Baby Sumo
So I actually rocked out of the house today. And did something mildly cultural. Kinda sorta.
I went out dancing and drinking last night with some of the new little darlings that have recently moved into the area. Dancy dancy, drinky drinky and all that and got home around 5 in the morning as usual.
Then I got up at 8. And put on clothes. And went out to meet one of my darling friends to go to a sumo tournament that some of his grade school students were going to be participating in.
Now usually sumo is okay. Fat men in fuko-whatever underpants things smash into each other at moderately high speed. That's pretty good.
But 10 year old scrany kids doing the same thing? Now that's gold.
And there was fair food too. Fried chicken and icey syrup things and joy.
But the very best thing was that all of my friend's Japanese coworkers and students assumed that I'm his finacee. I better hear back that they hassled him about his super sexy woman on Monday.
It's not really drinking
I'm working on stuff recently. Personal projects mostly. And by projects I mean drinking too much wine and trying to look cool in a jaded way.
It's not working good, the looking cool. But the overpriced house wine from the arty bar has me pretty buzzed. So it's not really a wash.
I'm still thinking of getting some stage time out here.
So far the list of things that I've decided are funny enough to put into my proposed gig is-
Pandas, my name, my mental mom, crossdressers, OCD and Japanese language tapes.
Horribly unfunny stuff. Damn.
And what do you want to be, little girl?
So yeah. I'm out here in exotic Japan, just hanging out. I've been here just a touch over a year, working a teaching job that mostly entails sitting quietly in the staffroom and dodging the occasional jab with a sharpened pencil from the evil autisitc child of doom. I'll be here for another year, as I've signed a contract. Suprisingly for me I'm actually putting a bit of thought into what I'm going to do when I'm done with my time here. And by putting in thought I mean whispering "What are you going to do after Japan?" aloud to myself as I ride my bike, check my text messages and try to wrangle my Ipod into a song that doesn't make me want to stab.
So I don't really want to go back to school. I mean I do, because school was a buffet of sex and drugs and napping. The rockstar life, you know? And I'm not really looking foward to doing the only types of work that I'm qualified to undertake. I'm not delusional (ehrm..?) about my place in the world, but it's my deep and lasting hope that my complete incompitence with menial jobs means that I'm inteded for something larger. Or it just means that I'm completely defective. I'm not going to make a guess on which it is myself, but out of curiousity I've checked and Vegas is not giving great odds for the first option.
So my worrying about my future coupled with my recent jonesing for attention has me checking out my options. Writing seems like a great idea, except that I suck at it. And writers never get famous. And if they do get famous it's only in a lame, critics and lit geek circle. And I need a microphone, as we've already mentioned. I can't sing. Or play any music. And acting is completley out. I don't have the time or the energy for make up, casting or eating disorders. Besides, I've been complimented many a time by being told I've got a radio quality face. So radio? I've just purchased a new pair of 'I'm a socially aware NPR intern who is living in an unfinished loft with her cat' glasses. So that could work. Except that I hate hipsters. Damn.
Pfft, nevermind. They've got a comedy troupe out here. I'll go audition to do some gigs with them. Because nothing makes you sexier than doing stand up, right?
Then after Japan I'll just head back home and live in my parent's garage. Like all the cool kids.
Stupidly serious
Alright, unless you have a small dog you're not really going to get this. One of the really tightly wound, nervous,
yappy little
mosters. Or a
victorian stereotype of women. I'm wound up in the helpless scratching at the door even though I don't really want to be let out sort of way.
Japan is frustrating me because I don't have the language to say the things that I'm thinking and less often, feeling.
But a lot of the people I spend my time with out here are English speakers (because I'm too damn lazy to try and communicate in a new language) and I'm still at a fucking loss.
I have something I want to say, something I want to do, something I want to share and I haven't the faintest idea what it is.
I have some
vauge ideas. I want to do something, say something that's exciting and
adventerous.
I want it to be something people pay attention to. I want praise.
So it seems that I want to preform kareoke while taming lions before an audience of yes men. Easily enough done.
Oh, I forgot.
That thing I'm addicted to.
Attention. I'm a whore for it these days. Someone gave me a microphone for a second last week. I'm going to get one of them for myself and carry it around everywhere.
Addiction
I love you darling and I think it's time that we talked. If we're going to be together you need to know some things.
I have an addictive personality. Not just for booze or pills or powders like nice, normal, upright people. I get hooked on everything. Anything. All the time. I've already gone through all the boring addictions- booze, pills, sex. But I've also torn through some of the less popular ones with the fury of a frenzied gerbil. For a three month stretch I drank nothing but Dr. Brown's root beer (from the cans, not the bottles of course) because I needed it. I needed it so bad. Upon finding a new band or CD I enjoy I will play it on loop for weeks, sleeping or awake. I start to twitch when I get too far from my ballpoint pens. And I was hooked on this here internet before geek chic. Before it was cool. Beat that for hardcore.
Now all of these addictions would take up every ounce of my metrically measured time and energy if it were not for my superpower. Yes, superpower. You thought I just wore the spandex for kicks?
I have the shortest attention span. Ever.
So I'll get caught up in something new. And I'll live, eat and breathe it. I'll alienate the few people still foolhardy enough to spend their time with me with my endless ranting and promotions of this new passion. I'll sell my possessions and body just to continue to indulge in one more- hey, check that out. Is that a new restaurant?
So I'm off on another one of my kicks. Hopefully I'll pass a circus or street fair on the walk home and snap back out of it.
Me in Japanland
Just to get you kids up to date, I'm living and working in Japan these days. Yes, it's cool. Yes it makes me cooler than you.
-------
Once upon a time, maybe a few weeks ago or something, there was a summer break for most of us JETs. It's a beautiful time here in Japan. A period of relaxation, slow walkers and sweating. I of course, was out of Japan. Having more fun than you were. Unless you were someplace that gets HBO.
I ambled across Asia and eventally washed up in Thailand. Thailand is a beautiful, vibrant, friendly, hospitable country. With the obvious exception of Patong beach on Phuket. I got to Patong at 11 at night on a Monday and mangaed to find my way to a fantastically classy hotel that just happened to be lacking windows. And sheets. And water in the bathroom fixtures. It was a shiv and a patdown away from being a bad prison movie. Waking in such a glorious establishment I rose, stood confused under the useless shower head and then wandered out into the bleak Tuesday morning sun. Out and about at 10 am I was treated to the exotic sight of an Irish tourist flipping his head to the side to vomit as he sat for a tattoo in a filthy body art parlor/tequlia shot bar. I was on a bus out of town by 11.
But after a bit of wandering and weeping I washed up in Nai Yang beach. Nai Yang is a beautiful, quiet, hospitable strip of water and joy conveniently located just off of the far runway of the Phuket airport. I was lucky enough to be joined at this point in my trip by two lovely male friends. They assisted me in my task of drinking mango smoothies, eating shrimp and sprawling out dramatically in an effort to keep the beach from washing away.
Having been joined by my darling companions, I upgraded to a higher class of lodging. For anyone lucky enough to find themselves in Nai Yang beach, I recommend the Nai Yang Beach Resort bungalows. Which are shacks. Full of lizards. But the cheapest, cleanest lizards in Thailand. And it's exactally 2 and 3/4 steps to the beachfront. And there was a working toilet. So good times.
So we stayed and frolicked and marveled at lizards. Feasted upon the local cuisine until it threatened local wildlife stocks and rode the fastest, spookiest mopeds to have ever carried death through the Thai countryside. We stayed and played for a number of days. And on the night before we were to escape off to the destination my party found ourselves on the grounds of the lushest most bizzare resort to have ever been built.
After pawning all of our luggage we were able to rent a room in the steampunky tin mine themed luxury resort. As far as I can tell this reort was designed by a retired pimp. The huge, plush bed glowered in front of an open, glasswalled waterfall shower in the center of the room. From an intimidatingly large bathtub you could look out onto the inviting chaise lounges begging to be romped on sitting on the private balcony. And I was sharing this room with two hot, sexy, sweaty men. Two hot, sexy, sweaty gay men. God hates me.
For more information on travel in Thailand please ask your local travel agent. Or buy me a beer.
