Rice Queen

Him:  Hey there.  What’s up?

Me:  Not much.  Just hanging out.

Him:  That kid you were hitting on was really cute.  Was he Chinese?  He looked Chinese.

Me:  I don’t know.  He said he was from New Mexico.

Him:  Yeah but where was he really from?


Me:  I don’t know.  I didn’t ask him the story of his epic family saga.  Maybe he was born in a refugee camp?

Him:  Hot.  Now you’re talking.  But that would make it more likely he was Vietnamese.  He looks Chinese or Korean maybe.

Me:  I’m not well versed enough to make the distinction.

Him:  Oh?  Are you new to Rice?

Me:  What??

Him:  Are you new to the world of Rice Queens?

Me:  Oh man.  I don’t know how to answer that.  That term is so brutal.  I’m not sure I identify with it.

Him:  Why?  Rice is a staple…

Me:  Uh…  I don’t know.  Seems like there’s a weird stigma attached to some dated racial hierarchy.  No offense.  I’m sure it was probably different in your generation.

Him:  It sure was.  The Rice was a lot less uppity.

Me:  Hey, old timer – we don’t use the word ‘uppity’ to describe ethnic minorities.  I’m pretty sure that’s a bad idea across the board.

Him:  Well, it used to be easier.  They were less demanding.

Me:  That guy went to Yale, and he’s super good looking – I’m sure he has every right to be selective about who picks him up in a gay bar.

Him:  Don’t get me wrong.  I’ve been a Rice Queen for a long time.  I’ve had lots of great relationships with Asian guys.  Mutual respect is always key.  How long have you been a Rice Queen?

Me:  I’m not entirely sure that I am?  I’ve had lots of types of boyfriends – Latinos, Jews, White, Asians…

Him:  You were really into that Chinese guy.

Me:  True.  Lately they’ve been turning my head a lot.  I dunno…  I go through phases.  There was a couple years there where I was hot for red heads too.

Him:  Have you ever been to Asia?

Me:  No.

Him:  Oh, you’ve got to go!

Me:  Why’s that?

Him:  Oh the boys there are just lovely.  They’re so sweet and accommodating – they’re not spoiled by Western thinking like the Asian Americans are.

Me:  Oh my God, you have to be kidding, right?

Him:  What?

Me:  Well…  I mean, you realize how you sound, right?  ‘Spoiled?’

Him:  How do I sound?

Me:  Kind of racist.  No.  Totally racist and also imperialist, too.

Him:  Oh please.  Asia is the most racist place on earth.  If you don’t believe me, then ask your next Chinese trick how many Black people he’s slept with.  Chinese people are super, super racist.

Me:  That doesn’t make it –

Him:  BUT – I love them.  They all have hard exteriors but inside they’re marshmallows.  So sweet – and once they decide they like you, you’re in for good.

Me:  Hm.  Okay.  Just for the sake of hearing your opinion – what do you think about Japanese people?

Him:  Uh…  they’re a little superior for my tastes.  Also, they’re emotional labyrinths.  You can never tell what they’re really feeling or thinking.

Me:  Koreans?

Him:  They drink a lot, and chain smoke.  Hey – why do Koreans make good bottoms?

Me:  Why?

Him:  They’re used to being occupied.  Get it?  I made that one up.

Me:  You’re a horrible old man.  (pause)  That joke would also work for The Philippines.

Him:  Oh yeah!  You’re totally right.   But I prefer Thai boys the best.

Me:  Why’s that?

Him:  They have no qualms about sleeping with older men.  I mean, you have to give them some money, but we’re talking twenty bucks for the most depraved things you can think of.

Me:  All right.  Okay.

Him:  I have a scrapbook of all the Thai boys I’ve slept with at home.  You should come see it sometimes.

Me:  Hey, thanks for chatting, racist old man.  I was alternately horrified and amused.  I think I’m going to make better use of my time, and hit on that guy over there.

Him:  He looks Vietnamese.

Me:  If you say so.

Him:  They taste like cilantro, sometimes.

Me:  I…  What?  Okay I’m leaving.  Have a good night.