TheManInJapan

It’s ***** again, and let me tell you that this past week or so has been absolutely insane: stressful, sexy, and just outright ridiculous.  The main things that happened were Culture day, a battle of wits, clubbing, and intense studying.  I also recently realized that I really need a hair cut, because split ends are never in fashion, even when you most often look like Borat with acne.

Culture day was on Thursday, and I was seriously wondering whether I was supposed to do something specific on that day.  There wasn’t any school, so I just assumed that there was going to be something massively organized, because Kyoto is like that.  There wasn’t anything really enticing going on in my neighborhood, so I ended up at the International house (sadly not of pancakes).  There was a cultural celebration going on all right.  I could tell by the fact that at the entrance to the parking lot there was a Japanese man dressed as Santa playing the ukelele.  I’ve decided that I will set up an advertising firm and give that man a permanent job… I’ve never found Santa nor the ukelele more arousing than at that moment.  Really, all I did at the fair was eat.  It was a good choice because I had Russian girls serving me pita bread. (It’s ピタパン and I couldn’t order it with a straight face.  (Editor’s note: The Japanese way of saying “pita bread” sounds a lot like “Peter Pan”.) I had to keep making jokes about how I was going to eat it Neverland, and I started looking around for Native Americans to ask what makes the red man red.  This is why I’m considered a huge asshole back in the states.)  I ran into a strange Japanese man who wanted to talk about American politics and religion in Japanese, which I could have told him was a terrible idea from the start, but I made it about ten minutes into the conversation before making an excuse to leave.   Aren’t those the two things you’re not supposed to talk about unless you’re close friends?  Even then, you usually avoid them I’d think.

The next day, I was shamelessly flirting with one of the Swedish kids when we came across a snag in our verbal battle.  He declared that bands like Super Junior should not exist while Eric Clapton was still alive.  (This came out of nowhere, trust me.)  Now, I do agree that Eric Clapton does indeed have more skill and is actually a musician, while Super Junior, a 13 member boyband from Korea, does not really have musical skill.  However, they should still exist because if there was no Super Junior, I’d have a slightly emptier folder of beautiful Asian boy pictures on my computer.  I’d also have more space in my itunes library…because I’m pretty sure I have at least 40 of their songs.  My mixtapes of the past few years would be missing youthful Korean flavor, and we can’t have that.  This is hard to explain to someone I would consider a Swedish version of Scumbag Steve.  I just ended the conversation by saying “but I don’t want to be in a gang-bang with Eric Clapton”. This lead to a sure victory.

I went to a night club on Saturday, and I’m wildly happy that my first clubbing experience was in Japan.  Most of the guys there are too nice to try to dry hump you into a wall, so you just end up doing weird shit with your arms and legs.  They seemed to appreciate such classics as the Q-tip, the shopping cart, and the “eureka!”  Yes, I was bringing the heat with my Middle-school era dancing.  I ended up going in a party of the girls from my house, a Japanese boy named Yuuki, and a German guy, who if I’m lucky enough, I will eventually make poor decisions with.  The reason I’m only telling you Yuuki’s name is because I will never see him again, and you won’t ever meet him either– so it’s free game.  Yuuki was the most serious human beings I have ever met in my life.  Although he speaks fluent English, he never smiles when he’s speaking it.  I don’t know if he even knows how to joke.  I knew right away that we were not going to be friends, because I believe life is one huge joke.  So I spent the evening switching between the Germans and taking care of a nameless Japanese guy that hit on me early in the evening, and then got so drunk he passed out in a corner.  I really couldn’t just let him lay there, so I bought him water and accompanied him outside when he needed fresh air.  (I’ve had a lot of practice in the arena of taking care of drunk people, as I’ve been a designated driver since I turned 16.)  Apparently, some of the girls from school were at the club as well, and when they saw me talking with all these Japanese guys (I had to, because I was trying to find out where the hell this guy’s friends were) they thought I was some sort of Asians-only slut.  I don’t have the heart to tell them they’re wrong, because this is the best reputation I’ve ever had.

Finally, I was taking a break from massive studying to write all these things, because I have a giant test tomorrow.  As far as I know, I’ve put in about 16+ hours of studying (including those few hours that I had diarrhea)  ((Best time to study actually)) and I might put in an all-nighter tonight.

After this test, I’m going to be training for a ping-pong ball on a spoon race.  I’m dead fucking serious.  I’m going to train for this so that I do not fail my classmates. I WILL END MY OPPONENTS.  I’ll write a novel on it later.

I hope you all are getting along well. 頑張れ！ (damn straight I’m using strong, manly imperatives.  better recogNIZE.)
Katie *****