have your nails done and play canasta--and you're happy with this--then more power to you. Happiness has a lot to do with the choices you make, and if you are lucky enough to be in the position where you're happy being at home, washing the clothes or watching other people do it, then enjoy. If you want to work, then enjoy your career. Having kids? Enjoy them too.

I also got to thinking about this: I always wanted to be a housewife, but no one hired me for the job. So, having a bit of free time on my hands this week, as well as the influence of a plethora of pain-killing drugs due to a root canal gone bad, I spent some time trolling on the Net, learning exactly how to be if not a Total Woman, at least someone who has a few more dates. Enter The Modern Siren.

The Modern Siren is a program I found which promises that by simply changing my vibe and focusing more on myself, I can have men drooling over me. For only $199 dollars I can enroll in a video course that can change my life. Some of the tools were sent to me: they are, to my jaundiced eye, actually viable techniques, but there's something in me that rebels against "imagine you are painting yourself with love while the man you want to attract watches you. Concentrate on this image the next time you're in his presence." I immediately picture myself in a staff meeting, dipping my fingers in an imaginary cup of love and anointing myself while He stares at me longingly--and I burst out laughing. I can't see this, me dripping love on myself while being lectured about Form Tutors and House points. Anyone who knows me well enough to know what sorts of things I DO think about in those staff meetings can be sure that I am not dipping my fingers into anything in my head, I'm probably working out the kinks in a new tomato sauce recipe or figuring out how to conduct three simultaneous new student interviews while also giving meaningful instruction to my class.

My friend Teri who, like me, is single and of a certain age, asked me what I do believe it. It's simple: I believe that you can trick and coerce people in to feeling an initial attraction, but that's not the way I want to win. I believe that most men are not going to leave a woman who throws the occasional random Steak and Blow Job day (or the equivalent for whatever kink he has). I think of head as a form of communion, of communication, and of sex as the best description I ever heard, from the British marriage service: with my body, I thee worship. I believe in treating your partner well and receiving the same treatment in return: I believe in being faithful, but if a married man strays my way, that's your problem, not mine. Most of my friends are married men and quite frankly I could snap my fingers and have almost any one of them, but guess what--that's not me, and that't not what I want. As dearly as I love my male friends, there's not one I feel that happiness with. Since they do confide in me, I can tell women (in general) one thing: quit whining, and appreciate what you've got. Just because I am not going to poach your man, don't think there are other women, particularly very young beautiful Chinese women, who have my scruples. Trust me, any guy, ANY GUY, in the world, can hook up within a week with a young beautiful girl here who will indeed give him steak and blow jobs every day of the week, until that ring is on her finger. You want proof? Go to the Hello Kitty restaurant. Trust me, every guy in there is going to get laid that night. And trust me when I say once the marriage happens, the lovin' goes out the window and she takes control of the purse strings and meals out cease as well.

But I digress: what do I believe? That marriage is the beginning of developing something bigger and better. That it's worth waiting for someone who melts your bones and makes you smile. That just because the one person who did this for me disappeared abruptly from my life, that doesn't mean it's over for me. I know I can love because I have loved: if I do end the rest of my days alone, I'm fine with that, because I know I won't have cheated my way into someone's heart, and can therefore sleep peacefully at night, knowing I haven't hurt anyone. If that isn't attractive to the right sort of man, then I don't know what is. But I'm sure not going to spend 199 bucks to find out.