The problem with writing, and more specifically with introspective writing, is facing the things you’d rather not think about. And so it can be assumed that if I am not updating my blog for days- weeks- and so on, that I am depressed and unwilling to look at the state of my current situation; That or, as with my recent relationship, I am blindly happy and see no point in creative endeavors– seeing as the great majority of my tiny brain is devoted specifically to seeking fornication and a man to plant the seed of forever.

Baby Mary of the boutique Faline Tokyo

Do you see Fujisan in the distance?

Harcoza boutique with Maisassygirl

After I spent the morning with Baby Mary and had a lunch date with Mai (Maisassygirl) I went to an opening in Harajuku for the company properly titled Swagger. It was a sausage fest, 40 guys to maybe 4 girls, and so it was inevitable that I ran into party blogger’s Dan Bailey and Joe of Tokyo Dandy.

“Oh yeah, I saw that you were back. Less than a week and you’re already flashin’ your tits on your blog!”

I laughed. I think it made me like him more than I used to.

“I need your help,” I said, “Which of these guys is straight, and which are gay?  They all look gay to me.”

And that they do, Japanese men. There in their sequin jacket glory, their bleached eyebrows, trendy platform shoes and spiked leather. A far cry from Brooklyn and the seemingly natural slobs who roll out of bed and throw on a bloody t-shirt and dirt incrusted pants (while still maintaining an air of mysterious attraction.) I couldn’t be sure if Dan was comfortable with my request. But I pointed out two men that I was interested in anyway.

“The one in the glasses, with the fur vest, and the one beside him in the leather pants.” (Later I realized they were both wearing leather pants.)

“Sadly they are probably all straight Sasha, but you’ll never find out because they’ll be too shy to talk to you!” Said Dan, or something to that extent. And before I knew it he and Joe had Poof’ed away like little magic faeries who were sitting on my shoulder.

The two men turned out to be brothers, Tatsuya and Ryo Okamoto, vintage eyewear collectors with their own store Solakzade. Which one is cuter? Hard to say. The first, in the hat, spoke English. Subsequently he was hilarious, and in broken words he made me laugh for hours at a party where I knew nearly no one. His brother, in the fur vest, was a bit more shy. I bounced back and forth between both of them, knowing that at the end of the day they’d return to Osaka where they’d remain mere fragments of my memory.

And still, my yellow-fever sickness grows stronger every day.

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