Disarm The Obstacles

Hung out with Kenneth, Trinh, and Trinh's brother, Martin, at a Korean karaoke bar Saturday night. It was Vinh's birthday weekend, and he and his friends were hanging out at the place, but when Vinh bailed to go clubbing or something, I opted to hang back with the fellas and kick it.

One of the tables adjacent to us started singing Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow's Picture. The girl was rocking the female vocals, so I looked over to check her out. One of the other girls at the table, a tan skinned, dirty-brown haired chick, was standing up, wildly cheering on her friend, yelling, "That's my cousin! That's my cousin! Woo!"

I turned back to my table, "That one's kinda cute. The one standing up -- Indian-lookin' chick."

"Yea, she's cute," Trinh agreed, "I don't think she's Indian, though."

"She's Hispanic," Martin chimed in.

I looked back at the girl, "Nah, she can't be Hispanic. She's got some of that exotic Asian thing goin' on."

"You should go ask her," Martin challenged me.

"She's Indian," I retorted, "You go ask her."

"Paper-scissors-rock to ask her."

Martin played rock, and I played scissors.

-

The table had three girls and four guys, not the most approachable ratio. When I walked up to the table, I engaged the guys first, "Are y'all the ones that were singing Picture earlier?"

One of the guys, a pimply-faced kid with his hair gelled up and in like a faux mohawk, acknowledged, "Yeah, that was us." He pointed at himself and the girl that was singing, but I pretended not to notice the girl.

"Man, y'all tore that shit up," I said, "That song is the shit, man, that song is phat and y'all rocked it. Just had to let you guys know that, man."

I started to walk away, as if that were all I'd come over to say to the table, but the guy predictably threw on his modesty act, "Nah, man, nah, that wasn't me. That was all her. She was tearin' it up." He stood up and pointed a downward finger over the girl's head.

I turned back, pretending to be startled as if I'd just noticed the girl for the first time. I showed a doubtful face, "You? You were doing Sheryl Crow? No way, you don't look like you can pull that."

The tanned skinned girl stood up and finally joined the conversation, "Oh, she can pull that! She can pull that! That's my cousin, baby, that's my cousin! Woo!"

That was my in.

I rounded the table over to the girl's side and stood between the two cousins. "You guys are cousins?" I asked, "Y'all don't look nothin' alike, what are you?" The one that had sang Sheryl Crow's vocals was obviously Vietnamese, but the tanned skinned girl was still up in the air.

"I'm mixed," she said.

"Yeah, no shit," I rolled my eyes, "Mixed what?"

"German and Vietnamese."

"You don't got Vietnamese in you," I scoffed.

"Yeah, I am!" she defended herself zealously, "Are you Vietnamese?"

"Yeah."

"Okay..." her eyes rolled up into the corner in thought, "You are..." She started speaking in tone-deaf Vietnamese, "Ðẹp trai quá, đẹp trai quá." In Vietnamese, that means, "Too cute, too cute."

"Yeah, I know," I replied matter-of-factly, shrugging.

She cracked a smile at my arrogance. "I am..." Again in tone-deaf Vietnamese, "Mập quá, mập quá." That means, "Too fat, too fat."

"What the fuck?" I chided, "You so fucking are not." This chick couldn't have been an ounce over ninety, maybe ninety-five, pounds. She was tiny.

She grabbed her breasts into her hands and lifted them up, "Yeah, I am. These are mập quá!"

As soon as she let her hands go, I palmed her tits and said, "Naw, sweety, I think they're just right."

I half expected her or her cousin to get offended and slap me or maybe one of the guys would jump out of his seat and kick my ass. But she just laughed, folded her arms over her chest, and threw herself into my arms.