Published: July 28th 2008July 27th 2008
who's the coolest girl in da club?
I wake up with a dull thudding noise in my head, a sick feeling to my stomach and a throat drier than the Sahara. I slowly, painfully open one eye and close it again quickly.
This isn't my flat.
I experience 33 seconds of panic before I remember where I am: Phoebes house in Yokohama. I'm safe. Relieved, I take in a deep breath and nearly choke on the noxious smell of smoke hanging like a fug around my head, clinging to my hair, which is currently plastered attractively across my face in the manner of a Bon Jovi groupie circa 1988.
The night is coming back to me in small, hazy flashes. flash!
Tequila shots flash!
Having a dance off with the man with the afro flash!
sharing a table with the stange clad in pyjamas man who decided to have his dinner in a nightclub at 3:00am and stealing one of his dumplings flash!
also stealing some chicken flash!
Saying "Oh my god! they play this song at dancing!" and then showing a collective group of people how we stretch to this song in dance class flash!
Who's the most popular girl in da club?
Straightening myself up from doing my touch the floor stretch to find the black pimp man in his all white pimp suit and all white pimp hat smiling at me appreciatively flash!
winking at the pimp man and then running off to shimmy with his friend on the dance floor flash!
Robot Lessons flash!
wearing a fan down the back of my pants like a peacock feather flash!
waving my peacock feather in peoples faces "sexily" during that Sean Paul song flash!
Ignoring all instincts to get a 5:00am kebab and instead devour a 5:00am steamed pork bun flash!
messaging friends back home with a witty bit of whimsy that went along the lines of "ate a pork bun" flash! flash! flash!
I try to ignore the incessant hammering in my head, smile to myself and snuggle back under the covers. What a great night.
I'm awake again a few hours later and complaining loudly to Phoebe about my hangover. Phoebe wisely forsees that my complaints are destined to be repeated in due course for the next 20
minutes (at the least), and opts for an early escape by escaping to the shower. Sulking in bed, I call friends in Australia for sympathy and to boast about my new found, cooler than the arctic Robot moves.
A fullfilling conversation later my need for sympathy has been placated, hangover is forgotten and Phoebe's in the kitchen making me dumplings, as practice for her hot and heavy dinner date with the American on Monday night. The dumplings are delicious and we recline on her bed eating pasta, drinking vitamin water and watching early episodes of Sex And The City (Big can be such
an asshole) before proceeding into the rainy weather and venturing into Japans Chinatown.
Chinatown, Yokohama kicks ass. There's vendors every 2 steps hawking pearl tea, steamed chinese buns the size of your head and piles and piles of plastic crap, as Phoebe said a little wistfully "It's just like being back home".
We wandered through the streets munching on mooncake and searching for little chains to hang on our mobile phones to lend us luck in areas of our life where we feel we can use some mystical assistance (Phoebe: Love, Me: Trust) before settling down in the dusky chinese streets of Japan to eat some more dumplings. Hell, even a life with love and trust would be a life half lived without dumplings!