40 oz of the Mondays

Amazingly I woke up this morning without a hangover. A man can get used to drinking sake. Played and lost a $5+1 SNG, watched and not understood Ghost In the Shell 2: Innocence in Japanese. Wasted time in between by shopping for Halloween stuff and studied Japanese ineffectively. I will have time tomorrow to plan my Halloween lessons and decorate.

I got an email from Elsa and I went to the Monday night English/Japanese conversation club at Kashmir Dar Dar (the only decent Indian restaurant, cooked by an Indian-looking man) to meet her. I called around and got Courtney to go with me as an out clause in case it turned out to be boring. Bringing her along turned out to be the right move, as I had met most of the people there but remembered none of their names:

Satoshi (the insurance man, whom I met at Chioko's party and Nichinan tour, who plays on a volleyball team and invited me to join!), Elsa, An (Elsa's colleague, the originator of the Singaporean line dance at Chioko's party), Sachiko (old Japanese lady), some other Japanese guy with glasses who seemed to take on a leadership role, and two Yuko's, both of whom I met at Chioko's party--the older one referred to herself as the pretty Yuko and called the younger Yuko the rich Yuko. It was weird and extremely awkward at the same time. Just one of those Japanese compliments/displays of affection that actually sounded like insults to American ears, I guess.

Neither of the two Yuko's was the one that I missed and thought about the whole weekend. But I guess a Yuko is just as good as any other, right? And two Yuko's gotta be better than one, right?

I wish. I just can't get her out of my mind. I sense the onset of emotional masochism that has plagued many of my blossoming attractions. Tread lightly, Jeff, you've been on roads like this before, and they always led to nowhere.