Kiss my chopsticks

Yoo-hoo!

2010-11-09T07:53:00.000+09:00

Over here!

Happy 30

2009-09-24T11:55:00.005+09:00

Thirty somethings mundane and grand that have added up to one lovely, charmed life.

1. Traveled to 13(ish) countries.
2. Seen my byline in print.
3. Fallen in love.
4. Had my heart broken.
5. Threw caution to the wind and fell in love again. And again.
6. Climbed a mountain.
7. Went scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef.
8. Seen a perfect sunset and perfect sunrise.
9. Watched a baseball game at Wrigley Field.
10. Said goodbye to someone I loved more than anything in the world.
11. Cooked a full Thanksgiving meal from scratch (to rave reviews).
12. Watched a stage performance at the Sydney Opera House.
13. Visited the Acropolis in Greece.
14. Wished on a shooting star.
15. Suspended my disbelief long enough to feel like a kid again.
16. Fallen victim to a fit of giggles in a silent church.
17. Walked on the Great Wall of China.
18. Caught a wave in Waikiki.
19. Met a movie star.
20. Kissed a rock singer.
21. Learned how to order beer in six foreign languages.
22. Helped a stranger.
23. Danced the night away in the rain.
24. Camped in the mountains with nary another soul in shouting distance (except for my tent companion).
25. Gambled in Vegas, worn strands of colorful beads in New Orleans, ridden a cable car in San Francisco, spied the Chinese Theatre in Los Angeles, stood under the arch in St. Louis, explored the Rocky Mountains, stood at the Freedom Trail in Boston.
26. Voted. Campaigned for a presidential election. Cried when my candidate lost. Protested George W. Bush's second inauguration in Washington, D.C. Accidentally flipped President Clinton the bird.
27. Had addresses on three different continents.
28. Realized how truly lucky I am for the loving family I've been born with and the fabulous friends I've met along the way.
29. Discovered life and wisdom in books.
30. Learned not to squander ripe opportunities and to always count my blessings. For life is good.

I can't wait for the next decade of exploring this crazy, exciting world we live in to see what else it has in store. Happy (belated) 30th birthday to me.

Hiroshima

2009-08-06T22:40:00.002+09:00

Love stinks

2009-07-08T01:06:00.000+09:00

Supposedly a broken heart takes half the length of the relationship to fully heal. I had been awaiting that benchmark with an unspoken eagerness, thinking that six months after my year-long relationship with Yuu-chan went sour I might finally breath a sigh of relief and clutch a scrap of closure to my chest and thank my lucky stars that our relationship was over and I had been able to move on.

But honest to god, I'm not. I'm not happy without him, even if I wouldn't be happy with him, and it has been nothing but a constant struggle to find reasons why, flaws and all, I should be delighted that he's not curling up beside me in bed on Sunday nights. I cringe when my friends call me by his pet name for me. I recoil when I stumble upon a photo of him. I wilt at the thought that he has cut me so completely out of his life.

I have never fallen so recklessly in love, and I have never paid so high a price for it, I am beginning to realize. I am completely undone by it. And after six months of examining and focusing on myself, after running a marathon, learning to play the drums, traveling the world, delighting in life, I'm still not able to put it all behind me.

Dating has been a riot, if you can imagine. I've cut out a stream of reoccurring exes. I've more or less lost contact with the Greek archeologist, bared my soul to the boy in Thailand and flicked back the sentimental but inadequate returns, fell in serious like with a professional boxer/actor/waiter I work with and dated a continuous series of other men, but I have to admit that not even the most perfect resume will get someone beyond a second date with me.

My emotional baggage is well over the weight limit. After six months, I feel like a big, steaming pile of crazy, hurt and distrust. On this day of Tanabata, a celebration of star-crossed lovers in Japan, I'm not seeking any Shakespearean romance, but to know that the possibilities of falling in love again with someone who turns out to be totally different from Yuu-chan would be a dream come true.

Back to reality

2009-05-11T21:57:00.015+09:00

I've been on good vacations before. Great ones, even. Scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef, walking on the Great Wall and playing with adorable orphan babies, prancing past the velvet ropes in Vegas, singing from balconies in Puerto Vallarta, walking barefoot down Bourbon Street, taking a road trip through England and Wales...I could go on and on and on, and now that I've started I sort of want to relive those fabulous memories in full, but that's beside the point. Without a doubt, the passport stamps that I so recently accumulated represent some of the best experiences of my life.

A whirlwind trip to Moscow, Istanbul, Athens and the Greek islands has left me breathless and renewed and deeply saddened at all once. Except for my solo night in Russia, I was with Kim and Marisa, two of my very favorite women in the entire world. I was looking for inspiration or meaning or answers, and I discovered a brand-new feeling that, not to get all melodramatic, I think will change my life. Not just in the company and advice of my girls, but in the air, the people, a fleeting romance and the most gorgeous landscapes I have ever laid eyes on. It felt like the awakening of my soul.

Moscow was freezing cold, with patches of snow still on the ground, and stark, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Well, a little less cold, actually, since I didn't even have a pair of socks in my luggage. I spent much of my 12 hours walking around without a map, which somehow got me smack dab in front of St. Basil's Cathedral and the Red Square. It was amazing. The architecure of the portions of the city that I traversed were surprisingly stunning. I ate a sparse dinner of some type of lentils with herbs, bacon and yogurt, bought some Gucci perfume from an adorable Russian gay boy at a fancy department store that I cut through to get a little warmth, and was surprised to find myself often mistaken for a local, until I opened my mouth and sent people fleeing in the opposite direction. I also worked out the web of an antique-seeming subway system all by myself after riding around in circles for a while and trying to match up my English-lettered map to the Russian-lettered signs. Oh, and of course I sampled the vodka.

My Russian experience fits into a tidy little paragraph, but the remainder of the trip isn't so simple. I fell in love with Istanbul on the drive from the airport, cruising along the coast with the sparkling sea just off to my right, ancient castle ruins and beautiful buildings on my left and rainbow streaks of tulips absolutely everywhere. The Blue Mosque and Aya Sofia, the small bazaar, the colorful building facades, the call to prayer surrounded us and I couldn't get enough.

On our first night, Kim and I found a little hookah bar with big cushiony seats outdoors and that place became our haven. We ordered up icy Efes beer and the most tasty food, including pistachio and honey baklava that rocked my world, and melon-flavored sheesha tabacco, then whiled away the hours chattering away about everything, nothing, you name it. The bar owner had a highly verbalized thing for me and my eyes, which turned out to be greatly appreciated when we had to change our accomodations and he offered us a room in his hotel for 10 euros a night. We also went clubbing with the locals, got our fortunes read by white rabbits and consumed our weight in kebabs, hummus, tatziki, pita, baklava and fresh-squeezed orange juice. While I was waiting for the girls to arrive, I got to quiz the locals about the culture over apple tea with a (harmless) stranger and a delicious lunch with his friend, whose uncle owns a kebab restaurant.

And the last thing Marisa, Kim and I did on our final morning together before saying goodbye, after a long and unexpected tour of countless airports, a 12-hour layover in Athens and one more night at our cozy little Istanbul hotel, was to experience a Turkish bath. It was an experience indeed. We stripped down to our birthday suits and then walked into a beautiful, dome-ceiling, steaming hot room with a huge marble slab in the middle to lay on "to start the sweating process." Eventually, a large, topless woman motioned for us one by one to come to the edge, then proceeded to dump buckets of icy water on us, work up a suds that could cover the entire city, scrub every spot of travel grime and dead skin cell off our bodies and shampoo our hair, all the while singing Turkish lullabies. Afterward, we dipped into a hot bath for a brief interlude. It was the single most relaxing thing I've ever done, worth every lira.

Then there's Greece. A month later and I still am rendered speechless. Athens was sunny and gorgeous and absolutely teeming with history. We found a sweet little B&B run by an old grandfather-type and a few snarky aging beauties, then ambled around the city by foot. We walked through the old neighborhoods, where all the locals seemed to be outdoors enjoying a leisurely Orthodox Easter lunch. We looped around the base of the Acropolis without climbing up to take a closer peek just yet, and stopped for the most delicious lunch at a little sidewalk cafe. Greek salad, bread with olive oil, stuffed olive leaves, fried calamari, grilled bass and a little white wine was dining perfection, even with the nasty pigeons lurking nearby.

Afterward, we took a tiny little locomotive around the rest of the city, stopped for gelato and then hit up a colorful bar stocked with the local drink, ouzo, which tastes like black licorice, a flavor I truly detest but managed to swallow down on a frequent basis while abroad. At this bar, I found myself unexpectedly in a conversation with two Greek brothers, a painter and an archeologist, perched on teh stools beside me. The more I talked to the archeologist, Alex, the more I was smitten. Beautiful brown eyes, olive skin, toned arms. [insert Greek god comment here.]

Alex and Stephanos took us later to a local bar frequented by artists and actors, a dark establishment with one long table and a dj space that quickly became one of our favorite spots of all time. Kim, Marisa and I won over the gays by singing along to "Total Eclipse of the Heart" at the top of our lungs while others made faces. Alex and I eventually parked ourselves in a corner and had a lengthy conversation about...who even knows. Or cares. I made him whisper Greek nothings in my ear, and told him the only Greek phrase I had learned prior to coming, which means "Kiss me," and he did. We also slow danced for a while and then in the wee hours we all walked to our parting point and said a saddened little goodbye.

The next morning, we booked an afternoon ferry to the islands, grabbed a yummy soulvaki and made our way up to the Acropolis. It was incredible. Awing. I still get tingles just thinking about setting foot in a place packed with so much history. I could have stayed up there for days doing my share of contemplating and soul searching, but, well, we had a ship to catch.

That night, we landed on Mykonos island (for the full effect, please listen to this song while you continue reading):

Mykonos was amazing. We stayed at a cheap, practically deserted beach resort and explored the town day and night. The twisting streets were apparently set up like a labyrinth to perplex invading pirates, and let me just tell you that they must have been highly effective. We were lost all the time. And when we asked for directions, the locals never varied their reply to "Just go straight." Which we did, until we arrived a deadend and then received the same directive again.

Ah, but Mykonos. It was a tiny little paradise of white-washed buildings with red and blue accents. We lunched by the sea, shopped (and in one case accidentally shoplifted!) our little hearts out and explored the nightlife to full effect. The island is supposed to be a gay mecca, but it was the off-season and we saw nary a friend of Dorothy. But we danced and made merry and stumbled home for a few winks before being whisked off in the morning to Santorini, or Thera to the locals.

A couple hours into the looooooong ferry journey, we stopped off at a tiny island called Paros. It was also beautiful and quaint, and Kim and Marisa swore it was home to the best tomato they had ever tasted. I was off exploring and they didn't save me a bite. Meanies. The remainder of the boat ride was choppy, with swell spray rising over the top of the seven-story cruise ship and many riders, Marisa included, looking toxically ill.

And then we were in what was decidedly the world's most breathtaking, picture-perfect spot: Santorini. I am in love with Santorini, with its jagged cliffs and gorgeous waters and brilliant views from every single vintage point. Little halos of grape vines cover the entire island, belonging to any of the 13 local wineries. We stayed at a simple but incredibly chic hotel run by two more Greek grandpapas, who gave us rides into the main town, Fira, free chocolate cake and also gave us a hug instead of a bill when we confessed to swiping a bottle of wine and a corkscrew in the middle of the night when aggravated nerves needed to be calmed after one hectic episode.

We visited a winery and walked to the beach one day, and twice picked up by accident new pet dogs that followed us everywhere we went, one of which kept almost getting run over chasing cars and made our hearts stop beating every time a vehicle approached (and produced one exasperated driver after another). We ate the most gorgeous spreads, more Greek salads and calamari and tzatziki and fish, and washed it all down with locally made wine and Mythos beer. And we stumbled upon the very best breakfast venue ever (sorry, Victory's Banner), a cozy restaurant called Mama's House. As soon as we walked through the door, a tiny old lady opened her arms to me and said, "Come here and give Mama a hug! Where are you from, darling? Chicago? Shit, mafia!" She pushed me aside to embrace the others. Mama made us feel right at home, cursing like a sailor the entire time and calling us "sex bombs" and telling us not to get into trouble. The food was as good as the hospitality. I had a feta, spinach and tomato omelete with hash browns, toast with homemade jam, fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee. Yummers. We went in the next morning for a second helping of Mama's food and affections, and a third time I was passing by and she called me in to scold me for wearing "short pants" in the chilly evening. "Promise Mama you'll go put on long pants! You'll catch a cold. Shit! Go put on long pants, my darling."

Later that day, after lounging on the patio of our hotel drinking a glass of wine, our hotel grandpapa urged us to catch a taxi up to a small town called Oia to watch the famous sunset. I rallied the energyless troops and we made our way there and could not have been gladder. It was, once again, beyond words. It was the exact image that people conjure when they think of Greece. The cluster of pale-colored buildings with domed roofs and winding staircases overlooking the sparkling ocean. Of course, my camera battery picked that exact moment to die yet again (I snapped two whole pictures of Russia), so I didn't capture much of the beauty on film but that gave me more time to soak it up in my memory and I won't complain one bit. Any gleaming superlative you can think of would be an inadequate description of this place and you truly have to see it with your own eyes to understand.

At Mama's we met a burly American soul singer who lives in Austria but comes to the island to play his music at a local bar. He didn't have a show that night, but told us to meet him for drinks at another well-known bar, where we mingled and danced. Marisa met a man there and I suppose I did, too, although my mind was still very much on Alex, who would unfortunately be arriving in Santorini for work excavating an ancient city just after we left and was sending me very sweet, regretful e-mails to the effect of our star-crossed meeting.

In the end, we had to stay on the island an extra day and fork over an obscene amount of cash to fly back to Athens and then over to Istanbul instead of taking a ferry straight to Turkey. But we weren't complaining. Marisa's man, a tour guide by trade, took us on a personal journey of the island's best hidden spots, which made us fall in love with the island even more. After yet another perfect lunch by the sea, we made our way back and later he took us to the most adorable Greek restaurant for our final dinner. We stuffed ourselves silly, I said goodbye to my Santorini boy, Constantinos, who was there having drinks with his father, and called it a night. We went to the airport at sunrise and I still marveled at the island. It was enchanting, alluring, wonderful. A piece of me is still there, I swear.

Getting on an airplane and leaving those places behind marked the first time I ever felt a tinge of remorse over going back to Tokyo and it's a sensation that I have yet to shake entirely. For the first couple weeks, I feel lost and lonely and lacksidasical. Now, I am more content but still a tiny bit empty. I'm still in touch with Alex and get giddy and nostalgiac with every correspondence. His last message said he might very well come visit Tokyo in the autumn, and while that might not happen, I can't help but blush at the prospect. If I can't go back to Greece just yet, I hopefully can at least bring Greece to me.

Photographic evidence of utopia here:

Paradise Found 1
Paradise Found 2
Paradise Found 3

Two itchy feet, one torn hammy

2009-03-29T23:37:00.008+09:00

On a whim last fall, my friend Yutaka and I decided to take our occasional jogs to the extreme and enter the Tokyo Marathon. It was not a fully hatched idea, merely a casual conversation that went something like, "I miss going for runs together." "Me too." "Hey, we should enter the marathon next year." "Yeah, OK." We put in our applications that night.

The lottery to enter was pretty hefty. It's only the marathon's third year in running but it's getting more popular every time and, because the organizers want there to be a distinctive international vibe, the spots for Nihonjin are few. Yutaka didn't make the cut, sadly, and I was on my own.

The closest I'd come to a marathon was waking up before dawn with my sister and friend to hand out water to the runners in the Chicago Marathon for two years, an incredibly moving experience that has always stayed in my mind. My training regime over the last two months consisted of sporadic jogs that eventually led me and my sneakers on fantastic tours all around the city, past parks and temples and breathtaking buildings that I never knew existed.

And then suddenly the day of the marathon was here. I woke up at 6:30 a.m., gathered my necessities and ate as much bread, oats and dried fruit as I possibly could before meeting a coworker who was running at the train station. We giggled and fretted our way to race, wished each other luck and then parted ways to find our starting groups.

9:10 a.m. -- The elite runners began following a brief open ceremony and an exhilarating gunshot into the air. I stood in the streets of Shinjuku along with 35,000 other marathoners awaiting our cue as helicopters swarmed overhead. The energy was insane. A handful of people stuck their heads out of the windows in the condo high-rise nearby to cheer us on.

9:22 a.m. -- I finally made it across the starting line. My friend Fumihiko, who ran a different marathon with Yutaka the week before, was there to start me off on a good note, only I couldn't spot him in the thick crowds. Bummer.

0-10K -- Easy and fabulous. The onlookers and performers off to the sides the sides were lovely. The weather was sunny but cool. I alternated between listening to the special marathon playlist on my ipod, which included the Rocky theme, Kung Fu Fighting and lots of Daft Punk, and absorbing the sounds and energy of everyone on the sidelines. Running through the colorful streets of Shinjuku and spying a few early cherry blossoms along the way was really uplifting. I ran into another coworker and fellow taiko buddy at one of the bathroom stops and we had a good chat before hitting the pavement again.

10-18K -- We plodded en masse pass the Imperial Palace and on to Shinagawa, where I work, and the jumble of runners thinned out (5,000 only ran a 10K). The course snaked around so that runners were coming back toward me on the opposite side of the street. and it was exciting to watch them, especially the ones in costume. There was one girl in a full geisha getup, one samurai, a dude in a monkey suit, a couple Dragonball Z characters and plethora of crazy wigs and hats. My left hip began to hurt, which is fairly common when I run for long distances, a pain that was alternately canceled out by a fairly new ailment in the back of my right knee. It hurt, but nothing major. Finding Yutaka and his parents in the crowd did wonders for my spirits.

18-22K -- Ouch. I'd run 20K in recent weeks with no problem at all, save for a couple minor aches and pains. They were beginning to explode on me now all at once, but I worried that I stopped running I would have trouble starting again. I text messaged my friend Katherine to bring some aspirin for me, then my heart dropped when she told me she had the goods and would be waiting at 28K. Six more kilometers, plus the time it took for the drugs to kick in. No. No. No. I contemplated popping into one of the 7-Elevens on the route, but couldn't bring myself to veer off the course. I chewed through hard candies from the sideline supporters, partook in many a-high five from college kids and gray-headed grandmothers, listened to the beats of the taiko drums and other performances that dotted the path and tried to focus merely on moving forward.

22-28K -- The skies switched back and forth between sunny and light sprinkles, both of which felt refreshing in their brief turns. Somewhere amid the ritzy shops of Ginza, I eventually succumbed to a medical center, which was staffed by super-friendly people who nonetheless frustrated me with time-consuming paperwork. Name. Address. First marathon? Dudes, I don't really have time for this. My knee had won the battle of bodily pains, and they gave me two choices for treating it: wait 30 to 40 minutes to have it taped, or give it a quick spray with something that smelled like Icy Hot. I opted for the latter, which offered relief for an entire two and a half and left me wincing with each step. A young couple on the corner held a sign that said "Smile" and I certainly tried. I wasn't feeling the typical aches and pains of a marathon, I wasn't out of breath, I had plenty of energy and desire to swoop through whole 5 and 10Ks at a time, but frustratingly could not.

28K -- Oh, 28K could not have come soon enough. I was walking more than running at this point and beginning to feel anxious about the tight time limitations, which included making it to 30K within the next 25 minutes. No biggie for the healthy, but it was questionable for me. I thought about dropping out but couldn't handle the thought of not completing the race, so I limped on, rounded a corner at Asakusa's Sensoji temple and was greeted with a huge sign that said "Go Wendi Go!" and a whole horde of friends. The Japanese people around them too had caught the enthusiasm and were all cheering my name when I approached. That was priceless. My friends, so gorgeous and stellar, passed over aspirin, a big jug of water, a cup of ice and lots of hugs and love.

29-38K -- With a fresh bounce in my step, I rocked the pavement for several wonderful, pain-diminished minutes. I made it through the checkpoint, then stopped at a medical center for tape, which they were out of. No spray either. Heaps of runners were stopping at this point, getting the timers on their shoes cut off, ending their day. I sat on the curb for a few moments and tried to refocus. Every stretch, bend, rest and mental exercise that I tried wasn't helping. My foot was feeling uncomfortable as well, so I tentatively pulled off my shoe. The entire tip of my white sock was covered in blood. A popped blister and too much friction caused by the regrettable top seam of my sock, still better than what I imagined had happened. I tucked my foot back into the shoe and pretended that I'd never even seen it.

I was back in Ginza again for the second pass through, and my energy level and that of the crowd kept me running in spurts. One woman handed me one of my favorite Japanese treats, a chocolate-filled pastry from Hiroshima that's shaped like a maple leaf, and another gave me a handmade charm with tiny green slippers on it. I took all the candy and food that I could get my hands on, including a half a banana, raisins and sugar cubes, and lots of sports drinks and water. It was a 26.2-mile smorgasbord of treats. I saw McDonald's french fries, Pretz sticks, miso soup, jelly shots, cola...everything. I also saw my girl Arisa and her parents, who were visiting from Hokkaido. They snapped pictures and gave hugs and I felt so much better after seeing them.

38-41K -- During the stretch of bridges and small hills over to the finish line on a tiny manmade island called Odaiba, it started pouring down buckets of rain, temperatures dropped and the winds picked up. There was a lot of walking going on. Still, scores of volunteers and spectators lined the path and urged us forward. I squatted down beside the sidewalk at one point and a kind old lady asked me if I was OK. Tears welled up in my eyes and I told her I was fine, just tired, and a man on the other side of me said firmly but sweetly, "My own pace. Honti ni, my own pace." Meaning, don't do anything that your body is telling you not to do. I was way beyond that point already, but even when I wanted to run I physically couldn't manage more than single step and then I was walking it again. Luckily for me, two tables were handing out soggy but delicious cream-filled buns that offered a bit of solace and sustenance as the rain dripped down my face and my knee and hip both seared in pain.

42K -- I ambled my way through the last turn and toward the finish. Yutaka and our friend were waiting in the bleachers and made me smile with a series of big, hearty whoops, then I ran across the finish threshold and willed myself not to collapse right there. After a brief stop at the railing, I limped my way along with a whole slew of limping, rough-looking runners through a line of handshakes, got a towel wrapped around my shoulders, a medal slung over my neck, a mandarin and countless rounds of "Otsukaresama desu!" and "Omedeto!" Thanks for your hard work and congratulations. 6h28m. Not what I envisioned out of the race, and I've felt plenty of frustrations and disappointments over it, but a feat considering that I finished with what was diagnosed on Friday as a torn hamstring. Yeah. The support of the crowd and just being a part of the experience is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

The aftermath was not pretty. I could barely walk, so collecting my bag and changing into fresh clothes and negotiating an escalator were massive undertakings. Yutaka, Arisa, Junta and Arisa's folks guided me to the station and laid on plenty of praise and playful conversation all the way home. Going up and down my stairs at home was a painstaking process for several days. The rest of my body was and is absolutely fine except for those two unruly spots. My knee is still giving me grief, but I've got some gentle stretches to do to help with the healing.

Right now, one week later, I'm unbelievably anxious to lace up my Nikes and get out there again. I'm proud of my accomplishment. And if my body cooperates, I am absolutely game to don the marathon bib again at some point.

bad break-up

2009-01-20T00:56:00.003+09:00

I stumbled into 2008 with the dumb luck of meeting someone who would sweep me off my feet, quite literally that first night after the confetti rained down on the dance floor and the speakers buzzed through my toes to the tip of my head and we clumsily kissed our way across the entire room and back, our feet never planted firmly beneath our tingling bodies.

2009 has found me nursing a heartbreak so big that I can't breathe if I think about it. Which is almost all I can do. The relationship was doomed from the beginning, I suppose, if either of us had ever paused during our hasty swapping of affections to examine it. Without my willingness to in essence become Japanese (meaning that I should have the desire to live in Japan forever, become fluent in the language and accept that a man's career is a disproportionate part of his life), then we were a timebomb waiting to go off. And go off we did. A silly spat, unending cultural issues, communication barriers, a month and a half apart and now we are not a we anymore.

So I've spent my first two weeks of the new year wallowing in a room where we spent countless hours making eyes at each other and eating breakfast, lunch and dinner in our underwear, I've read Oprah-appointed fluff and Murakami, drank my weight in tequila and red wine, danced, jogged, cried, vented, baked, cleaned, watched old episodes of Roseanne and developed a nice (and mutual) crush on an adorable surfer who works in my neighborhood. And reassessing my life as a whole.

January hasn't been at all what I had hoped or planned for, and as an indication of the next 11 and a half months to come, especially in comparison to the clouds of perfection on which I was floating at this time last year that lasted through Thanksgiving, the potential for 2009 looks bleak indeed. But I still feel more than an inkling of optimism. I have survived worse. And there has got to be a silver lining to this whole thing. The freedom to leave Japan? To find a partner who can read what I write and understand it, or be together outside of Sunday and Monday? To have another first kiss? Besides, it's nothing that a springtime getaway to Greece (and potential visit from Thailand) can't remedy, or so I'm hoping.

Here's to hope in 2009.

Hoosier holidays everywhere

2008-11-24T22:21:00.008+09:00

With the sweltering sweat of summer that invariably beats town Tokyo for months still fresh in my mind, somehow the holidays have gone and crept upon us with a swiftness that is almost alarming. Or at least it would be if I didn't have so much to look forward to and so many things to keep my mind off the rate of the passage of time.

Best of which is the fact that I'm going home for the first Christmas in four years. The thought of it makes me feel like a 5-year-old child again and I have to admit that I've never really outgrown Christmas. While I have gotten over the urge to scramble out of bed and up the stairs at 5 a.m. on December 25 to see what awaits me under the tree and inside my stocking, I truly, completely adore the holiday more than any other time of the year. The twinkle lights, the music, the movies, the sweets all bring as much comfort as a favorite companion. The sensation of decorating the tree at my grandma's, nibbling a still-warm no-bake cookie and sitting in the hallway with the warm air from the furnace blowing over me as I stared at the sparkling tree are still so fresh and pleasant that I can almost still smell the cardboard boxes that held the delicately packed ornaments, or taste the chewy morsels of chocolate and oatmeal, or feel the heat on my legs as I stretch my T-shirt over my knees.

I am very much hoping for those cookies again this year not only because they are my favorite, but also because they are the only one of these familiar experiences that I can recapture. The freshest loss is that of my childhood home, which I never in my life have not been able to return to until now. This year will be the family's first Christmas in my parents' new home, which I'm certain is wonderful but still I hate to say good-bye to the old house and all the memories it housed, even if the kitchen roof did leak for the better part of a decade and the basement seemed unwilling to ever give up the musty smell of flooding rains gone by. It was a musty odor that I loved. And I could trace those water-stain patterns on the ceiling with my eyes closed.

Repeated viewings of "Home Alone" (at least the first 30 minutes, anyway) and candy-cane logs, sugar cookies and a cup of hot cocoa should have the new place feeling like home in no time. Or there's always a round of Family Fun Game Night.

Hey, family, remember that time Mom made us sit around the dining room table with themed crystal mugs and sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" in turns? That was beyond priceless.

* * *

Autumn and especially the approaching holidays sends Tokyo into a over-the-top tizzy of kitsch and contrived romance. Christmas is for lovers, not families, and I know in America it has grown into a chiefly commercial ordeal, but in Japan that is all it ever was and all it ever will be. And people simply can't get enough. Glittery illumination, fancy, over-priced Christmas cakes, a delicious "traditional" meal at Kentucky Fried Chicken are all essential to the holiday.

A equally vital but more deeply rooted rite of the season is fall foliage. Tourist spots are packed with people eager to snap shots of rich red maple leaves or steep themselves in the purifying waters of an onsen, plus it's a good time to catch a glimpse of Mount Fuji capped in snow. Japan is a very outdoors-oriented country, but the heat forces people to stay pent up in the air conditioning, so when the temperatures drop, itchy feet flock to the parks in the city and mountains just outside.

I spent the past two weekends embracing both of these traditions to the best of my abilities.
Last weekend, my girlfriends, Katherine and Arisa, and I went to the mountains of Hakone via the unaptly named Romance Car express train. We couldn't spot Fuji-san because of the rain clouds, but we did have a grand old time wandering through an open-air museum, taste-testing the samples at dozens of gift shops and sitting stark naked in the small hot spring of our inn in the company of several strangers. This Saturday, I met Katherine for lunch in my old neighborhood park and then we took a bottle of wine out on a swan boat. Very little romance but an abundance of humor ensued. And yesterday, Yuu-chan and I took a walk around my neighborhood, where I recently discovered that you can see a surprisingly close Mount Fuji on fine days, then went to an immaculate park Shinjuku Gyoen to catch a little of the brilliantly painted-leaves action. Mostly we sat in a patch of sunshine and took silly pictures of ourselves until closing time, after which we grabbed a coffee and walked over to the holiday lights display. It was pretty. We felt romantic, but then we always do. Then we went home and made our own onsen bath and Yuu-chan, cooking his second meal in the entirety of our relationship, made up a pot of oden (simmered vegetables and tofu and eggs) that was good enough to eat every day until summer comes back. Eating dinner in our underwear and giggling about nothing...now that is my idea of romance.

2008-11-06T12:00:00.001+09:00

This sums up my present feelings beautifully.

Oh me, oh my

2008-10-23T22:03:00.003+09:00

My, my, I guess old age is already toying with me. I forgot to post a big, cuddly happy birthday to myself. Seven weeks ago.

Better late than never, I suppose.

It was a fun, fabulous one, turning the big 2-9, minus a wretched double case of what my office has affectionately dubbed "Patrick Swayze eye" on the actual day. Technically, I spent my birthday at work, then crawling into bed with Yuu-chan around 3 p.m. and staying there long after he had gone to work, canceling dinner plans and being all "woe is me."

But the actual celebration was sweet. I took my besties to a four-story amusement complex, where we played basketball, went rollerskating (I even held on to my backward-propulsion skills from countless childhood days rolling around my parents' basement...yeah!), played ping pong and arcade games, and generally acted like spoiled, gleeful tots. Afterward, it was a yummy Mexican dinner and happy hour drinks aplenty, followed by--of course--a steamy session of karaoke. Steamy as in the air conditioner in the room is always, always broken for some reason.

That night, Yuu-chan treated me to a bubble bath with candles and wine, where he handed me presents one by one. They were perfect. He is amazing. The evening was incredible.

The next day, four of us had a champagne brunch, played Clue and then went to my taiko drumming class together and pretended to have the slightest idea what we were doing.

There was plenty of cake and an abundance of laughter.

I couldn't have asked for better.

Happy I do's

2008-10-08T00:54:00.003+09:00

CONGRATULATIONS
are in order for my big sis, who tied the knot this weekend! I am thrilled beyond words for you both and am sending a million hugs and kisses your way.

And also to my little sis for sliding a ring on her finger and stepping up to the altar next. Guess wedding bells are in the air for our family.

As for me? Presently, blissfully unbretrothed, but a sweet little musing of ours recently had us married in Thailand next month. Imaginary weddings are so much less stressful than the real deal. Other than that, our relationship is capped for now at doodling imaginary wedding bands on each other's fingers in bed. I do-odles. That's as far as I go.

But, YAY, my beautiful sissies! I love you to pieces!!

Life's a breeze

2008-10-06T23:22:00.005+09:00

I am officially, crazily in love with Thailand. The food, the beaches, the climate, the culture....aside from the political unrest, lip-curling sex industry and abundance of stray dogs and street rats, what's not to love, really? I fell head over heels all over again when I fell back against the plush down of our four-and-a-half-starred hotel in Bangkok, savored some of the most tasty curries, noodles and mango sticky rice ever made, sipped an icy Singha with my feet dangling in the rooftop pool, snorkeled among the colorful reef fish in Phuket and indulged in an hour-long Thai massage or four.

Other numerical highlights (and a few doozies):

Cost of a tropical fruit platter at the local supermarket: $1.00
Nights spent catching up with E.: 2
Nights spent wishing Yuu-chan was with me: 7
Kick-ass new pairs of shoes: 2
Cheap-ass new shirts and dresses: 10
Shady dvds purchased from the hidden back room of a tailor shop: 15
People flashed when descending stairs at the outdoor rooftop Sky Bar on a windy night in a minidress: approx. 80
Days spent at the beach: 4
Sunscreen spf: 30
Hours it took to get sunburned: 3
Bars (of varying degrees of cleanliness and trendiness) visited: 4
Episodes of "The Nanny" watched: 1
Days spent at the airport: 4
Flights canceled due to a faulty defroster in the cockpit: 1
Hours of life wasted at the airport and awful convention hotel until the next flight: 15
Time it took upon arrival to cold, rainy Japan to wish I was back in Thailand: -6

In another life, I might have packed up and moved there already. But in this one, I'll have to be content to pull out the fabulous photos from time to time and happily fondle the sand permanently accumulated at the bottom of my bags and in the cracks of my ipod.

Nerd alert

2008-09-09T21:21:00.004+09:00

I've noted to myself from time to time that my boyfriend and I are complete and utter geeks together, which I suppose happens to everyone once they've coupled up. It's not that we don't go out -- last Saturday we went dancing all night to catch an amazing dj at the club where we first met on nye, and our weekends are always full of social goodness -- but we also squeeze in a lot of down time too, most of which is conducted from my jersey sheet-covered futon on the tatami floor of my bedroom. We play sudoku, doodle on each others hands to make silly finger puppets and fake tattoos, watch SpongeBob SquarePants and America's Funniest Home Videos, practice folding objects at hand up in traditional Japanese wrapping cloth, play Rock-Paper-Scissors, thumb wrestle, braid each othe--er, my hair. The nerdiest of nerds. And I love it. Of course.

Last Sunday was one of those great lazy days. We skipped a Brazilian festival, the new Batman movie and a chance at karaoke to stay in and watch the thunderstorm crackle outside and the rain pour down my windows. We ordered pizza, grabbed a couple Becks from the combini, and then spent hours playing this and this and this. It was fabulous. So nostalgic for me, and the first time for Yuu-chan. Then we watched an old black and white flick, The Invisible Man, looked up donkey noises on the Internet (Yuu-chan didn't believe they say "hee haw"), ate a couple popsicles and went to bed. It beat a night out on the town, undeniably.

Anyhoo, does this make me a bad girlfriend?

Paradise lost

2008-09-03T22:44:00.003+09:00

Crap crap crap. My friend and I bought tickets to Bangkok a couple weeks ago for a little end-of-September vacation and then snapped up a cheap flight to Phuket last night, and now there's a state of emergency declared in a capital and the island airport is shut down or restricting flights. Not to mention the crazy violence and political turmoil. Woe is me. All I wanted was a pampering hotel, a few fabulous Thai massages, some tasty street food and a handful of days on the beach, lazing and diving.

In other news, my facebook husband Yutaka and I watched the Sex and the City movie tonight (woo hoo, ladies' day, when tickets are only $10 a pop vs. $18). We snuck in some Subway sandwiches into the theater. It was as close to all-American as I've gotten in months. Overall conclusion: meh. Although the theater was abuzz with laughter when Samantha was making sushi rolls. Naturally.

Let bylines be bylines

2008-08-05T20:00:00.002+09:00

Gomene! I put a bad link to my magazine.

Here's the real deal. Flick through the last three issues for my pieces. I did a bunch of stuff without bylines as well, rewrote some sad-looking articles and edited the whole thing cover to cover before the editor took a swipe through.

I wouldn't exactly call it hard-hitting journalism, but it's fun and fairly uncomplicated and I do love a nice byline.

Fanning flames

2008-08-05T19:51:00.004+09:00

POP QUIZ!
Can you guess which one is my present flame?

Omoshiroi

2008-07-22T20:52:00.002+09:00

Japan is full of quirks and craziness, and every now and then I catch myself in a completely surreal moment and have a quiet little giggle. Every evening in the summer, a man pushes his cart around my neighborhood, sounding a high-pitched horn and peddling his goods. It reminds me of the ice cream vendors back home, but it's not the sweet stuff he's selling, it's tofu. I'm always tempted to buy some and eventually I will. And a few late Sunday mornings ago, Yuu-chan and I were walking over to the small grocery shop for breakfast ingredients when we both found ourselves staring longingly at the tiny okonomiyaki restaurant across the street. A few minutes later I was seated at the counter, happily drizzling a thick brown sauce over my cabbage and pork Japanese "pancake" exactly the way I would pour maple syrup over real buttermilk pancakes back home. And I was munching on dried squid strips like they were a side of bacon. Awesome.

My magazine

2008-07-14T12:24:00.003+09:00

Hey, lovely people! Take a look at the product of countless hours of following many, many people around with my little Sony tape recorder, staring blankly at the computer screen, cursing Japan for slaughtering my vocabulary and rewriting every sentence at least one million times.

But I love it.

http://www.tokyoamericanclub.org/informationNews/intouchmagazine/index.cfm

three years

2008-06-23T22:44:00.004+09:00

Last week I celebrated my third Japanniversary. It amazes me that I'm still here, especially since the only way I could get myself on that plane the morning of June 15, 2005, was to know that I could turn around and come back home after a few months if things didn't go well. I was terrified of being homesick, but somehow I managed to avoid the cyclical bouts of depression that befell a lot of friends, most of whom were no where nearly as attached to their families as I am to mine. I do miss a lot about back home, like Family Fun Game Night, sparkling vanilla A&W root beer, Sunday crossword puzzles and college football. I really miss driving down Lake Shore Drive in the summertime on our way to visit Mom and Dad, listening to country music in the car and breathing in the sweet scent of corn as we pass all the familiar old houses on our street. I terribly miss sitting out on the back porch at night, watching the stars and talking to my dad, or whoever else has come outside.

At 25, I came to Japan three years ago in part to avoid reality for a while longer, as did nearly everyone else here, and I think we're all running away from something as well. For the most part, people realize that it's only a temporary means of escape and eventually succumb to the pressures of grown-up life. They return home and get jobs and houses and husbands and wives. Everyone at some point gets tired of the all-night parties, meaningless jobs and painful goodbyes. I felt myself reaching that point last year and decided that I should head back home and start my real life, but something kept me here.

Without getting all "it was destiny" on you, I will simply state that I understand now that I'm still here in Tokyo after so long (nearly 1/9 of my entire life, to quantify it in solid terms) because I had to meet Yuu-chan. After six weeks together, he told me he loved me. At four months I said I would marry him. And here at half a year, we found ourselves dancing outside in the rain as daylight broke and all we could do was look at each other and smile and kiss and say "forever and ever."

I don't know if I want Japan to be my final home. I think about Chicago, California, South America and Europe and part of me aches for the possibilities. But for now, I'm head-to-toe happy with the real life I've somehow managed to capture here, the last place in the world I would have actually looked for one.

The little things

2008-05-20T22:54:00.012+09:00

My weekend rocked. Maybe it was the getting all dolled up on a Saturday night for some fashion party, or an oddly trippy visit to the Jamaican festival (odd, I say, because there was nothing but beer and jerk chicken being consumed by yours truly) followed by a bout of karaoke, or some serious quality time spent with my boy. Part of it, I'm sure, was the sunshine after a week of rain, and at least a little can be attributed to a long-distance phone call from Thailand. Plus there were free cupcakes. I'm a sucker for cupcakes.

Take a look at the archives.

Missing are the late-night session of sticky pictures, a yummy 5 a.m. breakfast of turkish kebabs and McDonald's fries, and an awesome picture of Yuu-chan sleeping with his hands held up in the air in the shape of a heart for no reason at all other than to make me giggle hysterically.

And I'm still smiling when I think of him singing this incredible Okinawan song at karaoke. The boy can rock a mic.

Here, there and everywhere

2008-05-12T21:03:00.014+09:00

It hasn't taken me long to realize that with a new job that consists almost entirely of writing and reading, the last thing I want to do after I step out of the office is to start typing away on my macbook or delve into a new 500-page novel. So usually I find myself sprawled across my futon staring at the ceiling or watching America's Next Top Model, willing myself to pick up the gorgeous guitar given to me by a very generous and amazing friend, making faces at the calendar and calculating the hours until Yusuke will be crawling into my bed, or meeting a friend for dinner and drinks.

I came home from work Thursday night, peeled my work clothes off and was just polishing off a plate of stir-fried broccoli (mmm!) when my doorbell rang. My housemate answered it and I couldn't make out the conversation, but I began to get the sneaking suspicion that it was a neighbor coming to tell me to put on clothes if I was going to be traipsing around my room every night with the windows wide open. It turned out to be the woman next door, who insisted that I come over to her house for a minute so that I could meet her daughter who had studied English before. I eventually gave in, threw on my flip-flops and headed over with her.

It was the most entertaining hour and a half I've whiled away in recent times. I was told to sit at the dinner table across from the daughter, who turned out to be around my age and actually quite cool, with hobbies like scuba diving, traveling and dancing. The dad was off to the side of the room, stretched out in a recliner watching baseball and only tuning in every now and then to chuckle at my attempts at Japanese and to tell me that he saw my boyfriend and thought he was a "very nice guy." The mom was all kinds of awesome, staying on her feet the entire time to serve me heaping amounts of homemade gyoza, grilled fish, rice, niku jaga beef stew, salad, strawberries, tea and -- although I tried to decline this -- lukewarm beer. Her English was sparse but lively and she seemed bemused as well by every word that fell from my mouth. Being a guest in someone's home in Japan is not to be taken very lightly and there are all these rules to follow, but I found myself laughing and enjoying the company of this small family and their dog and of course to eat a homecooked meal from the kitchen of anyone's mom is something to relish. I polished off as much food as possible so as not to appear rude, politely declined an after-dinner session of Wii, and said I should probably be heading back home. Immediately my neighbor shouted "Take out!" and began putting every last scrap of food into plastic containers, as well as a few other goodies like a loaf of chocolate bread, for me to take home. She told me to come back anytime I'm lonely or hungry. It feels kind of like I've been adopted into their family, and I love the idea of having a home away from home.

Especially since I'm new to the neighborhood. I just moved to Shimokitazawa, my favorite neighborhood in all of Tokyo, less than two weeks ago. I live in a tiny two-story house along with an American guy and two Japanese girls. I'm not sure whether I miss two of my old housemates, the nearby park, or the convenience store just steps from my front door the most, but there's a lot to make up for that here: cute shops and cafes around the corner, a bathtub and an oven in my house, and a much faster commute to work, just to name a few. Plus, a new chapter in my life deserves a new setting.

The first couple weeks on the job were fantastic. We put out a monthly magazine, so they threw me right into that. I wrote articles about random things like cormorant fishing and rising food prices, reworked some pretty bad pieces submitted by others, and edited the entire thing cover to cover. I even came up with the cover headline and little kickers. Aside from the magazine, I busied myself with stuff like editing menus, redoing the wine lists, coming up with little marketing blurbs, and partaking in the office ritual of passing around sweets and other junk food all afternoon. My favorite perk of the job is the $2 lunches at the staff cafeteria, which come with salad bar, miso soup, rice and diet coke every day along with a heaping plate of assorted foods like fish, pasta, chicken and veggies. My bosses are very cool and fun to work for, and our little office of seven tends to erupt in giggles at least a few times a day. The hours are pretty flexible, I've got a four-day workweek with what has turned out to be very amazing pay, my transportation is covered and I will be seeing my name in print so much that I'll probably get sick of it eventually. On second thought, I don't think I could ever really get enough of that.

I'm also feeling that way about my boy. I've tumbled from the clouds a bit and realized that every relationship has its fragile moments, but I just cannot imagine ever growing tired of seeing his face. I can't get enough of him. We spent all afternoon today cuddled up in bed, staring at each other and kissing and being "bakkapuru," or a silly couple. Glimpsing us in private, or on occasion a public venue such as the train or on the stage of a gay dance club, would surely induce gagging and lip-curling in even the most steely people. But I can't say that I care much for their opinions. I'm too busy making googly eyes and holding hands to notice.

I've got six whole days ahead of me before we see each other again, and apparently two more days until I can watch the finale of ANTM, so it looks like I'm going to need something new to occupy my time for a while. Maybe I will pick up the guitar after all.

Gallery of ewwy gooey love

...........

Finally, pictures from when Andrea came to visit Tokyotown.

...........

And I think I forgot to even mention that I was a geisha for an afternoon a couple months ago.

Blue skies ahead

2008-04-10T02:49:00.004+09:00

I have been tossed around in the eye of an emotional typhoon during the last week, literally finding myself the other day jumping for joy one minute and sobbing the next. I've said goodbye to one of my very dearest friends Kim, shared the Tokyo experience with my little sister for a week and then put her on a plane back home, was hours away from buying a plane ticket home for myself when I got offered an amazing editor position here, nearly broke up with my boyfriend over the most ridiculous thing ever (karaoke...long story) and then less than a week later was blurting out that I would marry him, nearly felt my heart explode just from being wrapped inside his arms, and just a moment or two later nearly had my heart broken from finding out that one of my closest friends is battling an incurable disease, on the very same day in which I learned that a guy I dated in high school died recently in a car crash, and on top of all that I have accidentally arranged for myself to be homeless in less than three weeks.

Yeah.

I'm just going to buy myself a pair of cute new rainboots, let the storm do its thing, and I'll be absolutely fine.

Oh happy day

2008-03-22T01:25:00.007+09:00

Spending the majority of my recent time immersed in the gay community has yielded me many advantageous things, not the least of which include fun new slang (batch!), the ability to concoct unique little outfits and wear them out in public to rave reviews, an appreciation for how hot and very cool my boyfriend is, plenty of musical dvd viewings, and more quality red wine and cheese than anyone single individual should be allowed to consume.

It's also brought me these little nuggets of entertainment, which may not be everyone's brand of humor but are most definitely ours. Give them a whirl.

.........

Also, it's official, people.

I am in LOVE.

Crazy,
happy,
completely absorbed,
giggly,
googly eyed,
blushing,
beaming,
daydreamy,
insane,
consuming,
over-the-top
IN LOVE.

I have cupid's arrows shooting out of my ears and tiny rainbows wrapped around my toes.

.........

And the cherry on this big, gooey sundae is that my sister is coming to visit in SIX days and I get to show off Tokyo to her and her to Tokyo, plus the cherry blossoms are just about ready to make their grand entrance into spring.

Smile with me now.

There goes my boy...

2008-03-06T23:56:00.008+09:00

After a joke-infused brunch of chocolate chip pancakes and mango champagne and one last-minute trip to the post office, I stood in front of the train station Monday afternoon with a handful of friends and watched the bus doors snap shut and one of my very best friends in the world, my coworker, my travel buddy, my housemate, someone I haven't gone a single day without seeing in 2008 was whisked back to the depths of Western Australia. I'm excited for Brett to take the next steps in his life that need to be taken, especially after watching him come into his own over the last three years, but there's not a single person that has been a bigger part of my life in Japan and god I'm going to miss that kid like crazy.

Lucky for me I have plenty of amazing people ready and willing to fill the void as best they can. My boy has been pulling triple duty as a one-man cheer-up committee and doctor treating a recent and rather annoying cold. He rocks.

Here and there

2008-02-27T01:35:00.002+09:00

I'm back from our whirlwind trip around southern Japan and the experiences were amazing and plentiful. I will try to share the details of some of them, but I'm presently in decompression mode so it might be awhile.

In the end, our itinerary turned out something like this:
Feb. 13 - airplane to Fukuoka
Feb. 15 - bus to Hiroshima
Feb. 18 - bus to Takamatsu, Shikoku
Feb. 19 - hitchhike to Naruto
Feb. 19 - bus to Kobe/Osaka
Feb. 20 - daytrip to Himeji
Feb. 23 - daytrip to Nara
Feb. 24 - bullet train to Tokyo

Lots and lots of pics here. Enjoy!

A new side of things

2008-02-17T19:26:00.008+09:00

I haven't slept a night in my bed for a whole week. I've napped on buses, trains and airplanes and caught a few more Zzz's on the couch of a didgeridoo-playing stranger's house, sandwiched between two friends in a queen-sized bed in a hotel room and curled up on a flower-printed futon at a cozy little guesthouse. During the next week I'll be sleeping at a friend's parents house, a temple and a few random spots along the way.

I miss my pillow, not to mention my sleeping buddy, but it's lovely to be away from Tokyo and to see a new side of Japan. In Fukuoka, Brett and I visited a few temples, played with robots, experienced fake earthquakes and typhoons, saw a live music show, got a massage, ate tonkotsu ramen and other local dishes, met up with a friend in town on a business trip and got mildly lost in the countryside. In Hiroshima, we paid a fairly solemn visit to the A-Bomb Dome and the Peace Museum, taken in views of the giant orange torii in Miyajima, eaten local okonomiyaki and heaps of fresh oysters and became fast friends with one seriously fabulous bar master, his wife and pretty much all their friends, family and customers.

Things couldn't be better. Actually, the weather could stand to warm up a bit and life would naturally be a touch nicer if I didn't have to lug around a 500-pound backpack, but that hardly amounts to a valid complaint in light of everything we've seen and done thus far. And I love the fact that I have no idea where I'll be laying my head tomorrow night.

Newsflash

2008-02-07T20:17:00.000+09:00

I went to the Aveda salon today and got my hair lobbed off. And I didn't even break up with anyone or quit my job first. Just thought I'd keep the positive changes a-rollin'.

The bedhead version of the new 'do:

..........

Also, I went quite happily for two years without seeing a single flake of snow and now the cold, bitter stuff refuses to go away. Refuses! We've tried to make it fun by building snowmen and the flurry-filled skies have lent themselves to being a rather romantic backdrop on at least one occasion, but I really want my social life back now! And I need to go jogging!

..........

Lastly, the very very first friend I made in Tokyo is up and leaving me in one month's time, a fact that is sure to make me all sad and teary-eyed when I actually begin to accept it. Until then, we've got a two-person, 11-day sightseeing extravaganza around southern Japan in the works that should be quite the doozy, with the A-bomb memorial, Kobe beef, new tattoos and sleeping on a stranger's couch on the menu, so stay tuned.

Lucky me

2008-02-05T19:10:00.000+09:00

Shortly after midnight on Jan. 1, I removed myself from the overcrowded dancefloor and was lucky enough to snag a seat right next to a very good-looking and friendly guy. Soon thereafter, I slid my silver wrist bands over his hands and told him that for the remainder of the evening he was my love slave, a role he has unexpectedly and most pleasantly continued to fulfill over the last several weeks.

He is smart and generous and incredibly sweet. He rubs my fingers and toes when they're cold, kisses the palms of my hands and strokes my hair while I fall asleep. His nicknames for me include ウェンディーひめ, which means "Queen Wendi," and "my wife." He sends me cute little texts filled with hearts and smiley faces and sometimes amusing English phrases like "I'll be added to you tomorrow," and "When you're spicy, I'm sorry not to be able to be on the side," and "Have a meal tightly." My messages to him are in equally messy Japanese, I'm sure, but communication has somehow never been much of a problem.

We spend the majority of our marathon dates holed up in my room, talking, laughing, kissing, sleeping, eating, drinking, watching videos, being silly and completely ignoring the outside world. It's been a long time since I've been this comfortable with anyone and I was beginning to entertain serious doubts that such intimacy was even possible. How lovely to be proven wrong. He came over early Sunday morning just so we could sleep together, and as I lay there with his arms wrapped around me and my mind floating in a half-dreaming state, I had the overwhelming urge to crawl inside of him so we could be even closer than we were at that moment. I am in serious like.

His toothbrush has taken up permanent residence at my house, his face has taken up permanent residence in my mind, and I could not be happier.

All because of tired feet.

My ゆうーちゃん (Yuu-chan):

Dreams redux

2008-01-24T12:25:00.000+09:00

I'm happy to report that while the bad dreams have not completely vanished, they have taken on the much less violent forms of being on strange drugs (thanks, James Frey), having my wallet stolen, returned and then losing it again the very same day, and having a friend convert to Mormonism. In the latter dream I was also eating beets and wearing giant sushi rolls around my ankles, so it wasn't all bad.

Sweet dreams

2008-01-21T22:45:00.000+09:00

I love love love to sleep. I love down comforters, semi-firm pillows and deep, deep darkness. I love days when I don't have to wake up to an alarm clock. And I love when I dream about my grandma's house, or flying, or about someone telling a joke so funny that I wake up laughing.

It's a shame, though, that I cannot honestly say that I remember ever having a good night's worth of Zzz's. When I was little, I used to lay in bed completely paralyzed with fear that something bad would happen to my parents or grandma. In high school I lost countless nighttime hours to more social causes, and in college there was coursework, a part-time job, an internship and a live-in boyfriend competing for my time.

Chicago and Tokyo both have taken their toll on my sleeping habits as well, but even when I find my head against the pillow at a decent hour I can't seem to manage a decent sleep. Usually my mind doesn't know when to call it quits for the evening, but even when I finally drift off I can only stay that way for an hour or so at a time. I wake up a million times throughout the night because I'm thirsty, or I have to go to the bathroom, it's too hot or too cold, I need to change positions, I had a nightmare, somebody walked past my bedroom...the list is endless.

Sleeping pills and Nyquil I've tried, as well as exercise, copious amounts of wine, meditation, boring novels, aromatherapy and eye masks. Short of counting sheep, I don't know what else I can do.

While I may not be able to sleep soundly, I can definitely conjure up some crazy and vivid dreams during those spurts of unconsciousness. Some even begin before I'm completely asleep, which is kind of strange but mildly entertaining, as I have some sort of control over what's happening for a little while at least. In one recent dream I was hanging out with DJ Jazzy Jeff of the Fresh Prince fame and I was telling him how I used to torture my little sister with the song "Nightmare on My Street," which he couldn't remember at all even though he's in it, so I sang a little of it to jog his memory and we had a good laugh. Fun stuff.

Much, much less entertaining is the fact that I have nightmares as often as I have regular dreams. Usually I'm being chased and I seem to only be able to run at the speed of a tiny caterpillar. Sometimes there's a plane crash or a long, unfortunate fall. Sometimes the people I care about die. Other times I do. In the last two weeks, I've had dreams in which a double ferris wheel full of people fell into a Chinese sea and died as the ball dropped on new year's; I was in some scary race and found a shortcut to the train station across a small, crystal-clear tropical ocean only to watch the two I told to go ahead of me get gobbled up by a shark; seeing two of my housemates floating in the bottom of another clear body of water and trying to save them but quickly panicking and losing my breath; witnessing the rubber band of some guy on the beach snap as he attempted a bungee jump; being hit and I'm pretty certain killed in a ridiculous head-on collision when my sister drove (from the back seat) into the wrong lane of a mall parking lot, of all places.

Crazy, right? It's getting to the point where I don't even want to go to sleep because I'm worried about what my whacked-out imagination is going to come up with next, which is unfortunate because my bed is just calling my name on these cold winter nights and at least part of me is holding out hope that a night of quality sleep is not a thing of fiction.

the new year

2008-01-09T01:30:00.000+09:00

HAPPY 2008!

I hope you all are having an amazing new year thus far. I know I certainly am.
A little glimpse at how I've been spending my 2008, if you please:

- saying goodbye to one hilarious sweetheart of a housemate

- dancing dancing dancing
- playing memory, old maid, scrabble, trivial pursuit and family feud
- baking and cooking
- playing volleyball
- watching scary movies
- having a big American dinner at a U.S. military base with a bunch of strangers
- watching more Gossip Girl and America's Dance Idol
- drinking bamboo sake
- learning new kanji
- flirting with a gorgeous Japanese model/surfer
- taking silly sticky pictures

- facebooking
- eating pop tarts
- jogging (a little)
- working (kind of a lot)
- having a stupid cold
- working on my life plan
- emailing ex-boyfriends
- making new friends
- reading Jane Eyre
- looking for a cheap flight to Vietnam
- spending an entire night and day holed up in my room with someone fabulous, doing magic tricks, sharing a piece of toast, looking at pictures of my nieces and nephews, practicing along to my Chinese cds and giggling incessantly until we were forced to leave the premises

- snapping up a pair of hot red boots
- bracing myself for big changes to come

Nothing earth shattering, I know, but it's a kind of mellow pleasantness that sets the tone nicely for the year. And it's enough to make me smile.

Under the mistletoe

2007-12-24T23:56:00.000+09:00

Three minutes to Christmas. I finally found the seasonal spirit, but it turned out to be rather fleeting. Or maybe it was actually just the hostess in me excited to plan and executive a pretty kicking party last night. We decked a tiny $5 tree with miniature ornaments and a string of ill-gained lights. Christmas tunes from the likes of Death Cab for Cutie, Sufjan Stevens, Britney Spears, a silent loop of How the Grinch Stole Christmas on the telly and dozens of candles added to the festive ambience. My housemate Misa made sushi, Brett cooked quiche, Kim made a batch of amazing egg nog, and I whipped up dozens of sugar cookies, again without the aid of measuring cups or an oven.

A huge number of friends went home for the holidays this year, so I wound up putting in face time with a lot of people that I don't know all that well and they didn't disappoint in the least. Guests showed up bearing fried chicken and tofu, champagne and red bull, santa hats and presents. They made merry indeed, and, god bless 'em, not a single one missed the last train.

Those of us left behind at the house spent Christmas Eve nursing our collective hurt with Diet Coke, Christmas cake, America's Dance Idol, aka So You Think You Can Dance, and a few games of cards. Ooh, and there was definitely napping in there.

It's been a good and entertaining couple of days, but as the clock ticks toward December 25, it feels like just an ordinary day. Maybe I'll be more Christmas-y in the morning. If not, it's still a good excuse to drink spiced wine and give mistletoe kisses.

Sending lots of holiday love to you all.

_

Tis the season

2007-12-18T20:18:00.001+09:00

These days I'm feeling anything but festive. It's not that I refuse to give the holiday spirit a solid effort; I've sipped many a gingerbread latte, forced my roommates to sit through a viewing of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, tried on silly reindeer hats with Brett at the department store. Tomorrow I'm attempting to make sugar cookies, sans a few key ingredients that I can't find here, and without an oven. Sunday we're having a party replete with eggnog and presents, and actual Christmas will likely consist of lazing around the house watching dvds and filling up on mulled wine.

Still, the visions of sugarplums remain at bay. Maybe because we don't have a tree, unless you count the 2-inch plastic paperweight sitting on top of the tv, or anything else that resembles decorations. The weather here was warm enough for me to lunch outside without a jacket today. And instead of buying Toys for Tots and gazing at twinkly light displays, I've been occupied for the most part by decidedly unfestive things like playing volleyball, dancing at the gay club, breaking up with my boy, and eating kimchi.

I'm not complaining exactly, because all around things are good, but I would love nothing more than to be sitting on the hallway floor of my parents' house, where the warm air blows up from the vent, staring at the twinkling Christmas tree and munching on my mom's no-bake cookies, then spending Christmas Eve eating shrimp chowder, getting a little tipsy and playing Sequence with all our close family friends, debating whether or not to attend midnight mass and eventually opting to lay around the living room watching A Christmas Story. Distant second would be napping on a beach in Thailand.

Japanese (and Taiwanese) Christmases past: slightly festive.

My park

2007-12-11T17:07:00.000+09:00

Let me introduce you to one of my favorite ways to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon. Or a Wednesday night, or a birthday for that matter. Inokashira Park is one of my favorite places in all of Tokyo, buzzing with energy on the weekends, serene and mysterious at night. Spring transforms it into a pink wonderland, with petals of cherry blossoms floating through the air, in summertime the trees offer plenty of much-needed shade, fall everything turns deep red overhead and crisp underneath the feet, winter it becomes bare and solemn.

Sundays, though, when the sun is out and the temperature is fine, are the best. There's a small arts festival every weekend, and merchants watch over their tables from sun up till sun down, peddling hand-painted postcards, one-of-a-kind hats, pet clothes, caricature drawings, jewelry and other trinkets and goods. Musicians perform everything from classical pieces to Japanese mariachi songs. There are a handful of balloon animal makers scattered across the park, one of whom has a very cool repertoire of oversized Minnie Mouses, Snoopys and the like. There are jugglers and magicians, human art pieces, tap dancers, breakdancers and one guy who vocally acts out manga comic books. I never grow tired of the mayhem.

Nor do I mind when darks sets in and the park turns quiet again.

No news

2007-11-30T11:20:00.001+09:00

I really don't know why I continue to read the online version of the Chicago Tribune. It rarely does anything but upset me, yet I can't seem to keep away. Maybe it helps bridge the gap between me and home, or maybe it reminds me of the many hours spent curled up on the couch pouring over the Sunday edition with my sister, swapping crossword puzzles, making fun of the plethora of ridiculous articles and checking to see if any of the weekend shootings occurred in our own neighborhood.

At any rate, I click on that little bookmark at the top of my browser at least twice a day and never fail to log out in a more dismal mood than before, usually quite certain that the world is full of homicidal maniacs, corrupt police officers and politicians, and ignorant, celebrity-hungry people (I enjoy my Britney gossip as much as the next person, but there's a time and a place for that and it's called the Red Eye, folks).

Today's foray into the e-newspaper has left me fuming due to this headline and the articles about it: Body found in search for student porn star (It's actually a different headline within the story but this one's on the front page). Every lead and nearly every headline needlessly refer to the victim as a porn star. She was a college student who happens to have a few nude pictures on a web site. She was 18 years old and I think in her awful, horrifying death she deserves more respect. Even an inkling of respect would be a good start. But instead the media labels her a "porn star" not to lay out the plain truth but to draw in and entertain its more salacious readers. Her poor family. Poor friends. Poor her. Where's the mention of her non-titallating activities, or what kind of grades she got in school, or what she was like as a person?

It reminds me of a Trib story my sister and I read a while back about a bouncer at a Chicago club who got shot and killed while trying to break up a fight or protecting another person, and all the article did was detail his own criminal history. It was completely irrelevant and it pissed me off.

I know that I'll keep reading the Tribune in spite of my better judgement, but I wish it would stop with the sensationalizing already.

2007-11-27T23:35:00.000+09:00

Thanksgiving this year could be called traditional only in that we feasted on a turkey and all the trimmings, and also there was one set of cousins present. Mostly though it was celebrated with several new twists, including the fact that it came on a Friday and not Thursday, several guests many of us were meeting for the first time, mashed potatoes and sushi were served side by side, we paid $100 for the bird, dinner was served picnic style on the floor, an impromptu dance-off found a place amid holiday chatter and the refilling of wine glasses, Japanese was probably spoken as much if not more often than English, and cupid was spitting out arrows left and right.

It was downright lovely.

With the help of my much-adored housemate Misa and one very versatile microwave, I spent the day whipping up a menu for 40-plus people with only a few tears and a light sprinkling of swear words. Mostly though, we danced around the kitchen to Justin Timberlake and Daft Punk, slicing and mixing and pouring to the beat. Recipes were consulted at a minimum and not a single ingredient went measured, to absolutely delicious results if I do say so myself.

The menu:

- turkey, courtesy of Fujimama's restaurant and Brett's very strong arms
- mashed potatoes with garlic
- dressing
- gravy
- candied sweet potatoes
- corn with bacon and scallions
- salad with walnuts, dried cranberries, bleu cheese and diced pears
- baked camembert cheese with pecans and maple syrup
- assorted bread rolls
- pumpkin pie with whipped cream
- rainbow jello

The food disappeared quickly and the vino was devoured with equal vigor, leaving everyone with full bellies, flushed cheeks and high spirits. We danced and made merry. Sat around on blankets and enjoyed one another's company. I found myself a few new friends and got to introduce my new (wonderful, amazing and very much non-English-speaking) boy to the house and my closest circle of friends, where he won unanimous approval and garnered more than a few wagging tongues.

The evening drew to a close along with the last train, so I brought out a few futons and blankets to the guests who hadn't been swift enough to catch their rides home and then ducked into my room for one final glass of red wine and some face time with the boy.

The night was a charmed one.

It's not easy to celebrate a holiday without family and impossible to do so without at least a twinge of homesickness, but somehow I have ended up surrounded by people I truly love and I feel home. What more could a girl ask for?

Gobble gobble and the like

2007-11-22T19:19:00.000+09:00

Last night after the clock turned past midnight and I snuggled into the covers of my bed, I realized that it was officially thanksgiving. My mind conjured up pictures of the holiday at home. My sisters and I plucking food off the freshly plated countertop in the kitchen as my mom cooked up a storm of traditional dishes and we made idle chatter with my grandma, the men of the family seated on the sofa and recliners, flipping between football and golf on the television, the little ones shuffling from room to room, upstairs to downstairs, in a sort of youthful self-entertainment. Bowing our heads to say grace in the kitchen before rushing to be in the front of the line. Being incapacitated by those somewhat rueful second helpings, but feeling warm and content at our cozy little house filled with all those crazy people I love and who love me back.

I was ruminating over the fact that this would be the last thanksgiving spent in that house. And that I was missing it. And that it wouldn't really be at all like the previous thanksgivings I just described because of so many things that have altered our family over the last few years, expanding it in incredible ways and pruning it in others.

I'm a little sad that I won't be there to even experience the changed dynamic, to see if the new roles become a family so deeply rooted in the old ones. My parents have somehow with the passage with time turned into the grandparents, my siblings and I have become the aunts and uncles and parents, and my nieces and nephews are now the ever-growing population of cousins. It was an inevitable turn of events, but somehow I am still caught by surprise.

Regardless of change and time and distance, one certain thing is that I have been blessed with an amazing and beautiful family. And I am thankful for that.

Turkey day

2007-11-20T06:32:00.000+09:00

My Japanese thanksgiving, take I.

Turkey and pumpkin pie from Costco (mmmm mmm!), silly American costumes and a whipped cream fight. Not exactly family tradition, but who could complain.

Photos courtesy a kick-ass new Thanksgiving friend Sara.

My crazy life

2007-11-05T17:50:00.000+09:00

My life as an alleged PARTY ANIMAL
Sunday's WILD & CRAZY agenda

- go to Starbucks for a chai latte
- walk around the park
- finish Steinbeck novel (awesome!)
- talk on the phone to sister, best friend and boy
- laundry
- jogging
- clean room
- make dinner (chicken, basil, garlic and bell peppers)
- watch episode of Heroes for the first time
- watch Brokeback Mountain with my housemates
- snack on edamame and warm soy milk with cinnamon
- shower
- check email
- start new book
- zzzzzzzz

After party

2007-10-29T01:48:00.000+09:00

Two birthday parties last weekend, three Halloween parties this one, and in the aftermath I am seriously considering staying on the couch in my pajamas for the rest of the year. But it was worth it.

Highlights:
- dancing at my very most favorite gay bar
- bewildering our housemates by bestowing upon each one a spontaneous yet hearty round of applause every time they walked through the front door or into the living room
- karaoke
- cake
- meeting a fabulous guy and spending a lazy Sunday eating sushi and wandering my neighborhood
- champagne
- dinner parties
- house parties
- train parties
- club parties
- costumes, replete with fishnet stockings and feathers
- shoe pile redux
- sharing glow sticks and swapping bits and pieces of costume wear with strangers
- watching people jump in the pool in the freezing cold
- being people-watched by perplexed and amused Japanese folks all over the city
- making new friends
- bonding with old ones
- holding hands all night
- a warm and tingly feeling that refuses to fade
- watching the sun rise on four occasions

I may just have to go out on a high note and hang up my dancing shoes for a bit. Big, fluffy slippers are sounding quite nice at the moment.

More pictures to come as soon as my parents stop holding my camera cable for ransom. Unless they already mailed it, in which case, THANK YOU! Love you!! xoxo

Street signs

2007-10-13T18:44:00.000+09:00

I've lived in this house for the past seven months, but only a couple days ago did my housemate and I stop to count and have a good laugh over how many syllables our street name is. It's thirteen. THIRTEEN. And on some signs they tack an "Avenue" on the end just for kicks.

Then we made up some ridiculously entertaining story about a man on his deathbed who wants to tell his loved ones about a secret treasure before he kicks the bucket; alas, he only gets so far as "The treasure is buried at Inokashirakoen...." and dies, and without the full name of the location his family never does find the treasure. It's tragic, really.

Lessons learned

2007-10-07T15:34:00.001+09:00

Some useful things I've learned since yesterday:

1) It is possible to literally flush your money (and credit cards!) down the drain.

2) It is also possible to have Michael Meyers (the Halloween freakshow, not the one I dated briefly in '03) and the Care Bears show up in the same dream.

3) Being woken up at the crack of dawn after a long night out by large drums being beaten just outside your bedroom window is not a thing of fiction.

4) The G, A and D chords.

Much better

2007-10-04T21:10:00.000+09:00

Alright, I seriously need to lighten up. It was a rough week, but thanks to a scoop of pumpkin ice cream, a nice, long run and a kickin' 24 hours, I feel much better. In fact, things seem to be landing rather nicely.

-I've got some freelance proofreading lined up for this month and other fun prospects on the horizon
-I found a place to volunteer and talked a friend into doing it with me. It may even involve wearing a pretty dress and schmoozing with strangers
-I'm hopefully going to buy a guitar tomorrow and make my housemate teach me to play it
-I have big dancing plans for the weekend
-I met a guy last night who's kept me smiling all day. I might have to start studying Japanese again
-It's nearly Halloween and I can't wait

So my sincerest apologies for the recent mini-crisis, but rest assured that life for the moment is good.

Some imagery to capture the mood (or a mood, anyway), courtesy of my darling baby Mac:

Lovely, no?

Juggling

2007-10-02T23:44:00.000+09:00

I feel like my life has been tossed up in the air by some unseen hand, and here I stand, eyes on the sky, waiting for the pieces to fall back to earth so I can gather up and reassemble them. I just hope they don't break on the way down.

There's no place like...

2007-09-19T13:09:00.001+09:00

Home again. I spent the past three weeks catching up with family, friends and American pop culture and being flooded with memories to a point that skimmed sensory overload. It was lovely for the most part and crazy in its entirety. I saw babies, took my first trip to Canada, went to a Cubs game (yay) and Notre Dame football game (boo), drank all the Grey Goose, Bells Oberon and Fat Tire my body would allow, rode some terrifying rollercoasters in the dark, one of which came free with a contact buzz, ate a hot dog at Wrigley Field, saw the musical Wicked, had a birthday...

I found myself dealing at times with a bit of reverse culture shock, which included being thrown for a loop when anyone made small talk, not knowing how to properly use a debit card machine, and the shocking array of gum and candy, the last of which prompted my little sister to draw comparisons to the Encino Man. There was also an embarrassing conversation that took place at the bar among my sister's boyfriend, our friend and myself involving the seemingly complex identification of a berry (I guessed raspberry or boisenberry, Crystal thought it was a blueberry, and Josh informed us while smacking his forehead and rolling his eyes that it was a blackberry, ever heard of them, they grow in your parents' backyard. Right).

Aside from the merriment and cultural confusion came the inevitable trips down memory lane. I walked around my old neighborhoods past the spot where my ex-boyfriend and I shared our first kiss, past the street where my sister's and my favorite martini bar in the world once stood, where it is sorely missing now. I ate soup at the best place in Chicago, and read the paper at my old coffee shop. I flipped through old high school yearbooks, and had a long phone conversation with my best friend from those days. I stood in my old bedroom, oddly missing the hideous, shiny wallpaper I had picked out more than a decade ago. And I also realized that for every handful of good memories, there are bad ones, and that hard little fact likely had a lot to do with why I moved so far away. I remembered like it was yesterday standing at the bottom of the stairs on my way to shower one morning in September when my brother told me that two of our friends had been killed in a car crash the night before. I could feel myself crumpled on the carpeted floor of my bedroom crying the day the another close friend died, my eighteenth birthday. I still could hear my grandmother's voice on the telephone, I drove past the trees sometimes no longer marked with a cross, I still tensed up whenever someone walked close behind me on the sidewalk. I love those places (not to mention the people) that built my childhood and served as the backdrop for my foray into adulthood, always will, but the truth of the matter is that it's not always easy to be there.

I arrived back in Tokyo last night, and even in my foggy, jet-lagged state of mind it is becoming increasingly evident that I have no idea where exactly home is anymore. It's here, it's in Chicago, in Michigan. It might even be somewhere new that I haven't set foot in yet, somewhere like South America or Spain. I really don't know, but I look forward to figuring it out.

A peek at the good stuff:

Parade

2007-08-28T02:44:00.001+09:00

I'll be back home in lovely Chicago/Michigan in a matter of hours. Extremely thrilling, but also quite daunting. Hoping my nieces and nephews recognize me, catching up on a year's worth of gossip, people talking on their cell phones on the train, understanding every word that pretty much everyone around me is uttering...scary!!

America, here I come (kimono excluded).

Straight flush

2007-08-24T22:49:00.000+09:00

So, I recently realized that I seem to have an abnormally large amount of gay friends. And to be completely truthful, my favorite place to go out in Tokyo at the moment is a gay dance club, where I spent all of last Friday and Saturday night busting what I like to think were some pretty sweet moves on the stage and fanning off sweaty people to ensure that everyone present was having as much fun as me. I find myself regularly suggesting it as a weekend destination instead of the popular venues in Shibuya and Roppongi. I love to walk in and spot a familiar face. I used to have a crush on the tall, lanky staff that I thought was possibly not gay until the last time I saw him at another club and I realized he has zero interest in girls, probably never has, more likely never will.

At any rate, it's the perfect place to make merriment without worrying about lecherous guys (usually) or hooking up (with exceptions, of course) or whether my hair is too big and crazy (not a soul in the room could care less). I feel more comfortable in that neighborhood than I do at the various other meat-market establishments around the city, and I find myself always having a good time with this group of gay and gay-friendly people because we are never really out there with an agenda. So I'm pretty much a staple of that scene, my presence is expected at special events, and I'm so enthusiastic about it all that my housemate has begun to suspect that I may in fact be a "gay boy."

Still, I was a little taken aback with this conversation with a friend of mine:

Me: Are you coming to the festival with us on Sunday?
Her: Yes! Will there be cute guys there, or should I bring my boyfriend?
Me: There will be cute gay boys for sure, but I don't know who else is coming. Bring your boyfriend, and ask him to bring along some hot friends.
Her: OK, I'll ask him if he knows any cute girls that speak English.
Me: ???! A girl? No, silly, I meant a BOY. I like BOYYYSSSSSS!
Her: OK. Wink, wink. See you Sunday.
Me: ....

! ! !

If I haven't said this already, I adore my housemates. They let me throw parties, lend me books and share their food. Our house is never short on interesting happenings, people sneaking in and out at all hours and others piecing together their weekends downstairs in the kitchen over coffee or curled up together in somebody's bed.

We ended up having an impromptu party at my house last night featuring sauteed chicken, Wii, lots of chu-his, and endless games of Bullsh*t and Spoons, which we renamed Hashi and played with chopsticks. Well into the evening, we had divided into two teams, gay vs. straight, and lipstick was the weapon of choice. I'm telling you, we make our own fun in these parts. Don't judge us.

! ! !

Other recent goings on:

The festival outside my house

Japanese baseball, in which they have a different cheer for every single batter

And pestering the bartender at one of my most beloved watering holes

Summertime

2007-08-20T00:05:00.000+09:00

My housemate took this video at the local water park in Tokyo. It's a doozy.

So very zen

2007-08-18T17:07:00.000+09:00

With the exception of one bad sunburn and a difficult goodbye, Thailand was a dream. I ate spoonful after spoonful of curries and rice and was fed tropical fruit to my heart's content. I saw elephants and monkeys in the wild. I danced Thai-style (around the table) with young, hip locals while sipping whiskey and soda. Paid my respects to the king while watching "The Simpsons Movie," visited a breathtaking temple, took a roadtrip, hiked up a waterfall, tried my hand at bodyboarding, curled up next to my boy and giggled away the nighttime hours. It was simple and lovely and so very hard to leave behind.

Meanwhile, Tokyo is laying on the summer thick and steamy. It was 101.7 degrees on Thursday, with humidity of roughly 824 percent. My fondness for air conditioning, public pools and cold beer has never been stronger.

A blank mind

2007-08-01T01:50:00.000+09:00

I'm leaving for Thailand and Vietnam for two weeks tomorrow. A sizable chunk of this trip is to spend some time with my ex, and when I arrive I'll be staying at his house in Bangkok for at least a few days. So it might have been a good idea to, well, ya know, actually inform him of this.

Yeah, it looks like I actually forgot to tell him when I was actually coming until I sent a text today saying "See you tomorrow" and he messaged me back in an utter state of confusion (there is, however, a strong probability that I sent a message on my cell phone and it didn't reach him for whatever reason...honest!). At any rate, the boy totally rocks and everything should come up roses.

I do still need to pack, though.

Other recent moments of questionable judgement:
- Settling into an amazing spot in the park to watch the fireworks, only to realize upon the first few booms that the view was ENTIRELY blocked by a huge row of trees.
- Going to a baseball game with a guy I've recently become rather chummy with and -- surprise! -- his girlfriend.
- Stopping to watch a soccer game at a back-alley bar at 6 a.m. after a house party and all night karaoke.
- Completely forgetting about the bottle of Moet in my fridge.
- Leaving a cute bartender's phone number on the bar because I was feeling a bit cranky and tired.
- Eating McDonald's for the first time in six months.
- Swallowing a mouthful of water in the lazy river of the local public pool.
- Taking my ex-boyfriend to a gay nightclub.

2007-07-26T19:22:00.000+09:00

Sayonara, sweethearts

2007-07-10T17:54:00.000+09:00

My computer died. All the photos taken over the last few months but was too lazy to back up: gone. New music that I nabbed off the Internet: kapoot. Part of me wants to cry, and I even had a dream last night in which I beat the hell out of that stupid bastard laptop, but a wee little voice inside keeps saying, "But now you can get a Mac." So it ain't all rain clouds and dog bites.

My new job is fun, but tough. I am currently the only non-Japanese person in my office, so there are quite a few nuances to get used to. For example, the five million times we must utter "Ohayo goizaimasu!" in the morning, including any time someone steps off the elevator, punches in or walks within a five-foot radius of us. And even if my work for the day is finished and I've already put in nine solid hours, I'm scared to be the first to leave the office, so I sit and act busy and pray for that first person to clock out so I can scramble behind him. I've also been forbidden to eat snacks at my desk any time before 3 p.m. I'm not a morning person and never have been, which means if I'm hungry before work I will more than likely be stuffing an entire breakfast bar or rice triangle into my mouth on the elevator. Anyway, they feed me like crazy in the afternoons, my listening skills are better than they were a week ago, and I even learned some superneat Japanese symbols for "delete" and "big."

Given these two factors -- crappy computer and crazybusy work schedule -- and the fact that my social life, after three weeks of insanity that drained me physically, mentally and financially, has taken on a more temperate tone, I am sending myself on a little blogger holiday.

Just until something juicy happens. Or I buy a Mac.

Working girl

2007-07-06T01:13:00.000+09:00

I love my new job. I got paid decent money today to read about beer. Which is actually fun, but not that fun, when you are nursing a pretty massive hangover caused by self-inflicted Fourth of July festivities. In spite of the rain, we had a fabulous party indoors at my house, featuring American staples such as mac & cheese, BLTs, Tom Petty and beer pong. Oh, and there were fireworks of all type.

Speaking of which, I have completely botched my very own scheme to go on dating detox for all of July in an effort to focus on more important things, exactly five days into it. Actually, truth be told, I made it exactly 30 minutes into July 1 before I was snuggled up beside Love Hotel Boy on his futon. What can I say, I'm weak. Other moments of temptation this month thus far include a gorgeous Chilean with an Aussie accent and a great hat, and a friend-type all around great guy who had his arms wrapped around me all last night.

I really need a hobby.

! ! !

Mean thing No. 235 to do to someone when they're passed out:

And just for kicks:

Alright, kids, it's a school night and this girl's got to get some Zzzzzs. Happy July.

Pool party

2007-06-29T01:32:00.000+09:00

My friends and I are totally going to buy these pants. And maybe the boots as well.

! ! !

It doesn't get much better than dancing barefoot by the pool (at the biggest dance club in Asia, to boot) as the sun slowly works its way above the horizon.

! ! !

Best inventions of the weekend:

Shoe pile
Shirtless karaoke (blame the weather for that one)
Cherry cornmeal pancakes with maple syrup
Roomie Fun Game Nite

It's our Japanniversary

2007-06-20T13:04:00.000+09:00

HAPPY JAPANNIVERSARY to me, Kim and Brett!

The celebration, by the numbers (aka lazy style):

Consecutive days of partying: 3
All-niters: 2
Bottles of champagne: 3
And sparkling wine: 1
And Red Bulls: 4
Misc. party favors: 3
Hours spent in Yoyogi Park: 2.5 (Saturday night) + 4 (Sunday afternoon) = 6.5
Median bedtime: 10 a.m.
Total hours slept: 5
Clubs patronized: 4
Straight clubs patronized: 1
Hours of dancing: 15
Drunkdial to The Ex: 120 minutes
Roommates kissed: 1
Other parties kissed: ???
Possessions lost in the haze: 0
Cool sunglasses gained: 1
Present crushes on gay boys: 4.5

! ! !

I had the cutest lunch date on Monday. We ate Italian food, took a rowboat out on the pond, napped on the water and went window shopping. I like his hair.

! ! !

I GOT A JOB! Well, for about two and a half weeks at the moment, but it could lead to more and it's actually in my field. Proofreading, writing and all that fun stuff. A Monday-Friday, 9-5 job like a real adult. Which means that my college degree, perhaps, was not in vain after all.

! ! !

Dear Marisa,

I miss you already. Have safe and amazing travels and I will see you soon in Vietnam, South America and/or Chicago.

I love you forever and ever!

xoxo

Birthday boy

2007-06-15T21:55:00.000+09:00

You know what never gets un-funny? Telling the staff at the restaurant where you and your friends are drinking and dining that it's one friend's birthday while he's in the bathroom. It's even better when about 5 minutes prior you and said friend were discussing doing that exact thing to someone else, and then when the lights dim the poor, unsuspecting friend says, "Oooh, a birthday!" and gets really excited until he realizes that the candles keep coming closer and closer.

And, yay, free cake!

Brett's pretend birthday

His actual birthday a couple weeks ago. We are totally a United Colors of Benetton ad.

The state of my love life

2007-06-12T19:59:00.000+09:00

As if it could possibly ever be anything but, the current state of my love life resembles that of my hair after walking to the train station on a particularly windy day: unruly, chaotic, with pieces whipping about in all directions, giving me a feeling of extreme sexiness at the same time that I kind of want to take a razor and shave every last strand off. Where to begin...

I recently ended things with my Hiroshima guy after learning that he actually already has a girlfriend in Hiroshima, whom I knew about before but stupidly assumed they had broken up when he talked about the "single life" and started sleeping in my bed on a regular basis. The logic for his behavior: "But it's long distance." Yeah, nice try and no thank you.

While I was on vacation, I received very unexpected phone calls from both Ageha Boy and Shibuya Boy, the former of which I met up with last Thursday. Haven't talked to him since, so that could've been a mistake. Referring to the latter, I've been instructed by a good friend to "leave the poor boy alone." Point taken, but try telling that to my vodka-stained fingers at 3 a.m.

I've also developed a potentially unhealthy relationship with a gay boy. I adore him. In the last week, we've been dancing together twice, spent an afternoon at the park, held hands, kissed and shared the same bed together. We went out with a group of friends on Saturday night, and at the club one of the girls innocently referred to him as my boyfriend. I think she said, "Your boyfriend seems really nice," which left me scratching my head for a minute until I realized that she was talking about my gay boy friend. And I admit that, yes, I was a little jealous when he went home that night with another guy.

But I met a man of my own that night too, Gray T-shirt DJ to be exact, who in my opinion happened to be the hottest man under the roof. He was spinning upstairs and was definitely attracting more attention than the music, at least among the female patrons, and I really wanted to chat him up but decided that it was better not to inflate his ego any bigger than it probably was at the moment. He approached me later and bought a round of tequila shots, then asked for my phone number. I acted nonchalant as I gave it to him, then proceeded to forget about the entire thing until my housemates and I were rehashing the night's events while all lounging around in bed the next day. Gray T-shirt DJ actually called that morning, and we had dinner in the evening. He was incredibly sweet, although I'm proceeding with caution for the time being because he's definitely got the makings of a player (good looks, fantastic hair, artsy, athletic, charming...yowza). Anyway, date no. 2 is slated for Friday and, so far, so good.

Also...

Haven't talked to HK Boy since I came back to Japan and I don't really plan to.

Hawaii Boy is moving to Tokyo tomorrow.

The Ex came back (well, to Thailand) from the States a week ago. He emailed me from the airport but is currently, nerve-rackingly MIA.

And, lastly, I was somewhat amusingly the object of someone's drunken affection last weekend. My housemate Beibei brought her friend to Brett's birthday party in the park on Sunday. He was cute, and nice as well, but I was happily occupied with other friends and we didn't really speak much. After most people had caught last train and I accidentally exposed my underwear to the remaining partygoers, which unfortunately included a group of drunk college boys, I decided it was my own bedtime and took off for home with a jaunty wave and a quick pace.

The next morning, Beibei sat on the foot of my bed and told me that her friend had slept over and kept asking for me throughout the night.

"Where's Wendi? I want Wendi." Something to that effect.

"Wendi's asleep. You're drunk. Go to bed," she said.

But he was pretty persistent, so finally she told him my room was on the first floor (it's on the second, down the hall from her own room) and tried to get him to sleep. At some point he got up and, completely naked, knocked on another housemate's door, just across from mine. This poor guy had been out all night the previous evening and was probably pretty groggy when he opened his door.

"Holy shit! What the fuck is this?!" was his reaction according to Beibei, before slamming the door shut and sending her friend scurrying down the hall for shelter.

A few of us girls were gathered around the coffee pot downstairs having a good laugh over the image of that whole scenario when another housemate, a girl from Russia, walked into the room and said, "Wendi, your boy scared me last night."

"Huh? I didn't have a boy last night."

"Well, some guy, I think he was naked but I don't know because it was dark, knocked on my door, and when I opened it up he said 'Where's Wendi?' and I told him it was the wrong room and shut the door, but then he knocked again and stuck his head inside, looked around and asked again 'Where's Wendi?'"

She shut the door on him again and locked it nice and tight. He apparently didn't knock on any more doors after that and disappeared first thing in the morning. He is yet to resurface. Not a shocker.

And that's my love life, tangles, split ends and all. I think I'm overdue for a trim.

Feeling vunerable

2007-06-08T11:26:00.000+09:00

Reasons for feeling not-so-safe in a country renowned for low crime rates, Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. Some people are batshit crazy.

And last but most definitely not least is the incident my housemate and I witnessed last month in which a man dragged a woman by her hair, her shirt and sometimes her feet down a well-populated sidestreet in Kichijoji as she screamed at the top of her lungs, things like "Stop!" and "Help me!" He had a bundle slung over his shoulder that was in fact a young child, awake and observant. The woman appeared to be intoxicated, and for all we knew, he was just trying to get her home, but the manner in which he handled her and the way she shouted sent a spray of goosebumps over my body. Marcus and I stopped in our tracks, unwilling to walk away and ready to intervene if things got any worse, but every single other person passed by with hardly a glance in their direction. She eventually tried to cross the street and get in a taxi, but he followed her and yelled at the taxi driver to go away, which the cowardly bastard did.

At that point we grabbed a police officer to find out what was going on. We don't know what happened after that -- I'd give anything to learn the whole story -- but for the next 30 minutes or so there were police officers swarming around in every which direction on their bicycles.

The point I'm trying to make is that that woman could have really needed help, but everyone averted their eyes and walked away. If I was ever in a desperate situation, if I was being attacked or abducted or harassed, odds are good that not one person would come to my aid (unless I was lucky enough to have a Westerner pass by). And that is the honest-to-god truth, which terrified me senseless after it dawned upon me and still causes a good deal of distress during the fairly rare opportunities when I'm feeling vunerable.

So there you have it. I have absolutely zero fear of carrying large sums of cash with me or leaving my door unlocked when I am out, but as for personal safety, well, let's just hope that I don't come across any more reasons to add to the list. And for the record, I do own pepper spray and am not afraid to use it.

Knock knock

2007-06-07T03:04:00.000+09:00

I was in the midst of a terrible dream this morning in which giant blue tidal waves were washing over a grassy hill on which myself and several dozen people were perched when a commotion in the hallway pulled me back toward consciousness. I heard the muffled voices of Japanese men demanding to see the passports and alien registration cards of my housemates, followed by a sleepy yet outraged ripple of who are yous and what the fucks?

Then the knock came at my door. I pulled the comforter up over my head and resolved not to answer it. Another knock. And another. Then harder and louder, and then I heard my doorknob jingle, which completely pissed me off because I don't always lock it (until now!) and no one has the right to invade my privacy like that. These guys were apparently not going away, a fact that made me wish that I had woken up early and went for a jog just so they would have knocked away until their knuckles bled, all for nothing.

Instead, I pulled on my little kimono robe and flung the door open. Four police and/or immigration officers dressed in suits stood in front of me asking to see my registration card. I produced it a moment later with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. They called someone on a cell phone and read the number to them, nodded a few times, and jotted something down on a piece of paper. Then they handed the card back to me, offered a few empty thank yous and walked away.

Afterward, my housemates and I sat around the dining room table in disbelief, particularly when I looked at the clock and realized it was 7 in the morning. Seriously, the nerve. There was no provocation or reason, or explanation now that I think about it, for what was in all actuality a raid. And that happens to be my first blatantly racist experience in this country, which certainly puts a different spin on things at the moment. With all the domestic violence and crazy people cutting off the limbs and heads of their loved ones (seriously, there has been a rash of this in the news recently), you would think that Japanese law enforcement officials might have something more important to do with their time than to stare at the documents of a bunch of legally employed foreigners, documents that have already been validated on numerous occasions. My landlord is planning to file a complaint, but the blatant abuse of power gives me pause about just how protected I am here (as do a few other things recently, but I'll get into those later).

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to double bolt my door.

My trip

2007-06-01T20:37:00.000+09:00

I'm baaaa-ack! And I'd love to spill all the details (well a few tasty ones, anyway), but I've got a barstool in Shibuya and an adorable friend beckoning me, so I'll sum up Hong Kong in four words: sweltering, vibrant, romantically bizarre.

Picturesque skylines and hot Korean soldiers this way.

Annyong!

2007-05-23T18:32:00.000+09:00

Greetings from Korea, my lovelies! It's been a busy few days, and I don't have much time to detail them at the moment seeing as how there is a much-needed nap awaiting me, but I'll give you a few highlights:

Day 1: Wandered in circles around the hostel, happened upon a Lotus Lantern Festival in our cute artsy neighborhood, and also ran into my former roommate's ex-boyfriend on the street.

Day 2: Visited the DMZ, saw North Korea from afar, wandered through infiltration tunnels and flirted shamelessly with the soldiers. Paid an evening visit to Hookers' Hill and the gay district, scaled the rooftops, and drank several vodka tonics.

Day 3: Strolled through a restored palace that was destroyed by the Japanese, ate a 20-dish Buddhist vegetarian lunch ... and the rest remains to be seen. The nap is a certain, though.

Also, we've managed to pick up a few useful phrases and I can proudly say that I am capable of ordering a beer, apologizing for being a jerk, and counting to five. Impressive, no? Comesay hamnida! Or something to that effect...

I'm afraid I have some bad news...

2007-05-18T20:59:00.000+09:00

I have a rash. On my arm. And it burns like the flames of hell, as do my eyeballs and sometimes my lips and random spots like the back of my hand and my right eyebrow. Medical experts we are not, but four beloved friends and I spent a large portion of our Thursday night attempting to diagnosis my ailment. Over bottomless beers, of course. And then we played Never Have I Ever and sang our favorite '80s karaoke tunes and took a bunch of silly photos, but anyway, with the help of a prior 3 a.m. phone call to Dr. Mom, we narrowed the possibilities down to:

* measles
* allergic reaction to cleaning product
* spider bite
* shingles
* previously undiagnosed disease/new species of superbacteria

All of them sound wholly unappealing, and I'd just as soon lay myself down in front of a shinkansen than visit another doctor here. So I'm spending 36 hours in my pajamas and slippers, eating couscous, washing my hands with fervor and perusing the Mayo Clinic web site in an attempt at self-treatment. Let's hope it works, because I don't really have time for poor health right now.

The female half of my team of medical consultants

In 48 hours, I'll be in South Korea with Kim and Marisa. The loosely shaped agenda includes a morning trip to the DMZ, lots of bi bim bop and soju and several nights out on the town. My HK Boy got me in touch with a friend of his from Seoul, and he offered to take us to the good spots. I love to explore new places on my own, but I feel like I see a completely different and exciting side of a city when there's a local to guide the way.

Speaking of which, by this time next week, my feet will be firmly planted in Hong Kong. I'm a little nervous to see him again. I've stamped out any sort of expectations or fantasies that were taking shape in my mind, and instead I'm just going to go there and soak up the culture and let things run their own course. Yeah, we'll see how that goes.

! ! !

Lastly, Michelle, there's still only one Doobs I know of, and he was in town on business this week. We drank sake at a small but endearing pre-war establishment, watched a friend eat two flame-broiled sparrows, spent quality time with my bartenders and got drenched in the rain. Tokyo at its finest.

Busy body

2007-05-06T21:25:00.000+09:00

My, it's been a productive week. I started May out under ideal circumstances: sans job (well, kind of...I'm still working the Chicago gig), basking in summer-like temperatures, and in the company of the loveliest people.

A rundown of the last several days, if you're interested:

* Said goodbye to my students and coworkers, which was completely heartwrenching at times and not without tears. I've taught some of these people for two years. We know everything about each other in some cases. I love my kids. So the farewell was tough. I ran out of the room fanning my eyes at one point, and after the final class of my favorite children's group, the moms gave me looks that could pull your heart into pieces, and then insisted on snapping photos of me and each kid on their cell phones, all the while wincing and sighing.

I received some incredibly sweet gifts though, including a bottle of sake and a ceramic serving set, flowers, chocolate, a print hanky, two teddy bears and a freshly plucked four-leaf clover. Not so sweet: some kid's cooties *cough, cough*

* Bought a new Hemingway book

* Played frisbee in the park with my housemate Marcus

* Bought an apron

* Baked a macha tea chiffon cake

* Purchased a plane ticket to Korea. A trip to Hong Kong is in the works [insert emotional exclamation points here], while visits to Vietnam, Thailand [ditto] and elsewhere are pending

* Witnessed what by all appearances was a disturbing public spectacle of domestic abuse, right in front of their kid. We got the police, who were baffled at first when my friend told them in Japanese, "That couple over there is married," instead of "That couple over there is fighting." Drank a beer and crossed our fingers

* Was baffled myself the next morning after I boarded the train when, out of a crowd of about a million Japanese people, a little school girl walked straight up to ME and asked if that particular express train stopped at Kokubunji. Surprised at her confidence in my Japanese skills and knowledge of trains, and even moreso that I could understand her and respond appropriately, I marveled over that brief encounter for days

* Made pesto and bruschetta from scratch, inspired by a Martha Stewart episode I saw a few months ago and a batch of unused basil

* Watched a fantastic movie

* Drank several bottles of champagne from paper cups in Shinjuku park

* Video called (my first ever! I know, I'm a geek!) Kim after the third bottle even though she was sitting right next to me

* Hung out with my Hiroshima boy before he ditched me for a 10-day business trip to Osaka

* Stole a shopping cart from Seiyu, which Marcus and I pushed down the street and through the park with cold beer in hand, much to the amusement of all onlookers

* Had a full-on barbeque with the housemates and a few friends. Beer and beef really do make a divine couple

* Avoided shopping for new clothes, which I badly need; instead, opted for new Lush soap and lotion, sushi and a newspaper

* Got the full scoop on unnecessary drama back home

* Lazed around the park

* Drank a complimentary bottle of Dom Perignon with my girls because we're smokin' hot. It was at what I can safely call the most insane club I've ever been to in my life. I could tell you more, but I won't. Except that I have a rope burn on my neck today, and Marisa has one on her leg.

* Sticky pictures. When all else fails, there's always sticky pictures.

Say what

2007-04-27T23:54:00.001+09:00

I went on a date the other night with my boy. We typically speak about 75 percent English, 25 percent Japanese whenever we hang out because, let's face it, I'm the worst language student ever. I only make an effort to remember the naughty phrases, and those don't even come in handy very often, although they've provided hearty bar entertainment on more than one occasion.

Anyway, we were dabbling in the nihongo, talking about what kind of food we like. He asked what type of sushi I prefer, so I rattled off my favorites: salmon, tuna, grasshopper. He doubled over in laughter. I turned pink. After nearly two years, it's come to this.

However, I won a little bit of face back when I discovered a few moments later that he didn't know the English word for hashi: chopsticks. Ha ha, take that, my sweets. I also got properly tutored that night on the Japanese words for toothpick (tsumayoji) and bamboo shoot (takenoko).

International dating is the kicks.

Plaything

2007-04-23T23:23:00.000+09:00

My new favorite way to pass the time atop a barstool, usurping such timeless classics as flirting with the bartenders, doing tequila shots and drunk-texting whomever springs to mind:

Making naughty bits out of napkins.

(Thank you, Marisa)

That's lame

2007-04-17T00:33:00.000+09:00

Although I like to think of myself as the social and fun-loving type, I've also always embraced my more nerdy tendencies. In second grade I moved to a new school and had to play catch-up with two weeks' worth of workbook assignments, and I remember feeling a rush of pleasure akin to that of a child let loose in Chuck E. Cheese as I colored and matched numbers and circled objects that didn't belong in their respective groups. Growing up, I read encyclopedias and almanacs for fun and eagerly awaited weekend trips to the library with my grandma.

I graduated as salutatorian of my high school class, and dedicated myself to the college newspaper with a zeal most coeds reserved for fraternities and sororities, my friends and I giggling excitedly at lunch over the latest provost gossip the way others discussed the previous night's kegger. In Chicago, NPR, crossword puzzles, volunteer work and "Check, Please!" were as much a staple of life as night clubs, costume parties and baseball games. The girl band and I once whiled away a perfect summer afternoon beside Lake Michigan trying to work out exactly how to divide fractions.

That said, in the past few days, my geeky alter ego has reared its four-eyed head an alarming number of times. Last night, my friends and I found ourselves sipping beer at an izakaya, completely enthralled in the bluetooth capabilities of our new cell phones. I've also been guilty of playing game after game of TextTwist online with my boy, refusing a night of dancing, planning a trip to Akihabara, playing with a robot at my house that can open and pour your beer, and discussing in some detail taxes, shoe insoles, garbage schedules, why cherry blossom trees don't actually grow cherries, and the wide variety of tofu available at the local supermarket.

I don't know about you, but I think this recent flirtation with otaku status calls for swift action in the form of high heels, eyeliner and a good dirty martini or two.

Breakfast of the senile

2007-04-12T18:25:00.001+09:00

This morning I wandered downstairs and shuffled sleepily around the kitchen, making a fresh pot of coffee and catching up with my housemate, Yutaka. I whipped up some cinnamon toast, sat down at the breakfast table, and took a big bite. My throat immediately protested at the horrendous taste. I drank four glasses of water and still felt like my mouth and throat were oddly aflame. It turns out that the white crystals sitting naively in the glass canister labeled "Coffee" and atop my slices of golden bread were not, in fact, sugar, but a much more breakfast-unfriendly heap of sea salt.

I kind of had that coming.

Easter

2007-04-09T05:11:00.000+09:00

Happy Easter, everyone! If yours is anything like mine, you'll find yourself swilling vodka and dancing on the stage at the gay bar.

Aaaah, the holidays in Tokyo...

Oh, hanami!

2007-04-04T01:00:00.000+09:00

The annual cherry blossoms frenzy reached its pitch on a perfect Sunday afternoon, when myself and several others found ourselves gathered on a plastic tarp under a canopy of pale pink flowers. The festivities included 10 hours of Madlibs, mingling with our neighbors and passersby, several booze runs, free sushi, hour-long waits for the toilets, a very interesting smooch or two, another round of Twister and general tomfoolery. Lost in the craziness were two tupperwares of vegetables, the aforementioned Twister board, my new purple pen, my ipod (yeek, separation anxiety!) and several hundred brain cells.

It was worth it though. For better or worse, we certainly experienced ohanami in all its intoxicating glory. Let the petals fall when they will.

! ! !

Possibly the cutest birthday boy ever.

And just because we look so purty...

! ! !

Also, I think I may have quit my job today.

Blossoms

2007-03-29T22:23:00.000+09:00

Hanami is here at last. Gotta get back to the park...toodles!

minty fresh

2007-03-27T02:08:00.000+09:00

As last night drew to a close, after a hearty round of drinks under the scarce scattering of cherry blossoms with a handful of friends and my very favoritest (and cutest) student and then a bit of sake and ramen at home with my new housemates, I found myself gathered around the bathroom sink upstairs with three others, all of us foaming silently at the mouth and glancing at each other in the mirror as we brushed our teeth in unison. "Well, this is awkward," said the thrice-introduced Italian guy from Boston. We all attempted to laugh without drooling or spitting toothpaste everywhere. The effort was futile. We then began swapping pastes, all the while mumbling and gesticulating our way through a closed-mouthed conversation, laughing at whoever was making the funniest faces. The four of us even managed to establish a very synchronized if not sophisticated spitting routine. It may have been the sake, but that was easily the most fun I've ever had brushing my teeth.

Love the roomies.

My new digs

2007-03-22T18:05:00.000+09:00

Last night I dreamt I was in the most serene place imaginable. It was a massive body of calm blue water, speckled with tiny spots of lush green foliage and a couple of small fishing boats. In the background was the skyline of a city that may or may not have been Sydney. The weather was clear and sunny, and I was coasting over the water at a leisurely pace. Listening to Beyonce.

I don't get it either.

! ! !

I was walking today through the park, where the cherry trees are beginning to show their first blooms and teems of people were gathered around to see them, when I came across this:

If you can't see it clearly, this cat was buried up to its neck in a pile of leaves, happily napping away the afternoon.

! ! !

The B.B. sunglasses photo shoot, for your entertainment. Or mine. Whichever.

! ! !

I'm officially and completely moved to Kichijoji, thanks to the previously mentioned friends and a cute boy with a Chevy pickup truck. Here are a few photos of my new place.

In motion

2007-03-21T01:09:00.000+09:00

An open letter to the 'Bo

My dearest Koigakubo:

Oh, how it pains me to say goodbye to you. We have become so very intimate over the course of the last 20 months, and together we have made many beautiful and amusing and painful memories. I will really miss the residents of my quiet little street, who have been so friendly and helpful and never seemed to notice the frequency with which I walked the embarassing 3-minute jaunt from the train station to my apartment in the early mornings or afternoons with tangled hair, smeared eyeliner and very questionable attire. Smooches to you all!

More specifically...

* *

Dear Fuji-san:

I will miss seeing your stark, snow-covered peak on my way to and fro the apartment. On clear days, anyway. And only during the winter, of course. At any rate, it has never failed to rouse a feeling of awe inside me.

* *

Dear Time hair salon staff:
Thank you for providing me with delicious eye candy day in and day out. The mullets you doled out on several occasions were a bit distressing, but your saucy hairdressers, head massages and three-person blowdrying team were almost worth the cost.

* *

Dear Mori:

You have provided me with countless dishes of oishi chahan and gyoza, not to mention all the ringo sours and random food and drinks that you presented us with at random. Your jolly face consistently warms my heart, even if regular visits to your shop mean love handles for days.

* *

Dear bicycle shop guy:

I truly appreciate the fact that you always, always greeting me as I walk by, and even put air in my tires for free before my pretty red bike was stolen by some punk outside the bank.

* *

Dear sushi shop dude:

You are sexy. And your tuna sushi rolls are delicious.

* *

Dear 7-Eleven employees:

Thank you for pretending not to notice when my roommates and I single-handedly depleted your supply of Mirage wine and various canned cocktails. Also, I would have been lost without your steady supply of tuna-mayo onigiri and pizza man.

* *

Dear 99 yen shop:

I think I'll miss you most of all. Sure, there are more like you around every corner, but it won't be the same. I know your layout like the back of my own hand. I could walk in and buy tofu and toilet paper with my eyes closed. Lord knows I've done it drunk.

! ! !

The actual move was painless and actually quite fun, thanks to a few good friends, drinks before, during and after, and several hot packs stuffed in our pockets and armwarmers (and, for the more inventive among us, bras). It also helps not to own anything but clothes and books.

! ! !

My new flatmates are absolutely wonderful, although one guy possibly hates me because I introduced myself to him for the third time today.

! ! !

Sunday night's second round of Beer Blasters yielded a handful of new gay friends, invites to three parties, two people literally crying on my shoulder about their boy problems, one more incoherent drunken text sent to Thailand, another silly sunglasses photo shoot (pics as soon as I find my cable), and something possibly very exciting that I will share with you all in due time.

Lovefool

2007-03-15T19:23:00.000+09:00

I spent the last week determined to remain uninvolved with my HK Boy in an effort to protect my presently (perpetually?) fragile emotional sanity. I had told him after our last spat that I thought it was best if we didn't email or see each other anymore. Some things, no matter how much we want them, just don't work out in our favor, and it's pointless (not to mention completely nerve-wrecking) to keep forcing the issue. Or so I told myself.

Well, he contacted me Tuesday in spite of all that to see if I was doing ok, and last night I found myself, against my better judgement and recent revelations, standing face to face with him at the bar. Everything else became background noise upon initial eye contact, including the table of all my friends, Shibuya Boy, and even my friend(?) Macha. We drank a beer and chatted a bit. He told me he's leaving Japan in a matter of days, going back home to find a better job. We left the bar together soon thereafter without even saying goodbye to the others. I must have left my manners at the first venue, but the thought didn't even occur to me at the time.

Back at his apartment, we took a bath and sat around, clean and warm and relaxed, talking for hours about China, love and books. Then we went to sleep with his arms wrapped around me and our legs intertwined. We aroused ourselves briefly at 8 am to say good morning to his roommate and drink some tea, then crawled back under the warm, comfy covers for a few more hours of cuddling and napping.

Eventually it was time for goodbyes, an art that I have yet to perfect and probably will always be terrible at. I scrunched up my face at him, gave him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth and a tight, lingering hug, then turned and fled to the bus stop downstairs. He said come to Hong Kong.

The End.

Dammit.

Vroom vroom

2007-03-11T20:40:00.000+09:00

Guess what I've just been invited to witness firsthand. From the passenger seat, if I'm feeling so inclined. And idiotic. I'll give you a tiny hint:

I don't even really care for racing. And I can guarantee that they won't be sliding through the curves of Shibuya like they did in the movie (not that I would know), but I don't think I can let an opportunity like this slip by. Just hand me a chu-hi and my camera and point me to the finish line.

~ ~ ~

Other tidbits:

* Stupid blogger is all in Japanese. Wakarimasen, doods!
* I'm moving next Saturday. Packing likely to commence the hour before.
* My germ-infested children finally managed to penetrate my immune system. Oy.
* HK Boy and I are on the outs. Again.
* Grilled intestines are not delicious. Fried tofu is, however.
* Blast from the past week continues: I woke up the other day for no reason whatsover with this guy's name on my tongue. Aerd, only you will understand.
* I'm on the verge of becoming a myspace/facebook addict. Sad, but true.
* I went to grab sushi for lunch today and found myself with a hot afternoon date for next Sunday.
* Cherry blossoms are a-comin'!
* Friendly dating a guy who is friends with another guy that you may be or have been dating or may just be friends with, who really knows because he pays for your dinners but never tries to kiss you goodnight, but in either case is giving the formerly mentioned guy a serious case of guilty conscience because he doesn't want to anger his friend or his friend's friends, who also apparently really like me, is more trouble than it's worth.
* The new season (at least in Japan, anyway) of Nip/Tuck is completely bonkers.
* I need a vacation.
* I really miss my family.
* It hurts to breath right now. Stupid bacteria.

Running

2007-03-07T16:55:00.000+09:00

Life has been chugging along at its usual brisk pace, and as the days fly off the calendar and spring winds its way into town, I find myself with not much news to report. One of my favorite things to do with my free time recently is jogging to the park a few miles from my apartment. The plum blossoms are starting to bloom, and it's incredibly therapeutic to sit and catch my breath under the tree branches and sunshine. It seems to counteract the combination of fragmented sleep and bad dreams that I've been experiencing for the last few weeks. My mind is all revved up over something, probably a lot of things, and I can't seem to shut it off long enough to get some rest. Unless I'm running.

I'm sure it didn't help matters that I worked six days last week, during which I taught a bazillion kids classes that included, much to my chagrin, two fist fights, several hissy fits, at least half a dozen crying toddlers, one bloody nose, a napper or two, three nose pickers, one booger eater, a kid who sat in the corner the entire lesson, another who drooled all over the flashcards and my hands, and two boob grabbers. Oh, the joys of children.

Needless to say, I found myself with a stiff drink in my hand on more than one occasion after work. I was amply entertained at two house parties last weekend, which are pretty rare in Japan because people usually lack the space and privacy to entertain friends in their homes. One was at a friend's new house, the other was at mine. Both featured a ridiculous amount of beer, vodka and chu-his, a 2 a.m. attempt by me to whip up some delectables in the kitchen, and also awakening at 7 a.m. still wearing my blue jeans. Stumbling to work and drinking lots of caffeine naturally followed.

As a partial consequence of all this, I haven't had the time or inclination to pursue much romantically. I did spend Wednesday night with HK Boy, which was nothing short of pleasant. And I've been slowly getting to know someone new, but at least for now we are both best served as just being friends. Because above all, I'm rather anxiously biding my time until The Ex comes for a visit. We haven't sorted out the date or duration yet, but it could be within a matter of weeks. I just hope he makes it for the cherry blossoms. [insert giddy feeling here]

On a surprising and completely unrelated note, I received a message last night on my cobweb-gathering myspace account from one of the last people I would ever expect to hear from again. His name is Carlos, and my sister and I met him once (possibly twice?) while vacationing in Mexico nearly five years ago. He worked at a dance club we frequented during our stay, and we quickly made friends with him and a majority of the staff there. They let us stay behind long after they shooed everyone else out the doors at the end of the night, and we went drinking together on at least one occasion. He and I shared a single innocent kiss at one point, but mostly it was just a lot of flirting and having fun, so I was more than shocked that he popped up in my inbox, asking me if I remember him and what's new with my life. The world is a strange, strange place.

Kanpai!

Snow days

2007-03-03T22:15:00.000+09:00

Those of you reading this from Chicago or any of other pocket of the Midwest will doubtlessly be unable to sympathize, and may even go so far as to curse me for daring to share this with you, but I realized today with a slight sense of remorse that this will be the first winter I've experienced without seeing even one flake of snow.

I'm not particularly fond of the season, although I can appreciate its romantic qualities, like the shimmer of ice-coated tree branches in the morning sun, the soothing roar of the heater, the twinkle of Christmas lights, and of course hot chocolate with marshmallows. A winter lacking those things, amid a backdrop of white, just doesn't feel the same.

No very miniature snowmen or late-night snowball fights this year, and no walking down the sidewalk with my head tilted back and my tongue sticking slightly out. No cute mittens (of which I inevitably lose one) and fuzzy hats. No valid excuses to spend the entire weekend parked on the couch. No frozen eyelashes and windburned cheeks. No numb extremeties or stabbing pain in the front of my thighs. No wanting to curl up into a miserable, shivering ball right there on the sidewalk and cry myself to sleep until springtime.

OK, I feel better now. Bring on the hazy, 90 degree temperatures and 100 percent humidity that characterize the much-beloved Tokyo summers. You won't hear a peep from me.

Movin' on up

2007-02-27T11:18:00.000+09:00

The other day, I was teaching a free-conversation class with a group of five men. They seemed to have very little interest in actually speaking to each other, and instead kept barraging me with questions about my social life and hometown and favorite sports team. We somehow ended up on the subject of cocktails, and I was explaining to them in detail the wonders of a really good dirty martini. A couple of them took notes. The bell rang shortly thereafter and I scooted out the door, only to find The Big Bossman sitting directly on the other side of it. I'm sure he heard every word of my "lesson," but he didn't mention it, as he was too busy asking me about the slightly risque outfit I had chosen to wear to our area meeting (everyone else was in a boring black suit) and trying to sweet talk me into moving to a bigger, messier school in April. Didn't work.

But I did decide within the last handful of days to transfer to a school in a completely different area, and to move out of my apartment and into a cute little shared house in Kichijoji, which is my second-favorite spot in all of Tokyo. The house is literally at the steps of Inokashira Park, where I have whiled away many, many a night with good friends and cold beer. I can't wait.

Other developments of note:

*I finally attended a nabe party. It was oishi.

*I also finally had group date No. 2 with the Wedding Guy. He's cute, and his friends are equally fantastic.

*I hosted a dinner party Sunday night in which nearly everyone showed up sans food, but with a bottle or two of red wine. Needless to say, it was a roaring success.

*I found myself texting HK Boy for hours last night. He was not at all jackassy. Dammit.

Homebody

2007-02-21T00:00:00.000+09:00

I must be getting old. It was inevitable, I suppose.

I had big, exciting plans Saturday night. I rushed home from work, tucked myself into bed for a disco nap, and then re-emerged with plenty of time to primp and paint myself into something quite sassy, if I do say so myself. In the very shortest of skirts, knee-high boots and charcoal eyeliner, I made my way to the largest dance club in Japan to meet my friend David for Gay Night.

It was raining, as it does every single time I go there, but we stood around under a convenience store awning for a while gossiping about boys and sipping one citrus chu-hi after the other. Eventually we made our way inside the club, where the bar was completely ignored in favor of the beckoning dancefloor. The music was perfect. The mood was amazing. Plus, we received a treat in the way of a dozen scantily clothed men writhing around on stage. Not bad, and it almost made up for the less-than-capacity crowd and the very limited romantic possibilities. For a while, anyway.

After a bit more dancing, David disappeared to track down a friend of his -- and never came back. I received a text message at 2 a.m. to say he had met a cute boy and he'd be right back, and then another at 5 to say that he had fallen asleep on the chairs lined along the hall. Bored at the endless parade of gorgeous but unavailable gay men and unable to hear well enough to maintain a decent conversation, so had I. So much for a wild night out.

On Sunday, I headed to my friend Kim's house for a small dinner party. Half a dozen of us gathered in the deliciously spacious kitchen of her guesthouse, cutting and boiling and sipping red wine. And what we came up with was (just a tad bit surprisingly) nothing short of a feast. The menu included pumpkin soup (Kim), bacon-wrapped asparagus (Marisa), ham and veggie quiche (Brett), bacon-wrapped prunes (Riley), stuffed red peppers (me) and spiced apples with ice cream (Aya). Yum. No wonder I keep these people around. They can COOK.

We sat around for hours, stuffing ourselves senseless and alternating between reading aloud the latest issue of InTouch and the complete collection of Edgar Allan Poe. And it blew Ageha out of the water. Am I finally getting to the point where I'll take comfort food and long-dead American authors over fishnets and house music?

Scary thought.

Where is my mind

2007-02-16T23:14:00.000+09:00

One thing that's been on my mind all day, aside from transient ponderings about the evils of sake shots and small yet very loud children, as well as where I got all those bruises on my legs, is just how unbelievably HOT Marlon Brando was in his prime. Sweet jesus. Wheeew.

The reason for this recent and not-at-all-novel notion is that my friend and I happened to catch part of an old black-and-white Brando movie this morning after a night of dancing at a club that his Japanese counterpart was patronizing, tight white T-shirt and all, much to my pleasure and that of the entire female contingency. And yes, I smooched him.

Bubble brain

2007-02-14T15:48:00.000+09:00

Have you ever been completely absorbed in thought in the shower, only to realize that you have no idea whether or not you just shampooed your hair 30 seconds beforehand?

Today is going to be one of those days.

Over and out

2007-02-12T00:43:00.000+09:00

Last night witnessed the very dramatic end to what is the shortest-lived and most tumultuous relationship I've ever had the misfortune to be half-responsible for. From its inception until the final coupled breath, my HK guy and I embarked on three long, emotionally draining weeks of eye-gazing, constant e-mailing, dancing, drinking, fighting, making up, lying, kissing, gift-giving, swearing each other off completely, apologizing, planning vacations together, cuddling, learning about the other's family, backstabbing, hand-holding, mistrusting, cooking dinners, cooing over babies, discussing the future, and finally, irrepairably fucking each other over.

I'd be rather upset right now, but I don't have the energy.

My current drink of choice (in case you can't see, it's called Deeppresso. Genius.)

Stoopid Bears.

2007-02-06T21:52:00.000+09:00

Stoopid Bears.

However, watching the game at 8:30 in the morning at a cozy little bar in Tokyo was an experience nearly worth the heartache.

10 THINGS

2007-02-05T00:57:00.000+09:00

10 THINGS I LEARNED THIS WEEKEND

1. Any event called "Beer Blasters" is trouble.
2. Stripper poles are not toys.
3. Winter is not quite over. Brrr.
4. Morning jogs are excellent mind vacuums.
5. Boys lie.
6. Gay boys rock.
7. Sometimes the best part of evening comes during the train ride home.

8. The historical damage caused by lead and CFC.
9. Insomnia = pimples.
10. Not having the Internet at home sucks.

~ ~ ~

I will be waking up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to watch the Super Bowl live at a cozy little bar in Shinjuku. Bears, you better make it worth my while.

(Thanks for the tee, sissy!)

Dear Dad

2007-01-30T09:44:00.000+09:00

Dear Dad,

I stayed home last night to read a non-fiction book about the beginning of the world and to study Japanese. Went to bed by midnight. Stop worrying.

Lots of love,

Your Favorite (Well-Behaved) Tokyoite Daughter

2007-01-28T01:39:00.000+09:00

Stupid stupid stupid.

Shit.

Get me off this ride

2007-01-26T21:43:00.000+09:00

My week, abbreviated, by the numbers:

All-nighters pulled: 4
Boys kissed: 3(ish)
Soulmates found: 1
Combined hours of karaoke: 12
Sick days taken: 1
Hours spent without bag, jacket, money and cell phone: 8
Hours unaccounted for in my memory: 8
Exes encountered: 1
Breakfasts consumed before bed: 3
Trainstops missed: 4
Love hotels stayed at: 0 (for me anyway...hee!)

Anyway, I need some serious zzzzzs before the antics resume. Nitey-nite, my sweets.

Lovesick

2007-01-19T19:00:00.000+09:00

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am on a roll. I don't know if I'm still all hot and bothered over The Ex, or whether I am completely unversed in the ways of mature relationships, or maybe I am just a self-sabotaging spazz, an "emotional sinkhole" of my own making. Regardless of the source, I have turned into a one-woman dating disaster. First dates, last dates -- you name it and I am screwing it up. Big time.

Allow me to share some of my recently garnered romantic knowledge:

Break-up DON'TS
* Drunk text him saying to meet you at your bar
* Ask to spend the night at his house
* Flirt with his friends
* Get annoyed when he momentarily moves to the other side of the bar
* Leave the scene when no one's looking
* Meet a stranger on the way to the train station and head to a nearby izakaya with them until first train
* Ignore eight phone calls and a text message
* Stop speaking to him
* Act like everything's dandy when you see his best friend the next week

First date DON'TS
* Arrive 30 minutes late, leaving him to wait at the train station in the freezing cold
* Order the strongest drink possible after you realize he's taken you to a private party
* Tell him, in response to his question of "What kind of boyfriend do you want?" that you'd like someone funny, smart, handsome of course, tall is nice, he should like to read, maybe play the guitar, bonus points for surfing...
* Wince visibly and involuntarily when he tells you, in response to the same question, that he's simply looking for someone who is "loyal"
* Immediately proceed to flirt with his friends
* Exchange numbers with one of them
* Leave before everyone else
* Act aloof when he asks to see you again
* End the evening with a quick handshake and an even quicker turn of the shoulder. Give a half-hearted wave when he calls your name from down the sidewalk to say goodbye again
* Damage-control text him the following day with a rambling bilingual message, equally confusing in English and Japanese

So that's it. I'm on dating hiatus until further notice*.

*Full disclosure: I am getting together with Hawaii Boy tonight for drinks, but only because he happens to be in town, and it is so not a date.

A plea

2007-01-16T22:23:00.000+09:00

Dear Anyone Back Home Who Still Loves Me,

Please, please, pretty please with wasabi on top, post me just one single stick of Dr. Pepper-flavored LipSmackers lip gloss. I will adore you forever. And ever.

On the Verge of Insanity Due To Inadequately Moisturized & Laquered Lips,

Me

#403 Chitose Sunrise
1-8-43 Tokura
Kokubunji-shi
Tokyo-to
Japan
185-0003

Punctuation

2007-01-13T02:19:00.000+09:00

Is it completely nerdy to use semicolons in love letters? I thought so, but I did it anyway.

RESPONSE TO SELF: After two consecutive all-nighters and a number of tequila shots, I don't care if you can use a semicolon correctly, it's NOT a good idea to create and send love letters. Jeez.

The world's my oyster

2007-01-05T23:29:00.000+09:00

Coming back from vacation is always a difficult experience for me, the one thing that I never look forward to, but this time it was for more than the typical reasons. Every day was wonderful and we experienced so much. We avoided a massive earthquake in Taipei and a handful of bombings in Bangkok both by a single day, and especially after the latter I felt a rush of how lucky I am to be here in the first place. My priorities became that much more clear, which is never a bad way to start off the new year.

In Taipei, Kim and I clubbed it up nightly with several sociable boys, got a much-needed dose of family life, and soaked up the culture and all its wacky, lovely ways. Thailand was different. It was hot, slow-paced. Our newly joined foursome wandered around Bangkok for a couple days, stopping for a beer when we got parched, purchasing a couple knicknacks when we fancied it, and avoiding the seedy "pirates" whenever possible. I slept in The Ex's bed on the second night in the city, but he wasn't there, a surreal experience that kept me up through a portion of the night. The island, Koh Phangan, was exactly as we had left it a year ago. Vibrant on one side, quaint on the other. We got massages just steps away from the ocean every single night. I rang in 2007 with 15,000 other beachgoers, to news of the bombings in Bangkok no less, but the party continued in full force till the early hours of the morning. It was a swirl of dancing, lights and laughter.

But here's the real highlight of the trip: 48 hours spent with The Ex. We giggled constantly, which led to a semi-embarassing snort here and there and tear-streaked cheeks more than once. We reminisced about our "situation" back in Chicago, and played a little trivia game to see who could stump the other, i.e. "What movie did we watch on the first night that I slept over at your house?" I lost. He showed me around the city, introduced me to his friends, treated me to lunches and dinners. We stayed up until 7 a.m. on both nights, talking about things that are too intimate to disclose here. I crawled out of his bed early on the third day and met up once again with my fabulous travel buddies, feeling heady with delight and remorse.

Now it's back to Tokyo and the unbelievably good life I've carved out here. But now I know what I'm missing.

See us (minus The Ex) in all our glory and shame here.

A home away from home away from home

2006-12-25T15:15:00.000+09:00

It's Christmas morning (well, technically afternoon, but who's keeping track of those things) in Taiwan. Already, it's been a holiday for the books. Kim and I are staying at her second cousin's house, which is brimming with holiday decorations and cozy atmosphere and kicks the pants off a hotel room, but it's far from celebrating the holidays at home. The weather is almost tropical. Communication with the outside world is laughable. My closest companion besides Kim is a good-looking local I met a club three nights ago.

Traditional: A Christmas tree with twinkly lights
New: Wearing short sleeves outside

Traditional: Last-minute shopping for presents
New: Buying them at Starbucks with a severe sense of hopelessness

Traditional: Spending time with family
New: Not being related to any of them

Traditional: Eating two helpings of turkey, stuffing and potatoes
New: Snacking on fried fish ball and sweet potato french fries

Traditional: Christmas Eve party at home
New: Hot date immediately following

Traditional: Spending quality time tucked inside a dive bar on Christmas Eve
New: Clubbing and karoake till the very wee hours

Traditional: Arising Christmas morning and making my way to the tree
New: Waking up to a jackhammer outside my window and inside my head

Traditional: Exchanging presents on Christmas day
New: Getting a reflexology massage and a haircut

It may not feel exactly like the holidays, but with the exception of a few questionable cabbies and some seriously crap girls at a bar, Taiwan has been a good host to us. Taiwan, ni shi hen hao! Xie xie!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Kung His Hsin Nien bing Chu Shen Tan!

A bowl full of jelly

2006-12-19T11:01:00.000+09:00

I am more than a little ashamed to admit this, but I went out Friday night to a bar that is the Tokyo equivalent of Bootleggers or Shennanigan's, in an area of the city that is easily considered the sleazy, unreputable cousin of Chicago's Rush and Division. My friend David and I stopped in there for a drink while we waited for a few friends to meet up with us, and before I knew it we were doing layered shots with inappropriate names and singing along to Guns 'n Roses, I was crawling around on the bar, and photos were being snapped left and right. There was no change of venue, and we managed to clock a solid, pathetic five hours inside that greasebox.

But it was all fun and games. Someone kept buying rounds of shots for the entire bar. After a few of those, I strutted around like I owned the place. I also made a new friend, Tetsushi, who secured my good opinion by buying me an Egg McMuffin at 5 a.m., and by going out of his way to walk me to the train station a couple hours later. I scrambled home the next morning with 15 minutes to change my clothes and freshen up. Work was absolute roses, of course.

~ ~ ~

On Sunday, I attended my friend's "second wedding party," which is like an abbreviated version of an American reception, minus the drunken tomfoolery. And dancing. And extreme overuse of the open bar. Instead, we sat around and civilly (for the most part) sipped cocktails, congratulated the adorable, lovely, fabulous bride and groom, and played bingo (I won a crystal candle holder from Tiffany's...whee!).

I was one of three non-Japanese guests in attendance, which in itself was enough to make the evening an eventful one in my book, but I received the added bonus of being introduced to a guy who is handsome enough to make me blush, but silly enough to make me forget it. He skipped out on the afterparty, but tracked me down through a mutual friend, so hopefully he'll be making another appearance or two in the new year.

Speaking of which, my vacation officially starts in 20 hours. I should probably pack soon. And track down my passport.

'Tis the season

2006-12-15T13:10:00.000+09:00

This so isn't in the Christmas spirit, and I very well may be sent to hell for posting this picture, but some things are worth the risk.

Happy holidays! And lay off the eggnog.

A quickie

2006-12-12T01:05:00.000+09:00

I've got lots to say at present, but just not so much time to say it. At the moment, I am fully immersed in a schedule that includes working overtime, collaborating on a work presentation (which involves Mt. Fuji, Britney and K.Fed figurines, and dice...whee!) with a randomly selected partner who happens to be an ex-flame, farewell parties, movie nights, beer nights, dates, booty calls, Christmas shopping, wedding present shopping, shoe shopping, and prepping just a little for my impending vacation. And sleeping, sometimes. That's not meant to sound like a complaint, because it isn't.

The clock is ticking with authority these days, with nearly every waking hour of the remaining year already promised away, but I am quite enjoying the bustle. Busy is never a bad thing. Plus it keeps me from missing home too much this time of year, as does the cycle of snowstorms that have recently hit the Midwest. Bless mild Tokyo winters. Not a snowflake in sight.

Happy Monday. I'll be back soon.

Excruciating exhilaration

2006-12-02T22:53:00.000+09:00

Laaaa laaa laaa la la....

I have been humming to myself all day, smiling at absolutely nothing (which I'm sure was more than a little puzzling to my students), and floating from room to room all in spite of getting less than two hours of sleep last night. The reason: I am reeling from a head-swirling date with Ageha Boy, who had been virtually absent from my social scene for several months until four days ago, when we reconnected after a couple of drunk dials and sober text messages. I had almost forgotten how much fun we have together. And what a good kisser he is. And did I mention he's a surfer? How dreamy.

Now if I can just check the neuroses that tend to creep up at the onset of any emotional connection, I might just be heading somewhere quite pleasant with this one. Unless I already did it in by telling him I'm too picky for a boyfriend and then sneaking out of his house at 5 a.m.

Here we go....

86 the bird

2006-11-26T20:49:00.000+09:00

With the exception of a conspiciously missing turkey and the fact that no two people shared the same last name, Thanksgiving was your typical combination of delectable food overflowing from the tabletop, a neverending chorus of laughter and chatter, distended bellies, and a late-night brawl resulting in bloodshed.

The day started out on quite a pleasant note. I crawled out of Shibuya Boy's bed before 10, made a quick and amusing trip to the friendly neighborhood eye doctor ("Put your thing there," "You have a good skill at [rubbing solution into contacts]" and so on), and polished off some last-minute grocery shopping before heading home. There I banished the onset of a much-deserved hangover with a couple pills and a gallon or two of green tea, and set to work in the kitchen with my roommate, Amy.

We chopped and boiled and pureed to the inspiring tunes of Britney Spears, and without the aid of a single measuring cup, legible food labels, or an oven. Since it was the first Thanksgiving dinner for many of the guests, I wanted the menu to be as traditional as possible. I had managed to track down the rough ingredients for mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, sweet mashed potatoes, salad, fruit salad, cranberry sauce, creamed corn, sauteed chicken breasts, asparagus and leek soup, and pumpkin pie made from scratch (and by scratch, I mean that I boiled the pumpkin and ground the graham crackers), with freshly whipped cream. The majority of the time we had no idea what we were doing, and every last one of the dishes was concocted in a very willy-nilly manner: A dash of ginger? Sure. Toss it in the microwave under setting 4, whatever that is? Why not. Add one of those weird-looking gelatin sheets to boiling water? Make it two. Or six. It was a science experiment gone divinely. Who knew the pair of us could cook? I was as surprised as anybody.

As we were putting the final touches on the meal, a couple dozen friends and acquaintances trinkled through the door with various contributions in hand (my favorites being superhot curry and KitKat minis), and we all squeezed onto the floor around the futon/dining table and feasted. The best part of the evening was the realization that we were all eating the all-American fare with chopsticks because my apartment unfortunately yielded only three forks. Dinner was followed by a curious and favorable taste-testing of the pumpkin pie, as well as entertainment in the form of a New Kids on the Block dance-off, showing the Japanese folks what a turkey looks like via the Internet, and a plethora of photoshoots of varying degrees of sobriety.

The pleasantries subsided and the drama commenced around 3 am, after most of the guests had caught their last trains home. It really isn't worth detailing. Personalities clashed, alcohol fueled tempers, and several people forgot their manners. We had to physically push a trio of rowdy guys out the door more than once. I exchanged some very harsh words with the boy I had been snuggling up to an hour earlier because he refused to leave and kept starting trouble. Our neighbor got punched in the face. Another guy cried. So did I. Then I ate the last sliver of pumpkin pie and went to bed, thankful that the day was over.

Bring on the next holiday.

Turkey day

2006-11-22T19:00:00.000+09:00

It's my third Thanksgiving away from home. It seems to be the tradition nowadays. That means yet another holiday will come and go in which I do not bunk up with one of my sisters, join my siblings in a raid of our parents' kitchen for alcohol and, regardless of the findings, add to it with a quick trip to the store, and participate with fervor in the ritual (dreaded by several significant others) known as Family Fun Game Night. It means no threatening to bust out home videos as a form of sibling blackmail, no shudders at the sight of the bedroom wallpaper hand-picked by yours truly in the mid-'90s, no offering to run errands for my mom so I can avoid housework, no sitting around the kitchen with my sisters to taste-test all the amazing food my mom prepares with very little help, and of course it means being unable to overdoing it on the yummy homemade dishes that I get to taste so rarely these days.

I love holidays at home. I love the boring bits where we just laze around on the couch, waiting for one of us to say or do something funny. I love the bustle of preparing for company. I love drinking coffee at the dining room table with my parents if I wake up early enough. I love being overwhelmed by all the memories that fill our house and line the streets nearby. And I love the new addition of babies to the festivities.

I'll miss you tomorrow, family. Have a slice of pumpkin pie with extra whipped cream for me.

Beach-bound once more

2006-11-09T23:47:00.000+09:00

It's official! I will be spending 14 highly anticipated, much-desired days wandering the foreign lands of Taiwan and Thailand for the Christmas and New Year holidays, respectively. Plans thus far are largely centered around lounging on the beaches, and I have to admit that I know next to nothing about Taiwan. However, I was utterly tickled yesterday to discover that they speak Mandarin there, so I will have no trouble ordering cold beer, finding the toilets, and asking for someone's white ass (please forgive me if that last part is lost on you). Eeee! I can't wait!!

~ ~ ~

I recently went on a non-date with an Aussie boy. It was a non-date because Brett told me on the previous night that the boy in question has a girlfriend, of whom I've never heard a peep before or since, and because he didn't really pay for things, and also it began in the middle of the afternoon. But it felt a little datey, particularly at the goodbye. We met at the train station (me in my typical Thursday-morning-hangover fashion) and headed to Shimokitazawa, where we wove our way through clothing stores, a fun science shop, and quasi-hidden markets. We tried on stupid hats, and I seriously debated the purchase of a pair of hot-pink skull-and-crossbone armwarmers. We ate lunch at a kaiten zushi (sushi train) restaurant. We had coffee. We headed emptyhanded back to the Bunj, where we played a handful of games at the arcade and warmed a couple of stools at the local bar. I taught the bartender how to make a dirty martini, which caused a few eyebrows to raise but was well worth it. Delicious! After a round or three, I felt it necessary to bring the evening to a close, so we walked to the train station, hovered at the gate for a minute while we exchanged awkward farewells, and then I squeezed his forearm and bolted through the barrier. We haven't spoken since, so I think he may be joining my lengthy list of one-hit wonders.

~ ~ ~

A few random quickies:

~ I'm going for drinks with ALL of my bosses on Monday. I'm skerd. Please keep the long islands and tequila shots out of sight.
~ Go Dems! While I'm at it, go Irish! And Bears! And Britney!
~ Is Laguna Beach a drama or reality show? We don't get it.
~ My roommates and I are newly obsessed with America's Next Top Model
~ It was 70 degrees and sunny yesterday and today
~ I slept in my own bed for the first Wednesday night in months
~ I'm currently on a temple kick
~ I woke up laughing twice in the last two weeks. The last time was at my girlfriend's house, and I couldn't help giggling hysterically at something in my dream that was apparently really funny at the time. It had to do with a middle-aged man in boxer shorts who said something witty, or stupid, or something
~ I'm listening to Celine Dion right now and I am not ashamed. OK, maybe just a little

Whee!

2006-11-03T22:38:00.000+09:00

Graced with 70 degree weather and a lucky score of last-minute tickets, the Platonic Aussie Boyfriend and I extended our theme-park tradition with a trip to Fujikyu Highlands. It was much smaller than my beloved Cedar Point and lacked the kitsch factor of Disneyland, but the rides were scary and the backdrop was as good as it gets.

One of the bright spots of the day was the haunted hospital. My heart was pounding before we even rounded the first corner, I nearly peed my pants during some of the more frightening moments, and Brett just about strangled me early on for tossing our tiny flashlight in a bin that was apparently meant only for early exiters, forcing us to take on the rest of the creepy corridors in relative darkness. As we approached one empty, dimly lit doorway, we made an attempt at silliness by making shadow puppets on the furthest wall, and I was just beginning to relax and breathe properly, when out of nowhere a nutjob in a bloody robe jumped out and started to chase us. I screamed and ran like hell. I'm such a wuss.

A little of the magic was lost, however, when we finally stumbled outdoors and were catching our breaths and laughing at our (or my own, at least) stupidity, when I heard a faint voice calling, "Excuse me. Excuse me!" I looked toward the hospital, and there was a blood-covered face sticking out between two hidden doors. "Excuse me. Where are you from?" the gory, floating face that had been chasing us just moments ago asked me. "America." "I love America!" "Good. Me too. Thanks for the spooks." "Bye-bye!" And then he ducked back inside to scare the living daylights out of the next poor soul.

Also, everyone failed to tell me that there was a dress code in effect for females. High-heeled boots, paired with knee-high black stockings, dressy shorts, and Louis Vutton or Gucci handbags were the uniform of choice for most of the ultra-kawaii girls there. Bonus points for a small bun smack-dab on the top of the head. And silly me, I was oblivious enough to go in braids, a baseball cap and a pair of Chucks. I guess "dressing down" and "comfort over fashion" are two more of those choice American phrases, like "playing hooky" or "supersize it," that have little or no meaning over here. Lesson learned. Next time I'm, oh, say, hiking a mountain, riding a bicycle or going to the beach, I'll be sure to wear my four-inch heels. What was I thinking?

My serious fashion faux pas

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I can't remember if I mentioned this before, and I'm too lazy to check, but Thailand Ex sent me a long e-mail out of the blue recently that consisted of a series of messages we sent each other before we dated, when we first got together, and during the climax of our relationship. They were funny and touching and embarassing, and it was sweet of him to share those moments with me again. Since then, he's crept into my thoughts more than I care to admit, and while I'm fairly certain that that ship has sailed, it's clear to me that not a single one of the guys I'm met since then have measured even close to him.

Anyway, it happens that my winter holiday plans are shaping up to look like Taiwan over Christmas and Thailand for New Year's (dear family, don't hate me for missing one more holiday, I'll be back soon), and I just received an email saying we should get together then. He'd love to see me. I realize that our past together is a bit dodgy and our presents are complicated and unclear -- and that our reunion might not even happen in the first place -- but I'm still swooning a little bit on the inside.

PS. I know. I remember.