One of my troublesome 3-year-olds has started calling me "okaasan." Yes, this IS right before she grabs my tits.
1. Your mom is outside the classroom, staring daggers at me through the plate glass window. If you cannot tell which of us gave birth to you, please refer to the following checklist:
Does the woman have a mullet?
Is the woman Japanese?
Does the woman bear a strong resemblance to an angry hedgehog?
If you have checked "yes" to ay of these questions, congratulations! I am not your mom!
2. Dude, your twin sister doesn't have the same maternal identity issues.
3. ...okay, don't stop, it's cute.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Blood in the Boardroom
I told the kid that if he kept running, he would hurt himself.
He stuck his tongue out and kept running.
What do you know, he tripped and bumped his face and his nose started gushing blood!
Despite tissue packets being even more rampant than swine flu in Tokyo, guess what ended up staunching his sanguinous nostril waterfall?
If you guessed "GTA's nice sweater from Zara that was soooo not on sale," you're right.
He stuck his tongue out and kept running.
What do you know, he tripped and bumped his face and his nose started gushing blood!
Despite tissue packets being even more rampant than swine flu in Tokyo, guess what ended up staunching his sanguinous nostril waterfall?
If you guessed "GTA's nice sweater from Zara that was soooo not on sale," you're right.
A Serious Post
Guys, I have become mildly worried about some of the comments on this blog (for people reading this on Facebook, my "notes" are published from http://greatteacherannazuka.blogspot.com ).
Obviously, I understand the need for catharsis. Japan drives me batshit 99999.999999% of the time. Not always bad batshit, but it's easy to carry on a persistant, low-grade infection of frustration when you can't read what's written, can't understand what you hear, can't fit your tits in any top, and can't eat the food 80% of the time. That's one of the reason I started this blog, besides the fact that my kids are so cute that it hurts and I love mochi so much I want to marry it.
However, I would like to state that the staff here at Great Teacher Annazuka (myself, this can of beer, and Carl, this adorable stuffed penguin I bought at Daiso) neither support nor claim any responsibility for any and all comments left in response to posts on this blog.
gozaimaaaaaaaaaaassssu....
Obviously, I understand the need for catharsis. Japan drives me batshit 99999.999999% of the time. Not always bad batshit, but it's easy to carry on a persistant, low-grade infection of frustration when you can't read what's written, can't understand what you hear, can't fit your tits in any top, and can't eat the food 80% of the time. That's one of the reason I started this blog, besides the fact that my kids are so cute that it hurts and I love mochi so much I want to marry it.
However, I would like to state that the staff here at Great Teacher Annazuka (myself, this can of beer, and Carl, this adorable stuffed penguin I bought at Daiso) neither support nor claim any responsibility for any and all comments left in response to posts on this blog.
gozaimaaaaaaaaaaassssu....
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Best lesson ever?
GTA: "Okay, who knows what 'to dispose of' means?"
STUDENT 1: "I know. It's when you throw someone out."
GTA: "SomeONE?"
STUDENT 1: "Oh! Oh, no!" *laughs* "SomeTHING!"
STUDENT 2: "But if it is a dead body, then you are still correct."
STUDENT 1: "I know. It's when you throw someone out."
GTA: "SomeONE?"
STUDENT 1: "Oh! Oh, no!" *laughs* "SomeTHING!"
STUDENT 2: "But if it is a dead body, then you are still correct."
I guess I'm actually the pervert
In my 11/12-year olds class:
GIRL 1: NIPPLE!
GTA: What did you say?
GIRL 1: *points*
GTA: Oh...hippo. Not nippo, honey.
Two minutes later...
GIRL2: FUCK!!!!!!!!!
GTA: WHAT?!
GIRL2: Fokk?
GTA: Young lady--
GL2: *points*
GT: Oh. Fox. FOX.
I am mad, bad, and dangerous to know.
GIRL 1: NIPPLE!
GTA: What did you say?
GIRL 1: *points*
GTA: Oh...hippo. Not nippo, honey.
Two minutes later...
GIRL2: FUCK!!!!!!!!!
GTA: WHAT?!
GIRL2: Fokk?
GTA: Young lady--
GL2: *points*
GT: Oh. Fox. FOX.
I am mad, bad, and dangerous to know.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
SeXXXy
One of my four-year-olds is very taken with me. She always crawls into my lap and, when we play Color Touch, likes to stroke my hair and cry, "Yellow!"
(Maybe I should get a new colorist...)
Today, I learned just HOW taken she is with me. She slid on the floor into my lap and wrapped her arms around me with a giggle. "Awwww," I crooned, "I love you, too!"
As she looked into my face and smiled, she started patting my breasts.
"No, honey."
Thoughtfully, as I disengaged her little hands, she snaked her arm out suddenly, grabbed my left nipple, and yanked it.
That's right, a four-year-old Japanese girl gave me a titty twister.
She did not get any points.
(Maybe I should get a new colorist...)
Today, I learned just HOW taken she is with me. She slid on the floor into my lap and wrapped her arms around me with a giggle. "Awwww," I crooned, "I love you, too!"
As she looked into my face and smiled, she started patting my breasts.
"No, honey."
Thoughtfully, as I disengaged her little hands, she snaked her arm out suddenly, grabbed my left nipple, and yanked it.
That's right, a four-year-old Japanese girl gave me a titty twister.
She did not get any points.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Student Quotes
GTA: "My friend is having a baby!"
STUDENT: "What kind of baby is she going to have?"
GTA: "Errr...you mean, is it a boy or a girl?"
STUDENT: "No." *absolute silence*
...well, I guess it's one of the following, then:
1. Human
2. Caucasian
3. Made of delicious baby meats
4. Not on fire
STUDENT: "What kind of baby is she going to have?"
GTA: "Errr...you mean, is it a boy or a girl?"
STUDENT: "No." *absolute silence*
...well, I guess it's one of the following, then:
1. Human
2. Caucasian
3. Made of delicious baby meats
4. Not on fire
TYPHOON, MY ASS
This isn't the first time we've been told a typhoon was coming, and it's not the first time we've been told a typhoon was coming and then nothing bleeding happened.
I'm just the tiniest bit bitter (bit bitter! that's fun to say!) because I would have liked a day off to do crap. I have a friend visiting this weekend and piles of decorative stuff lying around that I haven't put up in my four months or so of living in this apartment.
But mostly, I'm sorry that I've lived here just shy of a year and I STILL can't say that I've been through a typhoon, dammit!
I'm just the tiniest bit bitter (bit bitter! that's fun to say!) because I would have liked a day off to do crap. I have a friend visiting this weekend and piles of decorative stuff lying around that I haven't put up in my four months or so of living in this apartment.
But mostly, I'm sorry that I've lived here just shy of a year and I STILL can't say that I've been through a typhoon, dammit!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Kitsune Udon
I love kitsune udon. It is delicious.
I'm too lazy to find a picture, but it is as such:
Udon noodles
Broth (I know this is probably fish dashi-based, but I try to close my eyes to it)
A big ol' sheet of aburage, which is that thin, sweet tofu you find surrounding the rice in inarizushi.
Typical Japanese noodle house toppings, like green onion, fishcake, seaweed, and occasionally a scattering of tempura batter- without the tofu, and just the tempura, it becomes tanuki udon, because nothing says "RACCOON DOG WITH GIANT MAGICAL BALLS" like pieces of fried batter.
So, okay, kitsune udon is a pretty normal thing. Most noodle houses have it. Sometimes izakaya have it. It is cheap, filling, and relatively vegetarian, and it tastes like awesomeness.
Japanese people like to talk about food. When I tell my students I've been travelling, they immediately ask, "How about the food?" immediately followed by "What did you eat?" It can be boring, but sometimes it sparks interesting discussions about the passage of culture between east and west, or changing tastes in the younger generation, or the popularity of certain cuisines and how it relates to social trends. Or they just sit there listing foods they like while the other students nod and smile, which at least kills time with boring fuckers.
Eventually, they ask me, "What's your favourite Japanese food?" I always answer, "kitsune udon." Their reaction never fails to surprise me.
They SHIT THEMSELVES LAUGHING. They clap their hands and lean back and their teeth positively glow with saliva (and the metal crap used to stick their teeth back in their heads). They tear up and giggle and go "EEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?????" like it's going out of style.
Not once have I received an explanation for ths behaviour. One of my Japanese friends told me "well, kitsune udon is really inexpensive," and gave me a confused look.
Maybe I'm the asshole here.
I'm too lazy to find a picture, but it is as such:
Udon noodles
Broth (I know this is probably fish dashi-based, but I try to close my eyes to it)
A big ol' sheet of aburage, which is that thin, sweet tofu you find surrounding the rice in inarizushi.
Typical Japanese noodle house toppings, like green onion, fishcake, seaweed, and occasionally a scattering of tempura batter- without the tofu, and just the tempura, it becomes tanuki udon, because nothing says "RACCOON DOG WITH GIANT MAGICAL BALLS" like pieces of fried batter.
So, okay, kitsune udon is a pretty normal thing. Most noodle houses have it. Sometimes izakaya have it. It is cheap, filling, and relatively vegetarian, and it tastes like awesomeness.
Japanese people like to talk about food. When I tell my students I've been travelling, they immediately ask, "How about the food?" immediately followed by "What did you eat?" It can be boring, but sometimes it sparks interesting discussions about the passage of culture between east and west, or changing tastes in the younger generation, or the popularity of certain cuisines and how it relates to social trends. Or they just sit there listing foods they like while the other students nod and smile, which at least kills time with boring fuckers.
Eventually, they ask me, "What's your favourite Japanese food?" I always answer, "kitsune udon." Their reaction never fails to surprise me.
They SHIT THEMSELVES LAUGHING. They clap their hands and lean back and their teeth positively glow with saliva (and the metal crap used to stick their teeth back in their heads). They tear up and giggle and go "EEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?????" like it's going out of style.
Not once have I received an explanation for ths behaviour. One of my Japanese friends told me "well, kitsune udon is really inexpensive," and gave me a confused look.
Maybe I'm the asshole here.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Again with this?
STUDENT: "Koreans are very resentful of the Japanese."
GTA: "Oh, because of the occupation?"
STUDENT: "No! No occupation...Japan and Korea were ONE."
GTA: .......
STUDENT: "Korea did not have any schools or any roads before Japan helped them! I don't understand why they aren't more grateful."
Welp...I have a clue....
GTA: "Oh, because of the occupation?"
STUDENT: "No! No occupation...Japan and Korea were ONE."
GTA: .......
STUDENT: "Korea did not have any schools or any roads before Japan helped them! I don't understand why they aren't more grateful."
Welp...I have a clue....
Fashion! Turrrrrrrrrrrrn to the reft!
A brief trip to the Omotesando Softbank yesterday inspired the following.
AN OPEN LETTER TO JAPANESE PEOPLE:
Congratulations! You are known worldwide for your fashion sense. The
innovative nature of Japanese sartorialism is globally lauded, often
copied by Western designers (only to ring particularly hollow), lusted
after by legions of fashionistas everywhere, and may have caused Gwen
Stefani to completely lose her fucking mind. This really is something
that you should be proud of, and, in my opinion, it is something you
rightly deserve.
For example, I went into a boutique in Shinjuku station a couple of
months ago and there was a woman with a tree on her head. Just an
ordinary saleswoman, walking around casually adjusting things and
yelling "IRASSHAIMASEEEEEEE" at inanimate objects, but she had a tree
on her head. A fairly large one. And I think it was made of Tinker
Toys. My point being, she actually looked GOOD. If I put a tree on my
head, I would look like a fluffypagan at Burning Man. (That would be
"not so good.")
Despite this, I think you need a few pointers. Bear with me, and think
about heeding the following advice:
1. If it it 95 degrees out (close to 40, that is), then you should not
be wearing a sweatshirt and Doc Martens.
2. Pockets hanging out from the legs of your hotpants do not look
good. Also- and I'm not sure- but I think it must make it really hard
to put shit in your pockets.
3. Those snap-closure elbow-to-wrist gauntlets do nothing for your
arms. Moreover, if you MUST, pick a fabric that does not look like
upholstery. Unless you are a superhero with couch powers or your name
is Ottoman Chesterfield, upholstery gauntlets are strange.
4. If you cannot lift your bag without your boyfriend lending you a
hand, you need a smaller bag. Possibly with fewer keychains on it.
5. You have a choice: either you can wear foot-tall spike heels, or
you can walk like a geisha. Doing both will result in a symptom I like
to call Velociraptor Legs, in which your knees lock and your thighs
eventually grow a horrible frontal curve. I am not kidding about this.
6. YOU ARE NOT FOUR YEARS OLD STOP DRESSING LIKE IT.
7. Attention J-trannies! If you weigh 300 pounds and cannot remove
your 5 o'clock shadow, please do not dress Gothic Lolita! You make
Sailor Bubba look demure and feminine.
8. Actually, if you weigh 300 pounds, don't dress gothloli regardless of gender.
9. WEAR SHOES THAT FUCKING FIT, YOU IDIOTS.
10. If you wear false eyelashes (and I would, if I didn't wear
glasses), please try not to glue them several millimeters above your
actual eyelashes. It is creepy.
11. You may not be a yamamba. Ever.
11a. No, I'm not kidding. For the love of christ, stop.
12. Another issue with hotpants: please don't wear them if your
individual thighs are three times wider that your torso. I am not
kidding. You look like that kangaroo chick from Titan A.E.
I seriously just made a Titan A.E. reference? I quit.
AN OPEN LETTER TO JAPANESE PEOPLE:
Congratulations! You are known worldwide for your fashion sense. The
innovative nature of Japanese sartorialism is globally lauded, often
copied by Western designers (only to ring particularly hollow), lusted
after by legions of fashionistas everywhere, and may have caused Gwen
Stefani to completely lose her fucking mind. This really is something
that you should be proud of, and, in my opinion, it is something you
rightly deserve.
For example, I went into a boutique in Shinjuku station a couple of
months ago and there was a woman with a tree on her head. Just an
ordinary saleswoman, walking around casually adjusting things and
yelling "IRASSHAIMASEEEEEEE" at inanimate objects, but she had a tree
on her head. A fairly large one. And I think it was made of Tinker
Toys. My point being, she actually looked GOOD. If I put a tree on my
head, I would look like a fluffypagan at Burning Man. (That would be
"not so good.")
Despite this, I think you need a few pointers. Bear with me, and think
about heeding the following advice:
1. If it it 95 degrees out (close to 40, that is), then you should not
be wearing a sweatshirt and Doc Martens.
2. Pockets hanging out from the legs of your hotpants do not look
good. Also- and I'm not sure- but I think it must make it really hard
to put shit in your pockets.
3. Those snap-closure elbow-to-wrist gauntlets do nothing for your
arms. Moreover, if you MUST, pick a fabric that does not look like
upholstery. Unless you are a superhero with couch powers or your name
is Ottoman Chesterfield, upholstery gauntlets are strange.
4. If you cannot lift your bag without your boyfriend lending you a
hand, you need a smaller bag. Possibly with fewer keychains on it.
5. You have a choice: either you can wear foot-tall spike heels, or
you can walk like a geisha. Doing both will result in a symptom I like
to call Velociraptor Legs, in which your knees lock and your thighs
eventually grow a horrible frontal curve. I am not kidding about this.
6. YOU ARE NOT FOUR YEARS OLD STOP DRESSING LIKE IT.
7. Attention J-trannies! If you weigh 300 pounds and cannot remove
your 5 o'clock shadow, please do not dress Gothic Lolita! You make
Sailor Bubba look demure and feminine.
8. Actually, if you weigh 300 pounds, don't dress gothloli regardless of gender.
9. WEAR SHOES THAT FUCKING FIT, YOU IDIOTS.
10. If you wear false eyelashes (and I would, if I didn't wear
glasses), please try not to glue them several millimeters above your
actual eyelashes. It is creepy.
11. You may not be a yamamba. Ever.
11a. No, I'm not kidding. For the love of christ, stop.
12. Another issue with hotpants: please don't wear them if your
individual thighs are three times wider that your torso. I am not
kidding. You look like that kangaroo chick from Titan A.E.
I seriously just made a Titan A.E. reference? I quit.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Hell no, we WILL go.
Company policy dictates that if we leave a school during our shift in order to get something to eat, we should ask the staff first.
It's never been a problem before today, but when we asked if we could make our habitual run to the konbini, we were shot down with the typical buck-toothed, two-faced "Ohhhh, so sorry..."
No.
FUCK no.
We're at the school with no lessons; I'm sure my coworkers who read this blog know the school in question.
DO NOT ACCEPT THIS. Fight the system.
It's never been a problem before today, but when we asked if we could make our habitual run to the konbini, we were shot down with the typical buck-toothed, two-faced "Ohhhh, so sorry..."
No.
FUCK no.
We're at the school with no lessons; I'm sure my coworkers who read this blog know the school in question.
DO NOT ACCEPT THIS. Fight the system.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Indeed.
As a synaesthete, I'm extremely sensitive to a lot of stimuli, particularly color. I was pretty excited when I learned that synaesthesia isn't just me being crazy, but a legitimate meical issue. Sadly, it's become as trendy as bisexuality and Asperger's, but fuck those people.
Today, one of my favourite kids curled up in the corner of our room with the saddest face I've ever seen. I was worried.
GTA: "Hey, 'Kengo', are you okay?"
KENGO: .......
GTA: "Kengo...how are you?"
KENGO: (looking up at me with a very miserable expression) Today, I no colors.
I get you, kid. I get you.
Today, one of my favourite kids curled up in the corner of our room with the saddest face I've ever seen. I was worried.
GTA: "Hey, 'Kengo', are you okay?"
KENGO: .......
GTA: "Kengo...how are you?"
KENGO: (looking up at me with a very miserable expression) Today, I no colors.
I get you, kid. I get you.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Some people just don't get it
STUDENT: "We had an exchange student once. He wasn't a normal American....he was kind of darker!"
Prepositions
I taught prepositions to SmartEvil Class last Saturday. They were far too easy- in, on, under- whereas my kids rolled their eyes and screamed, "IT'S TO LEFT OF WINDOW!" which I did my bets to correct. That's difficult, considering how advanced the little weirdos are.
I tried to play it up by placing our cushions in weird places. I plopped one on my head and asked, "Where's the cushion?"
My quietest student piped up with, "It's on the Anna-teacher!"
I gave her ten points for that. She responded by hopping around in a delighted circle.
My next rundown of prepositions involved the students, and shoving the cushion in their arms or under their butts. At one point, I shoved it onto Little H's head and asked him, "Hey, H----, where's the cushion?"
He proudly answered, "It's on the H----!"
Even though the grammar wasn't perfect, I went to give him extra points, but he stopped me by tugging on my skirt.
Screwing up his eyes in determination, he said, "Chigao...it's on the ME!"
He got extra stickers.
I tried to play it up by placing our cushions in weird places. I plopped one on my head and asked, "Where's the cushion?"
My quietest student piped up with, "It's on the Anna-teacher!"
I gave her ten points for that. She responded by hopping around in a delighted circle.
My next rundown of prepositions involved the students, and shoving the cushion in their arms or under their butts. At one point, I shoved it onto Little H's head and asked him, "Hey, H----, where's the cushion?"
He proudly answered, "It's on the H----!"
Even though the grammar wasn't perfect, I went to give him extra points, but he stopped me by tugging on my skirt.
Screwing up his eyes in determination, he said, "Chigao...it's on the ME!"
He got extra stickers.
Noun + Color
My smartest kids- who are, for the record, so wild that fellow teachers I've never met know who I am because my kids are a cautionary tale- had to learn color adjectives in conjunction with classroom nouns. I actually taught this lesson a week early because they are too fucking smart for the material I have to teach them, so last class I snuck in an extra review of previous material. Naturally, they blazed through it in a matter of seconds and then, as usual, demanded we play hangman. I allowed this because my company- and this is just my opinion- does not bother emphasizing spelling to the extent that I believe is necessary. And I am a fucking hardass. Especially with smart kids.
So, here we were:
"Blue crayon!"
"Green paper!"
"Yellow pencil!"
My kids being smarter than me, they came up with the following:
"Light orange and black eraser!"
"Chartreuse basket!"
"Black and white soccer ball!"
(after being shown a picture of a school building) "American school?" *raspberry*
The best, however, was yet to come.
One of my students in SmartEvil Class is not Japanese. I'm fairly certain that he has a Cambodian name, but I'm not positive. The kid and his parents speak fluent Japanese, so I never really thought about the issue. Sometimes the other kids give him minor amounts of shit- for example, screaming "KURO!!!!!!!!!!!!!" at him, or scrubbing his hands for him during cleanup time while everyone laugh hysterically as "H"'s hands don't get any less brown.
I love this kid because he is brilliant and because he is a spastic little weirdo. He likes to teach me karate moves and scream "NINJA TEACHAAAAAH!" He also likes it when I clock him in the head with my shoe.
Anyways, during the color + noun lesson, he skipped ahead of the others and identified me.
Pointing, Little H said, "WHITE TEACHER!"
I was laughing so hard, Little H's mother got worried.
Dear god.
White teacher.
I gave him five extra points for that.
Hell, he got the structure, didn't he?
So, here we were:
"Blue crayon!"
"Green paper!"
"Yellow pencil!"
My kids being smarter than me, they came up with the following:
"Light orange and black eraser!"
"Chartreuse basket!"
"Black and white soccer ball!"
(after being shown a picture of a school building) "American school?" *raspberry*
The best, however, was yet to come.
One of my students in SmartEvil Class is not Japanese. I'm fairly certain that he has a Cambodian name, but I'm not positive. The kid and his parents speak fluent Japanese, so I never really thought about the issue. Sometimes the other kids give him minor amounts of shit- for example, screaming "KURO!!!!!!!!!!!!!" at him, or scrubbing his hands for him during cleanup time while everyone laugh hysterically as "H"'s hands don't get any less brown.
I love this kid because he is brilliant and because he is a spastic little weirdo. He likes to teach me karate moves and scream "NINJA TEACHAAAAAH!" He also likes it when I clock him in the head with my shoe.
Anyways, during the color + noun lesson, he skipped ahead of the others and identified me.
Pointing, Little H said, "WHITE TEACHER!"
I was laughing so hard, Little H's mother got worried.
Dear god.
White teacher.
I gave him five extra points for that.
Hell, he got the structure, didn't he?
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Shiro no Akuma dessho?
My friend G (blondie) was on a train recently when an old woman called her a "white-haired devil."
Then she added, "They're unnatural!"
For fuck's sake, woman, you're talking to yourself. Who has the real problem here?
Then she added, "They're unnatural!"
For fuck's sake, woman, you're talking to yourself. Who has the real problem here?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
My Students Are Good At English
STUDENT ONE: "What do you think about working mothers?"
STUDENT TWO: "I'm very attracted to them."
. . . . . .
STUDENT: "My friend was so happy when she got tan. I guess she wants to be a black person, because she like R&B music."
STUDENT TWO: "I'm very attracted to them."
. . . . . .
STUDENT: "My friend was so happy when she got tan. I guess she wants to be a black person, because she like R&B music."
Si Se Puede
Today, one of my four-year-olds followed me around chanting "BLACK MAN! BLACK MAN! BLACK MAN!" and smacking my ass.
I am a white woman.
I am a white woman.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
My new favourite student
(male) STUDENT: "I think animal testing is necessary."
GTA: "Even for cosmetics?"
STUDENT: *deadpan* "No, because I don't wear cosmetics."
....
STUDENT: "Cosmetics are necessary for some people, though. Like my wife."
....
GTA: "Name three things that are in your house."
STUDENT: "Any three things?"
GTA: "Yeah."
STUDENT: "Okay. I have three goldfish."
GTA: "Even for cosmetics?"
STUDENT: *deadpan* "No, because I don't wear cosmetics."
....
STUDENT: "Cosmetics are necessary for some people, though. Like my wife."
....
GTA: "Name three things that are in your house."
STUDENT: "Any three things?"
GTA: "Yeah."
STUDENT: "Okay. I have three goldfish."
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Why I Hate Japan Right Now
Okay, so here's what happened:
I've been looking for an apartment since the end of March. Instead of going through Sakura House (not a good company to deal with) or any of the usual foreigner channels, I took my friend up on his offer to introduce me to his real estate agent, a formidable and wonderful woman who I will refer to as "Ikuko".
Ikuko, my friend "Steve", and I pounded the pavement for a day, and I found a beautiful apartment in Shin-Okubo, which is the Korean part of town. It was within walking distance from Shinjuku and two stops away from my friends in Takadanobaba. In short, perfect.
In the twenty hours between then and my return to the office the next day, the apartment had been rented. Ikuko did some sleuthing and found another unit in the same building- not as good of a view, on a lower floor, and slightly less unique than the original apartment, but still quite good. I decided to snatch it up.
Three days later, Ikukp called me: the owners were "uncomfortable" renting to foreigners. May I reiterate that this place is in the KOREAN part of town?
The search started again. I must have walked all over Tokyo. I even went looking two days before my kidney infection put me in the hospital for a week. I found a new place in Ogikubo: not as great as the one in Shin-Okubo, but still pretty good. Great location. Tatami mats. An affordable 2DK. Nearly everything I wanted.
Ikukp called me two days after I told her I'd take the place: oh, now they need a Japanese emergency contact, instead of Steve (who speaks perfect Japanese). And not just any Japanese emergency contact- a coworker.
Okay.
So, I had one Japanese coworker I felt I knew well enough to ask for this- my friend "Yuka". I asked her and received a fawning affirmative reply within minutes. All right, set to go! Right? Right???
Weird things started happening. Ikuko would call me, looking for Yuka, or call me into the office to talk about how hard it was to reach Yuka. Meanwhile, my moving date got pushed up by several weeks due to my hospitalization. The whole time, Yuka assured me that everything was fine, even though Ikuko kept telling me that Yuka refused to take any calls and had called HER yelling. Apparently, she was offended that she was asked to give my guarantor company such violently personal information such as the name of her hometown and the phone number of our work's head office. I know, I know, it's like being raped, huh?
Yet, we pressed on. I left for Abu Dhabi, assured that everything would be okay. Ikuko hadn't mentioned anything about Yuka in a few days, and we'd gone over all the necessary documents with no mention of hitches, so while I wasn't exactly feeling confident, I was comforted that things might happen properly.
Oh, and I should mention that I canceled my guesthouse contract and set up my moveout date during this time.
I got back into Tokyo and the next day, Ikuko called with great news: she had convinced the management company to accept Steve as my emergency contact, instead of ephemeral Yua. She did say that she had left Yuka's name on the official paperwork just in case she did come through, as Yuka'd be a more conventional and acceptable contact, being Japanese. Okay, I said.
Last Saturday, less than 24 hours before I was to sign the contract and move in, Ikuko called. The housing company had dropped me and refused the contract.
It seems that Yuka had sent them a multiple-page fax detailing her fees for translation and English teaching services, threatening noncompliance if they weren't paid. I'm not entirely sure what she expected to accomplish with that, nor what in hell she could have meant by doing so, but the management company was so offended and so freaked out that they refused to deal with me if it meant dealing with her.
Ikuko left for vacation the next day, and she won't be back until the seventeenth. I lose my right to live in my guesthouse a week after that.
So now, I don't know what to do. The timing is such that I'm fucked for Tokyo City Apartments and Tokyo Rent, since I work twice as much as usual this week.
I am out of time, I don't feel well enough yet to be dealing with any of this, and I'm fucking tired.
Racism is a beautiful thing.
Note: I have not seen the offending faxed materials, nor have I witnessed any of the alleged yelling. I do not claim that either detail is one-sided; I am merely reporting the facts as I know them.
I've been looking for an apartment since the end of March. Instead of going through Sakura House (not a good company to deal with) or any of the usual foreigner channels, I took my friend up on his offer to introduce me to his real estate agent, a formidable and wonderful woman who I will refer to as "Ikuko".
Ikuko, my friend "Steve", and I pounded the pavement for a day, and I found a beautiful apartment in Shin-Okubo, which is the Korean part of town. It was within walking distance from Shinjuku and two stops away from my friends in Takadanobaba. In short, perfect.
In the twenty hours between then and my return to the office the next day, the apartment had been rented. Ikuko did some sleuthing and found another unit in the same building- not as good of a view, on a lower floor, and slightly less unique than the original apartment, but still quite good. I decided to snatch it up.
Three days later, Ikukp called me: the owners were "uncomfortable" renting to foreigners. May I reiterate that this place is in the KOREAN part of town?
The search started again. I must have walked all over Tokyo. I even went looking two days before my kidney infection put me in the hospital for a week. I found a new place in Ogikubo: not as great as the one in Shin-Okubo, but still pretty good. Great location. Tatami mats. An affordable 2DK. Nearly everything I wanted.
Ikukp called me two days after I told her I'd take the place: oh, now they need a Japanese emergency contact, instead of Steve (who speaks perfect Japanese). And not just any Japanese emergency contact- a coworker.
Okay.
So, I had one Japanese coworker I felt I knew well enough to ask for this- my friend "Yuka". I asked her and received a fawning affirmative reply within minutes. All right, set to go! Right? Right???
Weird things started happening. Ikuko would call me, looking for Yuka, or call me into the office to talk about how hard it was to reach Yuka. Meanwhile, my moving date got pushed up by several weeks due to my hospitalization. The whole time, Yuka assured me that everything was fine, even though Ikuko kept telling me that Yuka refused to take any calls and had called HER yelling. Apparently, she was offended that she was asked to give my guarantor company such violently personal information such as the name of her hometown and the phone number of our work's head office. I know, I know, it's like being raped, huh?
Yet, we pressed on. I left for Abu Dhabi, assured that everything would be okay. Ikuko hadn't mentioned anything about Yuka in a few days, and we'd gone over all the necessary documents with no mention of hitches, so while I wasn't exactly feeling confident, I was comforted that things might happen properly.
Oh, and I should mention that I canceled my guesthouse contract and set up my moveout date during this time.
I got back into Tokyo and the next day, Ikuko called with great news: she had convinced the management company to accept Steve as my emergency contact, instead of ephemeral Yua. She did say that she had left Yuka's name on the official paperwork just in case she did come through, as Yuka'd be a more conventional and acceptable contact, being Japanese. Okay, I said.
Last Saturday, less than 24 hours before I was to sign the contract and move in, Ikuko called. The housing company had dropped me and refused the contract.
It seems that Yuka had sent them a multiple-page fax detailing her fees for translation and English teaching services, threatening noncompliance if they weren't paid. I'm not entirely sure what she expected to accomplish with that, nor what in hell she could have meant by doing so, but the management company was so offended and so freaked out that they refused to deal with me if it meant dealing with her.
Ikuko left for vacation the next day, and she won't be back until the seventeenth. I lose my right to live in my guesthouse a week after that.
So now, I don't know what to do. The timing is such that I'm fucked for Tokyo City Apartments and Tokyo Rent, since I work twice as much as usual this week.
I am out of time, I don't feel well enough yet to be dealing with any of this, and I'm fucking tired.
Racism is a beautiful thing.
Note: I have not seen the offending faxed materials, nor have I witnessed any of the alleged yelling. I do not claim that either detail is one-sided; I am merely reporting the facts as I know them.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Today sucks
My favourite school director is switching schools. That is not fun. Not at all.
Men in this country are scary ungood- and those are the foreigners.
I'm flying to Abu Dhabi tomorrow and oh, my goodness, I am so happy to be going there. Expect more updates if Blogspot isn't blocked in the UAE.
Men in this country are scary ungood- and those are the foreigners.
I'm flying to Abu Dhabi tomorrow and oh, my goodness, I am so happy to be going there. Expect more updates if Blogspot isn't blocked in the UAE.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
A Japanese Hospital Extravangaza! Part One: Showa Hospital is fucking horrible,
I. Am. Sick.
I first realized that I was sick on Friday. No, not last Friday- the one before that. While at work, I started having weird lower back and stomach pain. It wasn't horrible- I've had worse menstrual cramps- so I shrugged it off and went on with my day.
By the time I got back to my home station, I was feeling pretty rank. Woozily, I picked up some food and beer. Of note at this point was that I hadn't had any appetite for about five days.
My friend Adam and I were hanging out and drinking the beer, and while I wasn't in great shape, I'd felt worse. Strangely, though, I wasn't all that interested in my beer.
Somewhere around 1 AM, Adam went to the bathroom, and I laid down. Suddenly, it seemed very, very significant, this dull ache. I started breathing hard. What the fuck was going on? Was this the world's most painful unreleased fart? Appendicitis? The Birth of Our New Lord and Savior?
Adam took one look at me and gave me his patented Disapproving Dad™ look. "You need to go to the hospital."
"No way."
"Yes, you do."
"FUCK IT."
He waited ten seconds.
"Oh, god, can you just google 'appendicitis' for me?"
Adam called the hospital instead. A true gentleman, he came with me in the ambulance. Yes, he brought his beer.
With Adam acting as my faithful translator, we managed to have the following conversation with the ambulance guy:
ADAM: [Japanese] She's having pain in her lower back...
AMBULANCE GUY: So it's a stomachache?
ADAM: [English] Do you have a stomachache?
GTA: No, not really, I think it's in my kidneys.
ADAM: [Japanese] She thinks it's her kidneys.
AMBULANCE GUY: Ah! So a headache, then...
ADAM: [English] Do you have a headache?
ANNA: Are you on fucking crack?
ADAM: [Japanese] She doesn't have a headache, it's her lower back. Where her kidneys are.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
After about twenty minutes of discussion, the driver and the Ambulance Guy brokered some kind of deal, and we FINALLY left for the hospital. When I asked if maybe I could lie on my side instead of my back, I was apologized to and told it was not possible. I lay on my poor, throbbing back the entire trip to the hospital, trying not to cry and clutching my ancient stuffed rabbit, which Adam had thoughtfully thrown in my purse on our way out. He had his own comfort animal: the rest of his beer.
Upon arrival, I was rolled into a room and the same round of questions began again. Stomachache? No. Headache? No. Pregnant? Decidedly not. Jesus fucking christ. Between Adam and I, using a skillful combination of Japanese, English, whining (mine), interpretive dance, and emphatic pointing, we managed to convince the staff that there was something internally wrong in the lower back region.
Then came the inevitable pounding: "Does this hurt?" No, you're punching my fucking shoulder. "Does this hurt?" That's a scapula, numbnuts. "Does this hurt?" That's my ARMPIT. What fucking madness do you expect to find lurking beneath my armpit? They finally- and literally- hit upon the problem. "Oh," the doc said thoughtfully, "There seems to be something wrong with your kidneys."
UN-GUUUHHHH??!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Fuckhead! [GTA note: Sorry, I'm still pissed. You'll see why later.]
They wanted pee, so I went to give them pee. It was then that I noticed that I was peeing blood.
I handed them my bloody pee, finally scared into silence.
Then came the ultrasound, which I desperately tried to watch. The second they realized my interest, however, they pushed a little curtain between me and the screen! Bastards! I am a SCIENTIST, which they probably couldn't tell from my skanky tank top and leopard-print pajama pants. Then again, the nurse took my pulse using a Nightmare Before Christmas watch, so maybe they were just a mean bunch.
After about three hours of poking and prodding, I was finally told that I had kidney stones. Kidney stones that would pass in a day or two. Embarrassed, I started gathering things. Adam tried to ask what might have caused it, but either he didn't understand the answer or the doctor didn't understand the question, because there was a moment of mutual confusion before an older doctor, who had been watching the proceedings with crossed arms and incurable bitchface, rolled his eyes and said dramatically, in perfect English, "It could be ANY NUMBER OF THINGS. Diet. Environment. Activity. It's not really important."
Oh, okay. Thank you for speaking English NOW, cockmonkey.
The cheerful nurse handed me my prescription. "Now, when you take this medicine..." She stopped delicately, blushed, then turned to the computer and consulted it before writing something down on a prescription pad and showing it to Adam.
Adam started laughing.
"What?"
"She's not gonna like this..." he told the nurse.
Oh, god. "What?" I gasped, horrified.
With a nasty grin, Adam showed me what was written on the paper:
SUPPOSITORY
"Oh, hell no. Are they out of their fucking minds? Do they think I'm going to-- Adam, don't you dare translate this!-- ask them if there's anything else!"
A flurry of cheerful opposition hit me. This was stronger, it would work faster, it was better for me, yaddah yaddah. By this point, it was four AM, and I just didn't care anymore. "Fine. What is it?"
"They said it's a painkiller?"
"JUST a painkiller."
He checked. "Yep."
"I'm not taking it. I can get kancho at work for free."
I checked out, Adam asked when I could drink again- two days- and we limped home. Despite my fear of fisting myself, I figured that the nightmare was over, and that in a few days I'd be free and clear, both literally and figuratively.
Little did I know that the ordeal was just beginning...
I first realized that I was sick on Friday. No, not last Friday- the one before that. While at work, I started having weird lower back and stomach pain. It wasn't horrible- I've had worse menstrual cramps- so I shrugged it off and went on with my day.
By the time I got back to my home station, I was feeling pretty rank. Woozily, I picked up some food and beer. Of note at this point was that I hadn't had any appetite for about five days.
My friend Adam and I were hanging out and drinking the beer, and while I wasn't in great shape, I'd felt worse. Strangely, though, I wasn't all that interested in my beer.
Somewhere around 1 AM, Adam went to the bathroom, and I laid down. Suddenly, it seemed very, very significant, this dull ache. I started breathing hard. What the fuck was going on? Was this the world's most painful unreleased fart? Appendicitis? The Birth of Our New Lord and Savior?
Adam took one look at me and gave me his patented Disapproving Dad™ look. "You need to go to the hospital."
"No way."
"Yes, you do."
"FUCK IT."
He waited ten seconds.
"Oh, god, can you just google 'appendicitis' for me?"
Adam called the hospital instead. A true gentleman, he came with me in the ambulance. Yes, he brought his beer.
With Adam acting as my faithful translator, we managed to have the following conversation with the ambulance guy:
ADAM: [Japanese] She's having pain in her lower back...
AMBULANCE GUY: So it's a stomachache?
ADAM: [English] Do you have a stomachache?
GTA: No, not really, I think it's in my kidneys.
ADAM: [Japanese] She thinks it's her kidneys.
AMBULANCE GUY: Ah! So a headache, then...
ADAM: [English] Do you have a headache?
ANNA: Are you on fucking crack?
ADAM: [Japanese] She doesn't have a headache, it's her lower back. Where her kidneys are.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
After about twenty minutes of discussion, the driver and the Ambulance Guy brokered some kind of deal, and we FINALLY left for the hospital. When I asked if maybe I could lie on my side instead of my back, I was apologized to and told it was not possible. I lay on my poor, throbbing back the entire trip to the hospital, trying not to cry and clutching my ancient stuffed rabbit, which Adam had thoughtfully thrown in my purse on our way out. He had his own comfort animal: the rest of his beer.
Upon arrival, I was rolled into a room and the same round of questions began again. Stomachache? No. Headache? No. Pregnant? Decidedly not. Jesus fucking christ. Between Adam and I, using a skillful combination of Japanese, English, whining (mine), interpretive dance, and emphatic pointing, we managed to convince the staff that there was something internally wrong in the lower back region.
Then came the inevitable pounding: "Does this hurt?" No, you're punching my fucking shoulder. "Does this hurt?" That's a scapula, numbnuts. "Does this hurt?" That's my ARMPIT. What fucking madness do you expect to find lurking beneath my armpit? They finally- and literally- hit upon the problem. "Oh," the doc said thoughtfully, "There seems to be something wrong with your kidneys."
UN-GUUUHHHH??!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Fuckhead! [GTA note: Sorry, I'm still pissed. You'll see why later.]
They wanted pee, so I went to give them pee. It was then that I noticed that I was peeing blood.
I handed them my bloody pee, finally scared into silence.
Then came the ultrasound, which I desperately tried to watch. The second they realized my interest, however, they pushed a little curtain between me and the screen! Bastards! I am a SCIENTIST, which they probably couldn't tell from my skanky tank top and leopard-print pajama pants. Then again, the nurse took my pulse using a Nightmare Before Christmas watch, so maybe they were just a mean bunch.
After about three hours of poking and prodding, I was finally told that I had kidney stones. Kidney stones that would pass in a day or two. Embarrassed, I started gathering things. Adam tried to ask what might have caused it, but either he didn't understand the answer or the doctor didn't understand the question, because there was a moment of mutual confusion before an older doctor, who had been watching the proceedings with crossed arms and incurable bitchface, rolled his eyes and said dramatically, in perfect English, "It could be ANY NUMBER OF THINGS. Diet. Environment. Activity. It's not really important."
Oh, okay. Thank you for speaking English NOW, cockmonkey.
The cheerful nurse handed me my prescription. "Now, when you take this medicine..." She stopped delicately, blushed, then turned to the computer and consulted it before writing something down on a prescription pad and showing it to Adam.
Adam started laughing.
"What?"
"She's not gonna like this..." he told the nurse.
Oh, god. "What?" I gasped, horrified.
With a nasty grin, Adam showed me what was written on the paper:
SUPPOSITORY
"Oh, hell no. Are they out of their fucking minds? Do they think I'm going to-- Adam, don't you dare translate this!-- ask them if there's anything else!"
A flurry of cheerful opposition hit me. This was stronger, it would work faster, it was better for me, yaddah yaddah. By this point, it was four AM, and I just didn't care anymore. "Fine. What is it?"
"They said it's a painkiller?"
"JUST a painkiller."
He checked. "Yep."
"I'm not taking it. I can get kancho at work for free."
I checked out, Adam asked when I could drink again- two days- and we limped home. Despite my fear of fisting myself, I figured that the nightmare was over, and that in a few days I'd be free and clear, both literally and figuratively.
Little did I know that the ordeal was just beginning...
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Students Are Always a Good Time
"I like to see the rape blossom. Do you understand, or are you scared now?"
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I love dirty old men
Two weeks ago, I had a very taciturn, grouchy student. One thing I've noticed about older male students is that they are either very enthusiastic, or quiet as fuck because they're exhausted. That's fair, as many of them have just come from their ball-busting workdays. I'm pretty good at drawing people out with talk, but this guy resisted my every effort.
He asked me a question that's very popular amongst students- what surprised me when I first came to Japan?- and I decided to see if I could at least shock a giggle out of him. With a grin, I informed him that I had seen a soapland* and, surprise surprise, the window had been open and I had seen just EVERYTHING! (This story is not true, of course. I've never seen a soapland with windows, let alone one on the ground floor of a building.)
He did indeed howl with surprised laughter, and started talking. Oh, he told me many things. Where to find the infamous used panty vendors. Techniques for molesting girls on the train. Websites where Japanese high school girls advertise their services and older businessmen acquiesce. All the stuff you hear about Japan, but say "naaaaaah" to, basically.
Was he having a laugh at my expense? Is he getting off on explaining this to someone he considers to be demure and wide-eyed? Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that he now requests me every week, and I always look forward to seeing him and hearing his latest stories of perversion. It's the kind of conversation I dream about: fun, interesting, and nasty as hell. You should see the note sheets I write for this guy.
* For those who don't know what a soapland is, this post is awesome.
He asked me a question that's very popular amongst students- what surprised me when I first came to Japan?- and I decided to see if I could at least shock a giggle out of him. With a grin, I informed him that I had seen a soapland* and, surprise surprise, the window had been open and I had seen just EVERYTHING! (This story is not true, of course. I've never seen a soapland with windows, let alone one on the ground floor of a building.)
He did indeed howl with surprised laughter, and started talking. Oh, he told me many things. Where to find the infamous used panty vendors. Techniques for molesting girls on the train. Websites where Japanese high school girls advertise their services and older businessmen acquiesce. All the stuff you hear about Japan, but say "naaaaaah" to, basically.
Was he having a laugh at my expense? Is he getting off on explaining this to someone he considers to be demure and wide-eyed? Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that he now requests me every week, and I always look forward to seeing him and hearing his latest stories of perversion. It's the kind of conversation I dream about: fun, interesting, and nasty as hell. You should see the note sheets I write for this guy.
* For those who don't know what a soapland is, this post is awesome.
Students Are Just Ducky
"I think Korean people are like animals because they are so ungrateful for what we did for them. When Japan occupied Korea, we made so many improvements and made their culture better. We did the same thing in Taiwan and they are still grateful today. This is why I think Japanese people don't like Koreans."
Out All Night
So, like, at the end of January or beginning of February- can't remember exactly when- I did my first Tokyo all-nighter.
I'd had the opportunity about a billion times, but usually didn't bother for several reasons. For example, I have a bad habit of drunken flouncing. Also, dislike of being face-raped by Eurotrash in nightclubs. Also, Roppongi is annoying at night and don't let anyone try to convince you that it's not.
So, at the bar one night with four friends, I realized that I had to jet or I'd miss the last train. When one of the guys told me they were going to stay out all night, I paused and thought: hey, I don't even have to be AWAKE until noon tomorrow, let alone at work. Why the fuck not?
After being unceremoniously kicked out of our favourite bar, we went to am-pm for more libations. [A quick note here: I'm sure this point is beyond belaboured, but Japanese convenience stores are wonderful. You can walk in to buy a pack of gum and walk out with a four-course hot meal, a bottle of gin, and a spanking new necktie. Seriously. They have neckties and pantyhose and socks and enough cosmetics to spackle even the most paint-obsessed Harajuku fashion queen. I've seen button-down shirts there. Naturally, it's so that if you spend all night drinking and doing various drinking-related activities, you can cover up the stink of a long evening with some new duds. Of course, the fact that you're barfing on the train cannot be hidden, but...] One of my friends made it his mission to high-five any and all passers-by. Now, this was a pretty interesting social experiment: about half the intended high-five returnees ducked away without even looking. This was more expected behaviour. As for the other fifty percent, I'd say about two-thirds were enthusiastic and amused, and the remaining third slapped, but grouchily. Grouchy high-fiving. Who knew?
We decided to konbini crawl (exactly like a pub crawl) from Kabukicho in Shinjuku over to Shibuya. That's probably a long walk even when one isn't intoxicated. As it was, it took us about five hours. On the way, we had the following adventures:
- Walking by a gas station, we saw a pickup truck. Since we were drunk, this was very exciting, and we spent about twenty minutes arguing with the guy and trying to get him to give us a ride, but he refused to take all four of us. Yes, that's right, he would only take three, and since I was the only girl, I decided to take drunken umbrage and decided he was a sexist pig. But seriously, why only three?
- Skipping through Shibuya in the rain, singing the same three parts of "Don't Stop Believin'" at the top of our lungs. Unfortunately, this is how I lost one of my favourite earrings...
- Snuggle party on the steps of some random train station near Shibuya, a snuggle party that was broken up by an elderly rent-a-cop, who made some very polite, yet very aggrieved gestures that suggested that we take our snuggling elsewhere. Cue my dramatic "CHEESE IT, IT'S THE COPS!" followed by slipping and falling backwards. Despite the fact that I fell onto my back, I managed to hurt my finger. Because I am a talent.
- Melon daiquiri in a can: much better than you think. Much, much better. Too good, in fact.
- I found out that if you have one drunken male friend, he will need to pee every so often. If you have three drunken male friends, they will need to pee almost CONSTANTLY. Were they marking their territory, or did the constant drizzle inspire their constant dribble? This is a very serious anthropological question.
- I came back into myself when I realized I was in McDonald's (a big no-no for me), sitting in the smoking section- and I realized there WAS a smoking section, in one of those HOLY SHIT I LIVE IN JAPAN moments- and that is was seven in the morning.
Yes, I did make it into work on time, but I wasn't exactly...chipper.
I'd had the opportunity about a billion times, but usually didn't bother for several reasons. For example, I have a bad habit of drunken flouncing. Also, dislike of being face-raped by Eurotrash in nightclubs. Also, Roppongi is annoying at night and don't let anyone try to convince you that it's not.
So, at the bar one night with four friends, I realized that I had to jet or I'd miss the last train. When one of the guys told me they were going to stay out all night, I paused and thought: hey, I don't even have to be AWAKE until noon tomorrow, let alone at work. Why the fuck not?
After being unceremoniously kicked out of our favourite bar, we went to am-pm for more libations. [A quick note here: I'm sure this point is beyond belaboured, but Japanese convenience stores are wonderful. You can walk in to buy a pack of gum and walk out with a four-course hot meal, a bottle of gin, and a spanking new necktie. Seriously. They have neckties and pantyhose and socks and enough cosmetics to spackle even the most paint-obsessed Harajuku fashion queen. I've seen button-down shirts there. Naturally, it's so that if you spend all night drinking and doing various drinking-related activities, you can cover up the stink of a long evening with some new duds. Of course, the fact that you're barfing on the train cannot be hidden, but...] One of my friends made it his mission to high-five any and all passers-by. Now, this was a pretty interesting social experiment: about half the intended high-five returnees ducked away without even looking. This was more expected behaviour. As for the other fifty percent, I'd say about two-thirds were enthusiastic and amused, and the remaining third slapped, but grouchily. Grouchy high-fiving. Who knew?
We decided to konbini crawl (exactly like a pub crawl) from Kabukicho in Shinjuku over to Shibuya. That's probably a long walk even when one isn't intoxicated. As it was, it took us about five hours. On the way, we had the following adventures:
- Walking by a gas station, we saw a pickup truck. Since we were drunk, this was very exciting, and we spent about twenty minutes arguing with the guy and trying to get him to give us a ride, but he refused to take all four of us. Yes, that's right, he would only take three, and since I was the only girl, I decided to take drunken umbrage and decided he was a sexist pig. But seriously, why only three?
- Skipping through Shibuya in the rain, singing the same three parts of "Don't Stop Believin'" at the top of our lungs. Unfortunately, this is how I lost one of my favourite earrings...
- Snuggle party on the steps of some random train station near Shibuya, a snuggle party that was broken up by an elderly rent-a-cop, who made some very polite, yet very aggrieved gestures that suggested that we take our snuggling elsewhere. Cue my dramatic "CHEESE IT, IT'S THE COPS!" followed by slipping and falling backwards. Despite the fact that I fell onto my back, I managed to hurt my finger. Because I am a talent.
- Melon daiquiri in a can: much better than you think. Much, much better. Too good, in fact.
- I found out that if you have one drunken male friend, he will need to pee every so often. If you have three drunken male friends, they will need to pee almost CONSTANTLY. Were they marking their territory, or did the constant drizzle inspire their constant dribble? This is a very serious anthropological question.
- I came back into myself when I realized I was in McDonald's (a big no-no for me), sitting in the smoking section- and I realized there WAS a smoking section, in one of those HOLY SHIT I LIVE IN JAPAN moments- and that is was seven in the morning.
Yes, I did make it into work on time, but I wasn't exactly...chipper.
I should maybe probably update this thing
...although, as far as I know, here's who reads this blog:
1. Me
2. My ex-boyfriend, because we're tight, yo. Also, I think he has a lot of free time. 'Sup, Ilya?
3. Maybe God, because I have to assume God is paying attention to SOMETHING. It certainly is not preventing beatdowns over his hometown, that's for sure. Oh, wait, that's Jesus. Is God from the Middle East, too? I mean, we don't know for sure that God is Jewish, because it's passed down matrilineally. So Jesus's mom is probably Middle Eastern. You know, Galadriel.
Okay, I'm done.
1. Me
2. My ex-boyfriend, because we're tight, yo. Also, I think he has a lot of free time. 'Sup, Ilya?
3. Maybe God, because I have to assume God is paying attention to SOMETHING. It certainly is not preventing beatdowns over his hometown, that's for sure. Oh, wait, that's Jesus. Is God from the Middle East, too? I mean, we don't know for sure that God is Jewish, because it's passed down matrilineally. So Jesus's mom is probably Middle Eastern. You know, Galadriel.
Okay, I'm done.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Well, tits to that
A couple weeks ago, I made a joke to my friend about fighting a Japanese woman in a bar: "What is she gonna do, titless me to death?"
Well, sirs, I have received my karmic comeuppance.
I popped into a professional hair care supplier to buy hair dye and developer. The cashier spoke a little English, and she complimented my bag and choice of colour. Pleased, I bent to collect my shopping bags, when she goes, "Oohhhh!"
I straightened up, and she made the universal gesture of Hey Look Titties. "Very big!!! I like!!"
"Uh...arigatou gozaimasu."
Then I totally fucked her on the French nails display.
Nah, I'm messing with you. But STILL.
Well, sirs, I have received my karmic comeuppance.
I popped into a professional hair care supplier to buy hair dye and developer. The cashier spoke a little English, and she complimented my bag and choice of colour. Pleased, I bent to collect my shopping bags, when she goes, "Oohhhh!"
I straightened up, and she made the universal gesture of Hey Look Titties. "Very big!!! I like!!"
"Uh...arigatou gozaimasu."
Then I totally fucked her on the French nails display.
Nah, I'm messing with you. But STILL.
A Taste of Home
I've been a little depressed lately, so when I got a chance to go to Nissin, the international grocery store, I spent way too much money. Still, here's what I bagged:
1. Nonfat milk
2. Canadian Vanilla Maple tea (a Celestial Seasonings specialty flavour that as far as I know is only sold in Canada)
3. Guinness cheddar
4. Greek yogurt
5. Kalamata olives
6. HUMMUS!!!!!!! (Granted, hummus in a box. But still. Hummus.)
7. Patak's curry in a jar
8. Tom Yum Goong soup mix
9. Jalapenos
10. Dorset cereal
11. Pita bread
Thank you, Nissin. That was $80 well-spent.
1. Nonfat milk
2. Canadian Vanilla Maple tea (a Celestial Seasonings specialty flavour that as far as I know is only sold in Canada)
3. Guinness cheddar
4. Greek yogurt
5. Kalamata olives
6. HUMMUS!!!!!!! (Granted, hummus in a box. But still. Hummus.)
7. Patak's curry in a jar
8. Tom Yum Goong soup mix
9. Jalapenos
10. Dorset cereal
11. Pita bread
Thank you, Nissin. That was $80 well-spent.
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