Tokyo Cowgirl

Real conversation between my father and I

Dad:  So, are you making any friends up there?

Me:  No. Not really.

Dad:  What about at work? You aren't making any friends at your job?

Me:  I work with three women, two of which are over the age of 60 and one that only speaks Spanish.

Dad:  Hmph. When you were here you had a lot of friends.

Me:  I know...

Dad:  You used to have so many!

Me:  I know.

[awkward silence]

Dad:  Maybe you should start going to A.A. meetings, you could meet some nice people there.

Me:  But Daddy, I barely drink anymore.

Dad:  Neither do they!

Me:  Um. It's not the same.

Dad:  Think of all of the great stories you could tell!

Me:  No... Not The Same.

Dad:  That's what you think.

Me:   :-(

hot or not

V and I have had a running battle as to whether or not Angelina Jolie is still hot. Take a guess as to which side of the argument I am on.

say hello to my little friend

Two days ago I was introduced to my 4th roommate, a little six-legged asshole that eats all of the food and doesn't pay any rent. I'm not okay with this and, needless to say, the 4th roommate is no longer alive.

Now, I have heard that New York City has its fair share of mice, rats, and roaches. Believe me, I didn't arrive here expecting to never see any of the three. Nevertheless, and I don't care how childish this may seem, I sure as hell do not want anything inside of my apartment that does not walk on two feet and, preferably, speak English or at the very least something that vaguely resembles English.

That's right. No cats, no dogs, and no youknowwhats.

So, knowing this, you can imagine my surprise when I strolled into the kitchen to find a lone roach staring back at me as if to say, "Hello, good morning! What's for BKfast today?"

Somehow, miraculously, I managed to regain composure, but only after I had awoken both of my other roommates (the kind that only have two legs) with my shrieks and screams and very loud gag reflex.

Stralia, being the brave Aussie that she is, killed our newly discovered 4th roommate and, after disposing of him in about 50+ paper towels,  peeled me off of the ceiling where I had been watching the whole fiasco.

Being as I am not one who is capable of getting over things easily, I have told this story to anyone who has the misfortune of being within a five foot radius of me for over ten minutes. Julius, my first victim, heard the story over a hot dog lunch at the White Horse Tavern (new fav bar, by the way). "Really?" He asked, in disbelief. "Just one?"

A few hours later, to my continued horror, Diva told me over dinner that her $3000/month Midtown one bedroom apartment occassionally has mice and, as she retorted quite flippantly, it's usually one or the other.

These are my choices?

It's not investment banker versus corporate lawyer or Upper East Side versus the Upper West Side, it's mice versus roaches.

Just for the record, I would prefer mice.

Why I have been MIA, by Tokyo Cowgirl.

Dear readers!

There are two reasons I haven't been posting as much as I usually would. The first reason is my fault, I don't seem to be able to orchestrate a successful blog lately, but that probably has quite a bit less to do with me and quite a bit more to do with the second reason: this computer is a piece of shit.

To begin with, for whatever reason, I am now unable to use my Chrome browser to post a blog - I have to open up Typepad with Explorer. When I emailed Typepad and asked them about this, they told me that Google Chrome is not a supported browser. Funny, since I have posted about 50 of my last blogs with this "unsupported" browser, but whatever.

This is, unfortunately, not all. Not only does this computer suck, but Explorer sucks even more, meaning that every time I type a sentence, I have to wait for the computer to catch up. That's right, as I type this very sentence I have yet to see it on the screen. It's so much fun, really, it makes me want to throw the computer out of the window at a small child.

not my cup of tea

I don't mean to make light of a certain situation, but I have a question.

If someone could please explain to me why these god damned terrorists need to blow everything up and kill everyone in sight while they're doing it. Do they think they are the only ones who have had a bad day? A bad life? Lots of people have had bad lives and they don't need to ruin everyone else's life, why do these moronic lucifers feel so entitled?

Because they are assholes? Because they hate America and Britain and Israel and, increasingly the last two years, India? Because someone, somewhere, told them that killing innocent strangers is a perfectly acceptable way to pass the time while you're waiting for your meds to kick in, or, I can only guess, Jihad?

You know, sometimes I wake up and I'm... a little bitter. Hostile, even. And sometimes, not that often, but maybe more than I would like to admit, I get really mad and I break things. I refer to these childish episodes as "temper tantrums", because really, that's what they are.

And you know what else? I don't like Republicans. I don't break things because of them but I do get a *little* bit more worked up than most intelligent, balanced people would once they realize they are dealing with a group of people (half of America) missing crucial components of their right and left brains.

But, shockingly enough, what I do not do is grab the nearest AK-47 and start off'ing people, one by one.

happy turkey day

Aha!

Just that I am able to post this is a fucking miracle, a miracle I tell you! Do you know why? Because this computer is a god damned piece of fucking shit, that's why. And no, I'm not complaining, I'm stating a fact. Somehow, yesterday, in between sleeping ten hours and not doing a single productive thing, I must have tripped and fallen on a virus or ten. This is amazing in and of itself since I don't exactly recall downloading anything. I mean, I do recall wanting to download something, that Paris Hilton sex tape to be specific because I'm obsessed with her in a do-i-hate-her-or-do-i-love-her-someone-hit-me-over-the-head kind of way and OBVIOUSLY the only way to figure out the answer to that timeless question would be to watch her have sex.

But I didn't download it. V and I went out to dinner instead.

And on a completely unrelated note:

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my friends back home in America! I miss you guys SO MUCH. Fedora and Corbin in Chicago, have fun with Ben and your vegan turkey. I was going to type something tacky about Ben looking up girls' dresses but I decided against it. Dani, I hope you get that recipe figured out, and if in doubt, make your mom do it. Vixen, you don't read my blog anyway, WHAT THE FUCK. Greg and Ash, I love you both, you need to name your first born child after me (hell, the name works both ways, right?). Destiny, I MISS YOU SO MUCH! I hope you have a good T-day with your fam and I can't wait to see you, hopefully sometime after Christmas if I'm back in Texas. Lukas, you too. I know what you're thinking, too. You're thinking I never email. Nope, not true. I'm just playing hard to get. Aislin, why don't you live in Texas, WHY? Diva, dear dear Diva, I don't know if you're going to be in NYC or in Texas or fucking Paris, but whichever it is, I know you're going to be fabulous with your gorgeous French husband and two bites of turkey dinner. And last but not least, Z. My BFF since junior high, my curly haired fellow orch-dork, I know that you will have a drink for me this holiday season! I was thinking yesterday that you need to start a blog and name it Zeedonism. It's perfect, especially if you take the plunge and decide to convert to Christianity.

And yes, I realize that the majority of you won't read this until after Thanksgiving, but whatevs, at least it will come as a nice surprise when you're all back at work and hungover Monday morning.

If I have forgotten about you it's because you haven't emailed me lately, but happy turkey day to you, too :-)

JU_ITER

Last Friday my friends and I stumbled upon the one and only bar in all of Tokyo that is non-smoking. I had no idea that such an establishment existed in this city and I was not very happy to discover this after drinking a liter of sangria and a bottle of wine. As I have said before, while I am not a smoker, I am certainly not a non-smoker, and if there is ever anything even remotely alcoholic in one hand, I don't care if it's a glass of white wine or turpentine, then I will have a cigarette in the other. 

There clearly was no way I was going to allow a little nicotine prohibition to ruin my evening and definitely not with a fresh pack of cigarettes in my purse. I had smoked at dinner, god damn it, who were they to tell me to stop now? One vodka-something later I left my 3 non-smoking companions to join the other smokers outside- except there were no other smokers outside.

In less than two minutes I had defaced the chalk board outside of our bar and stolen the P from the Jupiter sign outside of the neighboring bar. Apparently this is what happens when I'm not allowed to drink and smoke simultaneously: vandalization. 

About the time that Persia walked outside to join me was about the time that I got caught red-handed, or, more accurately, P-handed. The angry Japanese barman took the stolen P away from me and erased the chalkboard that I had, well, erased a few unfortunate words and letters from.

He also, I guess, told on me, because our bartender walked up to our table shortly thereafter with a tense expression of discernible disgust smeared all over his pretty little Japanese face. With V serving as my translator I was politely asked to return the P sign, which I already had done, and to apologize to the Jupiter bartender (as if he would have understood English anyway) which I also already had done.

When our bartender was standing over our table I could see he was struggling between yelling at me and strangling me to death. Instead, probably because he's Japanese, he settled on politely asking me to do two things that we both knew had already been taken care of. To give the man credit though, he didn't bow as he left the table. In fact, I don't think he bowed once. 

I'm really not a bitch, I'm just playful, and the more I drink the more playful I become. My intention was never to horrify every Japanese person within a five mile radius of me, nor did I intend on getting caught. Nevertheless, I did. I also singlehandedly managed to succeed in bringing public shame to a Shibuya bar, my boyfriend, and my two friends, all in the amount of time it took me to smoke a cigarette.   

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I need to stop smoking. 

going bananas

The news hasn't been so great lately. 

For starters, Sarah Palin's all too bright spotlight has been eclipsed by Joe the Plumber's ignorance. C'mon people, middle class America is not this ridiculous. The U.S. didn't get to the top of the food chain by showing the rest of the world how discouragingly unenlightened we can be. In the future, or more accurately, if we're planning on there being anything that resembles a future, how about we do ourselves a gigantic favor and remember that if every news station in the country is parked in our front driveway there is a very, very good chance that we need to know what we're talking about before we step in front of a camera. If you're a specialist on the subject, then by all means, dive into social security, Obama's proposed tax cuts, and the war in Iraq. But if you're a plumber, keep it simple, talk about plumbing. If you're Sarah Palin, keep it simple, don't talk at all. 

(An additional helpful side note to all Americans in the news including John McCain: Take a clue from Obama, the I in Iraq is not long, so it's pronounced ear-rack, not i-rack. This is similarly true for Iran, except it should sound like ear-ron, not ear-ran. Also, contrary to whatever W might have you believe, Pakistan should not be spoken with a long a-sound. That is all, kthxbye.)

Next, and you should know about this unless you have been hiding under a rock for the past two weeks, the United States is losing a very important game of Monopoly right now. We've just sold all of our utilities to congress and Asia has bought up Park Place along with all of those fancy orange properties and even a few of the green ones. Right now it seems like the only thing keeping the U.S. afloat are those cheap purple squares that nobody wants, the $200 dollars we get for passing go, and a few get-out-of-jail-free cards.

It's amazing to think that in 8 years an entire empire can turn belly up, leaving America literally for sale and a president running for the exit. But sadly, this seems to be the case.

Fortunately though, and this is pretty fucking remarkable considering it seems to be dominating the headlines these days, America's financial crisis is being overshadowed by a larger, more menacing problem. There is in fact something far more worrisome being reported on recently, a far better example of raging stupidity, and it's happening right here on my side of the planet.

BANANA SHORTAGE IN JAPAN

This isn't going to come as a big surprise to anyone who has been to a Tokyo grocery store recently, but Japan is in a state of emergency due to a severe banana shortage. No, that wayward monkey loose on the Tokyo subway did not steal all of the aforementioned yellow imports. Alas, it is worse than that. 

A celebrity, an individual who shall remain nameless to conceal her otherwise inconsequential identity, advertised on a popular TV show that she lost 15ibs in six weeks by eating nothing more than bananas and a glass of room temperature water for breakfast, followed by a sensible lunch and dinner (sans dessert) and bed before midnight.

What? You mean to tell me that if you lower your caloric intake, don't skip breakfast, and get a good night's rest you will lose weight??? 

Shocking!

The women of Japan, in yet another successful attempt to prove to me that they are in serious need of a self-esteem and a better health education, gobbled up the fad diet and every banana available for sale, leading to the worst banana shortage in the nation's history. 

There are many many many fundamental problems with this diet but I'm going to skip those and make a beeline for the most obvious one - most Japanese women do not need to lose weight. By virtue of simply being Japanese they are also skinny, so skinny in fact that the majority of the demographic weighs little more than 100lbs. They have less of an ass than they do an inverted A-cup, two problems that can not be rectified with a banana every morning alongside a glass of tepid tap water. 

Someone needs to inform these ladies that looking like an anorexic fifth grader is not hot, not at all. Moreover, if they are dating a man that thinks it is hot then he himself is probably dealing with a few things, namely pedophilia.   

In Tokyo at least, the majority of us enjoy a healthy, ambulatory lifestyle that includes a nutritious diet of fish and fish with a side of fish. The Japanese enjoy the highest life expectancy rates in the world, and this is despite their stunning ability to inhale a carton of cigarettes every five minutes.  

The banana diet fad will die out, just as every fad diet has died out before, and the Japanese women will be left with exactly what they started out with. 

A size 0 figure that most of the world would kill for. 

And an inverted A-cup, of course.

skinny bitch

After I successfully demolished my parents' house, any chances of using their car in the future, and an already fragile relationship with the only two direct relatives I have, I thought it was high time for me to listen to that little voice inside my head that keeps me out of bad places, like jail, and run away to Destiny's casa in McKinney.

Now Destiny and I have known each other for about seven years now, about as long as she has had her son, T, and her ex-husband, Asswipe. She was one of my best friends, if not the best friend, through every major breakup and every major catasrophe I have ever endured since I have been of drinking age. Knowing this and that we're both the same age, self-destructive, cell-phone destructive, and relationship destructive, it makes sense that she would be my first friend to turn to.

After I filled her in on all of the details and that no, we couldn't fix all of the things I had broken before my parents got home, we both decided that the best panacea, the best way to forget about everything, was alcohol. 

Saturday night started off with that pigment-rich cocktail only available in the house of a single mother, a vodka kool-aid. A few hours later we found ourselves drinking in public (never a good idea) and I, being the classy drunk that I am, was only able to cease drinking for the 2.5 seconds it would take to churn out invaluable gems of profundity like, "the only things that matter in this world are being skinny and being able to smoke."

Deep. The fact that I have any friends at all is sometimes truly remarkable, really.

Not only do I not remember busting out this pearl of wisdom, but apparently it was followed with me being told I couldn't smoke inside of the bar we were at (this was not Japan, after all) which, for reasons my sober self will never understand, prompted my drunk self to toss my cigarette on the ground at the manager's feet and extinguish it with my foot. 

The fact that I wasn't kicked out at that point is either a testament to how cute I am or how retarded. Whichever it was, the scene was invariably repeated the next night, at the same bar, but instead of waving a cigarette around I was waving around a microphone singing the lyrics to You Give Love a Bad Name. 

20+ hours of planes trains and automobiles later, I'm back home in Tokyo, finally, and I'm bound and determined to put a positive spin on a week that *maybe* could have been a little bit more productive and a little bit less volatile. Just maybe.

It was great to spend more time with my friends, absolutely. Nevertheless, (fuck the positive spin) my decision to spend the remainder of the week at Destiny's house had less to do with socializing and more to do with an innate sense of self-preservation. If I had been unfortunate enough to have been present at my parent's after they came home from their musical my mother would have sauteed me for dinner and my dad, in his unending quest to placate her, would have allowed her to.

After the incident my mom emailed me two scathing letters, basically severing any ties with me and informing me that she is going to keep the house "as is" for whatever completely insane and unsafe reason her brain came up with. Quite sincerely I feel really bad about what happened, I really do, but seeing as my parents have never really liked me that much to begin with my mind has been occupied with more important things. Like clothes, for example. 

I still don't have any.

In between my mom yelling at my dad for being too old and me breaking every antique in the house, I wasn't able to find the time to go shopping for winter clothes that Saturday/Sunday like I had originally planned. More importantly, and this is very important, my dry cleaning (which includes my coat and almost every dress I own) is still in Dallas for that same reason.

This means that I left Texas with less clothes than I went there with, and, as if that wasn't bad enough, completely failed to obtain any of the clothes I went there to buy in the first place.

Thank god the only things that matter in this world are being skinny and being able to smoke, right? At least now that I'm back in Tokyo those two things can not, will not, be taken away from me.

my mother, my self

My mother, the same one who has been bearable throughout the week, even downright pleasant at times, has turned into her usual heinous self. My first indication that it was about to become a very, very long weekend was when the doorbell rang yesterday afternoon.

I was hungover, as usual, and barely wearing any clothes, as usual, and I didn't want my first interaction with the dude on the front porch to be one where he can see my nipples. My dad was literally no more than 20 feet away from the door but he is in his 80s, after all, and by the time he and his walker would have made it to the entryway the man waiting behind the door would have already gone back home, gotten married, and had three children.

"Mom!" I yelled from the hallway, "I'm not dressed appropriately, will you answer the door please?"

"No."

Bitch.

Then, much later on in the evening, I heard her screaming in the garage. Now, given the circumstances surrounding this event I would usually question my own hearing, but there are a few things I'm very familiar with, and my mother's screaming is one of them. It started about the time I was born and it ended right about never. Don't ask me what she was screaming about or who she was screaming at, I have no idea, all I know is that my father was asleep in his bed and my mother should have been asleep in her bed, but no, she was in the garage all by herself screaming at something.

Unbelievable.

This morning she started groaning at my dad, the same one who is in his 80s, because he wasn't able to pick up his god damned walker and move it into the bedroom. I'm just going to write that again because I can't even believe it. My mother, the anti-christ who is in her upper 50's, was screaming at her husband, my father, someone who is 25 years her senior, because he couldn't overcome his Parkinson's or shattered knee for the 10 seconds it would take to lift his 15 pound walker.

Un-fucking-believable.

I, being the reactive person that I am, opened up a chorus line of my own heated anger aimed directly at her. "What is your fucking problem?"

To which she responded that her back hurt and she wasn't in the mood for this today.

It's important to note that I was eating my artichoke and basil salsa for bkfast, and at that precise moment I envisioned myself hurling the salsa at the wall and launching a full scale verbal and physical assault.

But I didn't. 

I somehow managed to restrain myself, although I will readily admit using 4-letter words with one's mother barely constitutes restraint. Nevertheless, I was proud of myself until I discovered one tiny little detail. The red truck, the vehicle she had allowed me to use thus far, was gone, leaving me car-less and alone on a Saturday that I had made plans to do things, the most important of which would be picking up my dry cleaning and the one coat I have to my name.

In my infinite inability to control my anger I did my usual thing and broke quite a few of their more valuable possessions. Yes, it was immature, yes, it will make things worse for my father, and yes I have just successfully achieved another 3 or 4 years of my mother and I not speaking to each other.

And no, I will not be here when they get home.

Sigh.

let's tango

Yesterday I happened to finally check my emailtokyocowgirl account, I try to do this about once every other full moon, and what did I discover but about 70+ new unread messages from complete strangers responding to *my* classified ad in the Metropolis.  

"Hmph," I thought to myself. "This is about to get really interesting."

I opened one of the emails and clicked on the link that led to *my* personal ad.  And lo and behold, there I was, Tokyo Cowgirl, along with my full-color photo. 

Cowgirl in Tokyo, 27, Gemini, seeks older gaijin men, 35-70, for no-strings-attached fun around Shirokandeai. I'm beautiful so no ugly people please. Relationships are a dance between two people, so let's tango. emailtokyocowgirl@yahoo.com

Me and a 70yr old?  Are you seriously serious?

Clearly someone (a complete lame-o) dedicated a considerable amount of time, effort, and money to organize such a well-orchestrated prank.  Really, I'm flattered.  I'm also flattered that my picture, along with *my* ad, was one of the most popular featured in Metropolis this week.  I mean, at least everyone thinks I'm hot, right?

Wrong. The idea that Metropolis, "Japan's No 1 English Magazine", will literally allow ANYONE to post someone's picture along with a salacious solicitation for sex, without at least sending some sort of verification email to the solicitor in question (and/or other prohibitive measures) is remarkable, to say the least. It's so remarkable in fact that attorneys are involved now. How nice.

Meanwhile, to exploit my anger as best as possible, I'm going to post several of the replies I have received over the next three days, along with their email addresses, photos, and phone numbers.  

And yes, my dear Metropolis, I know your management is reading this right now and I'm glad that I have your attention. As you are well aware by now, the ad in your publication is not mine, although both the picture and the email address are.    

Regardless of whatever complaints you have received concerning my blog in the past, complaints that you never made me aware of, what you have permitted to occur here is reprehensible. By failing to implement even the most rudimentary security measures you have succeeded in subjecting me to a barrage of malicious attacks -- attacks that have taken the form of innumerable emails, internet exposure, and a countless number of Metropolis magazines circulating Tokyo with my picture- in all of its full-color glossy glory- along with my purported desire to have sex with every non-ugly foreign man in Tokyo between the ages of 35-70.

While I will readily admit that there is a possibility that Operation Diddily Squat, a product of my Tokyo Cowgirl blog, spawned this attack on my identity and privacy, I also fully hold Metropolis accountable for not only providing an easily accessible vehicle from which this person could launch their aggression, but also for the dissemination of the defamatory material.   

If you thought I was going to sit by idly with my blog on lock-down while you try to figure out how best to placate me, you're sadly mistaken.

After all, I think the ad says it best; Let's tango.

~~~

A few of the emails I have received are below; in typical ODS fashion all things that I have added for comedic relief are italicized in black.

Sender's name: jack
Sender's email address: rackripperz@yahoo.com
Message as follows:

Jesus, You're not even that good looking. What's with that stupid low cut gown. God, it seems like every fucking gaijin slut comes over here and thinks she so hot. I bet you actually think you're better than most people here. I've met plenty of people like you. you come over here with your husband who is 100 times more intelligent than you. I bet he has ridiculously high paying job. But you don't do shit. You don't work, and you're probably fucking schizophrenic or bipolar. I bet you're bored out of your mind and being a slut is your stupid little escape. I bet you act all quiet around your hubby and go live the little wife part with all the company outings. Sitting there looking stupid while he talks japanese and you don't know shit about what is going on. Get used to it. He'll never leave the high paying job for any pussy. He doesn't work as late as you think. He just fucks the hot young locals while you hang out for the rest of your life with stupid expat wives in the same situation as you. And I bet you don't think this is forever either.... I've met plenty like you.

Something tells me that this guy's idea of "the hot young locals" is anything with ten fingers and toes. I wrote this asswipe back and told him, quite succinctly, to go fuck himself.

from:  japanfucksyou@hotmail.com  

FUCK YOU GAIJIN GIRL ! GO BACK TO YOUR FUCKING COUNTRY ! MOVE YOUR ASS FROM JAPAN. JAPAN BELONGS TO JAPANESE SO GO BACK TO YOUR FUCKING COUNTRY, FUCKING GAIJIN 

from: "timyy timyy" <dingdongtokyo@hotmail.com>

hello cowgirl

i saw your advert and just wanted to send you the coldest hello in the world. 
Your not that stunning and the fact you are advertising in the lonely hearts shows that you are pretty desperate and that your looks obviously  don't get you anywhere so that must mean you have a shit personality and guess what i think i'm right!!!! yes i am
the fact you regard yourself as beautiful and don't want to hear from so called ugly people shows you are shallow and a twat, you yourself are ugly for only looking skin deep!
you would go out with a man who is 70 for fuck sake could you be any more of a gold digger and not care that you have written it in black and white!
i hope you find a real bastard who treats you like shit, you care only about money and good looks, if you don't have love you have nothing. i hope you never find it with your shallow attitude you ugly, cold hearted, self occupied, narcissistic bitch you will die alone with no one to love you unless you change your ways, for you future you should become a better person!
if you read to the bottom i guess you were waiting for me to say something nice ! well fuck off 

Dude! I'm glad you love exclamation marks(!), but learn how to capitalize. Please. Also, and I am only bringing this up because it's a pet peeve of mine, you need to know that your and you're are two very different things. It's okay that you're (notice the apostrophe? Try it! It's awesome!) two sandwiches short of a picnic- hell, most Western men in Japan are, nonetheless, next time you send me hate mail please be courageous enough to send a working email address. 

 

Sender's name: Nick
Sender's email address: transfolie@gmail.com
Message as follows:

Looking forward!
Please can you send more details .
Time/rate/place/etc...

"junshiono@pdx.ne.jp" <junshiono@pdx.ne.jp>

wrote:

Hello

My name is Jun. Japanese single male.
Living in Musashi-kosugi.
40years old, 175ｃｍ、60ｋｇ
I work for diamond tool company as an enginner.
My interests are music,movies and goingout.
How about talk over a coffee.
I am a little bit overaged for your range.

Regards

Considering the ad, I'm not sure how you could be "overaged". Apparently my age restrictions appear to be pretty freaking flexible. 

Sender's name: dragons
Sender's email address: dragons@link.net
Message as follows:

if you are submissive would like to try hard egyptian dick deep in your ass while you are on the floor of my hotel room with your face to the floor and your panties down your knees , write back

"SkinnyKatz@softbank.ne.jp" <SkinnyKatz@softbank.ne.jp>

why dont we get drunk n scru..?

(*^。^*)

Red, White, and What The Fuck

Let there be no mistake, I LOVE AMERICA.  I love the diversity, I love the momentum, and god damned it, I love the football.  Not really, actually, but it sounds American and therefor I like it.  But there has been something that has begun to worry me about my home country, and that feeling has a name. 

Sarah Fucking Palin.

Jesus Christ.  If anyone of my beloved readers likes her, you had better stop reading now.  In fact, you had better stop reading forever, because I would sooner die than have anyone who is that much of an imbecile actually finding humor and/or amusement from any of my assorted ramblings.  If you think I'm kidding, you're wrong.  Abso-freaking-lutely 100% wrong. Just like Sarah Fucking Palin's VP nomination.

Without hesitation, I will admit that I am a Democrat, and more than that I am an Obamaphile.  I was giving money to his campaign one year before the majority of America even knew his name.  But, in all sincerity, my political preferences have absolutely nothing to do with this.  Do you know why? Because I actually liked McCain, that's why.  No, I did not want him to be my next President, but I sure as hell thought he was a lot more level-headed than the other options the Republicans were throwing at us. Mitt Romney, for example.  That asshole strapped his god damned dog to the roof of his car for 12 hours and 20+ years later he's endorsing water-boarding.  Go figure.

But McCain had to go and ruin it.  I realize that Lieberman was his first choice for the VP nomination but the powers that be in the Republican party knew that adding an Independent to the ticket would be the end of their ideals, agenda, and big fat bank accounts, but you would think that they would come up with something that's not quite as transparent and asinine as Sarah Fucking Palin.

Her bible-thumping, this-war-is-God's-plan ideology in and of itself does not infuriate me.  What infuriates me is that there are actually people out there who think her nomination is okay.  Not only do they think it's okay, they actually are rallying behind her.  What exactly are these people rallying behind?  Her nice ass?  I'm GLAD she has a nice ass, now how about we give her a beer commercial or something and save the VP position for someone who knows that seeing Russia from your balcony doesn't exactly qualify you to be commander-in-chief.  And, I'm just going to throw this out there, but being a lipstick soccer mom does not under any circumstances or in any form or fashion guarantee intelligence, veracity, or strength of character.  

So again, what exactly was okay about her nomination?  She is one heartbeat away from being the President of the United States but has less foreign policy experience than I do. "Sure," these people say. "She doesn't know what the Bush Doctrine is, but the average blue-collar American doesn't know what that is."  Well thanks, Caption Idiots!  Guess what, I didn't know what the Bush Doctrine was either, but I'm not running for Vice President.  Odds are, if you're reading this, you aren't either. How about we do the world a favor and keep it that way.

I realize that Alaska is elated to have finally found a way to weasel itself into a national conversation. After all, the only time the mainland really discuses the 49th or 50th state or whichever it was is when we're talking about drilling in the Arctic Wildlife Reserve or polar bears or that Into The Wild movie. Certainly noone expected a serious presidential candidate to ever come from anywhere as far out as the North Pole.  Gee, how cool.  No pun intended. How cool it is that some people are happily exclaiming that we are almost one Supreme Court Justice away from overturning Roe vs. Wade. Let's make abortion illegal, that's a freaking BRILLIANT idea. That's exactly what this country needs. More stupid people.  

Like Sarah Fucking Palin.        

Comment of the hour

Check out the comment of the hour from raretreatskf@gmail.com:

you are an evil white bitch. Leave us middle aged creeps looking for J pussy alone. You are jealous we wont even look at a white beast like yourself. Go back to Australia or wherever the hell you came from and let us guys who can't get laid anywhere else get on with our lives.

As much as I enjoyed this, I am not sure whether I should take it seriously or not.  It appears to be a genuinely visceral reaction, but yet why would he condemn himself with an open assertion that he can not get laid anywhere else?  Believe me, raretreatskf, I KNOW that you are incapable of getting laid anywhere else.  I, on the other hand, can. That is the difference between you and I. You are pathetic, I am not.  While I am ｏｆｆ being the beautiful Texas girl that I am, pausing when looking at myself in the mirror only to look at myself in another mirror, you are sitting at home diddiling yourself to images of prepubescent "J pussy" (tasteful imagery, by the way... really...) Why?  Because you can't get laid anywhere else.  

Thankyouverymuch.

For all of his spite I think his website deserves mentioning:  http://raretreats.livejournal.com/

Just for fun I emailed him back with my real email address and real name, and advised him to look forward to later installments of Operation Diddily Squat in the very near future.

Cheers. 

Blanket apology to everyone else for breaking my computer as such an inopportune time, Operation ODS will be back and running by tomorrow afternoon.

Toitle Soup

Something to amuse yourselves making while you wait breathlessly for my return from vacation.  Right.

How to make Turtle Soup

1. Make sure the turtle you are using is at least 3 to 4 years old!
2. Use a sharp knife and plunge it down the front of a turtle, then remove the guts and heart.
3. Scoop out the meat from the shell using a spoon.
4. Drain the blood (You may want to keep it for drinking later as it contains collagen which is great for skin).
5. Wash the turtle meat thoroughly
6. Boil the turtle meat
7. Heat the soup stock
8. Add the turtle meat in
9. Stew for 25 minutes before adding the vegetables.
10. Serve with the turtle blood in a wine glass

Thanks, wikiHow, because I don't know how I could have made it one more second without knowing how to take my pet turtle, split him wide open while he's still alive, remove his heart, pour his blood into a wine glass, and make him into soup.   

Re. Vol. Ting.

I found out about this new and delightful recipe for disgustingness when I was reading a New York Times article about China barring the sale and consumption of dog meat from food vendors at the Summer Olympics.  Personally, I'm all for exploring other cultures and everything that entails, but I draw the line at food.  Even here, in Japan- I love Japanese food, and I like to try everything at least once, but on principle I refuse to eat anything that has two eyes staring back at me.  How do I know that a zealous Japanese chef, in an effort to serve everything as fresh as possible, didn't just paralyze it and put it on a plate?  I don't.  That's why I want the head to be neatly severed and disposed of.  Besides, I have enough things to feel guilty about, like eating meat in general.  I certainly don't want the added weight of whatever it is I'm about to chow down on glaring up at me while I eat it.

As for turtle blood and its purported collagen boosting effects, there are other ways to achieve smooth, supple skin.  Ways that don't make a person want to go trip and fall on a knife and die.  Like sunscreen.  Or Estee Lauder.  Or not drinking turtle blood.

the cost war

According to Forbes magazine, Moscow is the most expensive city to live in. 

Tokyo came in second.

London came in third.

I found this information a little disturbing.  "What?" I thought to myself, as my heart died a little, "There is someone who has just as little money as I do, living in the same 5x5 one bedroom closet as me, and they are even poorer than I am?  That's just not fair!"

Had London been number 1, I wouldn't have been traumatized by this article.  London is notoriously expensive, you can't even order a pizza without taking out a second mortgage.  And that was when the US Dollar was actually worth something (a dollar, I guess).  But Moscow?  Seriously?  This isn't even an us vs them cold war thing, it's a cold thing. Do they even have summers over there?  Who wants to live somewhere where you have to wear two coats, one on top of the other, 365 days a year?

According to the article the real estate in Tokyo is more expensive than it is in Moscow.  No shit, Sherlock.  So, Forbes-article-that-may-or-may-not-be-correct aside, I would like to know what exactly is so expensive in Moscow?  The Communist Manifesto?  And, more importantly, even if there is something expensive there, why would anyone want to live there anyway?

Over here in Tokyo we're living on the cutting edge of technology. It's so cutting edge we're bleeding all over the place.  Especially me.  I realize that it's quite innovative to have a washing machine that dries your clothes too, but really, can't I just have a little bit more to do around the house?  Please?  Don't even get me started on the phones, there's a reason I haven't replaced the old one yet.  

What exactly is Moscow on the cutting edge of?  Fur coats?  How vulgar.  It's better to be a whale off of the coast of Japan than a four footed anything in Russia, I assure you.

Now that the whole pesky communism thing is over I'm sure that Moscow has become increasingly cosmopolitan over the years.  They had to.  After you emerge from a dictatorship anything that doesn't have a hammer and sickle on it and/or isn't mandated by the government would have to be considered an improvement, now wouldn't it.  Clearly the Russians are doing a little better since then, but since when does tripping and falling on a "global commodities boom" guarantee style?  There are 74 billionaires stomping around Moscow, buying fur coats, palaces, and New York City, but for some not-so-inexplicable reason I don't see a lot of wealthy anybodys hippity hoppiting over to Russia to catch up on the latest and greatest styles.  There's a reason for that.    

Tokyo, on the other hand, has style.  Whatever faults the Japanese may have (a subject I explore dutifully), they are not tacky.  It's intimidating in fact.  No matter what my disposable income may or may not be (and I can assure you it's wholly the latter) I will never be able to keep up with the girls in Aoyama, walking down Omotesando.  They probably knew about gladiator sandals before the Romans did.  V and I had lunch on the top floor of the Armani building with his firm last Saturday and as soon as we stepped off of the elevator the Maitre'd gave us a look like we should just go ahead and get back on that elevator, push the down button, and go back where we came from.

Thankfully, that's not Moscow.  I'm not a big fan of Vladimir Putin anyway.    

Do you have a beard?

Reason #499 that I love Tokyo:  The Metropolis personal ads.

Up until recently the Metropolis was just another magazine to me, but that was before I discovered the endless array of personal ads in the back of the magazine.  Not unlike most personal ads, the Metropolis offers several pages for your viewing pleasure, with the ads themselves all categorized under standard headings like "Friends and Interests" or "Men Looking for Women".  What makes these personals more entertaining than other lame-bot personals are the cultural exchanges. Even the most harmless solicitations are sure to provide an amusing smörgåsbord of adjectives straight out of the nearest Japanese English dictionary ("sexy intelligent funny sweet seeks funny cynical easygoing sincere professional Caucasian man...") a word or two of Engrish, or even an endearing "I was a bad boy, but now I'm good!"  Then there are always the email addresses.  Nothing says "sophisticated and monogamous" like a you_plus_me_equals_69 yahoo account.   

V, Harvard, and I were entertained for an entire hour last night reading the 3 pages of ads in this week's publication.  If I had a camera I would take a picture of the specific ads that I'm listing here, just so you would have unequivocal proof that I'm not making this crap up, but I don't.  I assure you I'm not.  Believe me, I wish I was that creative. Originally I wasn't going to include the writers' email addresses, but then I decided that it was (a) further proof that I'm not pulling these out of my youknowwhat, and (b) broadening these eager men and women's audience and therefor providing them a free service.  FYI- Only 10 of this week's personal ads have been deemed odd enough to be placed under the "And Others..." category, none of which I have included here today.  It makes you wonder how sexually aberrant your ad really has to be before it's shuffled off under the weirdos/freaks/batshitcrazy heading.

Aching for love? Caring, responsible, professional, SJM, 30's, seeks non-Japanese female partner, charming but wicked inside.  Do you sometimes desire burning sensations? Let's exchange our photos first.  freshdeep71@yahoo.co.jp

Nice. I guess someone didn't tell this caring guy that if it burns when you pee it's not love, it's an STD.  At least they can exchange photos before they exchange venereal diseases.

Afternoon koibito.  Gentle, strong, handsome, smart white man, 40, seeks thin lady, shy ok, housewife ok, 30-50, Tokyo to Shonan for (insert Kanji I don't know here).  Chatting only ok.  beromoumai@gmail.com

Seeking a thin, shy housewife?  You and every other guy in Tokyo, dude!  Get in line- there are about 6 million salarymen in front of you. 

Uncomplicated married woman.  Me: SWM with no marriage plans, seeking uncomplicated, physical fun.  You: married, located on JR Yokohama line.  Age and body type are not important.  Let's spend some steamy hours together. captycrown@hotmail.com

Where do I start.  Apparently this means any uncomplicated married women from the Ginza line are a no-go.  God forbid this jackass actually has to pull out his Pasmo card more than twice.

Do you have a beard? JF, 27, living in Tokyo.  I would love to be friends with people with beards!  Because I just like it!  Please show me your nice ones!  Let's be friends.  bopj5aj@hotmail.com

V probably responded to this one. Ugh.

Strange Fantasy.  Male, 32, seeks female (looks don't matter; your clothes stay on, no sex), to make my strange, private fantasy come true, in exchange for... you choose.  agent-x@japanese-mistress.com

I love the ambiguous dot dot dots, it's like you get to play fillintheblank.  "In exchange for... (a) me murdering you, (b) me cutting you up into tiny little pieces and having sex with your body parts, or (c) all of the above."  At least our intrepid Agent X is astute enough to realize he's two sandwiches short of a picnic.  Unfortunately he probably realized this one day when he was dismembering his neighbor's wife, but hell... (emphasis on the dot dot dot) at least she had all of her clothes on when he did it. 

Princess seeks fat men.  I love fat guys. Slim, beautiful Japanese lady seeks fat men to dominate.  Must be clean, and smell sweet.  kirakiraojousama@yahoo.com

This delightful little gem was nestled in between "Peacefully shining" (a 42 SJF searching for her vegan soul-mate) and "Sexy trilingual" (if you're so sexy and smart why are you resorting to personal ads?).  Whoever kirakiraojousama is and whatever her problems are, you have to love someone who loves fat guys.  That is, of course, so long as they are clean and smell sweet.  Foul smelling fattys need not apply.

The Spaniard.  Attractive Spanish teacher and business owner, easygoing, friendly, sincere, wealthy... hard to write about myself... Ah, romantic, educated.  Seeking female for sincere relationship, friendship.  aj35d11@excite.com

What the Spaniard wanted to write: "Hard to write about myself... but... I'm kind of perfect.  And wonderful.  And rich.  And the rising sun shines out of my ass.  You should kiss my feet just because you're lucky enough to be reading this personal ad.  Did I mention I'm wonderful?"

Bilingual Japanese Beauty.  30's, long hair, fit, central Tokyo, seeks SWM, tall and fit professional, 25-40, well-educated, successful, financially secure.  Must be single, nonsmoking, preferably in Minato-ku.  Serious only. Email w/photo. orihime_tokyoite@yahoo.co.jp

Hmmm.... let me get this right...  You're looking for a youngish, tall, attractive, nonsmoking, wealthy, employed, intelligent, single American guy in the Minato-ku area?  Gee.  I'm glad you specified tall.  Because there is a surplus of short Mr. American Perfects running amuck all over this city, ESPECIALLY in the neighborhood I live in, and we wouldn't want you getting mixed up with that bunch.   

Gorgeous Japanese female, early 30's, good-looking, in great shape, warmhearted, educated, seeks handsome American gentleman for serious relationship.  I have tanned skin, long brown curly hair and a beautiful smile.  lady_coconuts@yahoo.com

Sure you're gorgeous.  I would expect nothing less from someone soliciting themselves in the hind quarters of the Metropolis.

Successful American. Beautiful, sexy, desirable JF seeks special someone for long-lasting love.  White American, nonsmoking executive type, in Minato-ku or anywhere in the world. illegalbeauty@hotmail.com

In Minato-ku... or anywhere in the world!  Good idea, Illegal Beauty- the stereotypical executive-type American male in Minato-ku appears to be a hot commodity and we wouldn't want you to miss out on what the rest of the Asia has to offer, not to mention the world. 

To be frank, I live in Minato-ku and I haven't been impressed with any of the white guys I have seen so far.  Repulsed, maybe, but certainly not impressed.

Good Sex is best for health and proper mental stability. Do you think the same?  Kind, responsible, cheerful, and caring E/J speaker eagerly waiting for your reply.  ultramarine@ymail.com

Good sex is best for proper mental stability, eh?  Something tells me sex with this guy would be very, very bad.  And not in a good way. 
 

shakin in my boots

Yesterday night something really wonderful happened: I felt my first earthquake! 

No, it did not involve anything lewd or a purple thing that I refer to as Mr.Roboto.  And, like I said in my last posting, V was climbing Mt.Fuji last night, so it clearly didn't have anything to do with him. 

So, as you can tell, this is all very exciting for me.  Especially since I am from Texas.  The only earthquakes we have back home are when you tell your parents that you are a Democrat (a low 4.2 on the Richter Scale) or that you are dating someone who is not white (too high to be measured on the Richter Scale).  When I first told my parents that V was Indian, one and a half years into the relationship, my dad asked if he was Cherokee.  It turned out okay, my dad was just grateful that wherever V and these so-called "Indians" that are purportedly not Native American are from, it's not Japan.  My dad, being as he is 82, hasn't forgiven the Japanese for Pearl Harbor.  Understandable, I think, considering I still haven't forgiven them for spitting out the Mitsubishi Montero Sport and selling me one. 

Anyway, The earthquake happened at 12:26am.  At first I was pretty sure my skull had just cracked open and a magpie had flown out with half of my brain in his beak.  Just three hours earlier I had resumed taking the Lithium per Dr. Lame-O's instructions (albeit at a milder dose) so it makes sense that I would immediately conclude that the sudden tremors and shaky vision were all his fault.  Besides, considering how badly things went the first time I took the Zombieox (i.e. obnoxiously over-prescribed psychotropic medication for BSC Westerners), tremors, shaky vision, and delusions of earthquakes were all an improvement.  Fortunately, right before the whole thing stopped I could hear the wine/liquor/beer on top of the fridge rattling, thereby definitely proving that it was not the Lithium, nor had a magpie flown out of my skull, it was just the result of living in a highrise building that is plopped on top of three notoriously unstable tectonic plates.  

salsa and self-control

For all of you who were expecting a juicy blog about my body's introduction to Zombieox you're SOL.  I started taking that shit on Wednesday and I stopped taking it on Thursday.  My cognitive abilities have never been that stellar in the first place, but after one day of that I would be better off turning off the light and turning into an earthworm for the rest of my life.  Seriously, I might as well just smoke marijuana all day, every day.  The affect would be the same, if not better.  Unfortunately for me and my BSC diagnosis (Bat Shit Crazy: If you're a Western foreigner in Japan there is a 100% chance you caught it on the plane ride over) I have never been a big fan of smoking weed and I certainly don't like it too much better when it comes in a tablet form. 

Yesterday night V and I ate at one of the three Mexican restaurants in Tokyo.  We had decided that he should give the Lithium a try, just so he knows how much it sucks, but we were debating on the dosage.  He agreed to one dose Saturday morning, but I said that in order to really familiarize himself with the drug he should at least take it twice; once in the morning and again in the afternoon.  I don't think this is such a bad idea, it might even be kind of fun.  He, on the other hand, crossed his arms defiantly and proudly asserted, "I (note the grandiose emphasis of the I) was not the one who was prescribed Lithium!"  Now, had I been the BSC American that Dr.Lame-O thinks I am, I might have done something really unnecessary, like picking up the salsa and hurling at V.  But that would have been a waste of salsa.  If the aforementioned three Mexican restaurants in this 1 billion restaurant city wasn't enough of an indication for you, salsa is hard to come by in Japan.  And I like salsa.  I also like V.  While the two of them together might not be so bad in a different situation, they certainly shouldn't be combined in a public forum that doesn't involve poles and/or animals or whatnot.

Instead of throwing anything or breaking any phones, I firmly and adamantly informed V that had I been in America no self-respecting doctor would have prescribed me anything at all.  Instead, said American doctor would have sat back and listened as I talk about my feelings for an hour a week at $150 a pop.  It's a win/win; I get to talk about me, my favorite thing in the whole world, and the psychologist gets to pay his mortgage.  Eventually I would wizen up and realize the only thing I really need is a good dosage of self-control.  Salsa, and self-control.    

Tokyo Cowgirl in Wonderland

There were a few things I was not expecting when I moved half way across the planet: 

~I was not expecting a job to plop in my lap.   
~I was not expecting to learn Japanese via osmosis. 
~And, oddly enough, I was not expecting to be prescribed Lithium ten minutes into my initial consultation with a therapist. 

God knows I love glamorous drugs, but it has always always always been an illegal hobby of mine.  With the aid of the internet or a few friends with bad backs or ADHD I have been able to thoroughly enjoy the most mundane activities.  Never before have any "controlled substances" been handed over to me for legitimately medicinal purposes, sans alcohol.  As unfortunate as my life has been because of it, I certainly didn't expect to move to Japan and have Lithium poured down my throat after completing a two-question survey.

Perhaps I'm a bit old-fashioned here (or just loony, apparently), but I sort of thought that maybe people who break phones and other miscellaneous devices/documents/objects might just have anger management issues.  That's what we called it back in the good ol' U.S. of A.  You call it wild and crazy phone breaking antics, I call it fun!  Not in Nippon.  Over here "anger management issues" directly translates into "bat-shit crazy!"  Things that we Americans find over-the-counter typical (like anger), they prescribe hardcore medication for (like Lithium).  Personally, I'm okay with being considered bat-shit crazy- if I am than it's undoubtedly one of my more endearing qualities. Still, before I started popping the third or fourth or whatever-it-is element on the Periodic Table after every meal I needed a second opinion.  And a third. 

For my second opinion I was referred to a really lovely American medical doctor who is as old (if not older) than my dad.  "Gee," I thought to myself.  "This guy has 80 plus years of experience dealing with Americans, he's going to see right away that I'm delightfully normal!"  One hour later I walked out of his office with a bag full of Lithium that came straight out of his office closet.  I'm not complaining, but is that how things work in Japan?  What happened to a prescription/pharmacy/middleman/someone who gives a damn before they hand out something that could potentially kill me if I mix it with something really crazy like I-don't-know... alcohol?      

Maybe I'm blowing everything out of proportion, maybe Lithium isn't that big of a deal.  In Japan you have to have a prescription for Pepto Bismol, too.  It is comforting to know that when I need to go back for my Zombieox it's going to be sitting on a shelf next to some pink Pepto Bismol.

At any rate, before I acquiesced to the idea of becoming an expressionless, apathetic, empty hull of a person, I conferred with V.  No, he is not a doctor, but he is a lawyer.  And, as lawyers go, he's not that bad.  Besides, I like to imagine that if something goes wrong I will have someone to wave around seemingly important legal documents with lots of fine print in my new therapist's face.  I had expected him to be skeptical.  Instead, he was practically hooking me up to an IV.  Just so you know, this isn't because he thinks it would be hot to date a zombie- it's just that he's sick and tired of me breaking really expensive phones.