I had a flip-flopsy day today.

In the morning, I sent off my friend Joanna (who slept over) in a good mood. I met my other friend Jordan in a good mood. I spent the whole day laughing and joking and feeling awesome and loving to all peoples.

Since we had the day off for Martin Luther King Day, Jordan and I went shopping at Costco. I got back with a box of groceries after dropping Jordan off. I didn’t want to carry all the stuff all the way from my parking structure, so I dropped the box of groceries in front of my apartment gate, parked my car, and hurried back.

To a nearly empty box.

My rotisserie chicken. My deli turkey. My carton of eggs. My cashews. My almonds. My Greek yogurt. They were all gone—over $40 worth of stuff. The only thing left was my second carton of eggs (I eat a lot of eggs) and a half-eaten scone.

What the—?! At first I just couldn’t believe someone would take it. I thought maybe a kind soul helped me move my stuff inside the apartment gate. But no. They were gone. In the 5 minutes I took to park my car, someone had lugged off my groceries.

I was so shocked I just stood there with my mouth open, palms spread in disbelief. A lady and her daughter stood by the gate staring back at me, wondering what was going on.

“Did you see someone take my stuff?” I asked them.

The lady spoke up excitedly in Spanish about seeing una señora lumbering off with piles of stuff up to her chin. I understood her because she demonstrated the posture herself (so cute). Her daughter helped translate, saying that the woman (that freaking THIEF!!!) was wearing a hat and pointed to the direction she had hobbled off. They were both filled with righteous anger for me, and gladly watched the remaining carton of eggs for me while I ran off looking for that thief.

I felt bad making them wait so I ran back, dropped off the eggs and leftover scone into my apartment, then spent an hour and a half wandering around, chasing the thief who somehow disappeared without a trace. I guessed she’s a resident in the neighborhood, so I walked round and round the neighborhood with fists clenched and teeth blared, glaring suspiciously at everyone.

I was seething! It wasn’t just about the money—it was the fact that someone didn’t even hesitate to jack off my stuff in plain sight. This was several notches worse than being punched by a granny. Why—the audacity! The plain bastardity! And what the hell—NOBODY touches my nuts!!!

I called my mother, my voice trembling because I was literally jumping up and down in indignity.

My mother laughed. “Well, take it as a lesson,” she said. “You know God allows things to happen for a reason. What’s gone is already gone. Forget about it, or you’ll just be prolonging the pain.”

She was right. I had just wasted almost two hours running around with hair flying, each strand sending out invisible, electrifying rage.

So I calmed down. I took a hot shower. I finished my scone. I went shopping again at my favorite Latino supermarket.

It all seems silly now. My heart still aches a bit that almost $50 has been gobbled up into the belly of a grocery thief just like that, but it could have been worse. I could have bought that gourmet cheese and organic chicken that I had debated buying at Costco, which would have cost me another $30.

At least that thief left me a carton of eggs. And a half-eaten scone.

And I think I made friends with the lady and her daughter who tried to help me. I’ll remember them for sure, and next time I see them, we’ll be greeting each other more warmly than just a hurried “hello.”

And you know what? I’m still lucky enough to not be in a situation where I have to steal in order to feed myself. Maybe that thief was really hungry and backed up on rent with six kids to feed. Whoever she is, I hope she’s at least enjoying my nuts.

Anyway. Other than today’s woebegone event, my weekend was lovely. Joanna came to visit from San Diego, and she treated me out to a night at Geisha House in Hollywood.
Geisha House…is exactly what the name suggests. Perhaps you have read or watched Memoirs of a Geisha. Then you know what a geisha is: a traditional female entertainer who basically is a high-end prostitute trained in other forms of arts besides sexual services.

This upscale Japanese restaurant was as erotic and sensual as a luxury Japanese brothel, glorifying all Oriental stereotypical images. A man who was taking a picture of Joanna and me in front of a poster of the Tokyo streets asked us, “What are you two Chinese girls doing in front of a poster of China?”

Um, we’re Koreans and the poster is of Japan.

He should really be asking: why are two Christian girls visiting a restaurant like this? Well, Joanna bought a Living Social coupon that gave us $50 worth of food for just $25, thinking that Geisha House was just a fancy-named sushi house. I had written about Geisha House for my internship, so I could have warned her that $50 worth of food at a place like Geisha House is really not much.

But the coupon was already purchased and all that was left to do was show up and dine in a place that was so fantastical and otherworldly to us two Asians.
Geisha House is expensive. Really expensive. But you’re not really paying for the food. You’re paying for the experience. Geisha House offers a sensuous, exotic vibe unlike others.
Even though the name suggests something traditional, Geisha House is ultra-sleek with contemporary decors and photo shots lining the walls. The whole place glows in a stimulating red iridescence. It’s a hip, titillating blend of modern Tokyo city splash and Japan’s rich history of the arts (in all forms).
You walk in a tunnel of red glowing beams…

And you’re then directed to the lounge/bar:
Joanna and I had made reservations, so we only needed to wait for a few minutes before being escorted to our seats.

Geisha House tailors to the urban, sophisticated clientele with deep pockets. We were so out of place, but it was definitely a thrilling experience.
The interior design was definitely stimulating and wondrous; I felt like I was walking into a high-class brothel. Some of the walls glowed out of transcendent pictures of Tokyo, while other areas were covered with floridly patterned cushions.
The downside? It was dark as a brothel as well! Is having reddish skin and red-gleaming eyes supposed to be sexy? I don’t get it.

Apparently Geisha House is trying to bring the eroticism into the food as well. Just take a look at the menu cover:
Raw fish is sexy? The things I learn in random places…Even the names of the dishes had a touch of eroticism. Sushis were named “naked rolls” or “geisha lips” or my personal favorite, the “octopussy.”

Despite the names, the food was good. We ordered three kinds of sushi (*Flash alert!!*):
Red Samurai, Ocean Dragon and Tokyo Breeze.

Red Samurai ($16): spicy tuna and cucumber topped with avocado, tuna, grape tomatoes, serrano peppers and vinaigrette.

Ocean Dragon ($15): shrimp tempura and crab, topped with avocado, fresh water eel, gold tobiko and eel sauce.

Tokyo Breeze ($15): lobster, seaweed salad, avocado and sisho wrapped in cucumber in a serrano sauce.

That meager plate…for almost $60 (plus tax)?! This was not dinner shared between two. It was appetizer! The serving portions was a joke!
Besides the pitiful portion, everything tasted fresh. The rice was cooked and seasoned perfectly, the fish was fresh, and tempura was golden-crisp.

We left still feeling hungry, so we stopped by my favorite Latino supermarket and loaded up on Mexican sweet breads and candies.

Another lesson learned: Don’t return to Geisha House. It was a fun one-time experience, but unless some sugar daddy is paying, I’ll leave it as that.

Question of the Day: If you can’t already tell, I’m really territorial about my nuts. Is there any particular food you get extra-selfish over?

Related posts:

1. A Little Tokyo Day Trip
2. Nothing like Family
3. How a Real Woman Eats
4. I Dream of Sushi
5. Superstars

Tagged as: dinner, Geisha House, Hollywood, Japanese, sushi