another woman's sushi

Do you need an Olympic gold to define your career? Nobel prize? Fields medal?

Another show I'm getting hooked back on: How I Met Your Mother.

Men's ballroom dance shoes have heels?!

Everyone's experiences can be shortened to weekly half-hour episodes. Like tonight's dinner with Drab.

So earlier I mentioned that I had a pizza craving. Giving in to my impulses like always, I walk 7 or 8 blocks to Safeway and start stocking the cart with pizza items: flour, mushrooms, pizza sauce (which I still don't know what it is: spaghetti sauce, tomato puree, tomato paste?!), garlic, salt, pepper, cooking spray, when I feel this tingling all over my body.

I was wondering whether or not my nervous system was malfunctioning since this isn't normal, to me at least. My torso kept vibrating and I was wondering what the hell was going on until I realized that my cell phone was on silent. So I open the back pocket of my messenger bag only to see that it was Drab calling. I always pause before answering those calls, because if it involves dinner, something awkward, terrible, or terribly awkward is going to ensue. AND I was trying to satisfy my pizza craving, but I acquiesced to go on this dinner at Castro of all places. 2 boys on a dinner date. No judgment.

I started walking outside my apartment and see this train stop right along my street. I decide to stall and not board it, reluctant to go out to dinner, but I walked up a few blocks to the MUNI stop and waited for the train to arrive, all while these creepy old people walked around me and Asians fluttered about at the Asian dessert place.

Along the train up the West Portal, I receive a text message from Drab saying that he may not make it to dinner. I start texting him that I was ALREADY ON the train, except I see myself going into the tunnel. What happened before at the tunnel? I tried to tell Drab not to get me that CIA shirt but when I tried to send the text, I lost my signal. Luckily, that didn't happen this time, and the Castro stop was only one more away from Forest Hills, so I could go above ground and start button-mashing to drag his ass from lab.

Since he didn't leave lab yet, I was stuck waiting around Castro. So I popped in my earbuds and started listening to music while walking up and down both sides of Castro, picking up take-out menus whenever available, gawking at the stores, and being approached by creepy men. Who's attracted to young, skinny Asians? WELL, apparently this creepy old homeless man and a creepy old fat man. Upon walking down Castro for the first time that night, I notice this old man hanging out beside the newspaper stands and smiling at me while I pass by, muttering something that was inaudible. On my round trip back up the street, I see him again, only this time I notice him say, "How you doin'?" while having this odd grin on his face. I just smile and go about my way. On another round trip, being on the other side of the street, I walk near the Castro theater only to be accosted by this fat man who was staring at me and asked,"Where ya goin'?" What the hell? Are these people Castro's version of hookers?

On a side note, Clare mentioned how he would never buy clothes from Diesel because they give off a certain impression to those that see you wearing that brand name. As I turned my head to view the mannequins and their outfits, I instantly noticed Clare in one of the window panes: scarf, tight jeans, black, white, and grey colors. HAH!

Finally, Drab arrived and decided on Japanese food for the night. The restaurant, whose name I didn't bother to remember, was run by Cantonese people in this bold multi-colored pastiche (I don't even know if I used that word correctly; I had to look it up just now). They had these fish motifs but set against a wall with sky and clouds painted right next to them. Their bathroom was nice though: black tiles, tan paint above.

My dinner: Combination dinner (Chicken katsu and Tempura) and some explosive spicy tuna roll? The miso soup that came with the combo: lukewarm, grainy, not so good. The tempura: your typical cookie-cutter assortment of vegetables and ebi. Satisfactory. The chicken katsu: if I had eaten it earlier, it could have been better, but the sauce was too tangy- more sour than sweet, inappropriate ratio of both flavors. The salad was surprising in that under the sauce seaweed was laid atop the lettuce, tomatoes and sliced carrots. The explosive tuna roll: made my nose runny the rest of the night.

One of our waiters was this Cantonese man who was loud and quite the character along with the rest of the staff. He also laughed sonorously at Drab for no reason, which was reason enough for me to laugh at Drab.

As I effortless accomplished the task of finishing this meal, Drab had finished his portions before me, and I noticed him eyeing my katsu. Being the Asian that I am, I decide to offer him some of the fried pieces off my plate, secretly thinking,"WAH How much is he going to eat Stop eating my food!!!!" Yeah, that's me. I'm hungry. Always.

Considering that most dinners I have with Drab end in disaster, this evening hadn't been bad, right? WRONG. As I was about to finish off the last two pieces of my chicken katsu, thinking that at least ONE dinner with Drab would end peacefully, this sudden pain poked my stomach. HOLY SHIT! It hurt like hell! UGH, such wishful thinking to believe that Drab wouldn't ruin my night! The pain didn't subside until I finally arrived at my apartment.

Here's where I end up: watching old and new clips of Dancing with the Stars, scrabbling, and not completing any homework assignments. Laundry time tomorrow.

I honestly can't remember the last time when nothing went wrong on dinner with drab, or should I call them drab dinners?

Moral of the story: I'm converting my living room into a dance floor/studio. Oh wait, that's not right. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you.

Quotes of the night: "I'm rich!"
HAHAHA You tell 'em, grad student!
Either that, or, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" by the middle-aged Asian waiter, to Drab.