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and work still sucks. Who KnewTM. However, the trip to Osaka gave me some much-needed time away. My natural cheerfulness has (mostly) re-asserted itself; Things Will Work Out, because They Always Do.
Random Osaka scene #1 (NOT in chronological order at all):
Shechem and I were roaming through part of downtown, ostensibly looking for the sex toy shop listed in her guidebook. (We did not find the sex toy shop, but stood right where it should have been. It closed, apparently.)
We decide we're hungry, but where to eat? We stroll down a side street and see a sign up on a building. "Kitchen Drinker", it says. Hey, it's in English! Let's try it and see, because what's the worst that can happen?
We climb up 2 flights of narrow, twisty-turny stairs, open a door, and end up in a restaurant roughly the size of my living room. Someone comes over, looks at us warily, and seats us. We look around for menus with helpful pictures on them - no such luck. The nice man who seated us comes over and rattles something off in Japanese. We smile and nod, our expressions clearly saying "we are foreigners and have no idea what you just said, and have no way of asking for clarification". He scampers off, then brings back miso. Yay, something we recognize!
10 minutes later, he returns with two matching plates filled with ... something. The same something that everyone else in the place is eating. Okay, Kitchen Drinker seemingly only cooks one meal a day, and that's what you get if you go there. Menu choices are for wimps.
The mystery food is pretty good, all in all. There's some sort of breaded pork cutlet, a cold salad of slivered potatoes and chicken, noodles, rice (another food we recognize, yay!), and some sort of salad. For what works out to $6, surprise food is okay with us. We totter back down the stairs feeling proud of ourselves for not freaking out about mystery food OR our inability to communicate.
Random Osaka scene #1 (NOT in chronological order at all):
Shechem and I were roaming through part of downtown, ostensibly looking for the sex toy shop listed in her guidebook. (We did not find the sex toy shop, but stood right where it should have been. It closed, apparently.)
We decide we're hungry, but where to eat? We stroll down a side street and see a sign up on a building. "Kitchen Drinker", it says. Hey, it's in English! Let's try it and see, because what's the worst that can happen?
We climb up 2 flights of narrow, twisty-turny stairs, open a door, and end up in a restaurant roughly the size of my living room. Someone comes over, looks at us warily, and seats us. We look around for menus with helpful pictures on them - no such luck. The nice man who seated us comes over and rattles something off in Japanese. We smile and nod, our expressions clearly saying "we are foreigners and have no idea what you just said, and have no way of asking for clarification". He scampers off, then brings back miso. Yay, something we recognize!
10 minutes later, he returns with two matching plates filled with ... something. The same something that everyone else in the place is eating. Okay, Kitchen Drinker seemingly only cooks one meal a day, and that's what you get if you go there. Menu choices are for wimps.
The mystery food is pretty good, all in all. There's some sort of breaded pork cutlet, a cold salad of slivered potatoes and chicken, noodles, rice (another food we recognize, yay!), and some sort of salad. For what works out to $6, surprise food is okay with us. We totter back down the stairs feeling proud of ourselves for not freaking out about mystery food OR our inability to communicate.