Monday 27 June 2011

Yo! Yo! In da' house!

OK, sincere apologies for the title, as we all know, I am WAY too white to ever be thinking about typing such hip and happenin’ (FUCK I did it again…!) things unless I’m referring to a child’s toy being in an actual house.
However, this is Japan, and this white girl can actually go to hip hop dance classes and still get away with it! Woohoo!

So yes, I am officially signed up with a local dance studio and am taking hip hop lessons on Saturday nights! The first lesson was pretty hilarious, I was late as my last lesson at the school finishes at 7:50 and after shutting up shop and riding the 20 minute bike ride in 10, I was only a few minutes late, but still, late enough for every single person in the room to spin around mid-stretch and have a good stare at the sweaty, panting white girl that rushed in the room. As I tried to blend in and started stretching and pretending to look all professional the music came to an end and the teacher took the liberty to say “Ohhh new face, HELLLOOO!!!” Giving every fucker another chance to hone in on me again, like I didn’t feel rare enough at a fucking hip hop class, my balance is dodgy at the best of times! Then, we moved on to the really fun part of the warm-up: “Quiz the foreign girl in the room!” Love that part! I got questions from all sides, but as the questions came thick and fast, I actually started to relax a little, because I’d say 80% of the girls in there, could be scientifically put in a category of: dumb as dog shit. I feel I have the authority to make this sweeping and somewhat shocking statement as I would probably include myself in the 80%.

It’s a guy’s dream though, boys, if you want to pick up hot J-girls that aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, seriously, go to hip hop dance classes. Lots of bending and jumping, boobies flying all over the place! The reason I came to the conclusion that most of these girls were pretty dopey was not only the abundance of orange hair and make-up caked on to a level that is just wrong when you are sweating so profusely, but some of the things they came up with while grilling me was very indicative…

Dopey girl 1: So, where are you from??

Bewildered white girl (AKA me): I’m from Australia…

D.G.1: Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh !!!!!!!!

(seriously, it was a long one, and I’m usually immune or participating in long “ehh”’s)

Me: Ahh, yup, that’s right…

Dopey girl 2: Ehhhh, wait are you halfu??

Me: Huh? No…

Dopey girl 2: So neither of your parents are Japanese?!?!

Me: (Thinking- You fucking twat, I couldn’t look less Japanese if I tried) Yup, my parents are from England and then I was born in Australia..

Both dopey girls: Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

I shot the teacher a pleading look at this point as I was keen for the questions to cease and the ‘bopping’ and/or ‘popping’ to begin. We started with some insanely painful stretches and holding of positions that made me think I was going to ahem, split my difference, if you get what I mean… for 2 minutes at a time. Trust me, when you feel like your vagina may come apart at the seams, 2 minutes is a very long fucking time. I gotta give it to the dopey girls though, they are extremely bendy and didn’t seem to be fussed or breaking a sweat at all by the stretches that had me screwing up my face and holding my breath willing it to be over. Perhaps this is why they can afford to wear so much make-up?! After the stretchy hell was finished we went through some basic moves and I was thinking “Yeah! OK! I’m good with this!!” I’m somewhat famous for being unco-ordinated so my ability to stick to a basic rhythm was impressing me, a smile spread across my lips as I glanced in the mirror wall and then at the teacher, I even also gave a resounding “YES!” when the teacher asked if everyone was OK!

Another good thing was the fact that I didn’t feel self-conscious (despite sticking out like a sore thumb) at all. None of the girls or the teacher made me feel stupid when I fucked up, and for me this is very important when I’m learning anything. Of course after the basic moves were done it was on to actually learning a routine and I gave it a good hard crack but my brain was over loaded by the end of the hour and a half and I ended up just doing steps that resembled what everyone else was doing when actually I had no fucking clue.

This week’s lesson was much better, the routine we learnt was shorter and we practiced it more, making the dopey girls almost collapse with “EHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” and other such noises of surprise as they informed me it took them at least 6 months to get the routine down. I’m sure they were just trying to flatter me but I’ll take it anyway! The teacher had obviously studied how to explain the moves in English as well, but she must remember to also say it in Japanese because she said “Push back!” and I was the only fucker who did it, the rest of the class were scratching their heads going ‘What the fuck did she just say!?’ She failed in the English department when it came to explaining the body wave though, and quite right, that shit is hard in any language! There was also a guy there for a trial lesson this week who had NO idea, like much more than me, he couldn’t even clap to a beat, but again, everyone (including me) was nice and encouraging to him. In this respect I really like the ‘team effort’ approach to classes in Japan, of course there are a lot of bad points about it too, like Junior high school kids being robots and stuff, but for me and my hip hopping adventures, it works great!

So I shall continue and see how I go, there are dance shows every year so I may just get ghetto-ed up and dance my way across a stage, in front of *gulp* an audience! Must make sure my muscles recover before then, my legs are fucking killing me, as well as my elbows, who fucking knew elbows could hurt so much!?

Yo Yo! Peace out!


Friday 24 June 2011

My Turkish delight.

I hate to admit it, but the Turkish delight was one of my few slip ups. If the boys were duds in bed like Shingo, or just ridiculously short like the Peruvian then it was easy to love em’ and leave em’ but when they were charming and flirty and fun, it was hard to not get sucked in to the web of being emotionally fucked over. I don’t know why women do it to ourselves, we know deep down in our heart of hearts that the guy is never going to be our prince charming, yet we hold out the hope and check our phone every 3 minutes to see if he’s called or texted. I was lucky in a way, I got distracted with an Iranian boy after the Turkish delight, but had I not been, he may have well and truly done me over.

Needless to say I was exhausted after my surprise Friday night pick up and drunken Saturday night adventure so after brunch on Sunday I decided that a quiet night in with movies was definitely in order, I remember being in the video store choosing old classics when my friend from when I first came to Japan called me, she worked at various Osaka bars and clubs so Sunday night was always her night off, and she asked me if I fancied Turkish food. Never one to turn down such an offer (especially in Japan!) I got the movies and hopped straight on the train. I promised myself not to drink a drop and I didn’t go home and doll myself up on purpose so I wouldn’t be tempted to any late night bar or clubbing adventures, I was going to have dinner and then come straight home in time to still watch a movie before I had to sleep. But things never go like that do they.

I did keep one promise that night, I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, I think my body was still saturated in vodka from the night before, plus the lack of sleep made me feel queasy just thinking about drinking. Another reason I decided to go for dinner was that I knew a good meal would make me feel better too. So I met my friend in Osaka and she led me through the winding backstreets around Dottonbori to the obscure tiny Turkish place that’s aroma was amazingly good I remember actually sucking up drool in my mouth. Once we got inside it was an unexpectedly big restaurant with garish pillars and fake plants, dimply lit by fake candles and swinging chandeliers. Belly dancing girls were snaking their way through the tables in an hourly show, their flat tummies not that authentic, but nice to look at all the same. My friend knew the owners and we were seated in a quiet corner and started chatting with a club owner who was at the next table. The night scene is so small in Osaka, it seemed that there were only about 3 owners who shared the gaijin bars so everyone knew each other. I’d met Turkish delight before at a club but never actually talked to him personally, but he was in the kitchen waving madly at us and mouthing that he’d be over in a second. I highly doubt he was a chef by trade, more than likely he was in Japan and happened to be Turkish so ended up working there, not that it mattered, the food was amazing.

After we were stuffed with all the goodies we could eat, the trademark Turkish ice cream stretching began and Turkish delight chose me to make a fool of by taking the ice cream and doing a little show for all the Japanese people in the restaurant. I wasn’t amused, I hate being the centre of attention when it’s not my choice and instantly turned bright red and tried to hide my face, but I must admit, I was already admiring the cheeky smile Turkish delight liked to flash around. We stayed talking and eating for a long time, so long that we ended up still being there when they were ready to close and I hadn’t realized but the last train had also gone. This wasn’t that big of a deal, my friend lived in the city and I could always just crash at her place but it soon became apparent from her shots and beer chasers that she was up for a big night, and despite the fun I was having, I was still totally wrecked and desperately needed sleep. I could have asked for her key but we weren’t actually that close and I felt a bit weird asking, so I decided I was going to walk as far as I could and then taxi it back home. I once walked home from Umeda, which is further away than where we were so I knew it was possible, it would take a good 3 fucking hours but it was definitely do-able. I told the group that I was heading off and most of them were too pissed to notice so I slipped out the door and began my weary trek down the main streets to drink in the sites and sounds of straggling drunk salarymen and hosts just about to go to work, it wasn’t long after I’d started walking that I heard footsteps running behind me. Now Japan is not a place where I’ve ever felt that threatened at night but my instincts pricked up all the same and I swiveled around to see the Turkish delight in his street clothes and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth running after me. He said he was worried about me walking home and my panties just about fell off right there, I mean really, what girl in Japan can resist a gentleman when the usual Japanese guy slams doors in your face or sinks down in to his keitai while you stand up in high heels on the train!?

So we walked and chatted and he told me he wanted to move to England and start a business selling Turkish sweets which was kind of random, I wasn’t sure where this was going though, we walked for a good hour before he finally asked me where I lived and I told him my suburb which was still a good hour and a half away at a fast pace. I felt bad then, like I’d trapped him but he just laughed and said he’d pay for the taxi. (Again with the lure of the gentleman, no wonder I fell for him!) So we got to my place and I felt awkward without the usual alcohol pumping through my veins but his charm took over for me so I didn’t really have to do much. And he was good in bed, like he totally loved me for that 2 hours we were messing around, which is just irresistible. I remember him stroking my cheeks and playing with my hair at some ridiculous hour in the morning but I was fighting sleep because I wanted to take in all the affection I could. We finally fell asleep and woke up for more cuddles and morning sex which most Japanese guys I’ve been with have never been in to (I’m all for it as long as I have a chance to brush my teeth and wash my face first, OCD is a very unromantic thing sometimes.)

Now if he’d left in the morning with no mention of any further meetings then I don’t think I would have been so taken with him, OK, who am I kidding I totally would have been… But he was such a flirt that he made all these empty promises and then rarely came through on them or cancelled at the last minute for some reason that I thought sounded legit at the time but looking back should have been screaming “he’s fucking a different girl you simple cow!!!” at me all along. Long, teary story short, I let the Turkish delight string me along for far too long and only ever shagged him twice after that before the Iranian came in to the picture and helped me forget him. Turns out my Turkish delight was a little too sweet, even for my sweet tooth.

And that, was definitely the craziest shagging weekend I’ve ever had!

Tuesday 21 June 2011

We interrupt the three-day shagging fest...

For a bit of a moan, because that’s what this blog really is, isn’t it? Sex and moaning, with a dog-fucker and funny old lady thrown in occasionally!

The kebab shop where I used to go in my home town after a heavy night on the piss had a huge mural with the words “it costs nothing to be nice” on it. The guy who ran the store was Iranian and he was nice to everybody, he had drunk fuckers coming in to that shop at all hours of the night stumbling all over the place and I never once saw him throw anyone out or get angry. And because of this, everyone knew him and respected him, he was a genuinely nice guy, the type who gave you the kebab even when you were so fucking blind that you looked at the coins in your hand with a puzzled look when he told you the price, he let you use the toilet even if you weren’t buying, just a good guy in general. And it was also because of this that nobody ever did any dumb shit in his store, like try to steal stuff or vomit all over the counter or anything, actually I’m sure someone did vomit at some point, but nobody would do it on purpose, he was famous in our little city, and even smaller drinking scene.

I really wish more people were like him, and a lot of people are and aren’t given recognition for it, but some people really piss me off, for example, let’s call him “map cunt”…

Yesterday I was at the school doing some work when an oldish man peered through the glass at me, I thought he was an old crazy wanting to take a trial lesson stare at my tits for a few minutes but when he came in he had rolled up bits of paper so I knew he was selling something. Usually when salesmen come in I do a Basil Fawlty with the old “My husband handles all such matters!!” and then fob them off, or if they’re really persistent, actually get Ryota to call them, and when he tells them to fuck off and never call again or he’ll smash their knee caps in they wish they’d never tried. (Not really, but he is very brutal with annoying sales people!) I am the total opposite to Ryota, a salesman’s dream, in that I find it very hard to say no. Even in English I find it hard, but it’s even worse in Japanese.

So map cunt got off on the wrong foot with me from the very start when he said in a very loud, obnoxious voice, “MANAGAAAAAARRRR???!!! WHERE??? MANAAAAAGGGGAAAARRRR?????” Number one, don’t fucking assume I can’t speak Japanese, at least wait till I completely fuck up my sentence before you do that! And number two, I’m manager, owner, teacher, book keeper, accountant, cleaner, and general shit kicker of this school. DEAL WITH IT!
I just said “hai managgggaaaaaaaa desu” in a dull tone and with a cynical look on my face and he got a little bit flustered before going in to the shortest sales spiel ever about including the school on a map, but worded it in a way like I had no choice but to pay. This confused me so I asked him what map it was and he said it was the map up at the local convenience store down the road. It was ¥3500 a year to have the school on the map but he didn’t even say “Would you like to be on the map?” he just said “So that’s ¥3500 please.” I had no money with me (I actually didn’t but he looked at me like I was lying the presumptuous fucker) and I told him to come back tomorrow but I decided then and there that I didn’t like him and would ask Ryota if he thought it was worth it and decide. Of course when I asked Ryota we decided it was a waste of money, it’s not like someone will drop in to the conbini and be all “Ooo look there’s an English school down the road!” So I said I’d tell him I didn’t want to but I’d told him to come back for the money so felt a teeny bit bad.

So skip to today, he comes in with not even a smile or nice greeting and actually made it easier for me to say “Look, I know I said I’d pay yesterday but I talked to my husband and we really don’t need to be on that map, really sorry to put you to the trouble…” He gave me a filthy look as if to say “FUCK YOU BITCH!” and walked out with a mumble of “wakarimashita”. I was honestly shocked, if he’d been nice from the start, I guarantee I would have paid that money, in a second but just because he was a cunt I didn’t. What is wrong with some people!? Maybe he was a company man who’d been fired and this was his part-time job or something because he was really bad at sales! I just couldn’t believe he was such a cunt, it’s quite rare in Japanese sales people.

OK enoiugh moaning, I'll get to writing about my Turkish delight...

Monday 20 June 2011

My random Peruvian shorty

So after I woke up the next morning to empty cans and the smell of a guy being in my house and realized what had happened, I felt slightly ashamed of myself before hopping in the shower and washing away that shame to face a new day and all it’s new possibilities! Actually I probably wasn’t that ashamed at all at the time, now of course I feel a bit weird, but only because I’m literally like a nun these days!

I had plans to meet up with my friend who lived near me and her long(ish)-term Peruvian boyfriend. Now I didn’t want to be a third-wheel on their date but when she told me her boy was bringing a friend too I didn’t want a set-up kind of situation either (there’s no pleasing some people!). But S assured me that the friend was short, like REALLY short, so I wouldn’t be interested anyway. I don’t want to discriminate against short guys or anything, the problem is actually mine, I’m abnormally tall and the combo just doesn’t work well, it doesn’t work in bed, it doesn’t look right if you’re walking together (especially when you hold hands), and it just makes me feel like a big lanky giant. So, I avoid short guys, a little bit shorter than me is fine, just as long as it’s not noticeable.

We had planned to go to Kobe for the day of fucking around and eating Brazilian BBQ and we all crammed in to the car for an hour of the most mixed up conversation I thin I've ever had, this was the language make up of the people in the car:

A (S’s boy)- Speaks Spanish and Japanese
J (Shorty)- Speaks Spanish and limited Japanese
S- Speaks Spanish and English
Me- Speaks English and Japanese

So we didn’t really have a common language among us meaning that there was a lot of translating going on and muddled up lessons as A tried to teach me Spanish but I kept putting Japanese particles in between the vocab I knew in Spanish. I think my brain only has space for two languages maximum!
When we got to Kobe we did the usual shopping and purikura shite, I should have known something was going to happen when we took the purikura, as it was very couple-ish… But I’d had numerous chu-hais by that time and was so excited by the thought having a happy ending with all I could eat Brazilian meat shaved off the bone at my table by a hot Brazilian waiter that not much could have pissed me off that day. Fuck me I want to go to that restaurant again!!

We rode the roller coaster, well S and I did, the boys were big pussies and then got to the restaurant for dinner. My expectations were well drooled over and we ate meat and all the other goodies until we could hardly move, that’s when we switched to drinking spirits that wouldn’t make us any more full than we already were. This was dangerous as vodka and I have a rocky past and it’s been known to get me in to all sorts of trouble. If I’m ever arrested my only defence will be “It was the vodka officer!” We decided to go to a club and get really fucked up, we danced until we’d sweat enough to not feel so full anymore, and then we drank and drank until we were about to collapse. I’m not actually sure how much A drank, I know it wasn’t as much as the rest of us nut it was still incredibly stupid for him to drive the good hour and a half home… All vodka I swear! S and I literally lived less than a minute away from each other so they pulled in to her car park and the awkwardness of pairing off began. J said, well I think he did (it was in Spanish) “Where am I going to sleep!?” S’s apartment was SERIOUSLY small, like one of those half LDK kinda box joints where tall fuckers like me couldn’t even get in to the bathroom (if you could call it that) without smacking your knees. After a few minutes of drunken arguing it was decided J would come and stay at my house. I’ll be honest, the lack of communication and his shortness made me almost not screw him. VODKA!!!

Now this one I really have very little recollection of, but I remember him being better than old Shingo the night before. I seem to remember his dick being average sized and that he got me there without much assistance. Must be the Latino lover effect… He had a good smile and lovely hair and tickled my back until I fell asleep just like I love so he got a 7. Not mind-blowing but good enough! (he also lost points for shortness, sorry, harsh but true!)

He stayed until morning, we met A and S for a sheepish, embarrassing lunch where the boys gave each other the equivalent of linguistic high fives in Spanish and S and I gossiped as I retold my shame in English. I saw J a few times again but I managed to avoid the vodka and therefore sleeping with him again, he was a nice guy though!

And so the weekend was almost over. Almost…

Friday 17 June 2011

My drive-by traffic signal

I LOVE this blog! But every time I read it I get pangs of envy and maybe a pinch of regret that I am not single and having fun anymore.

My brain has been on overload lately, I often think about things too much and sometimes I just can’t stop obsessing with an idea in my head that it takes over pretty much any downtime my poor substance abused noggin’ can handle.

I think recently it’s been a combination of this, this and this post that have come together in some horrible gooey ball of ideas that I want to either have an affair, or leave my husband. Isn't that just horrible, random and shocking!?!

(P.S. If you know me in real life do me a favor and don't, like mention it to him in conversation or anything... Thanks!)

Of course as new ideas, events and other such shiny things are put in front of me I may forget this notion, but it’s strong at the moment. Re-inforcing my theory all along that I should never have gotten married so young and for all the wrong reasons. But... that shall be put on the back burner for the minute, as I re-visit my slightly more slutty yet ever so enjoyable past with a story from the single days!

The Peruvian, Japanese, Turkish weekend (Part I)

I’d like to say I’m a multi-cultural kinda gal and my boy toys were no exception, any nationality, skin colour, accent, I was open to just about anyone! (sexually explicit pun intended) I always avoided people I knew really well, like say, work colleagues. There were many reasons for purposely avoiding having ‘one night love’ with people I had to face the next week, for one, a lot of them were dipshit foreign English teachers. Nuff’ said… Another being the old ‘don’t shit where you eat’ kind of thing, I didn’t want to smear my reputation too much in the office. And the only other option were the Japanese office guys, who were either not worth it personality wise, or fun to flirt with, but more than likely duds in bed, plus they were all about 22 years old fresh out of university and hoping to clamber their way up the corporate ladder to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, otherwise known in Japan as a pension and 10 days holiday after working like a dog for 30 years. Not my type at all…

So to the big city’s clubs and bars are where I mostly found my lovers, it was fun, fuelled by copious amounts of alcohol and easily forgotten the next day if you could ignore your pounding head and desire to vomit up the ramen you ate at 3am on the way home the next morning.
There was one particular weekend that sticks out in my memory (I actually have a pretty good one people tell me) where it was a whirlwind of drinking, shagging and general craziness that left me completely exhausted.
Friday night~ I was walking home from the station when I saw a car slow down as it passed me and pulled in to the conbini near my apartment. I didn’t think it was that odd, not like back home where you’re scared a serial killer might drag you in to the car and torture you or anything but then I saw a young-ish (I have no idea how old he actually was) guy poke his head out the window and stare at me. Again, not that strange in a land of people who like to stare at whities, but enough to get my attention. I ignored him and went on my way but then the car came past me again and slowed so that he was looking at me and obviously wanting to talk. He was cute so I decided to be a bit of a flirt and said “Do you need directions” and he laughed and said in fantastically rubbish English “Yes! You house please!” Still, pretty smooth for a J-guy, I was instantly impressed.

I told him to go back to the conbini and I’d talk to him there, I totally intended to take him home but needed a little bit of well-lit talking time to make sure he wasn’t going to slice me up and eat me or anything. When I got back to the conbini he was inside buying cigarettes, I wanted to go in but I didn’t know him from a bar of soap, couldn’t really just rock up next to him, but I also wanted to buy beer for myself so made a drinking motion at him through the window and pointed to the back of the store at the fridges. He finally got it after much gesturing and got chu-hai instead, but it was alcoholic, that was all that mattered.
When he came out we sat in his car and drank and talked for a bit, he was determined to speak to me in English which set off gaijin hunter alarm bells but after we started kissing he gave up which was a big relief, nothing worse than being asked what the past tense of a verb is while you’re trying to give a blow job.
I’m not one for car shenanigans, I like my own house and all the comforts so I told him to ‘walk me home.’ I don’t remember if the conversation was that awkward but we laughed a lot, he told me his name was Shingo and I asked if he minded that his name just made me think of a traffic signal and he couldn’t stop laughing. I told him my name and he said Korea!? Korea!? Still, laughter is an aphrodisiac for me, I guy could be super hot but if he doesn’t have a sense of humour then I’m just not interested, so it was all good.
Once we got home I did my OCD ritual of teeth brushing and face washing while he drank and watched TV, and when I was finally ready we got to bed. The dirty details are a bit sketchy but I’d give him a 6 out of 10, he had a pretty small cock but didn’t really know what to do with it which was worse than the actual size issue. He must have been pretty young because he kept asking me for direction, which I was more than happy to give, but my Japanese wasn’t the best back then and I kept losing my moment because I was concentrating on what to say. It was also all over red rover pretty quickly AND I’d gone to the trouble of giving him head but ended up finishing myself off- fuck, now I think about it I change his rating to 5, he gets bonus points for being funny and sweet. He got dressed and started with the bullshit of… “Errr what’s your number…blah blah blah” but I was already tucked up in bed and mumbled that it was OK, I’d probably see him around some time at the conbini or something. Shocked or happy I’m not sure, but he left and I slumbered, having no idea I’d need all the sleep I could get for the next few days.

And for my Peruvian and Turkish stories, you’ll just have to keep reading!

Tuesday 14 June 2011

Deep throat issues

Because who doesn't love a bit of gross inflamed tonsil action on a Tuesday arvo!?

As you can clearly see from the inside of my mouth I have tonsillitis. Again motherfuckers! I seem to get this shit every month, and I don't even kiss random boys anymore, cheated!

It's only the right side too, which is weird, I went to the doc today and he actually called his colleagues over to look at my fucking huge right tonsil. I have to go to the city hospital on Thursday to see about getting the bastards out. Sooooo looking forward to that... On the plus side I can kill two old birds with one stone and visit Grandma at the same time who is in to get her cataracts operated on. What fun conversation that will bring I'm sure...

One good thing about having to work and drag my arse to the doctors today was that I stumbled upon a random dance school that I never knew was there, I love dancing and have wanted to take lessons for ages so I went and talked to the teacher who was just so delighted that a foreigner had graced her school, but I think she thought I was a way better dancer than I was letting on, when in truth I'm absolute rubbish! Meh, she'll get the picture when I'm stumbling around like an idiot with two left feet on Saturday.


Side bar


Inspired by other bloggers who are far less lazy than me I have decided to actually respond to all comments left.

If you ask me a question, I shall reply...

If you write something nice, I shall be forever in your debt and write equally nice things back...

If you write something mean, I shall hunt you down and beat you to a bloody pulp with my brass knuckles... Oh wait, I think that's someone else...

But seriously, I've never had a whack job make a horrible comment here, I feel quite left out!

OK, I have to go and talk with my favourite army student despite swallowing feeling like a hot poker is stabbing the back of my tonsils... No blow job jokes either, it hurts man!

Monday 13 June 2011

Mess-up mothering Monday

This could very well become a regular spot, I fuck up enough as a mother, but this weekend was particularly spectacular in the psychological damage I’m no doubt causing my son!

Mothering fuck-up #1- Teaching my son the game where you hold your breath when driving through a tunnel. Of course in my day and in my town, tunnels weren’t so bastard long! So after getting a bit dizzy myself and watching his face turn blue before bursting out in giggles, I realized that oxygen deprivation in game form is probably not the best education. Still, passes the time on long drives…

Mothering fuck-up #2- Leaving my slumbering babe in the car while I ducked in to tsutaya for a movie run. I know, I know, only irresponsible junkie types (or Japanese mothers) do that sort of shit. I have often seen kids alone in cars while mummy does her shopping and thinking how much I wanted to slap the mother, but it was pissing down rain, and he’d JUST fallen asleep, and I mean deep asleep as I pulled in to tsutaya. Plus it wasn’t hot or anything but as I searched for the movies I wanted the seconds seemed to be ticking in my ears as visions of cars slamming in to mine while Ash was trapped kept flashing in to my head. But as I sprinted back to my car I was relieved and am now happy to report that he was still snoring loudly and no cars were on fire in the vicinity.

Ryota and I spent the weekend fighting, spoke way too soon with the good behavior, must write those stories of twatism up when I have time. I shall leave you with reason #1 to have kids, there really aren’t that many, but they make it worth it when they do occasionally happen, until you are so distracted by shit that the driver is tickling and passenger is filming and you don’t notice the big arse fucking truck you’re about to slam in to... We survived anyway.

Friday 10 June 2011

Foreign men.

Foreign men in Japan have a notorious reputation for being absolute dickwads. There’s no getting around it, and from personal experience I’d say about 70% of the male foreign population I’ve come in to contact with have been pretty much that, or there is still a glimpse of the OK person they used to be, but in the land of pussy-houdai their head and ego have taken over their personalities to a point of no return. Saying that, a few of the closest foreign friends I’ve had have been blokes, but that has been the way my whole life, so maybe nothing to do with Japan. Since I’ve been married though, there hasn’t been that much opportunity for male foreign friends, so pretty much the only contact I have is with one guy I work with at the kindy and random gaijin I run into.

Now every foreigner who lives in Japan knows the awkward dilemma of what to do when you come in close contact with another gaijin. “Do I say hello? I don’t want to look all eager… But it doesn’t hurt to be friendly right..?” Questions like this often flash through my tiny little brain as I contemplate whether to ignore the foreign elephant in my presence, acknowledge it, or actually choose to interact with it. If it’s a foreign mummy, I’ll pretty much always say hello, because, you know, we have an equal respect for each other. When it comes to foreign Daddies, I find them to be very standoff-ish, like they’ve been caught out and can’t get away from you fast enough, I’m not really sure why, so I usually ignore the fucktard Daddies. If it’s a foreign woman alone, it’s tough, if they look friendly enough maybe I’ll say hi, but then, I have to think about the look on my face, Do I look friendly? Or like I wouldn’t be approachable…? It’s all a very complicated process! But when it comes to foreign men, they pretty much always ignore me, again it’s like they’ve been caught out impersonating a cool, hot guy but as we all know, the foreign woman is Charisma man’s kryptonite and will take him down if she discovers what kind of shit web he has been spinning in order to date hot Japanese women.

So after a while and a few crushes on foreign guys, I gave up. “Fuck em’!” pretty much became my philosophy on the whole matter. Until recently when I have come in to (not close enough for my liking) contact with 2, not 1, but 2(!) fuckable, friendly foreign men! Why aren’t you all like this?
The first guy I met when I was running, so highly sweaty and embarrassing, but I was jogging along this really long path and in the distance I saw what I thought might be a gaijin but sometimes your mind plays tricks on you, so I tried not to look too hard until he was close enough. Surely, when we were within eye contact range, he had a smile on his face, and it wasn’t a “I’m a fucking nutter” smile, or a “I want to sell you some religion!” smile, it seemed to be a genuine smile, and he was hot as well, almost unheard of!!! Of course I had ear phones in and I only slowed my jog to say a quick hello, but we got a quick pass by conversation in to establish he worked at the Mitsubishi factory (doing English type stuff I presume) near where I run. I will definitely be on the lookout for Mitsubishi man whenever I run from now on.

The second was kind of a bizarre meeting, I usually take Ash to kindy on my bicycle and go down a big arse hill, at the bottom of the hill they are building new houses at the moment and I always have a bit of a squiz to see if I can spot any hot construction dudes (I have a total soft spot for construction workers IN JAPAN, they seem to be old and fat in any other country). As I was scanning for macho man talent, a bare chest caught my attention, not for any other reason except J-guys usually never take their shirts off, it’s really not a thing you see much of. And as I suspected, when construction man turned around, he wasn’t Japanese! He looked a fair bit older and had the sexy Latino feeling to him so I thought he might be Brazilian. Just as I was drooling over him, my tyre busted on my bike (see whiney post) sending me in to a bit of a tailspin (literally). It was the total opposite of graceful and I made some sort of strange squealing noise like a small pig being slaughtered, I also had the misfortune of wearing a skirt that day so I’m sure my bright pink knickers were flashed quite freely to all the construction men who had looked over. A few of the guys closest to me wandered over and with a bit of a giggle still on their and lips informed me my bike was in fact, fucked. Gee thanks! The spokes of my wheel all over the place and my knicker flashing stack hadn’t indicated that at all!

Shirtless sex pot had somehow put a shirt on and had come over to look for any other spokes that had come off my bike and as I said thank you to the other useless dicks I looked at him and said “Obrigado…かな。。。” I didn’t want to just assume he spoke Portuguese but fortunately I was right, unfortunately he then started babbling in Portuguese to which I just said “Ahhhh, sorry!” like a big knob. (Note to self: Learn Portuguese). He gave me a sexy smile anyway and I was on my way. I’ve seen him a few days this week and always say hello so my man candy levels are up, and my faith in foreign men has been a teeny tiny little bit restored! Of course the recent troop of male Japan bloggers are also pretty cool, but you never really can tell someone’s level of dickhead until you actually meet them.

On a slightly related note, Ryota has been quite the model husband lately! Last weekend he got up before me, put a load of washing on, (seriously probably the first time ever seeing as though he used fabric softener instead of washing power, but it’s the thought that counts!) tidied up a bit and went and got McDonalds breakfast for us all so I wouldn’t have to slave over a hot toaster! My initial reaction was suspicion and unlike most women who might assume this sudden change in behavior means cheating, I suspect there will be some surfing related consequence, a new board/wetsuit, a trip away or something of that nature. Or who knows, maybe he is shagging some slapper, because his shagging techniques have totally improved too! I was dumbfounded last night when he actually tried to kiss me, I was so confused I did the whole head wobble thing and we ended up just cracking our foreheads and giggling but again, solid effort from the Ryo-chan meister! OK, enough of my sex life, I have to teach Junior high school kids and I don’t want to be thinking sexy thoughts for that.

Happy weekend all!

Thursday 9 June 2011


I’m thinking I smoked too much weed in high school because lately, I have this horrible sensation that I’m going to die. And yes, thank you, I know we’re all going to die some time just in case some smart arse would like to point that out (you know who you are!), but I mean die young. I can’t explain the feeling that well but it will be when I’m riding my bicycle and this image flashes over my eyes of a car coming out of a side street and hits me, and it’s so real that I actually squeeze on the brakes and go all wobbly! Or the other week I was driving home in heavy rain and I just kept imaging a car coming from the other side of the road and smashing in to me. Am I going insane?!

It may also have been fuelled by the fact that I was talking about palm reading with a student and she examined my hand and was all “Ohh, Corinne sensei, you have short line of life!!” and I was all “Ohhh, well, fuck then…”
If I died now I can’t say I’d have any regrets but you know, not quite ready to kick the bucket yet!

Palm readers, yoroshiku!

Or maybe this irrational fear is just the ghosts of my childhood coming back to haunt me. I was an incredibly nervous child. Like, I didn’t take any risks, at a really young age. I blame my parents and their constant fights that lasted all night while I lied in bed trying my hardest to block out the screaming, banging and name-calling that went on for hours. I would wake up tired and emotionally drained and I’m sure it well and truly fucked me up. I remember being in the first grade and staying up worrying about high school and what it would be like. In first grade! This little kid with big worry creases in her forehead, chewing on her teddy Bear's ear worrying that there’d be too much homework and I’d get lost in the halls. Damn, now I think about it there were all kinds of incidents indicating that I was a tad mental! I cried once for fear of being locked in a clothing store that was getting ready to shut because my mum was still getting stuff from the shelves when they pulled the shutters half-way down. I wet my pants in the 2nd grade in front of every fucker because I was having a stress attack about forgetting my assignment. You get the picture.

Along with the nervousness and fear was the fact that I never took any risks. Roller coasters- not a fucking chance (only the one time my sister bribed me with hot macadamia nuts, I’d do pretty much anything for that shit!), all theme park related fun was too risky for me, I was like a fucked up 50 year old stuck in a child’s body! I can honestly thank Japan for getting me over that though, or maybe it was getting out of my parent’s house…hmmmmm. “There's enough material there for an entire conference.” (Gold star to anyone who knows where that quote is from) Whichever it was, I managed to turn my nervous fears around the day I stepped on to the plane, and I was fucking terrified, I had the runs the whole way on the plane here, I was so insanely scared that I almost became numb and convinced myself that I could come back home if I wanted to. And technically I could have, but really I was forced to stay, at least for a bit. And after I got a taste of the fear, I was hungry for more. It was all bungee jumping and tattoos from then on, I was living on the edge, and I liked it! Not a dollar spent in therapy and all I had to do was grab the scary feeling by the balls and say “fuck it, I’m doing it!” the adrenalin (and some alcohol) does the rest.

So I think I need some thrill seeking, this is why I’ve been all paranoid about death lately, it’s been way too long since I’ve done something that would classify as 'on the edge'. I hadn’t even realized I’d been playing it so safe until the other night when I was teaching a Junior high school kid, who, don’t get me wrong, is a lovely boy. He studies hard and plays badminton and wrote me a beautiful New Year card that said he wanted to try hard to speak English this year, but he’s like every other robotic JHS kid here, boring. Boring people annoy me because it’s just so hard to make conversation with. I can forgive this in kids, the Japanese school system and little life experience make it almost impossible for them to go any other way and hopefully by giving them the freedom to express their opinion and actually think outside the “This is a pen” box when they talk to me, they’ll get better, but in adults, it really fucking pisses me off. Take for example the question: “What do you do for fun?” Valid question, if you answer it with “I like sleeping.” I will have images of smacking you in the head with a blunt object so you can be sleeping for a very long time. Of course this isn’t a realistic reaction, so I point out that I can’t go anywhere with that answer, plus sleeping is not a hobby, it’s a basic function, give me something, anything else! Anyway, the point I’m getting to, is this JHS kid has to ask me at least 3 questions at the start of every lesson and the other night he asked me “Where did you go last year?” And I thought about it…. And I realized I didn’t go anywhere. So I had to answer with “Ummm I went to Osaka…” In this little meek voice because I was actually thinking, ‘Fuck me dead I’ve become one of the boring cunts I fantasise about whacking in the head!’ OK, so I had valid excuses of an infant and new business, but it shouldn’t matter, I didn’t even go on a trip anywhere in Japan! So I have vowed that before the year is out, I will do something slightly risky, something that is pure fun and I will go on a trip overseas and a trip somewhere in Japan.

Because who knows, that mashed up life line could end tomorrow, and I’ll be fucked if I have to tell St. Peter that I was a boring cunt, he’ll never let me in to heaven!

Saturday 4 June 2011


So, one of the best Japan bloggers invites me to his slammin' party, all his fantabulous readers click on over... Expecting 'crocodile sushi' content and are met with... A whinging excuse for a post including suicide and me moaning about... a bicycle! (see below, actually don't, it's really depressing...)

So to get that tom-fuckery off the top of my blog thought I'd write this. If you haven't been over to Loco's blog, and I can't see how you wouldn't have already, get there, right now! Not only is this guy funny/smart/deep/sexy/groovy/interesting, he's also an amazing writer with some amazing stuff about his experiences in Japan and all sorts of other topics, he really is one of the Kings of J-blogs and I'm honored he asked me to join the party. Thanks Loco!

We had dog-fucker's birthday party last night so when I get a chance I'll post that story plus by popular demand, some pictures of the star herself, in all her cuntish glory!

I'll leave you with a photo of me that shows me when I'm happiest: On a Sunday, drinking beer in the afternoon!

Friday 3 June 2011

So you had a bad day...

I remember listening to that song once when I'd been drinking for over 24 hours straight and thinking I wanted to kill myself.


Not quite that bad today, but definitely getting there.

It started with my bike tyre shitting itself, I blame my chubby son because the back wheel lost about 4 spokes when his lard arse plus my even lardier (word?) arse were riding to kindy. To a busy mum living in the semi-iinaka, her bike is her chariot, she needs it to do basically anything! So I walked home, sweat dripping down on to my shirt, and realised it wasn't a do-it-yourself fixing job just in time to dash off for my 9am lesson.
Lesson done and I walked the cunting bike to the nearest bike fixing shop, lady told me they would love to fix it but the spokes they had were the wrong size. Zannen. Fucking zannen indeed. Not only were the spokes fucked but the tyre was squished against the rim making it incredibly difficult to push! So, I walked the 20 minutes to the place where I brought the bike, I hate going there because the staff are always very unhelpful, but at least I knew they'd have the right sized spokes. Get there. Fucking closed!!! Opens at 11am. 11 cunting a mother-fucking m, what are the lazy bastards doing until 11am!? So I trudged back to another bike fixing store which I thought about going to in the first place but it's expensive so I try and avoid it and he told me he could do it but it would take a while. So I went and got my groceries and came back, stood there contemplating running home and getting shit done before I had to go and work at a local kindy but then got so indecisive about whether going home or waiting was the most time effective and just ended up waiting. Bike finally done, highway robbery complete and rode home with a few minutes to spare to grab my shit and get to the kindy.

Kindy lessons were fine, kids adorable. All good. day improving! Or so I thought...
Get back to my bike outside the kindy, and... where is the cunting key...? I thought it was in my pocket but no matter how many times I shoved my hands in there praying for it to magically appear, wasn't there. Sweat pouring for the umpteenth time I started to panic as next lesson at the school was only 30 minutes away (and I have OCD when it comes to being late). Finally I decide to check one last time before going back and searching the kindy (of 650 kids- fucking huuuuge, would have been impossible to find!) and one good thing about today, that little gleaming key was shoved in a side pocket. Fuck I'm dopey at times!

Get back home to de-sweat and re-deodorise and I check my phone to see 5 missed calls from an unknown number and dog fucker and think 'why the fuck is she calling me??' so go over to see and apparently, docile cunt that I am, had left the keys in the school door! What the fuck is wrong with me today?! Like what kind of idiot does that!? I think I might have been better off drunk and suicidal than I was today! Anyway, potential student came to ask about lessons and noticed the keys in the door, she went and got the lady who lives next to the school and the newspaper people from the other side and they knew where our house was (gotta love semi-iinaka sometimes) so dropped the keys over to dog fucker.

I immediately did a cookie run and bowed until I was sweating on the toes of my shoes to next door obachan (who ended up giving me onions in return, wtf?!) and newspaper people, then called the (extremely nice) student to apologise and schedule when I could start charging to speak English with her once a week, fuck best get cookies for her too when she comes on Monday...

Taught another lesson and went to get Ash, on the way home we bumped in to a Grandma and her little boy who had a big arse toy car that you can ride in and offered it to Ash. This was lovely but Ash DID NOT want to get out of it. I had another lesson to teach in 20 minutes, and again my stress levels were rising at the thought of being late, finally dragged him literally kicking and screaming out of the damn thing and left him with Grandma, but he was being a clingy little fucker and crying whenever I tried to leave. (reason number 459686700000 not to have kids).

Needless to say my nerves are shot, I feel sweaty and incredibly stupid, haven't eaten anything today and will possibly throw up on the kid due to arrive in 5 minutes.

Happy fucking Friday! Soooooo having a drink tonight!

Thursday 2 June 2011


Yesterday marked one year that my school has been open. Thank the lord for not going bankrupt, wooooo!
I've learnt a LOT in the past year: About business, about Japanese marketing and how cute sells, about speaking Japanese, about how annoying my in-laws really can be, about myself, about teaching, about English, about juggling time and a whole lot of other crap that won't fit in my tiny brain so is sitting on standby in my left ear, ready to be fed in over the next few years!
I've had a truly great year, Ryota got a new (better) job, the school has never been in debt and is now making enough to give me a healthy salary. So a big FUCK YEAH! on that front!
I felt that I needed to celebrate with cake and made a cracker of a fresh cream and strawberry sponge yesterday in honour of the occasion. I've included pictures for all you closet Betty Crocker lovers!

I like baking, and I'm not all that bad at it, but the problem with being good at baking, is when you make something that gives you an instant orgasm when you bite in to it, is that you end up eating way too much of it yourself. Add spoon/beater/bowl licking and you have way too many calories that do not coincide with my plans to be super fit for my BFF's wedding and the skimpy bridesmaid dress that goes with it in August. So usually when I make sweets, I take them over to the in-laws and share them, not because I'm nice, just because I don't want to get too fat!!

So yesterday I toddled over with my cake which looks exactly like a Birthday cake, and dog-fucker (who we still haven't really talked to since the Hokka ben incident) got all excited, not because the dog had a hard-on, but because she thought I'd made the cake for her. Ooops... I'd completely forgotten her birthday is tomorrow because, well, I really don't care!

She peered at it and said "Ehhhhh!? Did you make me a cake!?" And before it got too awkward or my instincts to lie kicked in I said "Ummmm, actually it's for the school, your birthday isn't till Friday!"

This fucks me right over as now I have to make a cunting cake for her tomorrow! Maybe I'll just save a piece of the school cake and give it to her...

It also leaves me with the dilemma as to what to get her. I don't really like her, but I'm like the birthday queen around here and seeing as though I'm the only one who makes a big deal about them always make a point to get everyone presents. (Plus, let's face it, I get loads of loot come my birthday in November)

I have no idea what to get her, I looked for a copy of the book, "How to stop fucking your dog and be a normal member of society" but they were all out... Any suggestions?!