Lay Down

Today is supposed to be my first official day at the AET (assistant English teacher) JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Conference in Gunma-ken, where, to be honest I have no idea what city I am actually in.

Really.

You can already see my level of commitment to this event.

It's December 17, 1991 and I've been here in Japan since late July 1990 and I'm feeling a whole lotta burned out, as evidenced by the fact I used the word 'lotta' without a Led Zeppelin reference - oh, there it is.

After last night's debacle of being called a 'player' by other guys who were proud to call themselves a player,  I wasn't in a great mood. Other people I mentioned this too seem to believe there is nothing wrong with being called a player - especially since I have slept with a lot of women.

Yeah... I have. But I didn't promise anyone anything except for a good time then and now. I never pretended to be anyone other than myself and was always open about it. There's nothing wrong with that, and no woman has ever complained about it  - so why the hell does the opinion of three drunk guys bother the fug out of me?!  

Yeah, I'm probably still drunk and and very tired now at 7AM, but I'm only 27. No big whoop. I've woken up drunk many a time since arriving in Japan. Since I am able to function in a normal manner, and I don't make a habit out of getting drunk, I don't believe I have a problem. Again... I'm 27 years of age and away from home for the first time in my life and only since arriving here did I lose my virginity some 14 or 15 women ago.

I've let my hair down and am sowing my wild oats. My hair looks good - it's down just past my shoulders, but I wear it in a ponytail with a stretchy band that matches whatever solid colored shirt I wear. Yes... I do think about these things. (2012 Andrew here: I believe I was a meterosexual before the term was coined.)  

After the probable breakfast of watery scrambled eggs, extra crispy and salty bacon, dried baked beans, a glass of orange juice (which recalled the vodka that went with it last night and caused my stomach to grumble in anxious retaliation),  I went to sign-in for attendance to a conference session.

Tragedy struck as I discover, much to my tightening sphincter, that I was not actually on the Conference List of attendees, and that I actually did not have a room to my name.

I suppose I could have paid for yet another hotel room as I did last night when I arrived early.  I mean, I know I'll get whatever money I spend legitimately back from the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education) office for whom I work, but that won't be for a month. But I'm going on vacation very soon, and I need to not spend too much money between now and then.

Anyhow.... the conference people - as they tried to figure out who's fault it was, stuck me in a hotel room with some Saitama-ken guys who were actually nice enough considering there was a strange drunk gorilla-like fellow in their midst.

They know I snore right? Loudly, right? Which is further amplified in proportion to the amount of alcohol I can breathe in, right?

Poor, poor, Saitama-ken AETs. I would feel sorry for them, but at the time, it never even entered my thoughts because I don't actually know that I snore except from a having a room of Tochigi-ken AETs threaten to kill whomever was snoring like a jet plane with asthma at an overnight stay at on a mountaintop onsen getaway last year - and from Matthew who says I get sort of loud - like being at a Who concert. I like Dr. Seuss.

Ashley, my ex-girlfriend with whom I recently broke up with as my friend-with-benefits, has never complained... and she and I usually sleep on top of each other.

Whatever.

I get into the conference meetings and instantly wish I didn't. Booooooorrrrrrringgggg.

To break up the monotony, I decide to ask a lot of questions of the speaker, which has the crowd mumbling in agreement or anger at me delaying the end of the event. To quote Bugs Bunny, "Ain't I a stinker?"

I hang out with my buddy Matthew for a while until he decides to go for a nap, or ditch me to go and scope out some Japanese women to practice his skills on.

Me? I find our mutual buddy Jeff and get stinking drunk with him...then go out to a movie theater and watch Home Alone (or were we in a hotel room watching it on TV?)... and then push our way into the Head Teaching official party and sing and drink with all of these Japanese teachers. Lo and behold - there's Matthew.

Now, maybe the alcohol is making me melancholy, or it was the movie Home Alone or maybe it was even this morning's bacon that was as salty as the ocean's tears, but I was feeling a bit down (I had written the word 'depressed' originally, but that is not accurate).

I'm down about Ashley and talk my head off to some poor middle-aged female bureaucrat with a prefectural board of education, whose name I never learned and who made the mistake of asking me "How do you like Japan?"

So I tell her. I'm not just the type of person to tell you I'm fine if I'm not. I used to lie. Lie all the time... but when I turned my life around at 18 and stopped being a small kid who was picked on all the time, I grew up physically and mentally. The emotional part I am still working on in 2012.

I know the poor woman wants to escape, but I can see it so I don't let it happen until I tell her my whole story... and when I finish... I have a small crowd of Japanese gathered around me, and perhaps because they are bored, they ask me a lot of questions.

In return, I get a lot of sympathy and drinks poured for me. I'm sure that poor woman wonders how her question about Japan garnered my response about some poor woman named Ashley - but that kind of sums up this whole damn blog. Of course... I was getting a good buzz on by this time... or maybe I just enjoyed playing with people since I am considered a player now.   

At the end of the evening, rather than go to the room belonging to the Saitama-ken guys (where my luggage is!), Jeff invites me to crash in his room. The only problem is that he is sharing a room with Susan Dixon, another AET from Tochigi.

No one is sure why reservations were lost or why men and women were sharing a room with people they didn't want to, though I do suspect that when Sue was asked by the hotel staff if she liked Jeff Seaman, her answer of "Who doesn't?!" probably meant she only partially understood the question.

Anyhow... Jeff's room was also lost, so they stuck him in with her, because she likes Seaman - that's just a guess, of course... I have no idea if she does - so when Jeff invited me to crash for the night, Susan was pissed off royally at Jeff and now she hates me and my Seaman. Probably one of the few times I can say that and actually mean it.

Still... Jeff won out despite Susan's protests, more than likely because we were too drunk to care what she said.

I slept in the bathtub with a pillow and a couple of towels draped over my arms to keep the chill away that was being emitted by Susan as she grumbled about someone snoring like the gates of Hell had burst forth from their fiery hinges. Hunh... I always though fire could melt ice, but she proved me wrong.

B-b-b-b-b-b-b-itch. That's all folks.

Somewhere not impressed with Gunma-ken,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Canadian metal group (sounds more like Rock, though) Priestess. I love the music, and the title seems to fit.:

Reading and Speaking Japanese Is A Bitch

From the mind of Peter Able and his Living and Teaching in Japan blog, comes a story I had to share with you all.

Peter's a great guy, from what I can tell - but who knows, though? He could be as crazed an individual as me - a seething volcano of sex and violence... sorry, I meant sax and violins.

Regardless... in a recent blog of his, he wrote about just how bloody insane it is to learn Japanese. He means speaking it, reading it, and while not in the title, he could easily have added "writing it".

I agree 100 bloody per cent with Peter. Obviously you get out what you put into it... but really... after three years there, while still a blathering idiot, I still had a difficult time being understood or understanding what was being said to me. And reading or writing? Forget it!

Hell, as a baby and then a toddler of three - I was near brilliant. Proof of which can be found in the fact that I was in Grade 1 while 4 going on 5 years of age in November. And I was successful. I could read, write and certainly speak when I was three.

Yes it was English, but that's kind of the point. Japanese is a difficult language.

Perhaps because while I was in Japan, I was constantly chasing women - much like Peter admits he wants to do.

Mayhaps the answer to it all lies in THIS blog entry written by my friend Mister Manfred Mann (I swear it's not me!) on How To Survive Women. It's slightly adult with some raw language that I do not allow on this site, though I do allow some pretty raunchy situations. Still MMM needs a plug too. 

Plug for MMM aside, please check out Peter's blog. It's a very fast read - and even if you don't get all of the words, the meaning is 100 per cent understandable. I admit I had no idea what Japanese words or phrases he was spouting at me on couple of occasions, but then again... Japanese is a freaking hard language.
     
JAPANESE TOUGH

Cheers
Andrew Joseph
Why the photo above? Read Peter's blog for the real answer, and note the following - my purely lucky answer: As I wrote the last word in the title wondering if I should swear or not, I glanced briefly at the photo and went Ohhhh. Damn I'm good (and lucky). It's not a swear word now!

Been Down So Long

Do you know what's better than not having a woman who doesn't want to be your boyfriend or sleep with you?

Me either.

I've had one of those for months now, and the stress I felt while we were together would have broken me a long time ago if I realized I was stressed.

Do you know what sucks? It's having a woman who wants to sleep with you, but only does so on her terms. Why does that suck? Because it's selfish. I've also had one of those for months now.

Do you know what I want?

It's simple.

To feel like I am wanted. That I matter. And yet, here again, I sit with my pen and paper and jot stupid notes like this into my diary that I will never read again. I hope.

I've been down a lot lately. More than up, unfortunately. 

It's Tuesday, December 10th and it's 1991 and I'm living (sort of) in a small city called Ohtawara in the prefecture of Tochigi in Japan.

I've been pretending that nothing bothers me, but in truth, everything bothers me. Every single damn thing. About women.

I'm an assistant English teacher here, team-teaching with a Japanese teacher of English at seven junior high schools in the city.  I love the people around me. I do. I love seeing the kids and talking to them. I love being a small part of the lives of these kids - even for a fleeting moment - and wonder if one day they will think of me fondly. I really do think like this.

I just want to matter. 

Do you know what I want? I want to be able to communicate. In all of my so-called 'relationships' (you can tell I'm not pleased, as I used 'quote marks' and said 'so-called'), I have not had any problem in communicating my feelings or what I want from a friend or a girlfriend. And, to some degree, neither have they - initially. 

It's when things progress, or the rules change, so too do people. Some people handle change and roll with whatever life throws at them. Others need to formulate a plan of action or a plan of inaction while never really knowing just what the hell they actually want from life.

How can you make plans to do something if you have no idea what it is you want to do? You can't.

Sometimes, it's just best to let the chips fall where they may. That sucks, though.  I wish I had more control - any control... but I don't.


But I still know what I want. I'm still searching for it. You can tell I'm a communicative type of person. Do you know what I want? I want someone who can communicate with me. It didn't have to be all physical as it was with my secret girlfriend, Junko. It didn't have to be so intellectual as it was with my ex-friends-with-benefits Ashley.

I want a combination of both with the added benefit of emotional support. Someone to tell me I'm doing all right or there-there, things will look brighter tomorrow. I know they will... but sometimes it's just nice to hear someone else tell you stuff you already know.

Do you know why relationships fail? It's not because one person loves another more than the other - as Ashley tried to explain to me a few days ago - it's because people are unable to communicate effectively. That's just my own opinion, and right or wrong, at least I have one. 

How do you communicate with someone suffering with mental illness or a social anxiety disorder if they always have their guard up? I'm not saying you shouldn't try - by all means try. But it takes two to tango. Two to dance that beautiful dance of love. If one isn't pulling their weight, the tango suffers. And that would be such a shame for such a beautiful dance that everyone wishes they could do and do well, but so few are able to achieve.

I don't know how to dance, but I can dance well enough.

So... why am I so sad?

Because I'm going to do something stupid...

Somewhere I wander in communicado,
Andrew Joseph
Relax... I'm not a suicidal kind of guy. Never enters the equation. But, a lack of suicidal tendencies still does not mean I am level-headed. Never claimed to be anybody except myself. I think, however, that sometimes it sucks to be me. I should write that down.
Today's blog is by The Doors:

Love Stinks

It's November 24, 1991 - a Sunday - a day of rest for those of the Christian-faith and, I suppose, atheists, Buddhists... hell... I'm sure there are more.... probably most people.... hmmm. Whatever! I didn't get to sleep at all last night thanks to Junko's snoring. Okay, it was more the slapping of skin and the grunting and squealing of pleasure at the top of her lungs even with me clamping a hand over her mouth to stop the neighbors from calling the police to investigate the gaijin murdering some poor young thing with his sadistic knife.
Okay... we were just having noisy, sloppy, wet and warm sex. I'm covered in it. So is Junko.
We're just lying there at around 8:30AM when something goes off in Junko (not me) and she snaps upright and says she has to leave soon because Ashley will be coming over.
How the hell does she know that? Does Junko have my phone bugged? Does she have Ashley bugged? What sort of evil genius am I banging three or four times an evening? Hopefully one who can barely walk.
Nope... she can not only walk, but she can jump, as she leaps from the bed and grabs her clothes from the carpet at the front door and gets dressed there. I get up and follow her and then stand there marveling at how sexy she looks getting dressed.
Guys...  you have probably never really paid attention to what a woman does when she's getting undressed as you are just lying there thinking: "Hurry the heck up!", but ... I encourage you to watch a woman get dressed sometime - even one in a rush - watch the jumping, the rhythmic gyrations, the shimmying, the bouncing... it's truly poetry in motion.
Junko is a poet  laureate and I have enjoyed reading between the lines.
Dressed, she leans in to kiss me good-bye. As her lips are about to touch mine, she slowly drops down to her knees while looking up into my eyes.
We don't have time for that, but she does a good job nonetheless.
It's 8:55AM when she stands up, reverts to a shy Japanese woman, bows, reverts to a clumsy Japanese porn star, bangs her head on my weenis, reverts to a shy Japanese woman, says sorry, stands up and covers her face with her hand and says "Good-bye An-dō-ryu-sensei."
That's me... the peaceful-leader-dragon-teacher.
The door closes, and I can hear her softly make her way down the spiral white painted concrete stairs beside my apartment.
I'm standing there naked and sighing inwardly when I hear foot steps tromping along the hallway to my front door.
Crap! It's Ashley! My ex-girlfriend with whom I am allowed to sleep with when she deems it necessary for herself - we're supposed to go shopping for antiques in Nikko today.
I am so tired... maybe I can make an excuse to not go... and if I can stay here by myself, I am sure Junko will use her spidey-sense and come flying back so that we can continue our marathon of degeneration. Marathon is a Greek town. I'm not tired enough to not do a marathon.
I run back into my bedroom as I hear Ashley insert her key into my lock. I slap on yesterday's underwear and walk out yawning to greet her.
As I lean in to give her a kiss, she pulls away suddenly.
"What's that smell all over you and all over the apartment?"
"What smell?" I ask honestly. I may have a large nose, but it's not known to be able to perceive much of anything. Regardless... it has its uses.
"Did you have some woman over?"
Crap! Need an excuse now, brain!! Hurry!
"Ummmmm..."
That's the best you have?! Crap! Doomed! Dooooooooomed!!!!
"So who was it? Some Japanese woman you picked up at the 4C?"
I nod quietly with my eyes darting from side to side looking for some sort of defensive weapon.
"Anyone I know?"
"No," I whimper as it is obvious no weapon is nearby.
"Good. As long as it's not another AET (assistant English teacher) or someone who knows me."
Wha - ? Is she kidding me? I'm pretty sure everyone I've boinked is either another AET or someone who knows her or both. Hooray for me. It's the problem with being a semi-famous gaijin in a small town. Big fish in a small town any day, baby.
"Everybody knows you, Ash."
"No," she corrects. "Everybody knows you, and thus people know of me."
She goes up on her toes to kiss me.
Okay... I'm up too... just not on my toes.
I think all of that sex in the air is contagious.
An hour later, a very dehydrated Andrew who is badly in need of a shower to wash off the sex scent of two women is happily riding with Ashley, first to the bank and then to the train station in Nishinasuno-machi.
It's weird (or not)... but the scent I have all over me seems to keep all of the guys away from us on the train... but is instantly recognizable by every single woman on the planet for some reason. It also made myself incredibly popular as some sort of sex god, and also made Ashley popular as the woman who made the sex god happy. Poor Junko lives on in anonymity.
For the first time ever, people begin talking to Ashley on the train while completely ignoring the contented me.
If this were a movie, it would fade to black with a locomotive entering a tunnel.
It's only 10:30AM. The day continues...

Somewhere I stink,
Andrew Joseph
Re: the image above... do you think 'polish the car' is an euphemism? You never know with writers! It's a panel taken from Marvel Comics' Teen-Age Romance #86 (March 1962 issue), written by Stan The Man Lee and what looks like art by Gene Colan and Vince Colletta.
Today's blog title is by the J. Geils Band:

Andrew's Worst Pick-Up Line

Oh man... I am so going to regret this... but I'll be brave. In yesterday's blog - HERE - I offered you my best pick-up line ever. Not much is different between that attempt and this one except that for this example I have a wing-man and I'm toasty, but perhaps not drunk. I mean... I wish I had that as an excuse.

This blog is dedicated to Luke, Mike and Matthew - but especially to Luke who seems to believe I have some magical powers over women.

I am a Canadian of Indian descent (dot not the feather) not that that is important to any woman I've ever tried to pick-up. I've been in Japan for 30 months now, and while I don't consider myself one, others do consider me to be a 'player'.

This occurs sometime in 1993 and I was somewhere in Japan as an assistant English teacher on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme.

If I'm less than clear in the facts, I do know I was drinking. I'm pretty sure I was at some sort of JET teacher's conference... probably a mid-year conference of some sort.

My good friend Colin McKay was with me. He's from Calgary, Canada. I'm from Toronto. I'm 28... and even though I was a virgins some 30 months before I came to Japan, I should still know better, as I have slept with over 20 women since then while not cheating on my girlfriend of 17 months.

Anyhow... for some reason, Colin and I are visiting the hotel room of two women we met down at some party - whose names are thankfully lost to the ages.

Our attempts at getting laid don't appear to be going very well.

Somehow the tall lanky brunette I like chirps up that she is Jewish.

Not knowing any better, and yet still providing the truth, I brag: "Hey! My grandmother's a Jew!"

Nothing but silence for six seconds, until Colin screws his face up at me and asks: "Is that the best you've got?"

I say: (shaking my head slowly) "It appears so."

Says Colin: "Then we should leave now."

I nod weakly in acquiescence and say goodnight to the two women as I close the hotel room door behind me.

I could hear the two women howl in laughter as I left.

Needless to say Colin gave me the gears on that one and took great delight in telling every one of my very lame attempt at picking up a woman.The worst part was that I wanted the other woman.

I resolved to not be a player ever again.

Somewhere still shaking my head,
Andrew Joseph

Andrew's Best Pick-Up Line

This blog is for my buddies Luke and Mike and Matthew. Just know that like all of my adventures, this is a TRUE story... a true pick-up line!

I'm in the Java Jive dance/drinking establishment in the Roppongi district of Tokyo, Japan and it's 1992. I am indeed an assistant English teacher on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme. I've been here in Japan - at the time of this particular uttering - over 24 months. I live in a very small city called Ohtawara-shi in Tochigi-ken, and every couple of months I go down to Tokyo to unwind. That means drinking, dancing or whoring with whatever good-looking lady I can pick-up.

On this occasion, I am surrounded mostly by other foreign women. I know I came in here with one young lady who had just arrived here a day ago via JET... but I don't see her.

Whatever. I'm 5-11, 175lbs and have hair down past my shoulder blades in a neat pony tail. I'm not the best looking guy in the world, or the smartest or funniest or even nicest... but I am a close number four in all those categories. Just kidding. It's more like number six. 

So... it's around 11PM... and I'm standing at the bar drinking a vodka and orange juice (screwdriver) when a good looking young brunette close to my height and built nicely, if not conservatively begins to talk to me.

I should admit that I'm on my 6th screwdriver... toasty but nowhere close to being drunk.

After the preliminaries, she asks me a question for which I respond:

"My occupation? I'm a prostitute. Well, actually - not yet. But I'm going to be. What I'm doing now is trying to find a beautiful woman to help train me on how to best satisfy a woman. I'm reasonably sure I've got it down pat, but it's always good to have some input from someone who would know."

Her response: "That's the most original piece of bullshit I've ever heard!"

My response: (smiling) "Yeah, you're right. Do you want to dance?"

Her response: (smiling): "Yeah."

She spent the night at my hotel and we didn't sleep.

Somewhere I was like Ferris Bueller,
Andrew Joseph
Tomorrow - Andrew's worst pick-up line ever. This blog really is an embarrassment of riches!