Today's bang of the week is the diminutive, small-handed, Miss Hanai Miri (4'10"). She is a Japanese "gravura" model. To those who don't know, a Japanese gravura model, as you can see in the pictures, is a tease and a bikini model who won't pose nude but will come as close to posing nude as one can get. A tragedy of life. She is not nearly as hot or well-endowed as Yoko Matsugane (who you can see in my July archives) but she is still pretty damn hot in my book. Like the rest of the world (save the U.S.) the Japanese use the metric system, therefore Miri's measurements are bust: 93cm, waist: 58cm, hips: 85cm. I like the metric system because it is more precise. According to various websites, Miri's cup-size ranges between a J-cup and an H-cup. I find this hard to believe. I think she is probably a F-cup. Her blood type is AB. The Japanese are really into blood type. I think that that is fucked up, but to each their own.



Miri is an aspiring singer and released her first single, entitled "Premonition", in 2005. Her hobbies include reading (how clichéd is that) and singing karaoke (I've never karaoked but I would love to try it sometime), she is good and making sweets, her favorite thing is watching vampire movies (has she seen "Nosferatu"), her favorite colors are pink and black (my favorite color is black because it matches everything and isn't too garish), her favorite food is tofu and a "chicken dish", and her least favorite foods are garlic and spicy dishes. I know that all of this info is pretty shallow but I can't read Japanese so I couldn't find anything more substantial. By the way, has anybody noticed how Japanese people (and Japanese women in particular) always give peace signs in their pictures. Why is that? It seems so trite and meaningless. I guess that they just lack creativity, culturally-speaking. I prefer to make faces or do funny poses because it is more memorable and interesting.



So my parents are in London which means I have the privilege of housesitting and taking care of the dogs. It is pretty simple. I feed them, give them water, give them doggy treats (dried-up pig ears), and, best of all, pick up their crap and dispose of it. And let me say this about that: those little fuckers shit up a storm. The pipes are definitely working and it is revolting. I nearly puked on a few occasions when collecting it all. And, what's worse, their crap is a delicacy to them. They love it. Why couldn't they have a hankering for roses instead? For this reason (among many others) I will never get a dog.



So I've hit a stumbling block with therapy lately (I see a Yale-educated Latina psychiatrist for $225 per hour). She is the best therapist I've ever had by far and I've been through quite a few (seven to be exact, not including two family therapists). I just have found that I don't have enough to talk about. And it is important that I put my money (or, I should say, my parents' money) to good use. So I am considering seeing her once every other week instead of every week. We shall see.



Just so you know, I suffer from severe depression, bipolar II disorder, and OCD (obsessive-compulsive-disorder -- thus explaining my obsession with big breasts). I'm currently taking four (FOUR!) medications to combat this sinister troika. I've had two mental meltdowns in my life: one in my junior year of high school, where I was a total and complete loner, and once at the second college I went to, which was seven years later. In high school, I dropped out for six months, came back for my senior year, during which time I spent more time cutting class than going to class, and graduated by the skin of my teeth. I even went to the graduation ceremony and, upon receiving my diploma, was able to hear the sound of crickets. After the second meltdown, I dropped out of the second college that I went to and eventually dropped into the current college that I'm going to. As things stand, all is mostly well in Dodge. Hasta la Vista, baby!