Tuesday, June 19, 2012

How NOT TO ACT up to and during a Typhoon.

First, a note:

So this may be the best excuse I have right now for not doing my homework... or it may be just a ridiculous way of publicly admitting my obsession with Paint. But once in a while, I have these "stranger than life" moments and I just feel like drawing them. Crudely, and without any hint of artistic talent. Using primary colours. On my computer.

Some true inspiration for this particular series comes from hyperbole and a half, who is the UNDISPUTED QUEEN of Paint-created pictures.


This is "how not to act up to and during a typhoon." What is it, the THIRD typhoon for Japan in the past year? I swear to jebus that Mother Earth has a serious gear to grind when it comes to Japan. Worst "rainy season" ever. For the record- all of these things either happened to me, or I was witness to them. Weird weather makes people f*cking nuts.


Stand around. Just hang out. Pretend like there's nothing going on and there's DEFINITELY NOT 100/km winds shoving your pants into your crack. Denial is not your friend, and pretending that 'it's just a bit of rain' is going to fool no one. It's just going to make you look like the crazy nutbag you so clearly are.

NUMBER TWO THING NOT TO DO: Try and use an umbrella!
Typhoons are impervious to umbrellas. They laugh in the face of the mere concept of shielding ourselves from the force of nature. Today I killed TWO of these poor excuses for protective plastic simply by TRYING TO USE THEM. JUST... DON'T.

NUMBER THREE THING NOT TO DO: Wear your best clothes to work!

 ... Because timing is everything. And because you're an idiot- an idiot who should listen to the damn weather forecast.

NUMBER FOUR THING NOT TO DO: Leave your windows open-


Despite the warnings in the news, it was deliciously sunny ALL DAY. So, I thought "HEY, WHY THE F*CK NOT?!?!" Apparently I'm functionally retarded and have never heard of the 'calm before the storm' concept. Also, I apparently love soaking up pools of dirty typhoon water with freshly clean towels. APPARENTLY.

NUMBER FIVE THING NOT TO DO:  Wear a skirt/wear white/wear 6 inch heels!

NOPE. Or do, and be the evening's entertainment on the subway ride home. Your choice, really.

NUMBER SIX THING NOT TO DO: Take a moment to interpretive dance/shake yourself off like a dog on a crowded subway platform!

This is not appropriate ANYWHERE. EVER. This guy's an a$$hole. Everyone's already slightly damp (and grumpy) around the edges- NOBODY wants your dirty hair-wax-enhanced-cast-off-street-water splashed in their face because you decided to get creative about drying off. You're a dick. Don't be that guy.

NUMBER SEVEN THING NOT TO DO: Get to know someone... PHYSICALLY... while soaking wet.
Not as sexy as it sounds. While on public transit, DURING RUSH HOUR IN TOKYO... Being soaking wet sucks. Being soaking wet while someone presses their body up against you, EVEN THOUGH THEY DON'T HAVE TO... is possibly one of the worst feelings in the whole world. It's beyond creepy. It's psychologically violating. Respect the bubble. Don't be a d!ck.


You know what I'm talking about. That douche bag that pretends like deodorant is for "pussies." The guy with ZERO respect for public well-being.  That guy.

Hey guy- with the ill-fitted soaking wet pinstripe suit carrying three large shopping bags and a broken umbrella- You're a dick.

So I realize that this post is a little out of character for me, but it needed to be said. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean up a puddle of water under my window sill, and maybe attempt to air-dry my soaking wet clothes.

And please people - try not being a d!ck once in a while. Just try.


Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Christmas Cake, Part Two: Just try not to think about it.

I get kinda weird around my birthdays...

Basically I'm constantly in a state of emo-bullsh*t-limbo between THIS;
 Also this;
But that's enough meme-ing for now.

Between work, grad school, and the pathetic social life I'm currently allowing myself to have, I have absolutely zero time to screw around. That being said, life's a roller coaster...

So DISTRACTION is the name of the game. And I've got lots. Aside from actual human beings in my life, I have other, less healthy (and kind of Japanese-specific) ones. For example, my shoe collection. Something I have in common with Japanese women is the love of heels. I've been collecting shoes since I was a little girl. I love shoes. It's possibly the girly-est thing about me. About 6 months ago, there was a horrible fire that destroyed my shoe collection back in Canada. I lost about 30 pairs of shoes. But I'm trying to move on- slowly creating a new, MORE AWESOME collection. For example, these are my summer shoes;
Flats are for suckers.

And then of course, there's the more normal, everyday distractions. Like the SHINY. I do live in Shinjuku, after all...

 Mr. Robot says EAT YOUR MOTHER F*CKING VEGETABLES... or else.
 Pierce Brosnan joins the Gaijin Celeb ranks... Selling juice...?
Leo says "I'm gonna punch you in the face with this $10,000 watch"...
 New friends in Kimonos...
 So... Shiny...
 I heart Robot...
 Look closely- this is an ACTUAL CLASS I had to teach. Say "loose bowels" with a straight face. Now do it in front of 20 high-school kids...
 A Japanese Pop star/ Fashion model. She's absolutely bat-sh*t. I think I'm in love.
Japanese classical theatre...
Salmon onigiri (Rice ball)...

 Loove? Louvre? Is this joke deliberate?
 A late night of playing "let's find the straight guy in the picture"...
 I... have no words for this.
 Sushi. It's what keeps me going.
 Oh hey, I didn't see you there...
 Na na na na na na na na... Vivian?

So things are probably only going to get weirder in the next couple weeks. But until then,


Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Christmas Cake, Part One; The Sulking.

So, I'm officially OLD.

No, for serious. I'm almost 25. Which means I'm 25% of 100, 1/3 of being statistically dead, and over the official "hump." But all this aging has got me thinking about the little things in life- after all, they're all that counts at the end of the day.

One thing in particular is the evolution of my purse over the years. Now, I was not what you'd call a stereotypical teenager growing up- I hated the idea of carrying my belongings around in some designer skin-sack like all the other girls in my age group. For a SIGNIFICANT amount of time, I rebelled quietly, by only using a burlap bag, that any hippy would have been proud to own. It was small, convenient, and had a tiny green elephant on the cover. I loved that bag. People would look at me funny when I referred to it as my 'purse' (since it was so obviously NOT a purse), and I would feel something resembling smug satisfaction towards them and the whole goddamn situation. Life was good, and I continued this charade until well past my 19th year...

And then my mom got f*cking creative one Christmas and bought me a real purse. She was probably sick of seeing her grown-up little girl carrying around a dirty hippy sack. But I've gotta hand it to her; it was beautiful, black, and leather, and far larger than I thought I could ever possibly need. Compared to my little tote bag, it looked like it could carry entire libraries inside of itself. I tried to fight it desperately, but I loved that new purse. It was SUPER PRETTY. But out of misplaced teenage-defiance, I refused to use it for another 6 months... until one day, my lip gloss held a rebellion inside that little purse... all over EVERYTHING.

And ever since then, I started acting like a real human. Compared to my 15 year old self, I now carry something of an arsenal with me at all times. I've got pretty much anything I could ever possibly want at any time with me, and I think that's part of growing up. You want band-aids? I've got them. Post-it notes? No problem. Metallic blue eyeliner? Probably.

What's worse is that I now own MORE THAN ONE PURSE. Which I think is, in itself, a ridiculous concept. Why does a girl need more than one receptacle to carry her sh*t around in? Surely one is enough??? But the fact that I use more than one is evidence that I'm growing up, almost against my own will. It's a love-hate relationship. It's a first-world problem.

So I'm turning 25 and I'm clearly having a small mental breakdown. Which is most likely going to manifest itself as a self-absorbed pitty-party on the internets. Because that's what My Generation does. Deal.

À bien tôt.