My man told me earlier i the week that he would never marry a Chinese girl, even though he has been here for several years and chases them down like the bunnies they are.
I remember thinking the same thing for a while, but it only hit home when .. i went home (or Portland). After chilling with american girls, i realized that here in China we purposely slim our brains down, chop our personalities in half and become lesser men in the pursuit of sex. its like going back to high school with these girls. I guess i always knew that, but it never seemed so blatant and front and center.
It also has a lot to do with who I am hanging out with. My man Zhuang once told me that all of the good girls (good being intelligent, charismatic, ambitious, cool, etc) would never date a foreigner.
So i see a vicious cycle here and if you enjoy lotsa random sex with no commitments, then china is heaven. but i have been infected by the brains of Lacey and Mika and Nico and Susan and so on and now i can’t have this. I get really fed up with the bullshit these chinese girls (well my man’s girls here in Shanghai) try to pull.
I find it moronic and repulsive. And i am most angry not at what they do, but at what I made myself do and become while I was here. Its a sick mindset. Beanmilk helped me turn the tide of shallowness while i was in the Du. I suppose we met because it was her job to prepare me for the Return to the US and my job to help her defend herself against the silly behavior of SOME Chinese girls.
But its not the girls, like i said, that make the cycle. Its the combination of silly, but innocent and hopeful young girls & opportunistic and jaded hopeful young men.
Heartbreak is rampant.
I have a reputation to uphold, but I think i’ll be doing it with my words rather than my penis.
One thought on “Chinese girls are silly”
speaking of your misadventures, isn’t this lovely?
“I have eaten beef stew with silent, shabby men in cheap eateries and fingered the last two pennies in my pocket with anger and irony … I have dined most sumptuously in a spacious Park Avenue home, duck brought forth in silver dishes by a butler … I have seen $.10 movies on Times Square, seated in the first row of the balcony in shirtsleeves, smoking and laughing … under a lashing rain and gale, I have gazed at the angry mid-Atlantic for a moment, pausing in my labours … I have stood on a Liverpool street corner in the middle of a drowsy afternoon and cursed the cobbles because the pubs had closed … I have made love to women in Canada, Washington, D.C., Nova Scotia, England, Greenland, New York City, Maryland and New England … I have lain drunk in the gutter of a street … I climbed a mountain in Greenland and gazed down on the slim ribbon of Ikatek Fjord … I have toiled in the sun on construction jobs from Portsmouth, New Hampshire to Alexandria, Virginia … I have attended cocktail parties in New York City penthouses … I have worked in mills … I have worked in garages … I have sold door to door … I have worked as a reporter on a newspaper … I have starved in a cheap urine-smelling room in Hartford, CT … I have dated actresses, models and social workers … I have brawled in streets, in bar entrances and in cafeterias … I have heard great symphonies and been transported … I have walked the streets, a lonely U.S. Navy gob and sought women … I have languished in hospitals and shuffled cards in melancholy abstraction … I have written reams and reams of writings … and through it all, I have always been restless, unhappy and seeking new horizons. What shall I do?”
The Romanticist Jack Kerouac, September 1943.