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.

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.

Tales of Grossness

So, I learned something new last night.

When a nice young Japanese man shows you how to get on the absolute last train to take you home, it's apparently standard procedure for his friend to reach out and cup your right tit.

Golly, the culture here sure is fascinating!


My last kids' classes of the year went okay. My last group, which is the rowdiest, actually warmed my cold little heart. Favourite Student got so annoyed with his classmate's whining that he snagged the flashcards from me and started teaching the words to the bratty kid himself. I love that kid.

Don't fuck up in Japan

Seriously, don't. These are some of the things you will have to do for committing a grievous infraction, like being seven minutes late or teaching the wrong part of a lesson first:

1. Write apology letters. In triplicate.

2. Be brought in for an exquisitely torturous scolding.

3. Have to stuff packs of tissues with flyers.

4. Bow a lot, which might fuck up your neck.

Chikan-ery

I was on the train, on my way to work, when he sat down next to me.

He was a bleach-blond Japanese guy, with a protruding jaw and and a typical Uniqlo furry-hooded jacket. I was deeply engrossed in my iPod and book when he tapped me on the arm.

GTA: *sighing, removing earbuds* Hai?

GUY: *inscrutable Japanese*

GTA: Wakarimasen.

GUY: Where you from?

GTA: New York.

GUY: What...you do?

GTA: I'm an English teacher.

GUY: eeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeh?

GTA: Eigo no sensei.

GUY: Ah! High school?

GTA: Iie, eikaiwa no sensei.

GUY: What station you get off?

GTA: *lying* Kichijoji.

GUY: You are Italian?

GTA: Um, no...

Guy performs his mating dance, which consists of bending his fingers backwards in a disturbing fashion. Despite GTA's shrieks of protest, he keeps showing her.

GTA: Okay, okay, I'm impressed! Stop!

GUY: *strokes own fingers* Bone!

GTA: ...yes.

Guy takes GTA's hand and tries to make her replicate his double-jointedness. She demurs, whch is a nice way of syaing "homie don't play that."

Guy is undaunted. He takes his own hand and strokes GTA's cheek reverently.

GTA leaps up, stammers a goobye, and runs the fuck out of the train just as it reaches Kichijoji.

I Fucking Love My Job

Seriously, I do.

Yesterday, I was in Ginza for the fancy-schmancy private lessons. Not only can I check my Facebook from work, but the people are cool, AND I have no supervisor. Hard to hate that.

Today, not only did I meet another teacher who was seriously cool, but I had several awesome lessons. I love it when students get in and just want to talk, instead of having to deal with the dumbass textbooks.

Granted, I'm new, but I am not complaining one little bit.

Children Are Kinky

I didn't even teach a kid's class yesterday, but they managed to amuse (and mildly horrify) me nontheless.

After arriving at work, I sat down to eat my delicious and thoughtfully-prepared konbini sammich when a little boy ran into the teacher's room.

"Hi!" I said brightly. "What's your name?"

He furrowed brow and stared at me, then looked down at my feet. "Purple!" he shrieked, pointing at my suede Jeffrey Campbell thankyouverymuch shoes.

"Good job, that's right! Purple!" I held my hand up. "High five!"

The child declined my offer of a high-five in favour of getting down and licking my left shoe.

I used to know a couple guys who'd pay for that kind of treatment. Why the hell am I working here?