Stereotyping, Chinese food, and the COPD.

Let me get this straight. The day I *actually* became a stereotyper was probably sometime late in my mother's womb. Right after a scrumptious meal of Chinese food and chocolate milkshake, the elves in my brain filed away the fact that the origin of Chinese food -- the Chinese -- must be gods. And so it has come to pass that now, 25 years later, every time I see a Chinese person I wonder if he can cook. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. It doesn't matter how old he is or whether or not he's the homeless guy wandering around downtown glaring down kites with serious suspicion; I'm going to wonder if that person can cook Chinese food.

So, it should come as little surprise, then, that this weekend I had a run-in with my own stereotypes. Only, not the Chinese food one. That one will hold forever true because it's a fact of life that all Chinese people are excellent cooks. So let's just move on from that, shall we? No, the stereotype I had to confront last weekend wasn't about those culinary Chinese. It was about shady Mexican people.

As soon as you read the phrase, "shady Mexican people" something in the recesses of your brain shoved forth an image of the guys I'm talking about. Driving an old Cadillac. Flannel shirts. Hair slicked back using God-Only-Knows-Which-Dead-Animal's-Entrails. Try as you might to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, but you do. Oh, no? You say you're such a liberal, open-minded, postmodern person because of that Women's Studies class in college. You have noooo idea what I mean! You have transcended stereotyping. Superiorityscoff. Well, that makes you a pretentious jerk who makes eye contact with black guys WHILST locking your car doors at the sight of them. Yeah, I said it.

Moving on. The other day I looked out my living room window and saw a car full of Mexican guys parked under my tree. The fact that they were Mexican would be irrelevant except that they were wearing sombreros and dancing an authentic Mexicano dance. I'm just kidding, but that would have been awfully amusing. No, they were just sitting there loitering. I opened my front door and decided to take a step into the hot sun so they could see me. Before I knew it, my feet started walking and I was halfway to their car. The dudes under my tree did a double-take and sped off.

AH-HA! Affirmation! Those WERE some shady Mexicans! Don't even try to tell me that they weren't because I will punch you in the brain!

And get this! What happened next will blow your mind, should it still need blowing. I went back inside the house and closed the door. I camped out by my window and WHAT. DO. YOU. KNOW. They came back!

This time I was really ready for action. I was going to protect my turf. So I started for the door when suddenly a guy appeared out of the house next door. He leaned over the car door and starting making what looked like very conspiratorial conversation. They were probably talking about Plato or poverty for a moment. Anyway, I decide to go over there and introduce myself and say something along the lines of, "If you're scoping out my house Home Alone style, you should know that I always leave a mischievous 10-year-old boy locked in the attack." But I didn't get the chance.

Because as soon as they saw me coming, everyone in the car waved and said hello. Whaaaat? Oh. My. Gosh. I have walked onto the set of Happy Days. This is so bizarre... Suddenly I'm shaking hands with people and looking at pictures of their 4-year-old nieces and nephews. They just liked the shade from my enormous front yard tree and were parking under it for a spell as they chatted with my neighbor, who told me that he, his wife, Jes, and their twin toddlers, were living next door with her brother while they were unemployed. What a nice guy...

And then Jes came outside to meet me. She was gregarious to the maximum and wanted to know everything about my life right away, in turn for listening to her life story. My immediate impression was that this family was a little rough around the edges, but wholly good-intentioned.

You can probably imagine the thoughts that went through my head. Everything I ever learned in Liberal Arts came flooding back. About how racism is perpetuated through covert and overt ignorance and fear. About how racial tension is worsened by embracing the stereotype, not confronting it.

So I went back to my cave and curled up in a ball and started praying that God would change my heart so I might not be such an awful white person anymore.

...

That was at 9:30 AM.

Imagine my surprise at 3:30 PM when the police show off their fancy lights in front of my neighbor's house. Apparently there was a parade going on I didn't know about. A parade to celebrate my fantastic neighbors! A whole lot of law enforcement officers were there on the ready to kick off the parade. Oh, wait. They were there to do a WHOLE LOT OF ARRESTING!

Later that day I ran into my neighbor's wife. With scratches all over her arms and chest, tears streaming down her face, and all of her earthly possessions waiting on the driveway. It was starting to rain when I walked over to her. "Don't believe anything my brother tells you," she pleaded. "He hit me first..." I nodded, mouth agape, with no real words of wisdom for this moment. I told her about Jesus, gave her my phone number, helped her pack her stuff in a friend's car, and went back the way I came. The rain started pouring down.

I guess the moral of this story is somethingsomethingsomething about the larger human experience. About all of humanity putting aside their differences and predispositions and coming together to achieve a greater understanding. Perhaps the lesson in all of this is about not judging books by their covers.

Screw that. I judged those books and I GOT THEM RIGHT, PEOPLE!

I GOT THEM RIGHT!

SEE! This is why stereotypes exist! Because one day they cops WILL show up at your neighbor's house and arrest a bunch of Mexicans. And evolution wants you to be prepared for that!

So, I guess the moral of this story is that I know all Chinese people can cook and the ones that don't are holding out on you. I know within my heart of hearts.

The End. <3

See, I told you!

I DO have a blog! And it's NOT interesting!*

Say what you will, but at least I'm honest with my readers.**

In an effort to lure you in, I'll drop some interesting tidbits about my life here. I hope they are alluring and accomplish my luring goals.

1. I drink a gallon of sweet tea a day. And then I wonder why I'm so frazzled, batty, and urinate so frequently.

2. I have a really hard time understanding cause and effect in my own life. It will take me a month before I suspect a correlation between the smell in my room to the abundance of stinky laundry. Until the moment the old man in my brain finally reaches the belfry and rings the dusty bells of my noggin, I will believe all kinds of insane things to be the cause of something relatively mundane (i.e: there must be something dead in my closet, and now I can't open the closet because that would trigger fears #3 and 4).

3. I'm horribly, irrationally afraid of finding someone dead in a closet or bathroom. Just, you know, crumpled on the floor like a tissue of death. I think one time I saw an X-Files where a dude went into a public bathroom and opened the stall and found a dead body by the toilet. I mean, what a VULNERABLE position to be in when you find a dead body. Imagine the unassuming bathroom user who, with many a thing on her mind, shuffles awkwardly into the stall at the end of the row, painfully aware of the grime of the room in its entirety. She uses her foot to coax the stall door open and Success! She has narrowly avoided touching the swinging door with its shamefully peeling green paint! Almost certain restroom victory! And then... BAM! DEAD BODY!

What a freaking awful experience.

It's enough to make me never want to use the restroom ever again. Not even in my own home. And it has never happened to me, nor to anyone I know or know of. It's just that awful a possibility.

4. I don't remember what fear #4 was supposed to be, but I know it has something to do with closets. Oh, yeah! Finding bugs on the carpet in my closet. A little less dramatic, but hardly less paralyzing.

5. So, any old who, I suppose the lesson in all of this is: Read my blog, don't use public restrooms, and if you do, bring hand sanitizer because you never what's going to be in there.

Love,

M.

*P.S: See what I mean?

** I told you so.

10 weeks...

10 weeks of pregnancy means:

10 meals a day-- this is a hungry baby!

Baby measuring at 9 weeks, although I know when I conceived

8 pills I take in a day

7 days in a week that bring new ways to gag, wretch, and inevitably puke around the house

6 hours of sleep a night, which seems to be about my body's maximum allowance

5 extra pounds already gained

4 extra bathroom trips a night

3 gallons of water a day. That's how much it feels like I'm drinking, anyway

2 hour naps a day

1 day I will have this baby and this pregnancy will fade away, praise the Lord!

Now, goodnight, blog-o-sphere. It's 4:30 and you really ought to be in bed anyway.

<3

The jig is up...

First of all, this phrase always makes me laugh. What jig? Who's doing this gravitationally disinclined jig? What in the heck does it even MEAN?

But as I sit here to write this blog, I have to admit to that jig is definitely up. If by "jig" I mean "silence" and "up" I mean "finished."

I suppose I should get real with you fine folks. I haven't written in a while because in the onslaught of diapers, diapers, and more diapers, finding trucks jammed under the sofa and kissing make-believe owies, we got some big news.

Anybody care to guess what that news might be? That's right. You heard it here first, friends: The Mauss family has gone vegan!

HA! How hilarious would that be?

No, it's nothing so serious/life-threatening/ridiculous. We're just having a baby.

Coming to a womb near you

February 17, 2012

The Mausses will be welcoming another little one to the tribe.

So, do forgive my absence. It really has been due to the business of toddlerdom, as well as a potent combination of fatigue and nausea.

But do be prepared for more blogs to come, namely about the aforementioned toddler and nausea.

Lots of love,

The Mausses.