Kyabakura. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.
In theory and in practice, Kyabakura is a bar where girls come and sit next to you and pour drinks and touch your leg and flirt with you.
I had never been before. We walked into a dimly lit club. It was like an “ultra lounge” in the U.S. except it really was ultra and it really was a lounge. And we sat down and ordered drinks. There were two of us.
“The girls will be here later.”
And then out they came. One sat down next to me. They were both way into the fact that I was from California. Well, they were paid to be. But seriously, they seemed into it. It’s like they wanted to pay me for the experience.
And that was part of the problem. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they just acted fake like I expected. And if I couldn’t feel the girl’s cool skin on my arm when she leaned over to pour my drink and tell me how great I was. And if, and maybe this is the worst part, after about thirty minutes they didn’t have them leave and bring out a whole new set of girls. And they got cuter and cuter as the night went on. Of course, it just so happens that I got drunker and drunker as the night went on. Until finally this girl from Aomori came out who I just wanted to tackle and kiss all over and over and again till the night closes in right then and there. Aomori is where this girl I met in Japan two years ago was from. But I won’t tell that story now lest I induce dear MTL to put a bullet in the back of my dome upon re-entry into the land of opportunity.
But then it was closing time. We stumbled into the street and filled the wind with fake British accents for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
It was too much and not enough at the same time.
Before all of that, earlier in the evening I met a girl at this locals only (in theory) standing bar in Jidaigaoka. She was also a Buddhist and also did zazen (meditation). About half of the Japanese words I know are from practicing Zen. It was weird talking to her about it, and I have absolutely no idea how the conversation started. I was too drunk. And she laughed at me when I asked for her phone number and told me, “This is nanpa.” Nanpa basically means “picking up girls.” Picking up, as in “pick up line.” And I didn’t convince her that this was not nanpa with my sophisticated argment: “This is not nanpa!” It was not a good sign that “nanpa” was part of my limited Japanese vocabulary.
“This is nanpa!”
“This is not nanpa!”
“This is nanpa!”
“This is not nanpa!”
This impassioned discourse continued for some time until she gave me her mobile email address. Then she laughed and asked something about, “What would we do on our first date?” and rather then discus those too hot for TV details I simply said “Sweet! See you tomorrow for our second date.” Then I left.
3 responses so far ↓
1 Allen // Jan 8, 2009 at 6:57 am
Errr…foreign Raider. Am I right, people? Or maybe that’s the 2nd date.
2 M // Jan 11, 2009 at 1:14 pm
mtl has no bullets for you whatsoever and whensoever! Okay okay, actually, about this tmy girl and since last spring. BTW, isn/t your date confused that a drunk buddhist exists?
3 Ian Ian Ian // Jan 20, 2009 at 3:17 pm
Allen – You are right, person.
M – What?! What did I do last spring? Other than like, everything I did. With “my date” I think there was so much general confusion that it was hard to notice any specific contradictions.
Leave a Comment