The Bride and I attended a recent California wedding in which the diversity was so broad that we covered pretty much every box in one of those skin tone swatch charts. We had a great time and I danced my buttocks off, but as a man whose skin tone would match up with one of the lighter boxes in the skin tone swatch chart, I caught a lot of judgy looks from people.
“Pointy nosed people” like myself, do like to cut a rug every now and then, even if we pointy nosers don’t typically move as well as button nosers and squishy nosers. And for a guy like me who really loves to have a good time and who is typically surrounded by a lot of “people of a higher concentration of pigment,” it bothers me when other’s judging glances suggest that I may have just come down with a case of cerebral palsy. So please, if you happen to be a “person with a typically superior booty,” and you’re at a party where there are “pointy nosed people” trying to dance, if the dancing looks more frightening than Tara Reid’s boob job, then just look away… or consider joining us in getting really drunk, acting a fool and dancing like one’s rhythm meter has just been broken to the wedding theme song for people of the pointy nose tribe. You may like it.
Jump up, jump up and get down. Jump Around!
Lastly, for the record, I may match up against the lighter shades on the skin tone swatch chart, and I may not dance in perfect rhythm with the beat of whatever song I’m dancing to (actually, I’m probably not even in the same neighborhood as it), but I gots soul, muthafuckas; so back off.
Now, speaking of “people of a greater concentration of pigment,” I’ve decided I have to divorce The Bride.
Shortly after the end of the American Civil War in 1865, The Bride and I met at a dive bar in Hermosa Beach. At that time, even in progressive ole’ California, it was unusual to find many couples of mixed ethnicity.
Nowadays, you can’t spit out your gum in Hermosa Beach without it getting caught in the long, lusty hair of some Asian girl who’s holding the hand of her “pointy nosed” boyfriend.
The white guy/Asian girl demographic has become an epidemic in this town. Now, I’m all for the pigmental mixing of people; I feel like the sooner we get all our genetics all entwined, the sooner we can stop framing every argument around the issue of skin color. That said, if we’re going to stir up the gene pools, how about a little diversity amongst our choices? I’d like to see some Latino guy/Asian girl combos or Indian guy/Latina girl combos or, if you want to be super unique, how about an Asian guy/black girl combo? In the 110 years of Hermosa Beach’s existence, it is historical fact that there has never been an Asian Man/Black girl couple. On the other hand, the white guy/Asian girl trope is so over-done, that Asian men and white women have started dating one another, not out of desire, but out of the fact that they have no other options.
At a recent birthday party that I had to take my son to, an all-white married couple showed up with a package wrapped tightly in soft blankets. Given that we don’t actually know any all-white couples, when they showed up with their package, which turned out to be a baby; it affected me the way American Indians were affected by European ships when the Europeans sailed to America. It’s said that the Native Americans didn’t even see the ships out on the ocean because they’d never seen ships before and their brains couldn’t process them. That’s what this white baby did to my brain. Eventually, once I finally realized their package was a baby, I couldn’t get over how white his skin was; it seemed almost unnatural. His skin color was probably normal for an all-white baby, but I hadn’t seen a 100% Caucasian baby in Hermosa Beach in at least three years, so I can’t be positive.
Basically, if you can’t process all my offensive hyperbole, what I’m trying to get at is that the white guy/Asian gal has become a cliché around here, which makes The Bride and I a cliché. I can’t regard myself as a clever, hip, and smart guy that’s unlike all the other jerk-offs I know, if I’m living a cliché. So I’ve made a proposal to the City of Hermosa Beach; it’s called the Marriage Protection Act, part two, and it’s designed to keep marriage sacred by forbidding all future marriages between white men and Asian women. If the city shoots me down, the I have no choice but to divorce The Bride. The illusion that I’m hip and clever is very important to me, and I will not allow one more white guy/Asian girl combo to ruin my self-esteem.
I believe this measure will pass, but in the event that it fails, and I’m forced to divorce The Bride, the good news is that it shouldn’t be too hard to make that happen.
First, she doesn’t like me very much, so I don’t think I’ll get much of an argument out of her on the proposition, but, more importantly, I don’t believe we’re technically married.
I mean, we got “married,” once upon a time. However, we may not be married in the “traditional” sense.
And by “traditional,” I mean “legally.”
When we were married on the beach by some guy whom we paid a hundred dollars, The Bride assumed I mailed in our marriage certificate.
She was wrong to assume.
We’ve been together so long that I’m sure we’re in some kind of binding domestic partnership by now, but that shouldn’t be much for me to undo.
In hindsight, it’s a miracle we made it this long in the first place. Were it not for a case of explosive diarrhea, we wouldn’t even have had a second date.
But I’ll have to tell you that story another day.