The Cheese Stands Alone

I made chimichangas the other night. They were yummy. But somehow one shred of renegade cheese, which I meant to melt and devour, managed to escape. I found it on the steps outside my apartment. How did it get there? It is not beyond explanation but it is certainly weird.

Haven't posted for ages. So busy. Last night I accidentally fell asleep on my very uncomfortable sofa while trying to reply to emails. I woke up at 3 a.m. but didn't have the energy or will power to drag myself to bed. Woke up again at about 6 and managed the feat, telling myself if I hurried I could still have 3 hours of sleep in comfort.

I have rediscovered coffee. And I made my best pot ever on the same day I made chimichangas.

Sometimes people give me beer. I don't know why, exactly. Maybe they think I drink a lot of beer. Maybe they are right. But not home alone. Not usually, anyway. So the cans accumulate until I feel somehow inspired to open one. The other night the muses of brew paid a visit and I decided to take advantage of the fact that it is perfectly legal in Japan to walk down the street drinking a beer.

As it turns out, unlike many food/drink items, the expiration date on beer cans actually means something. Yuck. What a waste.

I bought a new watch. It is a Citizen. Looks sharp. Cost about $120. It is already screwed up. I am not pleased.

But I broke my G-Shock fighting with the cops so I needed a replacement. Haha just kidding.

My G-shock still works. I just can't wear it.

The Seahawks are in the Super Bowl. I will watch it alone at 8 in the morning. Happily I have that particular Monday off. Why does everyone think the Steelers will win? Punks.

One of my students who is studying to become a physical therapist proudly wore a T-shirt the other day that read: "Different Strokes for Different Forks". An accident looking for a purpose.

I cleaned the filter in my air conditioner for the first time in the over 2 years I have lived in this apartment. Oh what a difference it made. People should clean their air conditioner filters more often, that's what I say.

I was in a bar a couple weeks ago and an acquaintance of a friend to whom I had just been introduced introduced me to an acquaintance of hers, a young woman from somewhere in Africa. I was nice but not exceptionally so, but she somehow became interested in me, saying that she could tell I was a "real man". I tried to convince her otherwise, as I know it is not true, but she wouldn't have it. I had already thoughtlessly surrendered my phone number before she got going and the onslaught began. I dare not repeat some of the things she said here. It was pretty surreal, let's just say. Direct. At one point she attempted physical reinforcement of her words of animal desire, but I denied her, saying "not on the first date", laughing and trying to change the subject. She had written my number on the palm of her hand, so I thought it might fade and that would be the end of it. But then she, too, realized this and nonchalantly pulled her shirt down and wrote it on her bra. Still, perhaps the washing machine would render the digits illegible and thus undialable, I thought. My nubian counterpart, however, while insisting that she would in fact call very soon, dashed my hopes of detergent deletion when she told me, and subsequently demonstrated, that she had already committed my number to memory. So all I could do was say, "Until then." I smiled (and probably unwittingly bowed) and walked away, saying my friends were waiting. As far as I know, she hasn't called yet. Maybe she found someone who impressed her as being even more of a man than I. Couldn't be that difficult. But I can't help but wonder if my number is still written on her bra....