It seems like I haven't blogged for like, ever! But dry your weeping eyes cos I'm back. But what can I say? Nothing super-sexy has really been happening. Or maybe my life is just so sexy now and sexy things happen every sexy day to the point that the sexiness of such events no longer registers on my sexiness-radar. Maybe. Or maybe just fuck-all has been happening. For me anyway. In other parts of the world sexy things have been happening a lot. Not so much in New Orleans.
So on Sunday night me and my friend Jes went to this huge party in a super-cute club called Ageha. It is hot. Like all other super-clubs, massive and sexy, but is also has a pool. A fucking pool. Anyways, me and Jes met in Shinjuku to booze-up pre-party and also to get lost totally in the city which at this point in my adventure doesn't tend to happen so much anymore. On the way Jes got distracted by her new husband...
Husbands aside, being the pennypinchers that we are Jes and me picked up some chu-hais and paraded around Shinjuku for what seemed like an extremely long time. We probably spent too much time trying to convince the police that they should drive us to the club because our friend was dying there. Hot but suprisingly unsuccessful. Anyways after also realising that drunk sexy-bitches can in no way hot-foot it around the mean/sexy streets of Tokyo guided only by the micro-map on my phone and run-lola-run/Amazing Race style navigation tactics, we hauled ass to Shibuya and tried to catch an alleged shuttle to the club. Fortunately for us some club-kids came squirreling along, and ignoring the persistent voice in my head crying out "STRANGER DANGER" we joined their little posse and off we went.
When we got to the club the line was totally not cute. Not even half cute. Unlike us. Being cute meant that we would not be lining up for very long. Not because our cuteness meant we didn't need to cue, but because when we pushed in near the start the less-than-cute kids behind us were in no position to complain. The party was so hot. Ageha is a club on Tokyo bay, and is really Sydney in that there are waterviews, open-air dance-floors etc. And a pool. Since the dress code was swim-wear and we were completely unprepared we had to pretty much get naked and frolic. Lucky for me I was sporting black-jean-shorts, and was too drunk too care. So I swam anyway.
Here is Jes and someone in the morning. Her name is probably Michiko. Probably.
Here is someone else in the morning. His name is probably Wasted. Probably.
So after going back to Jes' place in the morning for a snooze, and then coming back over to my place I headed back in to Sinjuku to meet up with some friends who were on a mini-break on Tokyo on their way back from Sydney to London. Previously they were friends-of-friends but nomihodai changes all that. Anyways they are Emme and John and Emme works with my lovely friend Aimee in the UK. We met for a drink and quick happy-snap. Gorgeous.
What else? My supermarket has started stocking baked-f#$%&ing-beans!!!!!! Oh. My. God. I have a rule that every time I go into a new supermarket that I check for baked-beans, but never ever have I found any. Until yesterday morning. This is big news for me, and boring news for everyone else. But I don't care.
I bought a ticket to London and Paris!!! That's really sexy because I have never been. So I'm going on the 6th of Decemeber.
My bedroom smells like cinnamon and orange. Because I bought a cinnamon and orange candle.
Also I'm reading a book called "Learning To Bow" and it's awesome and I highly recommend it. I can hear you all saying "What, what, what? Andrew writing about books. Mine eyes musteth be bleeding all over mine ye olde keyboard!" Whatever. The book is tres handy for living in Japan because it is fully of tips and hints about all things Japanesey and what leads to people becoming more in-tune with the heart of Japan. Since I have no intention of doing this the book is also helpful for letting me know when I might be learning too much and getting too close to the heart of Japan. I will be doing no bowing whatsoever, and I thank this book for teaching me how-not-to.
My debilitating attention-deficit-disorder means that I am reading this book in the middle of reading another book, which is ironically all about burning books. The guy who wrote that one sure had a lot of faith in himself, didn't he. Where's my cinnamon and orange candle?
