Print Club

Clearly, the hottest place in Japan is print club. Print club's are arcades filled with glamour photo booths. The light in these booths can make even the dullest person look attractive, so imagine what happens when two people as hot as Andrew and I get in. The result is pure sex. On Wednesday night we were lucky enough to find a booth with a blow fan and it doesnt get any hotter than that. We spent about an hour in there being total posers and getting a plethora of photo stickers to stick anywhere that needs brightening up with our sexiness. Wednesday night also involved other saucy escapades in elevators and ridiculous McDonalds stunts however I am too lazy to write about them. You can check Andrew's sexy blog The mean/sexy streets of Japan for further dirt.

Sexy Bitches

On Monday night I went out with my most fabulous sexy girlfriends. Naomi, Sandy, Andrea, Ange, Stevie and I took Tokyo by storm and frequented our favourite club. It is our favourite club not only because on Monday nights is it free for women to enter but it is also free to drink for the entire night. What is funny about this is that it costs ¥4,000 for men to enter but there is still more men there than women. Loves et. Anyway, us sexy bitches got invited into the VIP section by some twat named "Tadd" (Todd with a gay American accent). We were there for about 5 minutes when I got kicked back out again by smashing a glass of posh Vodka and cranberry all over the floor. There is a reason they only let very important people in that area. Only very important people should be allowed to have glass tumblers as apposed to the poxy plastic ones us commoners get. Anyhow, VIP's are boring and sexy German backpackers are way more fun so they did me a favour.


After leaving the club Naomi and I hopped onto our hot new vehicle and headed with our new found German friend to meet some crazy French bloke who looked exactly like Robbie Williams who took us to a freaky Turkish club which we walked straight back out of. Anyhow, the wicked night was followed by an even more fantastic day because Naomi and I went to inspect our brand new apartment in TOKYO that we will be moving into next month! I can't wait!

Sumimasen?

Life in Japan can be tough. I have no idea what I am buying at the supermarket, I need a picture menu in a restaurant, I cant read my phone bill, I cant understand the loudspeaker alerts at the train station, watching TV is exactly that, strictly watching, I often need help using a cash machine, I have no bargaining power anywhere so it’s difficult to talk my way out of an expensive bill at a karaoke joint (would have been handy last night) and I’m growing my hair because a trip to the hairdressers is simply too stressful for me.

Ever had the feeling your being watched? Get on a train in Japan. They have a talent for staring. I find myself nervously checking for food on my face or a massive booger hanging out my nose. I sit there and pretend not to notice two school girls pissing themselves laughing looking in my direction, I ignore the salary men’s disgusted glances and I pretend to comprehend what the nutty old lady next to me is babbling on about.

I have developed a successful tool to compensate for all this torment. I know I sure as hell can’t understand them, but the plus side is: they don't understand me either. It is for this reason I have lost any inner monologue. Its not uncommon to have a full debate with a mate about whether the man sitting across from us on the train is good looking or not, whether we like the J-girls shoes, whether the salary man is unconscious from excessive consumption of sake or just taking a quick snooze. It’s fine to get stopped by the staff walking into a karaoke place with two bags of McDonalds “No bring food”. They stand patiently while we discuss our plan “Shit, you can’t take food in. Do you wanna just walk out and stuff it down our pants and then go back in?” which we do successfully. There is a somewhat infamous student at my school who creeps everyone out by blurting out random words about prostitutes, then scratching at his head and licking at his fingers. A colleague walked into the class-room the other day and said “put the dictionary away cunt” sending me into hysterics. The name on my train pass is Booze Hag, my mate is Captain Bastard and Chris has come up with the best so far with Cunty McTwatface. I’m going to get home to Australia and get punched in the face from comments like “Doesn't that women next to you look like an old slapper in that dress?” or arrested “this place sucks, what do you want to steal?”

Andrew and I like to play a game on the train, its called find the fittest bloke on the train to sit next to. When sober this can be done quite conspicuously, not so when coming home from the pub. We played it the other night, we stepped on the train and both of us ran for the same guy, nearly landing on his lap and squeezed in on either side of him pissing ourselves laughing leaving the poor bastard no space and feeling incredibly uncomfortable. After two minutes of putting up with our continued hysterics he got up and moved seats and we collapsed on the floor. It beats me why Japanese people hate gaijin so much.

Smurf Sized

For reasons unknown to me, Japan lives in miniature. People are pint sized. I have never ever felt tall in my life, until I came to Japan. In Japan I am a giant. Some of the women here are so tiny their waists are smaller than one of my thighs. I cant help but wonder where they keep their organs. Apparently they don't need much food either since everything comes in Smurf sized amounts. You can buy half a sandwich, they fill a thimble when you ask for a small coffee, a bottle of orange juice is almost a mouthful, you don't need a spoon for a tub of yoghurt, potatoes come in packs of 3 wrapped in 3 layers of plastic and you buy your bread in loaves of 3, 6 or 8 slices with the crust pre-removed (clearly the reason why no-one in Japan has curly hair).

Shit. Not her again

Last night it was summer party night at my favourite izakaya in Shizu. It’s my favourite not because they serve raw whale and raw horsemeat but because they let me do whatever I want there. They speak no English at all so I usually get away with stuff with a blank stare while they talk at me in Japanese. Last night I had my new second best friend there to translate for me. She said that they remember me and my antics very well, and that they were aware that I stole one of their hello kitty dolls on my last visit. I reassured them that she has a good home now and that we had given her a new identity. Her friends now refer to her as Michelle and when she is old enough to ask where she came from then I will take her back for a visit. Summer party night rocked. Their first mistake was to offer $15 all you drink and all you can eat Sashimi. Their second mistake was to decorate outside the entrance with an inflatable baby pool and water bombs. As people were leaving the pub they would giggle at the display and pretend they were going to throw one. I think the water bombs were meant for outside, but we were inside, so I brought one in and aimed up a couple in the corner but Chris caught me and diverted my attention to him. My aim was perfect. I hit him directly between the eyes and soaked him. If you were in a pub in Australia and you threw a water bomb at someone they wouldn’t ask any questions, they would just kick you out. Not Japan. Instead of “get that idiot out of here”, the staff immediately produced a bunch of towels and proceeded to dry Chris down. Then they gave me a present for my efforts – my own little water bomb kit.

Last night I also managed to try out my new line. When I hear the negative response to my old pick up line “Do you understand English?” I now know “Do you want me to teach you English?” It’s perfect for a gaijin girl like myself. Both of these stellar lines failed last night on the cute waiter, I had to go one step further and ask “can you teach me Japanese” to which he replied “anata wa nihongo ga joozu desu" (your Japanese is already good). Bugger et.

New Boyfriend (revised)

It wasn’t working out with the old guy with J-teeth so I had to ditch him. It was for the best, we were growing apart. We left on good terms and will hopefully remain good friends and casual sex partners. He took it pretty hard, but who can blame him. I did the only decent thing and told him it wasn’t him it was me and his J-teeth weren’t doing it for me anymore. I’m pretty devoed about the whole thing, but it was beautiful while it lasted. It’s better to have loved and lost.

So now, after an appropriate grieving period, I have a new new boyfriend. It was a beautiful chance encounter and it was love at first sight. I went out to Karaoke with a group of people on Sunday night, my next-door neighbour Andrea and I were getting a little restless confined to the one room so we decided to venture into other peoples rooms. We crashed my boyfriend’s room, I landed on his lap and sparks flew. We spent the evening deep in conversation contemplating the state of the modern world. We gazed into each other’s eyes and dedicated love songs to each other. Unfortunately he doesn't have J-teeth, but he does have a wicked car his parents bought him. After a night dreams are made of and that only Mills and Boon could reproduce, he gave me, and all my mates a lift home in his pimped out ride. It couldn't have been more perfect, he had a lowered minivan and I had 7 friends. Coincidence much? I can tell that this is the beginning of a long and beautiful relationship.

Fine then. He doesn't actually know that he is my new boyfriend. He can’t speak a lick of English. I can’t speak Japanese. We communicated through a few random words and had tickle fights. But the rest is true. And I like the first story better.