Sometimes, enkais* can be the bane of my existence. Slobbering drunk men asking "Doo you rike suuushhhii?" and sitting with my knees crunched up under me in the least comfortable position makes me so angry when there's no forks available with which to slash my wrists.

Well, this enkai was one of the better ones: swank restaurant, no sitting on the floor, buffet, fully-stocked bar, and a bus to shuttle me there. I was also spared sitting next to lecherous men (of which my school has many). So why do I feel the same nagging not-quite satisfied feeling afterwards?

Because I dispossess the gene that allows me to get drunk after a 2-hour nomihoudai**!!!

Or maybe my tolerance is just too damn high. Enkais are both a blessing and a curse: they allow you to stand on the line of the imaginary social circle that separates Japanese from other people, and occasionally flirt with the inside. The enkai is the only time you might get a toe in. I am happy standing on the line; in fact I revel in it. I like to watch their faces turn red*** and guess what they are talking to each other about. At an enkai, I am my own best friend.

So, in my un-inebriated state of mind, I can conclude this: I don't want to be Japanese!

*After-work party
**All you can drink
***Literally, when Japanese people drink, their faces turn red because they genetically lack an enzyme that breaks down alcohol.