Here we see a feral Naia in her natural habitat (a haze of incense smoke and denial-ridden panic, attempting to foist her angry hedgehog on a friend and make painful clothing choices between efficiency and high Victorian style), two days away from a flight to Kyoto.
Do you UNDERSTAND the magnitude of my hedgehog-foisting guilt? NO. You DON'T, because you're LAUGHING. Asshole.
Is my bag packed? Sort of. Am I confident that my choices of attire will serve the double (and mutually-exclusive) purpose of neither offending the monks nor convincing the youth of Japan that I am a doofus? Totally, and by "totally," I mean "no." Do I know all the basic Japanese phrases I probably should? SNORT. No, but I can say "isn't that boy cute?".... and I don't remember why I know that.
I am so set, you guys. A Japrocrastinator of the highest caliber.
WILL Naia get her shit together and listen to some Japanese language cassettes from 1991? WILL her pants be too sexy, causing her expulsion from the monastery? WILL she be unable to resist the urge to teach Zen novices to pole dance, causing her expulsion from ANOTHER monastery? WILL she decide to squat in the corner of a Shingon temple for the rest of her life because it is "just too pretty"? WILL she be sent home for molesting the architecture?
Stay tuned for adventures and shenanigans and sexy meditation pants. AND MORE.