pergamond: ([PoT] Niou // failure)

Friday night I came home about 10 pm. It was late, but I was hungry and keen to relax for a bit before going to bed. I put the rice cooker on and then stepped out to the nearby convenience store to pick up some juice, which I'd run out of the night before. Convenience stores in Japan are 24 hours which is nothing short of wonderful for late-night working researchers. 

I came back to a terrible smell.

My first thought was that I'd turned the stove on and left a tee-towel or plastic container resting on the heated ceramic surface. My second thought was that the rice cooker had exploded. The third was that the cat had exploded. 

None of the above proved to the true. The stove was turned off, the rice cooker seemed to be bubbling normally and the cat appeared fine, as did her litter box. 

I sniffed.


I stuck my nose down the sink, in the rubbish bins, behind the sofa, in the fish tank and in the fridge.


Admittedly, for something of that ilk to have kicked up such a stink while I was at the shops, some crazy mutant bacteria would have had to be at work. However, after eight months living in Japan, nothing really surprised me anymore. 

The only point I could conclude was that the stench was coming from the kitchen. Perhaps my downstairs neighbours were trying to determine which of their waste was 'burnable garbage' in the most obvious fashion. I opened the balcony doors and tried to breath through my mouth until the rice cooker finished. 

It was only then that I discovered the source of the smell.

I'd put cat biscuits in the rice cooker.

I'd love to tell you there was a typo in the above sentence, but there is not. I had put cat biscuits in the rice cooker. 

For the record, Hill's pet science diet should not be cooked in a rice cooker. What is more, I'm prepared to postulate that this would apply to any heating device. I can confirm categorically that it was not a good choice to put with the sea food stir fry I was planning.

I stared at the vomit-coloured lumpy mess and realized there was only one possible conclusion.

Teaching has sent me insane.

It's sad, people. But it's true. 

pergamond: ([Disney] Sleeping Beauty // rooting for)
So the Sunday before last I visited a sex shop. It was either that or church and --when you think about it-- they're near enough the same.

... you all thought about it, didn't you? You sick sick people.

I was after chocolate body paint. I'd explain, but frankly, you'd be disappointed. I only used it on my face during a brief iPhone photo shoot with another girl. Hockey jerseys were involved. Then we sent the photos to a minister.

See? The church connection again. He now has plans to leave the country. I'm denying any connection.

As it happened, the sex shop was unnecessary. I could have picked up the goods at a local Shoppers Drug Mart (equivalents to CVS, Walgreens or Boots depending on your aspirin buying location). Still, I think I could have been forgiven for not thinking of that location first.

Our body paints were in the tame section of the shop, along with more interesting versions of board games I played as a child. Other parts of the shop sold items that I'd never consider buying (or at least not blogging about buying) and harness swings which I totally would. I wondered if anyone other than me would believe I just wanted to hang out in one like a seven year old at a playground. I concluded no.

After the make-shift photo shoot, my friend and I went to the mall. We were watching the superbowl later than day and so figured face paints would not look out of place. Besides, it was surprisingly difficult to clean off. I wanted a prepaid sim card for my iPhone and headed for the appropriate store. As I did so, I passed a mirrored pillar and concluded an unfortunate fact:

There was really no mistaking that I was wearing chocolate body paint.

In the apartment, the paint hadn't looked any different from normal, non-consumable, face paints but in the bright mall lights the chocolatey goodness was revealed in all its edible glory. In five minutes time, I was to become pretty certain that the sales representative at Telus Mobility had noticed this as well.

I, however, needed a sim card and I wasn't going to be distracted. This guy would look me in the eye, keep a straight face and explain to me exactly how many picture messages I could get for their plan.

He managed. Just.

Any apprehension I might have had regarding returning to the store vanished while I watched the superbowl. A 31 year old with two streaks of body paint on her face can't really compete with Madonna and a host of centurion guards.


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May 2013

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