Tokyo Damage Report

un-natural dates I have had.

sunday september 26


In class today the teacher taught us a bunch of kanji which were synonyms. I’m like, how is this one used differently from that one? The meanings are so close? In what context do you use X and in what context do you use Y?

The teacher was like, ‘this handy printout contains many example sentences which demonstrate the nuances of today’s kanji. ‘

I took one look at it and asked her, ‘are you joking? This is a fuckin’ joke, right?’

the printout was like 90% kanji which I had NOT studied yet, and there was no furigana (tiny hiragana letters)

I was like, ‘bitch!!! If I could read the example sentences, I wouldn’t be taking this class!!”

This perfectly illustrates why the Japanese have such a hard time dealing with foreigners. They seldom bother to examine their own preconceptions. The Japanese douchebag who composed that printout must have been like, ‘well I can read it, so it’s a good learning tool.’ It didn’t even OCCUR to mr. Douche-bag-san that a foreigner can’t read kanji, which is why the foreigner is in THE FUCKING KANJI CLASS TO BEGIN WITH.


DATE 2.3

Went to yoyogi and then double tall and then drinking. Weird. When i first met her, I thought she was gorgeous with muscles of steel. Our first date, 4 months ago, I was all let down because she wasn’t cute. But now she’s somehow cute again. I was like, ‘yo, if you eat the fish, you’ll have fish breath and then I won’t want to kiss you. On second thought, maybe youSHOULD eat the fish.’ then we decided that ‘what do you want to learn from your future lover?’was an appropriate question.

her answer: ‘how to understand humans better.’

my answer: ‘how to do cunnilingis better.’

she was like,’man, you are drunk. why you talk about that nasty stuff?’

i was like, ‘man, you can learn about psychology from your FRIENDS. besides even if you guys get along, if the sex is awful you are bound to fail in the end.’

what i DIDN’T say: ‘so, basically you want a guy who CAN’T do cunnilingus?’

still, i can’t make fun of her answer: she DOES need to understand humans better. she has like 9 cats she lives with. this is the Girl Equivalent of the guy who has a whole house full of Magic The Gathering cards.

on the other hand, i knew about the cats and still went on a second date, so maybe it’s my bad.

anyway she told me i was not her type. i should have pointed out that middleaged cat-fanatics with too much makeup and q-tip bodies are not my type either but i am willing to compromise for the sake of getting laid sometime in the next 10 years. instead i smiled and wished her good luck finding the right guy.

ironically, she has more in common with the OTHER lady i dated this week, than with me. if they had only cut out the middle-man (so to speak) they could be this total love-at-first-sight salsa-dancing cat-collecting people-avoiding lesbian couple of the century.


Date #4:

This was amazing. Finally a blind date where someone ELSE provides the performance art.

This lady was like 55 years old and I should have known something was up when she spent like 10 minutes on the phone trying to decide which subway exit we should meet at. This is the most worrying woman ever. After we met, she spent like another 4 minutes worrying about where I parked my bike. Then we get to the garden and she’s trying to navigate dirt paths in spike heels. Putting a hankie down on a bench before sitting on it. The whole time doing nothing but a) complaining and b) asking me to justify my whole existence. Yes, I’m not a businessman. Yes, I drink alcohol. Yes, I have fun once in a while. Yes, some of my friends are gay. Can I shoot myself in the face now? Then you can go out with my dead body?

After about 10 minutes of this, she develops this nervous tic where she scratches her left calf. First, once a minute. Then twice a minute. Then like CONSTANTLY. She leaps up off of her doily and starts tottering away on her heels. Me, being the gentleman as ever, pick up this butt-moist hanky and trail behind her, like, ‘uh, miss, you forgot this . . . ?’

I point to this lake saying, ‘you might like to see this one, uh . .’ and then when I turn back, she’s just taken off, walking away at as high a speed as she can while still manically scratching her left calf. I don’t really understand. Does she think I’m following her? Or is she just literally running away? I try saying ‘excuse me?’ a couple of times but she doesn’t turn around. Oh my god! She is seriously just bailing with her butt-moist hanky and her spike heels and her raw calf and her 3,000 tons of neuroses. I’m just stunned speechless.

Still it’s better than boring.

Date #5

ONLY grandmas like me. seriously. All my dates are over 40. last night i went to some blind date with some 50 year old lady with weird scratch-marks on her arms and sensible shoes. she told me to take her to some bistro. I hate French food but I was like, ‘i’ll be a gentleman. Let the Lady decide. Girls like that.’ So we go and the food is just rancid ? my ‘vegetable soup’ was basically a pint of melted butter with like a corn kernel in it ? and I refuse to order any more food ever, so the rest of the meal is spent in silence. Plus the food was like $50 per person. and then after i paid she was like ‘you know, the food here isn’t even that good.’


Jesus, I found the magic way to spend money but still wind up with no smooches. It’s like, why didn’t I just smack her across her grandma cheeks with the wadded up roll of bills and then light them on fire, and then give the ashes to some homeless kids?

Now I’m nostalgic for dates #2 and 3 who ran away as soon as they saw my ‘gay punker Mr. Rogers’ hairdo . . . saved me the trouble of buying them some ‘$50 butter’ soup, they did. Kudos to you, you racists!

meanwhile, my friend The Manager is having a film festival, showing some indie films (sort of spoofs of ’60s japanese copshows, mixed with horror). i’m in one of the films, rapping in japanese and then stabbing someone for no reason. The Manager said, ‘you have to come to the film festival tonight, you have a fan club now.’

so i tried to drag my date to the film festival but I have to be a gentleman again and let her take an hour to finish her meal. Thus by the time we get to the station we’re like half an hour too late to go to the festival, AND i’m so pissed that she is scared of me. so the grandma bailed on me, i didn’t get to see my fan club, and i lost a year of my life to stress, and why?

because i wanted to be a gentleman.

jesus, when will i learn? i should just be my usual asshole self.

if i would have just made her eat at burger king we could have made it to the film fest on time, plus she would have hated me for like $50 cheaper.

Anyway I blew the date AND the film fest, and had to go to the gay district to get some grape juice in order to cheer up. I think you know what ‘grape juice’ means.

That’s right: juice from grapes.

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