I’ll get to the flying thing, but I need a moment for appreciation of crap-food. I had a coupon for Japan-Pizza Hut last night, and it was a reaaallly good coupon, so I went ahead and ordered myself a half “vegetarian”, half “cheesexcheese” with stuffed cheese crusts, L size. L is not really so big. Everything may be bigger in Texas, but it’s smaller in Japan, and if I’m really hungry I can eat half of an L size pizza here, or most of an M on my own. (I was a 2 slice = meal girl in the U.S.) I loved PH when I was a kid, but rarely had it. When we ordered pizza, we did like a good Philadelphia-area family and ordered from the local shop. No big chains for us. But PH’s pizza never tasted a thing like “real pizza”, and I liked that about them.
Anyway, that coupled with some Honey Boo-Boo episodes softened my current malaise a bit. I still haven’t been getting much work done, but I also haven’t been physically very well, so I suppose I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.
So I went to the girlie doc here (OB/GYN) a while back, for my first in-Japan “girl parts” exam. I was due, and I wanted to consult about an IUD and some bad cramps anyway. I always go into this situations in a bit of denial about my capacity to handle medical Japanese/the nurses and doctors’ capacity to help me out. This time was no different. But I did clearly understand the instructions to take my pants/underwear off and hop in a big padded SUV-looking chair. Like a dork, I asked if I could keep my socks on… yes, of course, they’re not a podiatry clinic. I think I might have been the only person to ever ask about socks, judging from the reactions, but if I’m about to bare my crotch, the socks do lend a weird sense of security, if diminishing any coolness I possess.
So, bottomless, I sit in this seat and put my feet where I’m told. The next thing I know it’s lifting up into the air, pivoting, and forcing my legs apart as the footrests move in two different directions. My crotch is absolutely hanging out in midair, and there are no less than 4 people carrying on in the room like they can’t see what they’re seeing. I try to close my legs just a bit, but the chair isn’t having it.
Great. I can’t even say the anatomical names of my stuff (that ain’t how I was raised) and here I am under the fluorescent lighting sticking the stuff in people’s faces.
The one cool thing was that they did an ultrasound, so I got to see my insides all pregnancy-like. Yep, I have insides. Nothing has turned to dust in there, and no evidence of last night’s “hot yoga” session (T and my joke-nickname for, *ahem*)
It was over really quickly, and while I was clearly the only one in the room who felt a bit violated, I still wanted to haul ass and get out of the clinic as quickly as possible, and write about it of course.
My mother and I accidentally had a cranky email exchange, when she suggested I go on public assistance in the U.S., and I didn’t realize my reply to her sounded quite so pissed-off as it did. I’d rather stay in fucking Tokyo where T has a job and we can both chip in financially, than come back to the U.S. and be on -welfare-. The idea of going from middle-class to… that in less than a year is just too much for me. I’m a grad student, not a charity case! If I were looking for a job, I already know I can find one that pays a lot. Ugh.
After typing that, all the wind went out of my sales and I’m finding myself really sleepy.