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....
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