Sticky buns and shokupan

June 30, 2010 § 1 Comment

The last time I posted anything, it was cold outside, and I was hiding under a pile of blankets while daydreaming about chocolate because Valentine’s Day had just passed. I was unofficially living with my boyfriend and sleeping on a futon while pretending we lived in Japan, just minutes away from the Miyazaki museum– my imagination was working overtime considering we lived in the nation’s capital’s suburbs and were just minutes away from a Target; I had to pretend there was a giant life-size Totoro greeting me at the door each time. It’s been roughly four months and not all that much has changed when I think about it; the only changes are the weather and the mattress.

It is now suffocatingly hot and sticky-bun humid outside. The deliciously gooey light brown caramel-y kind of sticky bun that is yeast-y and smothered in toasted, unevenly-chopped pecans, which sounds perfectly decadent until one realizes that the description does not translate well into describing the weather of the DC surburbs because the gooey caramel-y stickiness just makes it annoying to even accidentally touch one body part to another — though I do sometimes pass the time by pressing the sides of my fingers together and quickly fanning them apart. However, I still hide under a pile of blankets because the air conditioning is on high and apparently I shiver emphatically while watching James May from “Top Gear” get stuck in a blizzard because he was unfortunate enough to draw the short stick when the three presenters were trying to figure out who gets to risk his life to retrieve a volcanic rock souvenir while the volcano was still erupting– he encountered the blizzard on his way to the volcano. I still daydream about chocolate because my dad tells me that I should eat a piece of chocolate every day to keep myself happy– I get the feeling he has years of experience in the field of the fickle happiness of his daughter.

I am now officially living with my boyfriend; the difference between “unofficial” and “official” is that I pay the equivalent of half-the-rent’s worth of money each month just to see my last name and his last name, side-by-side, written in messy handwriting that only the postman can read on the same piece of white sticky label paper on the back wall of our little metal rectangular mailbox. Official also meant that we should invest in a good bed to replace the futon because we were no longer minutes away from the Target with my imaginary life-size Totoro waving hi to me and smiling his outrageously large grin every time I walked through the store doors. So, in an effort to reduce Wayne’s back problems, we opted to buy a memory foam bed that reminds me of shokupan, soft Japanese white bread, every time I lay down.

I wonder if I would sleep better if I did not have fantasies of slathering Nutella on the mattress and sinking in my teeth.


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