Rocku za Kasubah

How embarrassing to admit, but I went to Arabian Rock last night, and actually? Totally fun!

Of course, one needs a partner for this sort of adventure. Enter my friend Cassie, loudmouthed Canadian goddess and former child of Abu Dhabi (fun fact-she went to the same high school as my brother in AD, AND the same university as me, yet we met in Tokyo. Go fig.) In addition to the UAE, Cassie has lived in Iran and Iraq. She is also awesome.

We started the evening at Yamato, a 180-yen izakaya near Shinjuku station’s west exit, and after catcalling a slutty girl in tiny pants who went to the toilets six times every hour- probably a side effect of those tight tiny pants- we stumbled out and made our way towards Kabukicho. We were torn between Bar Mysterious and Christon Cafe ( a church-themed bar- yes, really) when we saw Arabian Rock and opted for that.

After being forced to listen to the Aladdin soundtrack, a hot Japanese chick full bellydancing getup appeared and held out a golden lamp. When we rubbed it, fire spurted out of the spout, causing our drunk asses to shriek in a most excellently girlish fashion. We were then seated and asked- in Japanese- if we would like an English menu. How enlightened! We did need it, after all.

Amusingly, the drinks menu was untranslated, while the food menu hilariously offered us things like “Arabian Pork Fry.” They had a list of tajines, a traditional Moroccan dish turned awesomely Japanese. They even had a vegetarian option, so it was with great pride that I ordered the “Healthy Soy Meat and Potato” tajine. We also ordered two drinks at random.

When the drinks arrived, we had to ask if they contained any alcohol at all- Cassie kept asking, “alcohol? ALCOHOL?” and when I tried to make things clear to the waitress, she said, “Ah! Alcool!” which I totally forgot was the right word. Sorry, nice waitress…although it really isn’t that different- as they were weak and sweet, albeit delicious. Mine came festooned with chunks of fresh mango, and Cassie’s cocktail came with a glowing, blinking ice cube that disco-fied our dark little cubicle. I won’t admit that Cassie stole it.

The tajine arrived and was, surprisingly, COMPLETELY DELICIOUS. I snarfed it in a most unladylike manner.

Oh, I forgot the golden eggs! Yeah, the otoshi (or obligatory-snack-served-to-you-as-an-excuse-for-a-seating-charge) were delicious shoyu tamago, or hardboiled eggs with soy flavour, and they were GOLD. Cassie and I screamed like white drunk women and then we ate them. Good times.

As cheesy Tokyo bars go, it’s not badly priced- for two people including seating charge, four drinks, and one meal-sized food item, it came to less than 5000 yen. All in all, pretty good for Shinjuku, and conveniently located near Don Quijote so that we could even be harassed on our way back to the station! I think I’ll go back.

from sometime in February

So, like, at the end of January or beginning of February- can’t remember exactly when- I did my first Tokyo all-nighter.

I’d had the opportunity about a billion times, but usually didn’t bother for several reasons. For example, I have a bad habit of drunken flouncing. Also, dislike of being face-raped by Eurotrash in nightclubs. Also, Roppongi is annoying at night and don’t let anyone try to convince you that it’s not.

So, at the bar one night with four friends, I realized that I had to jet or I’d miss the last train. When one of the guys told me they were going to stay out all night, I paused and thought: hey, I don’t even have to be AWAKE until noon tomorrow, let alone at work. Why the fuck not?

After being unceremoniously kicked out of our favourite bar, we went to am-pm for more libations. [A quick note here: I’m sure this point is beyond belaboured, but Japanese convenience stores are wonderful. You can walk in to buy a pack of gum and walk out with a four-course hot meal, a bottle of gin, and a spanking new necktie. Seriously. They have neckties and pantyhose and socks and enough cosmetics to spackle even the most paint-obsessed Harajuku fashion queen. I’ve seen button-down shirts there. Naturally, it’s so that if you spend all night drinking and doing various drinking-related activities, you can cover up the stink of a long evening with some new duds. Of course, the fact that you’re barfing on the train cannot be hidden, but…] One of my friends made it his mission to high-five any and all passers-by. Now, this was a pretty interesting social experiment: about half the intended high-five returnees ducked away without even looking. This was more expected behaviour. As for the other fifty percent, I’d say about two-thirds were enthusiastic and amused, and the remaining third slapped, but grouchily. Grouchy high-fiving. Who knew?

We decided to konbini crawl (exactly like a pub crawl) from Kabukicho in Shinjuku over to Shibuya. That’s probably a long walk even when one isn’t intoxicated. As it was, it took us about five hours. On the way, we had the following adventures:

– Walking by a gas station, we saw a pickup truck. Since we were drunk, this was very exciting, and we spent about twenty minutes arguing with the guy and trying to get him to give us a ride, but he refused to take all four of us. Yes, that’s right, he would only take three, and since I was the only girl, I decided to take drunken umbrage and decided he was a sexist pig. But seriously, why only three?

– Skipping through Shibuya in the rain, singing the same three parts of “Don’t Stop Believin'” at the top of our lungs. Unfortunately, this is how I lost one of my favourite earrings…

– Snuggle party on the steps of some random train station near Shibuya, a snuggle party that was broken up by an elderly rent-a-cop, who made some very polite, yet very aggrieved gestures that suggested that we take our snuggling elsewhere. Cue my dramatic “CHEESE IT, IT’S THE COPS!” followed by slipping and falling backwards. Despite the fact that I fell onto my back, I managed to hurt my finger. Because I am a talent.

– Melon daiquiri in a can: much better than you think. Much, much better. Too good, in fact.

– I found out that if you have one drunken male friend, he will need to pee every so often. If you have three drunken male friends, they will need to pee almost CONSTANTLY. Were they marking their territory, or did the constant drizzle inspire their constant dribble? This is a very serious anthropological question.

– I came back into myself when I realized I was in McDonald’s (a big no-no for me), sitting in the smoking section- and I realized there WAS a smoking section, in one of those HOLY SHIT I LIVE IN JAPAN moments- and that is was seven in the morning.

Yes, I did make it into work on time, but I wasn’t exactly…chipper.