blacklilly | Entries tagged with men

I have no idea. I mean, I know what we're talking about in terms of the Herbivore/Carnivore thing. There's this idea in Japan at the moment that you can classify men as herbivore or carnivore based upon their behaviour - herbivores are sensitive, quiet types who are not going to chat you up in a bar for fear of being rebuffed, whilst the carnivores are the hunters, as it were. I think this is just an excuse to let Japanese men off the hook for being thoroughly useless - but maybe I'm just bitter. I guess on a good day I'm a carnivore, but most of the time I'm a herbivore. I'm so scared of being rejected and laughed at that I either don't approach people, or if I do meet someone I like, I just end up disappointed.

As for the S and M thing, I've heard people discuss this before, but I'm a little lost. I can only think of it in terms of, you know, S&M. If anyone could enlighten me...?

Apparently, there's a typhoon on its way. Should be hitting Tokyo just in time for Halloween. Which scuppers my costume plans as they were of the slightly eye-makeup and fleshy sort. Boo.

On the upside, it turns out I'm not the only one with grumps this week, which makes me feel slightly less alone in my misery.

Now, the story in Part 1 may make one feel a tad “squicky” – (I’m taking that to be a merging of squirmy and icky), and one could well want to lament the poor state of dating form around at the moment.

This week I’ve heard a number of stories from friends and their recent encounters with “men”, veering from the pretty horrible, to the sad, to quite heart-warming. Whilst messaging my friend jennarose on facefook the other day she wrote this little ditty to me:

“UGH, whinge-baggyness: I went out to dinner with an actual man tonight.
We had a lovely conversation, shared delightful food at my favorite wine bar,
and at the end of the night, we drove back to his place....
where I dropped him off and there was no kissing because it was Greg.

Who is the only single dude I know.”

It was also Kate who told me two tales – one of awful, sub-human inbreds insulting her and her friends; and another of a perfectly angelic encounter, both in the same night.

Now, much as I profess to be a hater of Disney and the other terrible bullshit that girls are brought up by society to believe in, I am actually a bit of a Romantic (blame my parents – I do). I am actually pretty certain that there’s someone out there for most people. How you actually locate them amongst all the human dross is a problem no one has the answer to. Gambarimasu, minna-san!!

To help make you feel better, I will tell you a story about something else that happened to me yesterday.

I met up with a saxophone player friend of mine, who I have known for quite a while, but haven’t seen since last Halloween. We keep inviting each other out to parties and gigs, but for reasons of money and work one or the other of us can never make it. So we agreed to hang out yesterday. My favourite thing about this guy has always been how bubbly and flirty he is. In addition, I once forgot that he didn’t speak any English, because I find speaking to him in Japanese so easy that it doesn’t register as an exercise in translation.

I met him at Hachiko, to find that he’d scrubbed himself up quite nicely, and was donning a very cool pair of sunglasses. We greeted each other, as always, with a big hug and then took off to find coffee/beer. As we stood at the Shibuya crossing he very casually slipped his arm around mine and that pretty much set the tone of the whole evening.

So, we found a dimly lit wine bar and chatted for a bit, and then went out to find some food. We actually ended up in The Hub as he had a hankering for ‘fish and chips’. I usually despise the Hub, but on this occasion it was a pretty good choice. The place is always heaving with people, so it's easy to get lost amongst the throng, and no one can hear your conversation. The sheer volume of the place also forces you to be virtually talking in each other’s ears.

Anyway, I had a lovely evening with a lovely guy, who held my hand all the way back to Shibuya station and saw me to my train. I know, it all sounds a little high school, doesn’t it – holding hands? But believe me, I can only recall the last time someone held my hand because it was such an out of the ordinary thing. However, I should point out right now that despite the fact that he’s lovely and holds my hand, he is not, repeat NOT my boyfriend and won’t be. Sad eh?

So, there was the mouse thing and the Polynesian sex thing wasn’t there? Sex first.

As you do when you’re both not really too reserved about the subject of “doing it” (there may a cascade of euphemisms ahead – gird your loins), we got onto the subject of “poking hay” whilst out last night and I was told about “Polynesian Sex” (ポリネシアンセックス）、which appears to have been all the rage in Japan at some point - a bit like Billy’s Boot Camp and the Banana Diet, I suspect. As far as I can tell so far, it seems to be along similar lines to Tantric sex, in that it promotes a much more mindful, meditative approach to the whole “banging” situation (that word says it all) which is most prevalent in Western society. Damn you Christianity for another thing you probably got rid of when you wiped out all those ancient European cultures!

I have a habit of picking up books about "making the beast with two backs" from other people. My mum bought me a very cool book on religious signs and symbols when I was a teenager, which contained a very interesting snippet on Tantric sex. Then for my 18^th birthday a couple of guys at school bought me a copy of the Kama Sutra (it was the £1 Penguin edition, the cheapskates). A few years later a customer at the bookshop in Slough sang the praises of a book whose name and author I have forgotten. I have a very clear picture of the author – a very glamorous-looking blonde woman who was a sociologist, her name something along the lines of “Shea Hait” or something like that. I located a copy of the book in Uxbridge library and found it to be quite interesting. So, I guess I’ll give this book a whirl. It was even recommended by someone on Amazon who appears to be a celibate monk-type, so if he can read it, I’m pretty certain I can.

Interestingly, Prince has just popped up on iTunes singing “Sexy MF”. I think my computer is sentient.

Oh, and the mouse. On the way home on Wednesday night I was forced to come to a standstill when a little mousey caught my eye in the bushes on the way home. We were on a main street, so he took me by surprise. After a few seconds, I decided to keep walking, as it appears did he, because he decided to run into my foot, and took a bit of a skid across the pavement before hurtling towards the doors of a nearby restaurant! I was agog, and so was the guy down the road watching me looking from my foot to the mouse, to my foot to the mouse…

Current Music: Prince - Sexy MF

Last week's wedding party was plenty good fun, but I want to post about it another time.

This week there seems to be have been a lot of the subject of men and relationships coming up in conversation and in blogs. When I came to Japan, I was nursing a very badly broken heart and so the idea of any man coming anywhere near me was not one I entertained at all. Plus, when I first arrived, I was rather unimpressed with what I found (though to be fair, I was living in a town where the majority of people my age had disappeared out to the big cities). Gradually though, I guess I became accustomed to Japanese men and began to find them more and more attractive. That my Japanese was also improving also meant that I was able to communicate with them, and this led to a few dates, but only in one instance has it led to what might possibly be construed as a "relationship" (that whole bitter subject is not worth mentioning though).

I'm not sure what it is about Japanese men, but I only know one person who has a Japanese husband, another one a boyfriend at the moment; and I can only think of two of three more who have even dated them. Whilst a lot of foreign men in Japan pick up a girlfriend pretty quickly, foreign women have a much harder time of things. In fact, I'd say that unless you're willing to put up with random encounters, you're in for a life of enforced celibacy in Japan as a foreign woman. There are a number of different reasons I think this could be, but I'm not sure I've quite formulated them enough to discuss. When I've discussed the subject with the guys at work, two of them have said that Western women have a tendency to "shut down" any Japanese man who approaches them. Admittedly, part of this could just be that Western women do not find Japanese men attractive, but I can give you a very very good example of why some guys do get shut down...

Imagine you're me, in a bar on Tuesday night, minding your own business, planning your 30th birthday party whilst casually eyeing-up the delicious bar man. Suddenly, a guy comes over and says something rapid-fire at you in Japanese. You reply (in Japanese) that you didn't catch what he said, and could he say it again and bit more slowly. He pauses, like he didn't quite understand you, and then says in English:

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"I've already got one, thanks," you reply, gesturing to the beer the delicious barman just set down in front of you.

"Can I buy you that one?" he says. Well, that's 700yen I don't have to spend, you think.

"Sure." He sits down and introduces himself in fluent Canadian English. At this point some kind of warning bell is going off in your head, but you're not quite sure what it's for, so you ignore it a bit longer. He starts talking about himself, finds out you're from England and says that he studied Economics at Oxford.

"Oh, really?" you say. "Which college?" At this point you see him back-pedalling and realize what that alarm-bell was.

"Well," he says. " It wasn't Christchurch or St John's, but it was on the same street."

Yes, that alarm was the bullshit detector going off.

After that he proceeds to talk about himself for another 45 minutes. You know your guard is up, so you relax it a little bit, but consciously remain aware of what it is you're thinking and feeling the whole time. This will come in useful, as it will only serve to remind you that the guard goes up for a reason. He says it's nice to be able to "just talk" to people in bars, without any other agenda, and then starts coming out with come-on lines he clearly picked up in a wine bar in Oxford.

At one point he asks if you can speak Japanese (the fact that you have already spoken to him in Japanese not being evidence enough of some ability existing). You reply, perhaps too modestly, that you can speak some. A few minutes later he laments for you that life must be so hard living in a country for three years and not being able to speak the language. Did this guy hear anything I said? you wonder.

He then goes on to tell you that he likes your sarcastic wit, and then throws out a back-handed compliment about your being "eccentric" on account of the piercings you sport. That fact that you may actually be a little eccentric is not the issue; what is important is the fact that he based this "observation" on a nose ring and then PATS YOU ON THE HEAD. As you operate a "3-strikes and you're out" policy on all human beings, this brings him to the total of 2.

Things take a slightly more interesting note when you discover that he's a fan of "Supernatural", a subject upon which he can find ample ways to turn around and make it about himself. When you tell him you've been watching the latest series by downloading it from the internet, he grabs hold of your shoulder quite forcefully and demands that you give him your downloads. Strike 3 and back to full-shields.

The beer isn't quite finished, so you stick around a little longer, mainly to see what this douche-bag is going to come out with next, and also because you refuse to be intimidated out of your favourite bar. He asks if you need a Japanese teacher.

"I already have 2," you reply. "I'm OK, thanks."

"I only teach 'Pillow Talk'." (I think this might be the Japanese equivalent of: "Get your coat love, you've pulled!") Part of you really wants to point out the wedding ring on his finger and ask him if his wife knows he's a fucking sleaze-bag, but instead you say that you have to go home.

"It's OK," he says. "You can leave whenever you want." Like you need his permission to exercise free will...

I'm leaving you here for now. Later, more tales of a surprising and more man-positive ilk.