I have to tell you about the party my friend Fujma Jogbush took me to the other week. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned Fujma before, but I’ve known him since middle school and he’s always been a super cool dude. Unlike me, he’s got lots of friends and whenever I hang with him, he’s always running into someone he knows, even if we happen to be out of town or something.
I’ve never been very popular with anyone, and certainly never as popular as Fujma, so hanging with him is kind of like being with a celebrity. Usually, I am embarrassed and feel like a loser, but being with Fujma makes me somehow cooler, important even.
“I’m with Fujma,” I say and get instant respect.
We don’t get together but once or twice a month these days so you can imagine how excited I was when he called up and asked if I wanted to go to a party.
“Hell, yeah,” I told him and started putting on cologne.
Going to a party with Fujma means I won’t end up in the corner crying like I do at other parties, but I brought a 30-pack of Keystone Light and a quarter ounce of weed along just in case. Alcohol and drugs have always been an excellent ice breaker and a way to make new friends, at least for me.
The party was out in the burbs, in a great big house with a pool, and was all a bunch of rich white kids. Lots of Todds and Ambers and Brads and Tiffanys and so many iPods and little tiny cell phones it boggled the mind. Me and Fujma were the only brown people there. Actually, being Chinese, I’m off-white, but Fujma’s an Indian - not the real kind but the Asian kind - so he’s brown enough for both of us. We were kind of like curiosities and you can bet I was playing the race card every hand.
There was a girl there, Amy, that Fujma knew and she was really hot. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and that delicious cinnamon skin that white girls get when they tan. Actually, I think her name was Aimee or maybe Amie or even Aymie, but I just kept calling her Amy.
I pretended to hit it off with her and we went off by ourselves to talk and listen to Alannis Morrisette. She brought along this low-carb beer, which is some seriously fucked-up repugnant garbage. I drank it anyway, though. Lots of it.
Because I’m Asian, she thought I was automatically smart, so I told her how I graduated from high school when I was only 16 and how I’m now in college turning into an architect and a scientist.
“Yeah,” I told her. “I’ll probably be rich, but that’s not what’s important. What I really want to do is help people.”
I told her how I knew kung fu and karate and how I came from a worn-torn jungle land and me and my family barely escaped with our lives.
She bought the whole thing and came onto me so we went and banged in her Miata, which is this little tiny Japanese car. I ended up with a nasty bruise on my left butt cheek where the stick shift was, but it was worth it. She was like the eagerest girl I ever banged and wanted it over and over but I could only go twice because I was nauseous from all the artificial beer I drank. I ended up ralphing behind the seat when she was out peeing in the bushes.
The night ended soon after that because she had to work the next day at the Gap, but we set up a date for the weekend to go out to a dinner and movie. I was so excited and happy. I’ve only had one whole girlfriend in my life and that was Shaniqua who ended up getting a restraining order against me because I wouldn‘t ever go home.
I spent the next few days bragging to everyone I know about my new white girlfriend.
“Her name is Amy and she drives a Miata,” I told them proudly. “Did I mention she’s white?”
Well, the weekend rolled around and when I called her up she said she didn’t want to see me again - ever.
I know - I was as shocked as you guys. “Why?” I asked. I had already started crying, but was hiding it as best I could.
She went on and on about me ralphing behind the seat in her precious Miata. Apparently, the car had baked in the sun the whole time she was at work and was, shall we say, extremely fragrant. She called me a gross guy and hung up.
I stopped crying and got a little mad. What the hell was her problem anyway, goddamnit?
I was going to explain to her how it was all her fault. It was her trendy low-carb garbage beer that got me sick in the first place, not mine, but she wouldn’t answer even though I kept calling and calling.
So now I don’t have a new white girlfriend after all.