Psychopaths and Playboys

At long last, I have joined that not-so-elite club of awkward white guys who arrive in Japan and shortly find themselves a female companion who, as we say in the States, is way out of their league. Yes, that's right folks, I have a Japanese girl friend.

It all happened so fast. One day we were just being introduced at the beach, and before I knew it we had exchanged phone numbers. She said she would get in touch.

I waited. A week went by, then two. I thought, "I guess she's just not that into me." I indulged in some self-pity. "Why does this keep happening to me?", I thought. "I meet these girls. They seem to like me. We exchange info, and then nothing... What am I doing wrong?"

I gave up hope.

Then, Tuesday night as I unlocked my bike outside the station I heard a familiar squeal, "Maggiiiiiie!" It was Miki! As she teetered toward me on impossible high heels, I allowed myself to hope again, just a little. She wrapped her arms around me and squealed all in one breath, "How-are-you?!-I-couldn't-find-you-on-Facebook.-What-are-you-doing-here?-Are-you-free-tomorrow?!" Relief flooded through me; she was into me! She had looked for me on Facebook, and now here she was, in the flesh, well, as much flesh as a Japanese girl friend could be expected to be in. She was asking about coffee tomorrow, saying she would sms me, and then, before I knew it, we were in each others arms, and then she was gone. I wondered, "Will this time be different? Will she sms me tomorrow?"

3:30 Wednesday afternoon - sms from Miki asking to meet up. She's into me! Yes, I want to meet up! Yes, I think it's fabulous that your English is from "Sex and the City" and that you love Zara and think your head is big and that I have nice skin. Yes, I want a friend!

I think all of this in .25 seconds. I reply, "Hey Miki, yeah, I'd love to. Do you want to get coffee downtown?" She does.

We meet. We chat. She teaches me all the Japanese that my coworkers never will. For instance, I can now have the following conversation:

A - Oh, he's cute.
B - His exgirlfriend is a psychopath.
A - Oh really? Nevermind.

And when you consider that she also taught me how to say "exboyfriend", "playboy", "playgirl", "annoying", "shut up", and "I don't care", the iterations are endless.

After confirming that I would be here for at least 2 years, Miki said she would introduce me to her friends, starting with Toru. Toru is a tall bashful guy who djs house music on nights and weekends and whose day job is to sell Armani. He doesn't speak English. But he does look like a Japanese Adrian Brody. I think this "introduction" was an attempted set up, and although I'm not sure how I feel about that, I could do a whole lot worse than a tall Armani-clad house dj. Also, Miki assured me that he is not a "yarichi" (playboy), and his "moto-kano" (ex-gf) is not a "saite" (psychopath).

When he mentioned that maybe we could come to a club he is working at on Saturday Miki taught me how to say, "We'll see."