All the old posts from the old Your-Japan.com on the Your-Japan Blog Network

Honestly, I thought I would have much more time to myself, to be able to spend as I pleased while visiting my aunt and uncle up here in Maryland, and update regularly as I promised. INSTEAD, I seem to be a 24-hr babysitting service for my spoiled-rotten baby cousins. They’re ages eight and 4, and they never shut up. They TRY to think of ways of getting into mischief. For them, playing and fighting are the same thing, so when one of them screams bloody murder, I usually run to see what’s the matter, only to catch them in the middle of a tickle fight. They’re with me all damn day, too, following me around and asking me obnoxious questions. I HAVE to play with them, too, or my aunt won’t pay me for watching them. Subsequently, I haven’t been able to write ANYTHING (I write short stories and post them on the internet, too) let alone keep up with my blog here. I’m really sorry. Luckily, I managed to convince them to give me just a half hour of alone time, so I’ll write what I can. Thanks for understanding.

Anyway, to continue with my story:

Fujiomi and I headed out fairly early, and once he bought our train passes, I knew we were headed into Shibuya. First of all- he’s never bought me anything. Ever. And I knew that he got special pleasure watching me battle the Ticket Machines o’ Evil every morning on the way to school. However, this time, he seemed all too eager to buy my ticket for me, and even take my hand as we boarded the train. I was about to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip.

Him: What? You don’t like holding hands? How un-Japanese of you.

I wanted to correct him SO bad, and say that the Japanese were actually reknown for their strict social standards on physical affection; but I knew he was just using it as an excuse to win the bet we had, so I kept quiet. We got to Shibuya, and the first thing he did was ask me what I wanted to do. And it wasn’t one of those careless, “What-do-you-wanna-do?”’s that ALL guys ask, because they’re too lazy to think of something themselves. He looked me in the eyes, smiled, and asked me what I would enjoy doing- like he really cared!

IT WAS FREAKY. Like, Hitler-watching-care-bears kind of creepy.

I muttered something, so Fujiomi dragged me around and we window shopped for a bit. Again, the clothes I was wearing made me REALLY stand out, and those shoes were murder. It felt like everyone was looking at me- something I’m not really used to. About half an hour later, Fujiomi lead me into this cafe. Well, THEY call it a cafe. It actually looked like an botanical garden filled with french maid cosplay girls serving tea and really extravagant desserts. On a side note, maid cafe’s are getting to be REALLY popular here, especially in the nooks and crannies of Shibuya, Shinjuku, and a few in Harajuku.

We sat down, and Fujiomi IMMEDIATELY turned back into his usual self.

Fujiomi: What’s the matter with you?

Me: Huh?

Fujiomi: You’re acting quiet and shy.

Me: Isn’t that how I’m supposed to act?

Fujiomi: Yeah, but now that you’re actually acting that way it’s boring. So go back to your usual loud self. Seeing you so reserved is giving me chills.

Me: You’re acting weird, too. You’re acting nice, kind, and thoughtful.

Fujiomi: I’m always nice, kind and thoughtful.

Me: Not to me!

Fujiomi: I never said I was nice, kind, or thoughtful to YOU. but I am nive, kind, and thoughtful.

Me: You’re evil.

After that, we talked more about each other, and the subject of our homes came up. Fujiomi actually asked me quite a few questions about America, like how much I had travelled around, what the social norms were like, and what kind of traditions we had. He ordered for the both of us- miraculously remembering that I like black coffee over tea- and some kind of frou-frou dessert. When the waitress gave it too us, it wasn’t very large, but it looked like it was made of about nine different kinds of pure sugar.

I don’t like sweets.

Period.

I have ONE piece of chocolate a year, and that’s the truffle I get from my father every year on Valentine’s Day.

This THING in front of me made me want to gag just from the sugary-sweet smell of it. And what did Fujiomi do? As soon as the waitress approached again, he turned back into the Nice Fujiomi, pasted on a smile and thanked her for it. Then, taking the spoon out, he scooped some of it up- and held it in front of me, telling me to open my mouth.

Not ONLY had the waitress not even left yet, but about six other people from surrounding tables were openly staring. AND I HATE SWEETS.

Me: You MUST be joking.

Him: -SMILE- Nope. Now open your mouth, like a good girlfriend.

The way he said it was SO perverted, too.

But if you can’t beat ‘em- shock ‘em.

So I pressed my breasts together as I leaned forward, licked my lips and shut my eyes as I opened my mouth and went, “Ahhhhhhnnnnn”.

I’m shocked he didn’t drop that spoon. Instead, he SHOVED the hunk of sugar into my mouth and asked sweetly, “Tastes good, huh?” to which I answered as femininely as I could: “Uh-uh! As sweet as victory!”

Actually, I felt kind of bad, because between the two of us, we only had three bites of the entire Banana chocolate parfait. As a Southern girl, I hate seeing food go to waste– but I sure as hell wasn’t going to eat it.

Fujiomi dragged me out of the cafe and to a large building on the corner. There was a huge screen on both sides of the building, showing music videos and news clips and commercials. When I looked at the sign, I saw it was a movie theater. He asked me what movie I wanted to see- again, with that kind smile on his face, like he genuinely wanted to do something that I liked. However, I still had to get back at him for the parfait, so I pointed to a poster on the wall of a Japanese man and woman in a passionate embrace on a beach at sunset, with a title something like, “My heart, your body, our future” and said THAT was the movie I wanted to see.

Fujiomi’s face fell as he looked at the poster, and I had to EAT MY OWN LIPS to keep from busting out laughing. Fujiomi has a special loathing for chick-flicks. According to Sukiko, he took his first date to a move, who- naturally- wanted to see a chick flick, and he mistakenly agreed. Not only did the movie and plot itself make him want to punch a baby, but apparently, the girl he was with would randomly throw herself at him throughout the movie and try to molest him, thinking it was romantic. Knowing this, I picked the sappiest, most feminine movie I could.

And, heroically enough, Fujiomi accepted the challenge.

OH SHIT!! One of the kids just fell down the stairs!! I’ll update later!

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