Dear Mexican: I'm an Asian female, and for some time now, I've been fascinated by the Mexican culture. I find Mexican males to be very attractive. Their food, language and music are just amazing! How much of a chance do I have dating a Mexican hombre if I'm Asian?
Muchacha China Curiosa
Dear Chinita: Dios mío, are you in luck! Mexican society loves their Asian women; it's the job-stealing, vice-promoting men we can't stand. The beautiful, colorful, flowing dress that Mexican women wear when dancing baile folklórico is generally called the china poblana, in remembrance of an apocryphal Indian slave from the seventeenth century. To dress as a china in Mexican popular parlance of the late 1800s meant to dress like a lower-class mujer for the purposes of becoming alluring, like the characterization of the gypsy woman or mulatta in American culture. And even in the present day, we romanticize Asian mujeres, but without the dragon-lady bad vibes gabachos throw in their hotpot of racial desires. In other words, not only do you have beaucoup chances of dating a Mexican, but you're going to have to beat them back with a bamboo stick. Only drawback? Whether you're Vietnamese, Japanese, Korean, Burmese or from Macao, you will always, always remain a chinita bonita to your man's aunts — just ask my ex.
Dear Mexican: I have a Mexican friend who is a roofer. He and his crew are very efficient and do excellent work. I pay them the fair-market price for their labor — the same money I would pay gabacho roofers if they weren't all fucked up on crystal meth, Wild Turkey, shitty relationships with skanky-ass whores, etc. My gabacho contractor friends mock me and call me a dumbass for this, but believe it or not, exploiting el cheapo immigrant labor just ain't my bag. It's very lonely being me. So my question is: Do you, as a Mexican, or taco bender, or pepper belly, think that I'm a dumbass?
Roofer Who Doesn't Use Roofies to Nail Rucas
Dear Jefe: Dumbass, you? Can you get me a job and hire my fifteen cousins, también? The problem of Mexican workers in los Estados Unidos getting paid less than their gabacho counterparts has existed since forever, so for you — a gabacho — to not only pay fair wages to Mexicans, but do it in the realm of construction (a 2005 study published by the National Association of Home Builders found that Mexicans not only occupied the lower rungs of the construction industry, but bore the brunt of lower-wage jobs as a result), qualifies usted for folk-sainthood status in some rancho in Guanajuato.
Dear Mexican: Maybe your column can address the question of why Mexicans allow so many of their small children to become obese. As a mother of three, I find this to be a heartrending circumstance. I know healthy food is more expensive (especially if you choose not to garden), but the long-term medical situation (which maybe is not known/appreciated within their community) for their children is obviously grave. You could do a public service in your column.
Grieving Over Ruined Dinner Angst
Dear GORDA: Same reason gabacho and negrito parents do — lack of exercise, education and healthy eating. I don't mean to sound flippant or apologetic for my raza, but black and white kids ain't exactly Kate Mosses in the world of childhood obesity. According to a 2002 Center for Disease Control survey done by its National Center for Health Statistics, nearly 40 percent of Mexican-American kiddies ages six to eleven are overweight, and 23.7 percent obese, compared with 35.9/19.5 of negritos and 26.2/11.8 of gabachos in their respective categories. My public service? Parents: Instead of serving your niños eight Christmas tamales this season, make do with seis and hold back on the second helping of pozole. And now, for an extra holiday treat, two bonus questions from the ¡Ask a Mexican! vault:
What's with all the horn-honking that Mexicans love to do when pulling up outside apartments and houses to pick up their friends? Don't ustedes have cell phones?
Güero in the Barrio
Dear Güero: You'd honk like a goose too, if you had cool horns like ours. Throughout the barrios of SanTana and Anaheim, you can hear the opening notes of "La Cucaracha," Beethoven's "Fur Elise," Usher's "Yeah!" and the overwrought '70s instrumental "Music Box." Such specialty horns allow Mexicans to distinguish between an angry commuter and a produce truck, between the migra and the morning carpool. They are our Navajo code. As for your doorbell complaints, let me put it this way: Would you leave your car in the middle of a barrio — where parking is as rare as a mold-free apartment and cholos skulk, ready to pounce on the first available coche — just to knock on your friend's door?
Dear Mexican: What do you call a gabacho cholo wannabe like me? "Wexican" sounds pretty dumb. "Wiener" (white beaner) is a lot more insulting than "wigger." Since I'm the opposite of a pocho, I call myself a "chopo." Think it'll catch on?
Dear Gabacho: No.