Now that I am a College Graduate, my penchant for procrastination has spilled over to other aspects of my life.

I live and work in Tokyo now, and I'm finding that "a good night's sleep" is something that can be procrastinated much like the homework of old. But why would I continue to put this off after three nights of marathon partying? My Saturday at work was entirely spent miserably pining for my bed, and yet...

Two hours after punching out, I'm with Adam in Whoretown, Ikeburuko, skipping past brothels with names like VIOLENCE, and prominently displayed "Japanese Only" signs in windows and doorways. Still clad in the "teacher costume" of a nice, sensible sweater and heels, Adventure Christine had won yet another battle against Responsible Adult Christine.

First it was "Los Cabos," home of guacamole, beer served in metal cups, gigantic tequila shots, and a customer satisfaction survey that we mostly filled in with chickenscratch Japanese reading "I don't understand this question. Because I'm a foreigner."
Then Adam and I wandered into a filthy little mom-and-pop yakitori shack. The place could have possibly been the only surviving remnant of Old Ikeburuko, which I imagine was the same haven for gangsters and prostitutes only with fewer spastically flashing lights. As far as I could tell, nothing about this chicken-and-beer dive had been bought (or washed) within the last twenty years. I was particularly charmed by the dirty and broken microphone dangling from the ceiling, used by the old lady to yell invitations at passersby.
Lastly, fooled by an enticing street sign, we trekked up an unnaturally steep flight of stairs to a bar called simply "T's," only to find that it was a tiny dark room with an excessively slick bartender and a small TV which played only "The Bodyguard" starring Whitney Houston.
When life gives you lemons, you order drinks with names like "Exorcist." But the glowing blue martini-glass concoction I held teetering in my hand did nothing to purge my demons. Neither did the 45-dollar bill that came sliding across the bar after a total of four drinks.

Tokyo, you are a sneaky bitch.

I keep telling myself I only have a few more weeks before I'm liberated from the Massive Injustice that is the Sunday morning shift.