Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Bearing Down for the Holidays

I have finished hibernating, which means it's just about time to get on a plane to the States.
hibernating: synonymous with cookie baking.
(this also means no blogging until I return late-January.  Never fear, I shall return, and share all the doodles that are sure to crop up.)

As you may remember, The Mister has been in the States for the last two weeks for Navy schtuff - I have been holding down the fort here in Nagoya.  He's flying back here this weekend... just in time to get on a plane with me which will head BACK to the states.  It's a weird long story and I'm sorry he's about to spend so much time in the air, but I am excited to see him.

I'm also excited for him to see his Christmas gift because I finished it yesterday and it's stupendous... and also because since I'm about to type about it I can't post this blog entry until he opens it!

I made him... a Kigurumi.
You may remember from previous entries here that I have a long-standing obsession with a Japanese fashion phenomenon known as the Kigurumi.  For the uninitiated; a Kigurumi is an adult onesie which makes the wearer resemble adorable popular cartoon characters or animals.  They are everywhere here, but what I was finding were all cartoon characters and I rather soundly had my mind set on a giraffe onesie.  A Kigurumi should represent your essence, your spirit, your patronus.  It should be... your spirit animal.  So I certainly couldn't just settle on a Winnie the Pooh onesie as my first foray into onesiedom.  I am set rather firmly on a giraffe.

You understand.

A few months back, Kp2 and I resolved to either find proper onesies or make our own.  Somehow we stumbled upon an H&M that was selling Halloween onesies, and we snapped at the opportunity.She snagged a unicorn for herself and a panda bear for her S.O.  I got the remaining design; the shark.

And all was well in the world, except... for a few key points:

  1. A shark is not a giraffe.
  2. In the 4-people friends circle of Kp2 and her S.O., me and The Mister... there were only 3 Kigurumi.
  3. A unicorn, while magical, is not Gudetama.*


Naturally then, I needed to fix these issues... and I when I found a decent fabric store in this town... y'all it was on like Donkey Kong.

mid spot-painting.
The Mister left for his navy responsibilities and I got to work:  I purchased a copious amount of yellow sweatshirt fabric, a zipper and thread, and some elasticized dark gray fabric for sleeve and leg cuffs.  I came home and worked out a reasonable pattern for a basic onesie, and I sewed it up.  And I knew I had hit pay dirt.  I had decided to make my own first just in case I needed to do a lot of tweaking - that way it would be perfected for the one I made for The Mister.  After some trial and error I got some spots on the darn thing and now I'm pretty sure I'm never taking it off.  This is my true form.



boom, baby.
Now... the all important question: what animal to make for The Mister?
I thought, what an easy question this will be to ask.  And I was SO WRONG!

don't believe me?
click to embiggen
 the whole convo
.
He took over two weeks dodging the answer to this seemingly simple thing to identify.  Including one very amazing side conversation between the time where he identified himself as a bear but before he was able to pinpoint what type of bear where I made a joke about the terminology used in GLBT language wherein the term "Bear" is used as a way to identify hairy gay men.  The Mister apparently didn't catch this joke.  Additionally, "Bear" is also apparently a popular search term to identify the same type of man in porn... and if you don't have your google safe search turned on you can apparently get some pretty questionable search results.  Particularly if you're The Mister and you're at work when you're trying to appease your pestering wife's weird texts by finding a "what type of Bear am I?" quiz and then you get to spend the rest of the day hoping you didn't trigger one of your employer's HR internet flags.

Good times, Mister.  Good times.

Long story short - now there is a bear onesie with plaid lined hood and pockets.  It has paw-mittens attached and a bear nose and by God I almost had a moment where I debated switching my onesie out with The Mister's.

And by golly, he's a-damn-dorable in it.


Do you do silly Christmas presents?  
This is our first go at it and we're digging it - a lot less stress about finding the perfect thing, you know?  
Tell me about your gift giving scheme in the comments!

today's little language lesson:
キリン 着ぐるみは いちばん です。
Kirin kigurumi wa ichiban desu.
Giraffe onesies are the best.

*Guys, don't worry: Kp2 solved #3 all on her own:

Monday, December 07, 2015

From under my rock

All is well in the world, just a lot of world to keep track of.
This time of year is always hectic, and it always seems to leave me feeling a constant level of overwhelmed.  

This year, however, I've been given a gift that few people would cherish the way I do:  I've been given hermit time.  The Mister has taken off for some navy responsibilities over the next two weeks, and I'm using this time to really take the time to hunker down in the apartment by myself, take care of myself and make sure my charge meter is back at 100% before we take off for the holiday smorgasbord of travel.  

This is not to say I don't like being around people; I really love being with friends and family (more on that in a second).  When I'm with others though, it feels as if I'm a human iphone:  I'm super fun and I genuinely enjoy being a part of the [candy-crush] party... but I can only go so long before I need to be left be to plug in and recharge.  So that's what I'm doing.  Long story short; you'll excuse me if I'm not particularly verbose today, but I have a moisturizing hand mask to apply today.*  Important stuff.

Since I don't have much to share, let's just go with some pictures and call it good. :)
     
We hosted a Thanksgiving dinner with our Aussie friends.  It was a great time, I managed to put together a proper spread using only the magic of a crock pot and a microwave oven we had: spinach artichoke dip, ham roll ups, dried apple slices, stuffing, mashed potatoes, a whole chicken, cranberry sauce, dinner rolls, gravy, pumpkin pie, and pecan pie.  The chicken got tricky (I should have done just pieces of chicken instead of trying to time out cooking a whole bird to coincide with the rest of the meal), and the pumpkin pie wasn't as sweet as I'd have liked (Japanese pumpkins aren't as sweet as the pie pumpkins sold int he states, so my recipe was skewed), but both of those are factors of life here that I can correct for next year.  In any case, the pies went over well because even if it wasn't sweet enough, it's not like you can tell from underneath a mountain of whipped cream, Mister.

I also got to use our nice table linnens (Bubba couldn't be bothered to care about the love and effort of a nicely set table), and since our Aussie friends are unfamiliar with Thanksgiving, I put together a "kiddie table" placemat to ease everyone into the holiday.  Hand turkeys were weird to explain, but everyone got a big kick out of them once The Mister made an example gobbler.  
     
Since this Thanksgiving party was also the last time that all of us were gathered together before Christmas, we also did a fun secret santa exchange.  My secret santa for me a foot warmer (which I have not gone a day without using since... in fact I'm using it right now), and a pencil case shaped like a paint tube.  And the Mister's secret santa (who may have been me), got him a ninja kit, complete with the samurai sword umbrella that he's been coveting for months now.

     
Mac's 7th birthday was this week, and we took a nice long walk with cookies and pictures to celebrate.  Thanks to Facebook's recently implemented "memories" feature, I had a great time going back through the picture of him I've posted every year on that date to celebrate, and pretend that his face wasn't getting a little gray-er.  Gah, he's such a good boy.

In totally unrelated news, according to the grocery store it's suddenly mango season again.  So... rejoice.  (none of the pictured mangoes survived the past two hours in this house... so goooooood.)


today's little language lesson
うるおい 閉じ込め 
uruoi tojikome
trapped moisture
aka, hand moisturizing masks exist, and i'm about to make that happen.


Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Okay But, So We DON’T Have Our Health.

I mean, I’m good NOW.  No worries.
I caught a bug a few weeks back, which I’m going to go ahead and blame for my lack of timely blog post here last week.  I was feeling pretty rough, and as anyone who interacted with me will attest, I SOUNDED pretty rough. 

We’re talking smoke-a-pack-a-day-for-30-years rough.
We’re talking drag-queen-after-she-finishes-an-all-night-kareoke-hosting-gig rough
Folks, we’re talking Andre-the-Giant-gargled-tacks-and-sand ROUGH.

And then directly following that, there were a few days where I would open my mouth and my lips would move and zero sound would come out.

I think it’s safe to say I had a touch of laryngitis… and judging by the snot-volume, also a cold.

Whatever.  Point is, I survived with little consequence.  Though it did give me some observations about winter and sickness in Japan.  And, I figure, y’all seem to like bulleted lists, so, you know, let’s do this thing.
  • During the summer months, I ceased to question what it would feel like if I melted like that candy bar you forgot in your car mid-August.  Unbearably humid is an understatement.  And yet, somehow this same city is so dry during the winter months that my skin flakes and I make little “snow piles” anywhere I sit for more than five minutes.  Going through lotion like Germans go through sauerkraut, still doing snow globe impersonations.  Notable as, dry air is not helpful for sore throats, donchaknow.
    dramatic re-enactment of my skin.
  • At least, along with the dry air comes some cooler weather.  It’s beautiful here right now, the outdoors is AH-MA-ZING.  This weather, however, is something the Japanese folk like to pair with turning on ALL the heat in ALL the places.  Now, when I say cooler weather, folks, I mean like, “oh, it’s a perfect day to take the dog for a super long walk wearing a thin sweatshirt.”  Somehow this gets translated into “oh, you need to take the train? Don’t worry we’ll make sure it’s heated to at least 80 degrees fahrenheit BEFORE we pack it with shoulder to shoulder people."  Am I running a fever?  I have no idea because I’m sweating but I feel cold… but I also just got off the Tsurumai line 9:15 train, so it’s anyone’s guess.
  • You should NEVER say “bless you” / “salud” / “gesundheit” when someone sneezes, because you would be shaming that person for the rudeness of their sneeze in public.  Western folks (at least those here who I know) tend to be really torn on this one… not saying something makes us feel inconsiderate, but we know it makes others feel inconsiderate to say something. So when you’re hanging out with a fellow Westerner and one of you sneezes… you know what suddenly becomes REALLY fun and novel?  Screaming “BLESS YOU!” and then locking eyes and sharing an implied “high five for how awesome we are in this moment” while grinning like super weirdoes.  
  • Also never acknowledge someone when the cough.  Even when it’s in a crowded public space (see above train scenario). Even when they don’t cover their face.  Even when they are coughing like a seal onto you.  Similarly to the above example, apparently it’s rude to ask the person coughing their plague germs onto you to … you know… STOP coughing their plague germs onto you.  What I’m saying here is “HEY TINY OJISAN ON THE TRAIN THREE WEEKS AGO, THANKS FOR OPEN-MOUTH COUGH-BARKING ONTO MY ONIGIRI I HOPE YOUR TINY BRITTLE TURTLE BODY WAS ABLE TO SURVIVE THE DISEASE YOU SHARED WITH ME AND MY TUNA-MAYO RICE-TREAT ON THAT FATEFUL DAY."
  • ...Unless you’re a foreigner.  If you are a foreigner and you display any sign of sickness, it is perfectly appropriate for Japanese folk acknowledge your diseased existence by throwing super-sized-judging-stares at any sniffle or attempt to clear your throat.  Or, you know, if you’re in a store that sells them, it’s totally common for a Japanese person point you to a box of face masks rather insistently.  No, I didn’t ask for face masks.  No, I’m not interested in marinating in my own mouth germs and stale coffee breath all day.  No, the fact that they have a Hello Kitty pattern on them does not convince me to buy them anyway.  Please just tell me in which aisle I can find throat lozenges.
Hello Kitty face masks are real.  They're a real thing.
  • Soup?  Screw soup.  Get yourself a giant bowl of pork ramen to soothe your sick soul.  Awwwww yissssss.  
if breadcrumbs were pork ramen, I am this duck.
  • Don’t blow your nose in public.  OMIGOSH how dare you blow your face-trumpet in public you horrific beast, you.  This is the social norm note that I have the hardest time with.  It is more acceptable to do that thing where you sniffle so hard that you suck the snot into the back of your throat loudly and either swallow or spit it out.  I hate that sound.  I haaaaaaaaaaate it.  It’s the worst sound that’s ever been.  And yet, I also hate being judged for blowing my nose.  So more than once, I may have horked back snot while waiting at the train station.  I bent to the will of society and became that which I despise.  It’s the beginning to my super-villain origin story, mark my words.



What’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard?  
Is it snot-horking?  
Or Andre the Giant after sand-gargling?  
Something else?  
Tell me in the comments!

today’s little language lesson
そのおじいさんは小さな、脆い、亀の体を持っています。
Sono ojisan wa chisana, moroi, kame no karada o motte imasu.

That old man has a tiny, brittle, turtle body.

Thursday, November 05, 2015

Valhalloween!

Halloween was last weekend.  You know what that means:

Teaser image!*
It’s time to look at our awesome Halloween costumes!

If you’re interested previous years:

This year I found my inspiration in mid-July, and then tried really, really hard not to tell anyone until at least August because I didn’t want to seem too-crazily obsessed and/ or insane, and... I failed.  So sometime around July 20th The Mister came home from work and I was like 
“HelloMisterWelcomeHomeCanWeBeVikingsForHalloween?!”

And wouldn’t you know it, he was down.

I mean, not to down-play my powers of persuasion, but convicing my hubby that he should wear armor and carry an axe and basically be the vision of masculinity for Halloween is not exactly a hard sell.

No matter, I win!

Also somewhere around that time, the ladies of The Australians and I went out for a girl’s night and I shared my elation surrounding the best holiday.  Since Halloween is not really a thing down under, they shared that the only context they’ve got for costumes is the wonder of American media.  

Thank you Mean Girls.

But it stuck with me, and thus, there may or may not have been a decision to be a skanky American stereotype version of a Viking for Halloween.  Sorry family?  Except I'm not sorry.  I looked good.  Whatever.  #sorrynotsorry

Also, if I can be real candid for a moment - I did it because I’ve got boobs.  That’s the short version.  The long version is that it’s been hard on my self esteem to live in a country for months and months where, though I've worked hard to be a medium or small size in the states, here I am not just plus sized, but usually a size that is too big to be represented in a store.  Japanese bodies are just built incredibly short and slender.  Thus sometimes... you need a little confidence boost by being able to dress up in a costume that accentuates boobs because it can feel good to see a glint of envy in a Japanese gal's face for a split second.
Side note: this still is from an Anime called "The Devil is a Part-timer"
and it is on American Nextlix and it is hilarious and you should watch it.
It doesn’t mean that I’m inviting people to grope me on the street, but we’ll get to that.

The other thing I decided about this costume early on is that I wanted to make everything from supplies I found at Daiso - a chain of “dollar store” type places that are everywhere in the city.

So, excepting our t-shirts, The Mister’s pants and boots, and my skirt, boots and fishnets, I made everything you see here.  And I made it with craft foam sheets, gold spray paint, cheap fake leather belts, one baseball cap, and some white fluffy toilet rugs.  I’m pretty proud of them, and the Mister seemed very excited to run around pretending to chop things.



I rocked a "fur" trimmed cape, bustier-style armor, wrist cuffs and a sword.  The Mister was styled in a tunic, shoulder armor, sheild (with crest matching my cape) traditional viking-horned helmet, and of course, his axe.  Which was easily his favorite part of the costume.  He chopped so many things.

We celebrated by going to a city-wide pub crawl/ costume party called The Absolute Halloween.  Populated by a pretty good mix of Japanese folk and foriegners, and let me tell you, Japan does Halloween right!  People went all out on their costumes.  It was a lot of fun (though super crowded!)

And then of course, there's the previously mentioned random Japanese woman who ran up to me on the street while we walked around Halloween night and grabbed my chest in her hands while shouting “Ooki Oopai!

This literally means “Big boobs!”  While I was flattered that she was impressed with the costuming (because really, they’re not quite that big… there were bra tricks and some contour makeup at play, friends), I was a little uncomfortable with her assumption that I must have put that on just so people would manhandle me.  Long story short I acquiesced to a couple photos with her and then tried in my limited Japanese to explain it was not okay to grope me while I backed away.  I *think* she got the message because later in the night she found me once more and hugged me from behind while shouting “Sorry!” in English.  So… I taught someone basic human boundaries?  I dunno.

Click a picture to embiggen!
 

Meanwhile The Australians came to the table with a wonderfully whimsical representation  of Pumpkin Power (I want her pants!) and Popeye/ Olive Oyl.  Kp2’s curves gave me a lady crush.  I’m so proud to have been part of their first Halloween (and hopefully I didn’t freak them out too badly with my “OMFG DRESSING UP IS THE BESSSSST” fanaticism). 

And now it’s on to Thanksgiving!

Kp2 and I are making a pilgrimage to the Costco on the other side of the city this weekend to secure American-type foods that can be transformed in my tiny microwave oven into a smorgasbord of yum for later in the month!  Jumping the gun a little bit, but this Thanksgiving I'm thankful for foreign friends who let me share my country's holiday celebrations with them.  

What did you dress as for Halloween?  
Tell me in the comments!

today’s little language lesson:

はい、大きなおっぱいが、でも...触らないでください
hai, ooki oopai ga, demo… sawaranaide kudasai


Yes, I have big boobs, but… please do not touch.


*Mac-dog did not get a new costume of his own this year - we didn't have anywhere to take him, so we just broke out the hoodies he's amassed in previous years to celebrate.  

Monday, October 26, 2015

At least we have our health.

Japan's motto should be "Japan: You better have a Plan."  More specifically, have a plan multiple months ahead of time.  Because otherwise there will be no space/ tickets/ rooms left for you.

It's like that phrase some people use that's all "if you're early you're on time, if you're on time, you're late, and if you're late... don't bother at all."  I'm not going to pretend it doesn't bug me.  It bugs me.  It amplifies my anxiety surrounding travel by about a thousand percent because if something goes wrong we can't just make a back-up plan on the fly... and then everything will be wrong and the world will implode and everyone will die and it'll be my fault because I forgot to pack a hairbrush.

Which brings us to Christmas - nailing down our plans so we can get ourselves back to the states to see family, take care of all the stuff we need to do while we're in said states.  And of course, making sure Mac and Bubs are well-cared for while we're away.

Japan has a very loving pet culture - you don't find boarding facilities per say, much as you find "pet hotels."  Depending on what amenities you need for your particular critter, there's a whole range of places to look at.  First and foremost we needed a place that was willing to work with foreigner-clients, and willing to communicate with us in whatever way was needed.  For Mac, we found a great place with an owner who speaks a bit of English, where he can play with all the other puppies at the establishment during the day, and at night he sleeps in his own bed in his own safe space.  They post a video each day on their blog of the dogs in their care so you can log in and see that they're happy and healthy. We've used them a few times now and we love them.

Bubba usually stays at home by himself when we go on shorter trips, so we've been in the process of finding an appropriate cat hotel for him while we're on our impending longer trip to the US for Christmastime.  We think we found a place, thank goodness, so that should be all set.  They asked, however, that before we bring Bubs to board with them, that we take him to a Japanese vet for a check up, and so that he has some health record in Japanese for them to reference.  Sure, that makes sense.

A week ago I set off to check "Bubba vet-visit" off the ever-present to-do list.  I, by myself, without a backpack, wearing just a button-down and a pair of jeans (this is important, I promise) wandered over to the pet store and its attached pet hospital.  I used the vocabulary I had looked up just before I made my walk over  to say "I need to make an appointment for a check up for my cat.  He is healthy, but he is old, and I would like him to see a doctor."  I believed, based upon the face of the vet tech I spoke with, that my message was correctly conveyed.  When you speak to someone in a language and you know your skills are poor in that language, your best tool is to watch the face of the person you're talking to because it will help you identify the moment that you lose 'em.  She did not get that "deer in the headlights" stare of terror which would have indicated any of the words I chose were nonsensical.  So when she said "Yes, I understand.  Please have a seat and wait.  We will be with you soon"...

I did just that.  I waited for an hour.  Then I was called back to a room to be seen.  I assumed that I waited this long because they wanted me to schedule Bubba's appointment with the English-speaking vet, and so I had waited for him to be available.  Which was in part true... except then I sat down, the vet came in, started in on his paper work, and then after five minutes or so said "so... where's the cat?"

I think it's important to note what I was wearing, because I wasn't wearing something baggy like a hoodie.  There wasn't a single possible space on my person to have stashed a kitten, let alone a full grown cat.  And I had been out there for an HOUR!? No one on the staff bothered to be like "oh, she didn't bring the cat along.  We should clarify what's going on." So anyway the vet clarified for me that they do not make appointments for pets.  You are seen in the order you arrive/ order of importance (triage style) at the hospital.  I had waited an hour and was going to leave with nothing accomplished.  And thus we concluded that meeting with me apologizing for my misunderstanding.  "When should I return? Is there a good time?"  And his response: "Oh yes, anytime."  "Anytime is okay?"  "Yes.  Anytime."

yes.  any. time.

Except of course, the time I chose to return with the cat.  Which, for those who are wondering, was a few days later around noon.

Here's a fun fact about Bubba:  He used to be a super chill cat.  When we moved from Texas back up to the mid-west, Bubba spent the long drive curled around my neck, snuggled into the hood of my sweatshirt and purring.

But then we moved again.
     And again.
          And then again.
               Yet one more time.
                    AAAAAAAND then we finally came to Japan.  

Over that many moves, Bubba became highly suspect of the cat carrier I had used to get him to and from the car, and eventually we got to the point where he would get too stressed to be able to let him out of the box at all even when we were safely inside and driving and then just fighting him into the box became tantamount to wrestling a bear.  Now he's just sort of always cranky with or without the box being present.  Like the old man who doesn't allow kids on his lawn.

Long story short here, when I do manage to get him in the box these days, usually Bubba protests by immediately horking.  He's not sick when he does this; he simply amps himself up that much about the box itself.  I also slightly suspect he does it as a tactic to get OUT of the box, as I usually immediately take him back out of the box to clean the hork off of him*.

So back to the vet; I have a cat in a box covered in his own puke, who cannot be seen by the vet for 3 and a half hours.  I also got a great bonus when we walked back to the apartment because there's construction across the street from us and being that close to an active jack hammer scared the sh*t of of him.  Literally.  Apologies to the lady who rode up the elevator with us; I wasn't a big fan of that smell combo either.

We got up to the apartment, cleaned out the box and the cat, and then I had just enough time to wrestle Bubs BACK into the box and walk BACK to the vet to wait in line at 3:30.
Whereupon he threw up again just in time for the vet to stuff a thermometer into his butthole.

This poor cat, guys.  A week later and he's STILL mad at me.  I can't say I blame him.  Still, I'd rather we get past the point where he believes I need to be constantly punished for making sure he's healthy.

Do you have a silly story from a trip to the Vet?  
Tell me in the comments!

today's little language lesson:
*brought to you in AUSTRALIAN SLANG courtesy of Kp2
Aussie: Bubba is a champion of the tactical munt.
American: Bubba is skilled at throwing up for a purpose - 
in his case, the purpose of getting out of the box.


Bonus screen shot from my phone that was taken as I put this post together and chatted with Kp2:
done and done.


Friday, October 16, 2015

Foreigners at a Craft Bazaar

Kp2 took this picture as we were
loading up to head out to the bazaar!
About three weeks ago, Kp2 came to me with a flyer for a craft bazaar.

“We craft things! We should craft more things, get a craft fair table and sell our crafts that we've crafted!”  She said in a very craftily excited way, thus I also became excited about crafts, and so, we crafted a game plan, traipsed out to the YWCA (the hosts of this Craft Bazaar), and we bought some craft table space to share.  Craftitity craft craft crafting crafts.

If you know me, or Kp2, in real life, I’m sure you can see how a craft fair would totally be our jam.  You might also note, however, that we are both currently in Japan.
Where everyone would be speaking Japanese.
And where we speak… hmm, I’d say “minimal amounts of Japanese” is a reasonable descriptor.

But you know what?  We survived.  And in the process, we met these people.




our amazing table!

The 4 people foreigners will see at a craft bazaar

1.   The Lapper- This person is really intrigued by what the foreigners have to sell.  But do the foreigners speak Japanese?  Do they speak it well enough? [note: no, probably not.]  The Lapper will spend his or her time at the bazaar trying to muster the courage to find out.  They will walk past the table while side-eyeing all the goods… never quite brave enough to stop.  Maybe next time around.  And so they will walk by again.  And again.  And… I saw one guy at least 5 times, and he was never quite able to get the gumption to stop.  Missed out on some adorable tea towels, bro.

2. The Free Practice Enthusiast - I can’t mock this person because I realize I sound just like that when I speak Japanese. Also I fully admit I was purposefully using the bazaar to practice my own language skills. I will, however, say it would have been helpful if they would have stood to one side of the table or the other so we could have pulled in more potential buyers.  Because they didn’t buy a single thing, but they did block our whole set up from view.  




3. The Somehow Still Skinny Eater - the people who quickly buy 10 cupcakes without even tasting the samples and then skitter off into the shadows, having exchanged maybe a dozen words between us, total.  I envy Japanese genetics - how does one eat like this and not look like jabba the hut?  This was a surprising number of my customers.

4. The Grandma for Everyone - the older woman who enthusiastically buys a little of everything you have to offer because she’s really proud of you for trying so hard to be there and she wants you to keep coming back, even though she doesn’t quite understand us or the idea that it would be really helpful if she spoke just a *tish* slower.

Understandably, she's totes my favorite.



In conclusion, we did alright for ourselves at this bazaar!  I see us doing it again in the future, and I think we both learned some things about how to successfully be vendors in Japan 
(namely, don’t immediately say hello to people or you’ll scare them, and baked goods are gonna sell way better than your scarves, KpMcD… make some darn cookies!) 


I am super proud of us, and especially of Kp2, who was truly the brains behind getting us a table and making this a reality.  She’s going places folks.  (and she’s taking these really adorable silk-screened tote bags and tea towels with her.  If you want one of your own… [Click HERE])

Have you been to a bazaar/ open market-type event lately?  
What was your favorite “score” of the day?  
Tell me in the comments!

today’s little language lesson
お買い上げ、ありがとうございました!
okaiage, arigatougozaimashita!

Thank you for your purchase!