And Boy Are My Arms Tired

I just flew in from a great weekend in Tokyo. I was on the go from morning until night for four days, and have lots of photos to share. It was a weekend full of "wow" moments, as usual. On the flight home I was trying to decide if I have a love-hate relationship with this country, but I don't think it's that. I'm definitely in love with Japan. Japan + LSL = TLA. But I do have occasional I'm going to scream moments when things just don't make sense. Those are sometimes preceded by I need everyone to get away from me moments which happens when people are all up in my body space. (Mind the body bubble, please.) There were several of both this weekend. Here's the first!

To *get* this you have to know that in Japan, the Japanese can say whatever the hell they want and then act shy and it's all good. They are such kind-hearted people that it doesn't come up very often, but when it does, it's definitely a Dear Diary moment. A favorite topic of conversation is how fat Americans are.

Last night I went to Harajuku and decided to try a sweet potato from a vendor. I've heard these guys come calling around my old apartment before (something like the Ice Cream Man in the States, they drive a cart around with a big loud speaker and everyone comes sauntering) but I've never had one before. It was oishii (delicious) and very, very filling. Anyway, when I ordered I told the guy I'd like a small, but he told me he would give me a big because I am big.

Ah, the Japanese.