Boz is sending me back to the motherland on Tuesday to watch Dexter. He also hopes that I will prepare our condo for AirBnB (gag. shoot me. I hate those types of chores) and finish planning our wedding. I don't see how I'll have time. I'm only on episode 7...with 89 left to go.
What? What is that, you ask? How is it possible that I live in the most technologically advanced country in the world and can’t stream Netflix? Ah, well, truth be told, I do have Netflix here…I just don’t have the chord that connects the computer to the TV and I feel like I would be doing Dexter a disservice if I were to watch it on a tiny screen.
That argument would actually hold water if it weren’t for the fact that most train stations hold kiosks selling every imaginable piece of electronic paraphernalia (and there is a train station in my building). Lest you deem me the laziest waste of life ever…let me assure you that I have indeed visited ALL of the kiosks and I have located the materials to build this:
However, I do not think I have yet encountered the appropriate chord. I imagine people (well, at least my mom) will read this and nod, understandingly, and think things like "It must be tough trying to find and purchase items like that with such a substantial language barrier." No. Don't let me fool you. Several of Boz's coworkers have confirmed that the diagram on the package will show a TV and a computer with a chord connecting the two. Procuring this piece of equipment would be very simple if it were not for the fact that I act like the unabomber every time I approach a sales person. Chords and tools and other 'guy things' (-1 for feminism right there, sorry) intimidate, overwhelm, and terrify me...to varying degrees. I once ran down the 405 in Orange County, screaming "It's gonna blow!", because I smashed my Jeep into 3 other cars and then assumed that the wires would start leaking and the car would explode. So, the thought of using a wire to connect 2 very important pieces of electronic equipment fills me with visions of the entire Oakwood Residence Roppongi T-Cube (our building's name really rolls off the tongue) bursting into a fiery mess. This, in turn, leads me to slink over to the sales kiosk, examine a few packages while biting my lip and furrowing my brow, and glance around nervously for a good 5 minutes. No one ever offers to help me because they clearly want no part in whatever the hell I'm planning on doing. If anyone in Tokyo is reading this, I don't want any part in this EITHER! I don't want to hurt the T-Cube. I'm just trying to find a chord and it is definitely NOT clearly marked on the package. This is TOKYO, for crying out loud...it should be circled, highlighted and dancing around in a cute costume. What gives!?!?
Expat problems, I tell ya...expat problems. Considering everything I've been through, I think I'll take the afternoon off and go for a little lunch and shopping downtown. Expat problems ;)
damn, that's funny. I should start an Expat Problems column. (or perhaps a stream-of-consciousness self-congratulatory column. Either or...)