On playing catch up, part two

Hey look, I'm not taking forever to post part two! I might actually be getting back on some sort of writing wagon. So yeah, I split my update of the past few weeks into two  parts, seeing as the first one alone had like a million different pictures and stories. I don't want you to O.D. on my Japan craziness. Getting back on it now though, no worries.

Oh, and more goldfish.

This fish has seen some shit.

Look at its widdle fwuffy cheeks!

You thought I was kidding, didn't you? Why the hell did I go to the same thing twice, two days in a row? Because yeah, that happened. Well, when I went with Peewee, he hadn't told me specifically where we were going. "It's a surprise," he said, and well, fish are awesome. So when next Friend Audition told me we were meeting at Nihonbashi, I got a bit suspicous. Sure enough, we showed up at the exact same place. Now what do you do when you've just been too scatterbrained to realize and are suddenly standing in front of the entrance, internally going "...Oh. Shit."? I mean, my new friend had actually even asked if I'd been here (although that was before I went with Peewee), and I'd said no. So I valiantly pretended that the whole thing was new, and that I had no idea there was a cool goldfish exhibition thingie. Smooth.

It's a really neat exhibition, so it's not like I was bored seeing it twice. It was a lot more crowded than it was when I was there the first time, but still not unbearably so. I think I've grown accustomed to there being a shit-load of people all over the place. Anyways, later we hit a book store and a really nice café, and I've got to say that I was pretty pleased with that Friend Audition. Manabu is a cool dude, even if he's bought into the straw hat trend going on here, which along with his stripy shirt kinda made him look a little like a gondolier.

Fancy-pants cake!

So yeah, that was a long, fish-filled weekend. Now most of my time inbetween weekends is just filled up with work, so when I suddenly got a package in the mail, I was pretty psyched.

Not-so-Mystery package!

A few weeks ago there was this huge sale at V Ave Shoe Repair, that the Puppy was live-streaming by sending me pictures of awesome clothes and bragging about how cheap they were. When he reached the drop crotch pants, something in me just kinda snapped. I needed those pants. Especially seeing as it's been hard to feel like I have any kind of style here, because coming from a sub-zero country, I have loads of cute sweaters but nothing to take the edge of the horrible heat and humidity that Japan is rocking. Finding a good style that I'm happy with is a bit of a challenge.

So yeah, I made the Puppy buy pants for me, and they're totally awesome.

I feel kinda stupid to say it, but having pants that I think are legitimately cool have been doing wonders for my confidence levels. Really. Magical pants are magical. I even wear them to work because I've decided that I don't give a shit that they're technically not up to regulation. If Franco can wear jeans with broken seams, I can wear awesomely tailored pants with a low crotch, and look pretty damn fabulous doing so.

God, I love these pants.

Anywho, moving on to last weekend. Last Friday, I went on a new Friend Audition with a guy who's originally from Osaka, works as a helicopter mechanic, and ultimately seems to believe that we have far more in common than I would ever state. He decided that Belarus is the country of culinary wonders, and that it was the place to go for a nice dinner to get to know someone.

Beets and anchovies tartar... or something? Anyone?

Good old fashioned borscht and cheese-covered tomatos.

Pancakes? With gravy and the toughest meat in the world? Now you're just fucking with me.

The whole thing ended up feeling really bizarre, and I managed to spill gravy on my pants in the clutziest way ever, failing to make it look either graceful or endearing. I just felt so awkward that I was all over the place. The food wasn't bad, but it kinda wasn't my cup of tea.

This motherfucker and her two cohorts was what made me uncomfortable to the point of squirming in my seat. Traditional costume clad, funky-hat-wearing, accordion-wielding Belarusians singing and playing Belarusian songs, passing out instruments and demanding a sing-along with awkward-looking elderly Japanese people, and me and my Friend Audition. No. Just no. I didn't even know where to look. I just kinda wanted it to be over. I mean, Totoro on an accordion is cute and all, but slavic ladies who look you in the eyes with the Ms Universe smile and serenade you in Russian is enough to make me want to leave the restaurant. Just no.

Roppongi isn't my favourite place in Tokyo by far, but I love watching this city. It never ends.

Saturday was a day of one of my far more successful Friend Auditions, meeting and hanging out with Manabu again. This time we hung out in Asakusa, dressed in our yukatas, eating Japanese traditional sweets and for some reason checking out a Czech book store with really expensive second hand furniture. I don't know why he really wanted to go there. We both left the store pretty confused.

But yay for Doraemon!

We wandered around Asakusa for a bit, completely ripping my poor feet to shreds again, but we did have a really nice okonomiyaki and yakisoba lunch, which pretty much filled us up to the point of never wanting to eat again. That stuff is awesome.

Serious Japanese people take serious Japanese cooking seriously.

It is the kind of food dreams are made of, though.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Asakusa, checking out the temple where Shinsengumi's Soji Okita died. For some reason people go here to ask the gods to grant them a husband or date. Can't imagine what Okita was doing there, he was so bad-ass that he must've gotten laid as much as anyone could want. Anywho, Manabu and I were tired and sat in the garden talking about stuff. My brain was pretty tired from constant Japanese at this point, along with constant walking and wearing my yukata. That thing is killer for your back, kinda in the same way that corsets feel when you wear them for a while. Anywho, these little ladies who seemed to be in charge of the temple came over to us to tell us how lovely I looked, ask me where I was from, and tell us that shady people apparently hang around the temple after dark, and that we should leave. Before we did, one of them ran over with a four-leaf clover for me, telling me to keep it for luck.

Adorable old people are adorable.

Manabu and I then planned to go shoot some pool (which may or may not have been a hilarious fail while being dressed in yukatas), but he managed to lose his wallet on the way, and once we'd reached Ikebukuro it became more of a race to find station attendants and file reports and things. In a way it was nice to cut the evening short, even though the reason kinda sucked. Maybe the ladies should've given the clover to Manabu instead.

Sunday was my boss Anthony's last day, and while I don't have too much to say about him leaving, since I haven't really mentioned him all that much, I'm throwing in some bonus pictures of my colleagues for good measure.

Two of my work BFFs - Aron and Mark.

Now ex-boss Anthony, that one counselor that's in charge of the Japanese staff at Ikebukuro whose name I can't remember and somehow managed to not know that I speak Japanese for the past three months, and Aron. I swear, he gets off his phone sometimes.

The whole Goodbye party was more fun than it looks, I promise. Anywho, both Mark and Aron had to leave early, leaving me alone with three bosses - Anthony, the Japanese staff boss, and the district manager for northern Tokyo. Interestingly enough, I've known the district manager since I started, without knowing that he actually was the district manager. No one ever told me. He ended up buying me a big-ass beer, and I guess the whole thing definitely could've been worse. I think I've made an okay enough impression, which obviously is good for me. Situations like this should make me feel like one of those hot chicks in Bond movies that hang around the important villains in their lair, giving a bit of flair and sex appeal to what would otherwise possibly be a bit of a boring dude party, but I tend to end up feeling like someone's awkward little sister that no one really knows and they have to play nice with. Alcohol sure lubricates all of these situations, and none of it was embarrassing, but I'd much rather spend the evening with my work peers, if given the choice. It's much easier saying that your boss can go fuck himself when he's not sitting right next to you.