Why I Prefer Western Women; and The West

When I say” Western Women,” I’m referring to nationality and culture, and not race or ethnicity. I just read Stick’s weekly column, “Somchai Pulls the Trigger,”
(8/5/2011). It lit up a few memories for me, and I would admonish anyone to swallow Stick’s comments with hook, line, and sinker. To tell you why I prefer Western Woman, I’m going to get to my main point in a round about
way. First, this submission has some bearing on my submission posted last month: Dealing With Some Thais: And The World Suffers Many More Falsehoods Than Truth,
10.6.2011

A few years back, a friend, oh wait a minute; I gotta consult the Ms. [Honey, I’m writing that submission to Stickman I told you about. I need a code name for TT.]

“How about Gullible?”

“No, that’s too ‘in your face.’”

“Ok, how about ‘Gulliver?’”

“Cool. That’ll work.”

Gulliver went through a bitter divorce about eight years ago, and was still licking his wounds when he ran into–oh wait. [Hon, I need a codename for that little short guy from country X. He used to run that “ethnic” restaurant down on the
corner.]

“Call him ‘Bad News’”

“Excellent honey. You’re brilliant.”

Now Gulliver, who is (or maybe by now, was) well-to-do, had at the time of his divorce over four million dollars in real property assets in the SF Bay Area, up around Lake Tahoe, and Las Vega, had several vintage cars, and a decent wine cellar. About
a year after Gulliver’s divorce, he walked down the street for coffee one morning and stumbled into Bad News’ restaurant, which had just opened for business at that location.

Gulliver and Bad News got to talking, and talking too much, Gulliver told Bad News he had been through a divorce, that he had property in two states, among other things. I guess Gulliver was happy to have someone new to vent to, after he had worn out
my ear. A friendship was quickly forged, with Bad News serving Gulliver, a ‘free meal,’ and that famous beer from country X, whenever Gulliver walked in.

At this point, I had known Gulliver for sometime, mainly through remodeling work I had done for him. I walked down to the restaurant one evening with Gulliver. It was my first time meeting Bad News, and my first impression was that while he had a quick
smile, and a soft, sissified handshake, he was clever, and calculating. Just my impression, but being fair, I chose not to let that impression ruin a potential friendship between Bad News and me. At that first meeting, I paid for my
meal with five dollars worth of quarters. Bad News asked, “Why all this change? You own property somewhere? (Property owners in San Francisco usually have laundromats on the premises in which tenants have to use quarters.).

Bad News asked me a few more questions, all cleverly designed to ascertain my monetary worth (I saw this in hindsight). Shortly thereafter, Bad News would get “loans” from Gulliver, promising to pay’em back when “business got
better.” I guess the upshot of this was when Bad News started hitting Gulliver up for a 100K loan to start a new business in a second location. Around this time, Jack, a WWII vet who lived upstairs from Gulliver, and whom Gulliver
and I have known for years, told me the word on the street was that Bad News had a gambling habit, stayed in debt, and was one of the biggest crooks ever. Soon I saw that the quick smile of Bad News could become a frown or even a snarl
when he didn’t get his way (I believe you guys see where this is going, but hold on.)

Several years ago, certain circumstances compelled me to move away from the area, but one day I saw Bad News’ daughter, a stunning vixen with skin of caramel brown and jet black hair–but she was too young for me to pursue, but we used to talk
on a friendly basis. She told me Bad News had opened a new restaurant, and that he and Gulliver were at that time in country X. Their mission being to find a couple of women and bring them to the US and marry them. Bad News had done
just that once before, but after the lady found out she was a virtual slave in the land of the free, she, alleging domestic battery, did a runner, but did stay with Bad News long enough to assure she was well on the road to American
citizenship. Knowing this made me feel uneasy, and should have made Gulliver feel likewise, but evolution has cleverly rigged the male so that he'll risk getting eaten alive (the male black widow and praying mantis) just to get
a lay.

For over a year, Gulliver ran around town getting the paperwork ready so that his prospective wife could come over. He could have asked my advice, but might have figured since I have never been married, what did I know about anything? After a mountain
of Immigration paperwork, Gulliver got his lady over, oh excuse me, [Honey, that young gal . ]

“Call her Jezebel, or Jezzy.”

“Thanks, you’re awesome.”

Now, I’ve never, even to this day, met Jezzy, but had picked up bits of info here and there about here, with the only favorable comments coming from Gulliver himself. While he waited for her to come over, I dropped by Gulliver’s place a
couple of times. He showed me photos she had sent. Hot? Yeah, and certainly a good taste of outfits that showed off her curves.

“She’s totally fallen for me,” he said. She’s 25, and I’m fifty. She never got passed the ninth grade, but she’s got a good IQ, and wants to be with me.”

Gulliver told me about a psychic who told him that he and Jezzy were soul mates, but then he said, “But you know, the psychic told me the same thing before I married (oh let’s see) “Sticky Fingers,” but that greedy bitch took
me to the cleaners, even taken my safe-deposit boxes.” At this point I thought Gulliver was coming around to his senses, but he kept pursuing plans to bring Jezzy over.

But throughout it all, something wasn’t adding up. For one, Bad News told me the first time he met Jezzy was the very same day Gulliver met her, at a family gathering in the village. For another, while Jezzy was waiting in country X, she asked
Gulliver to send her money every month, which he did, and she sent Gulliver more photos of herself wearing hot and sexy clothes. Then she asked him to send a “few” extra bucks for her parents. At this point, Gulliver
had been under the impression Jezzy had no brothers and sisters, but that would change! Curious to me and other people who had known Gulliver for a while, Gulliver was putting out cash for these strangers, while before it was hard
to get him to buy a decent suit, or even good toilet paper for himself.

After a few months of Jezzy’s arrival in San Francisco, there was a marriage (I wasn’t invited, but that’s a whole other story, and neither Gulliver’s mother, or four siblings showed up. The mom had said before: He doesn’t
know a thing about gals).

I’ve seen wedding photos, and a good number of people from country X were there. However, according to witnesses I have talked to, Jezzy never made eye contact with Gulliver the entire ceremony—not even for the “I do” part.
Guests say they thought it was her culture, but on hearing this, I had my thoughts, but kept quiet.

A few months later, I heard Jezzy was pregnant, but a miscarriage was reported. Around this time, I heard that Jezzy had “told” Gulliver that her sister need money to avoid losing her home back in country X—but wait! I thought Jezzy
didn’t have siblings. Well, sometimes when we meet people we forget to mention certain things, or as the politicians we “mis speak.”

Part Two: Bright Lights, Big City, done gone to my baby’s head. These lyrics are from a 1950’s R&B tune by Jimmy Reed.

Now here’s where it seems, “Somchai has started to squeeze the trigger.”

Originally, Gulliver had planned to keep Jezzy away from the big city, and in a small town near Las Vega, but probably seeing through the ruse, she insisted on living in the Bay Area. Lots of rumors reached me about what Jezzy had been doing in the local
country X community, such as chasing after Bad News’ teenage son.

Rather than spend her allowance on English and cooking classes as was the agreement, Jezzy would spend up to eight hours a day, after waking around noon, at a fitness center—at least that was the story she told Gulliver. Gulliver might have doubted
her, but what could he do with a woman who was apparently head strong—and high strung, and he being a Western male who has been conditioned to say “Yes dear…you’re right dear?”

Jezzy had chosen to hang out in “her community” where there’s a common language, customs, and so on, and spending her allowance. Within this particular community, though they may argue and fight amongst themselves, those not of their
group—including husbands—are somewhat irrelevant. In other words, I smell elements of tribalism. Which is usually thought to be the bane of Africa, but I’ve seen it in every immigrant group here in the US.

Last week I called on Jack to wish him happy Father’s Day. He still lives in the apartment building where Gulliver still lives (I used to live there too). Jack gave me an earful: Jezzy has kicked Gulliver out of the apartment, which they shared,
and in which Gulliver had lived for twenty years. Old Gull is now living in a smaller unit in the building, and he is the primary caretaker of the child. Jezzy rips into him daily with diatribes laced with profanity from her native
tongue, and English (I guess she picked up English cuss words somewhere for free;-)). Jack said that Gulliver and Bad News nearly came to blows a few days ago after a screaming argument on a public street, after Bad News called Jezzy
a whore, and said he didn’t think he owed Gulliver any money. (Rumor was probably that Jezzy was "doing" the community.)

Could Gulliver pursue legal action against Bad News, or Jezzy? He could, but something tells me that if he does, he had better watch his back. I’ve seen some of Bad News’ countrymen, and though they were chummy with Gulliver when he had’em
on the dole, I suspect they’ll be lowly enough to come after his property, doing it damage, or worse, breaking him up. As an uncle used to say, those country X guys will hide in the dark and throw a brick.

Now what does this have to do with my preference for Western Women? First, I have spent nearly a year in non-western countries, and have read quite a few of the submissions on this site, and know dozens of people from non-western countries. Second, I’ll
say that it’s only a certain subset of Western Women that are cool with me. They are educated, either formally or informally, non-masculine, have poise and tact, are easy on the eye, are
intellectually inquisitive, and will roll up their sleeves and help me weed the garden (if I had one), and will truly try to judge my worth by the content of my character and not the size of my belly, or bankroll, or the color of my
teeth, and skin. They are out there!

But where do you find these gems? I have an hypothesis, and I’ll share part of it here.

Traditionally, western women, like their Asian and African sisters, could not easily enter those professions thought better suited, or ordained by God for men. These professions include: politics, law, medicine, accounting, firefighter, cop, finance officer,
top-level administrators, Kingships in certain lands, like Country X. These traditionally male bastions are still top loaded with men, but even when women get in on the lower levels, they feel compelled—and this is most likely
subconscious—to act more like the men in order to fit in, and get promoted. Thus, you see more women in pantsuits, and rather amusing to me, women in those traditionally male positions tend to, in many situations, lower the
pitch of their voices by an octave; i.e., adding more bass. If you think I am nuts, just pay attention.

Having said that, I say that the western women I find most desirable as romantic partners for myself, don’t feel they have to compete with me or any man. They know they can hold their own just by being women. I usually find them in the nursing
field, dentistry, child-care, teaching, art and dance, and in certain fields of the law, and computer applications.

Therefore, back to the top. If my partner is a Western woman, we are likely to have a preponderance of shared values, and to what degree these are shared depends on numerous factors. I have not enough in common with a woman who doesn’t know or
care for the music of Mozart; or who doesn’t know about Babe Ruth and Willie Mays; or who doesn’t know that a molecule of water is made up of two atoms of H, and one of O. Or one who's asleep when I leave home at
8:00PM, and awake watching TV/DVD's when I go to bed at 12:30AM.

Second, if I marry into a group, that’s distinctly different in culture and values, I figure I’m likely to remain the outsider, no matter how welcoming they might seem on the surface. Note in Stick’s article, Somchai pulls the Trigger,
for those foreigners amidst Thais, things seemed just lovely, until a crisis developed, which put the locals under stress. Then the “outsider” was “kicked to the curb.”

Am I saying I, or any other guy, should never meet a Phillipina, Thai, Peruvian, or Ethiopian with whom I can make a go of it? No, not at all. That could be fascinating. But I’m saying that simple probability dictates I have a slightly better chance
with a gal born and raised in California, or Kansas, who shares many of the Western values that make us so attractive to the East, and a woman who doesn’t have to keep proving she’s one of the boys, and very likely, her
friends won’t gang up on me.

I am also saying this: (Bring out tar and feathers, you feminists); different cultures have different archetypes, which produce certain expectations. A woman from a country where it’s made very clear that men are dominant and should be obeyed,
will, AND especially if she’s not educated, probably expect her man to be the man! That’s her programming! If her man falls back and plays the patsy role, which many Western men have accepted, she will most likely rise
to the occasion, and keep her foot in his rear. In other words, if you aren’t man enough to grab the pants and wear’em, she just might, and if you have millions of dollars in assets, she’s going to wear the pants,
and control the wallet.

BTW: Could I have warned Gulliver? No. He’s hardheaded. He’s intelligent to the point he thinks he’s smarter than anyone else, and when he sees something his way, and sets out on that course, a team of horses couldn’t pull
him away.

Happy Times

BayMonster