Disregard Busses, Acquire Karaoke

So yeah, I did it. I finally popped my K-Cherry (not a reference to Krispy Kremes, Kangaroo-pouch-riding, or Kicking ass and chewing bubble gum).

And, oh man. Oh boy. Whoa, Nelly. It was good.

The day, up until the departure from Sakigake (my living area), had been a beehive of activity, with me literally running around the campus, scaring wild animals, bridge spiders, and native Japanese alike. See, if you know me (which you might, or may not. Regardless, I'm going to explain what you know about me, so it doesn't really matter if you do or don't....)

See, if you know me, you know I like talking to people. And hanging out with people. As a consequence, I prioritize things in my life a little bit differently than others. For example, if you gave me the choice of getting lunch with a friend (let's say 早紀 [Saki]) at a cafe on campus, or going to an important orientation for exchange students where they get their Residence Cards (important for living in Japan, right?), I might choose the lunch. I mean, I did. I went to lunch with Saki. But it was definitely the right choice. Did I mind spending the half hour after lunch running around the entirety of the Southern campus trying to find a meeting room that could fit around 200 people? Maybe, I suppose.  A smidgen. Nah, more like a dollop. I minded a dollop's worth.
(QUICK NOTE: FUCK COOK BOOKS THAT SUGGEST PINCHES, SMIDGENS, AND DOLLOPS)

But it was Saki, and she's great. Ah man, she's so comfortable with her English now, which is dangerous and helpful. Good in the sense that she could tell me about her trip to Italy with all the fun details I might've missed otherwise, yet bad in that I'm here in Japan, and ya know, fuck that English thing.

// SIDENOTE
Japanese has a word 話す(hanasu), which means to speak. Another word, 喋る(shaberu), means to talk/chat. The nuance is that 話す carries a feeling of import: what you're talking about matters. 喋る, to my understanding, is more like you're talking at someone, rather than with someone. However, you can describe someone as speaking a language with 喋る, which kind of makes sense. If someone can "chat," then they are probably decent at a language. Chat has that implication of ease of talking, ya know?
// END NOTE

But yeah, the day was flurry of meetings, and orientations, and moments spent trying to catch my breath but ultimately failing because I would have to rocket off to somewhere else. Why the fuck is this place so big? And beautiful, too. Damn beautiful. You should come here, Mr./Mrs./Whichever-part-of-the-gender-spectrum-you-find-yourself-in Reader. I'll hook you up with some good vistas, a nice and comfy faux-wooden floor, delicious food, and a couple of good stories to slip into your back pocket for later. Scout's Honor.

However, after a solid block of good ol' nap nap time, I woke up bushy eyed and bright tailed, ready to take on the Japanese night life with a roar. RAWR, MOTHERFUCKER. I'M GRAHAM KERR AND I CAME HERE TO MAKE DECISIONS THAT RESULT IN GOOD STORIES. Let's have some fun tonight.

The group that walked the long long walk to the karaoke bar (about 35 minutes away, and no busses were available) was composed of Matt, Veronica, Saori, Mikko, Teemu, Silvia, Antony, and myself. There, we met up with two of Saori's friends, Mina and Shiori (fun fact: the character for her name means bookmark (栞)). Oh boy, that's a lot of names. Well, I suppose they're all people you'll see popping up later on in blogposts, so do well to remember them.

Beer Count (1): 500ml Sapporo from the Circle K, drunken on the walk over. There aren't open container laws in Japan, are there? Eh, I can Gaijin Smash worst comes to worst.

Anywho, we settle into a cozy room with enough space to comfortably sit everyone, and begin. Matt steps up to the plate first and lets loose an impressive display of singmanship (fuck you, it's a word). I was completely shocked, because here is a guy that I have known for over a year (and have lived with for close to 9 months), and yet not once have I heard him sing or express interest in making any music of any kind. And yet the kid hit it out of the park, pleasantly surprising everyone with a solid rendition of...... some Japanese song(?). The songs continue coming out left and right, people revealing great hidden voices (looking at you Antony, Mikko, and Teemu), and I even took a shot at it with some Billie Jean and YMCA action. After realizing I was out of drink, I popped out of the room to go to the vending machine to get another 500ml, this time Asahi.

Wait.
Wait, what?
What did you just type, Graham?
Did you... did you just really tell me there are vending machines that sell alcohol? And, wait, they don't have a system to verify age?
Damn... I knew they had used panty vending machines, but still.

Liver: * Frown *
Head the following day: * Frown *
Stomach the following day: * Frown *
Finnish boy: YAHOOOOOOOOOO (more on that later).

(Of course, I had already enjoyed this newfound freedom the very first night I got into Japan by cracking open a cold one in the tiny Japanese shower and drinking it down like only a fully grown adult can)

But, I digress.

Beer Count (2): 500ml Asahi "zero calorie." Tasted a lot like natty light, so, you know, water and pale yellow urine. Like, that color you get when you've drinking a decent amount of water, yet not nearly enough so that you have clear urine. Am I really describing this right now? Fuck you, yes I am.

So, I return to the room, break out some moves like Jagger, sing along to a couple more Japanese and American songs, and soon my beer is gone again. Back to the vending machine.

Beer Count (3): 500ml Asahi draft. This has a little more body to it and makes you think that some factory, somewhere around the world, decided to actually put beer into a can rather than having their employees pee into the opening in a slipshod manner.

More songs. More fun. More pictures. More peace signs. When in Japan....

Finnish boy (Teemu): Hey Graham, come get another drink with me?

Beer Count (4): 500ml Asahi draft. I then decided that I would stick with it for the rest of the night, on a count of there being a good price/size ratio. And that it didn't taste like shit. Yeah.

At this point of the night, I was definitely starting to feel something. A summer void of continuous amounts of binge drinking severely hampered my ability to poison myself, yet I felt I was putting up the good fight. One more final chug with Teemu and I felt good. And by good, I mean great. And by great, I mean I was drunk. By drunk, I mean drunk. Like, drunk. DRUNK
(mental note for future reference: italicized, bolded, and underlined means "fucked up"

But of course, what can I do in this state besides ruin my vocal cords further by dropping an octave and raising my voice a few thousand fucking decibels? And so I sang. I sang my little heart out, that bloody motor churning as fast as it could to keep my lurching body from falling over like Jenga.

Teemu: Graham....

Beer Count (5): Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking at this point. I wasn't stupid drunk, but I was at the point where I might start saying things I would regret later on if I continued the dive into drunkenness, ya know? And yet I plunged ahead, the depths of inebriation hugging my body like tight blanket.

However, it was around the time that the joint efforts of tiredness and drunkenness hit me like a slap to the face that everyone decided to head home. Fine by me, or at least, fine by my body. Three people had already called it quits for the night and the rest of the group was feeling it.

Brain: Hey, hey you. You, you with the moves like Jagger and the beautiful voice.
Graham: Me? Awww, shucks, you know I blush at compliments about my dancing skills.
Brain: Well, anyway, you should try to speak Japanese. Ya know, you gotta practice all the time, right? What better time than now, when your confidence is inordinately high and your fine motor skills, spatial reasoning, and general ability to think shit through have all been blasted to smithereens?
Graham: I'll think about it. I don't know, I'm slurring my words a bit.
Brain: Come on, give it a try.
Graham: Fine, but only because you noticed my dancing.
Brain: OH, yeah, totally, keep attempting to moon walk, too. People love that shit. Especially cars in the middle of the road, they think it's more entertaining than a Japanese game show.
Graham: OH TAY

And so with a train of thought similar to that I went over to talk to Mina, one of Saori's friends who happened to have studied abroad in England, and who also happened to be really cool.
I hit her with this:「みなの事もっと知りたい」
which I thought translated to, "Hey, I'd like to get to know you better." So yeah, some nuance of more than just friendly, but I honestly meant it in the same vane of "Let's hang out again soon, aight?"

Apparently, though, I was wrong. In Japanese, that sentence is loaded. There are strong implications of interest, romantic or otherwise, and it was somewhat akin to asking her on a date, followed by a walk on the beach in the moonlight followed by a quick shag on a blanket I set up beforehand, with candles, assorted picnic food, and smooth jazz playing. At least, that's what her reaction told me I had just told her. As well as Saori's reaction. And the reaction of stranger passing on the street. And the moon, I'm pretty sure the moon physically cringed in response.

God fucking damn it. A;lrkjasdlfkjasd;lfkjasd;lfkjsad;lfkj
Last thing I need is the circle of people I hang out with thinking there's more blood circulating around my groin than up top. But alas, woe is me, and the comedy was oh so rich.

So, wich much ribbing and jokes, as well as a few desperate pleas for help from me to Saori, to at least explain what I was trying to say, we stumbled back home at 5 in the morning.

Teemu: Hey Graham, one more beer before bed?
Graham: * Falls to the pavement and lies down, hoping to god Teemu thinks he is dead and will thus ignore this prey for it has no fight left in it *
Teemu: Okay, night night.

ON NEXT TIME'S ADVENTURES:
GRAHAM AND TUFTS' FRIENDS ENJOY BEING SPOILED BY THEIR JAPANESE MOM AND JAPANESE OLDER SISTER.

PEACE, BITCHES