Angie S.'s Profile

This review is going to be more for Camellia Lounge than for Tea Zone, as I never ordered anything while I was there so I can't say if the tea or eats are good or not.

The Lounge, however, was a perfect venue for a show. Me and my husband saw Amy Seeley and Karli Fairbanks there, and we were charmed by the draped silk on the walls and the just-perfect size of the round room. It really creates such an intimate atmosphere which I'm sure must be so refreshing for a performer who is used to playing in bars or crowded cafes. I really love how it is set at the back of the Tea Zone, away from the chatter.

There's a full bar, also, but me and my husband are Mormon, so we didn't partake, of course. But I noticed the bartender gave really good service- he was quick and attentive, but respectful of the show going on.

If you're a performer and you're looking for a good place to play, Camellia Lounge is definitely worth checking out.

Oh, I forgot! They have free movie night every Tuesday at 7:30. They have a pull-down projector in the Lounge. How cool is that???!

I usually never rate chain restaurants, but this location deserves some love for sure.

I'll be honest, the food itself is, "eh?" but the service of this particular store blows me away. Here's the story:

Me and my hubby meet up for lunch. We choose Panera Bread between Panera Bread and Noodles & Company (they're right next to each other in the shopping center.) After lunch, I started to crave something sweet, and I couldn't find anything at P.B. to satisfy.

Just then I remembered the HUGE, sticky, yummy rice crispy treats that N&C serve at every store. Seriously, guys, they are the best crispies I've ever tasted by far. They always taste fresh and homemade.

So we walked next door to grab my treat, and as we're at the register trying to pay for it the server asks what we'd like to order. We explained that we just came in for the crispy, and I told him how much I adore them. And what happened next blew my mind:

The owner was there in the back and he came out and said he was glad we liked them so much. Then he gave it to me for free. And it doesn't stop there. He also gave one to Mark without him even asking for one!

I mean, he knew we weren't going to spend any money there at all, but he gave it to us anyway.

The ONLY reason I'm giving it four stars instead of five is because, honestly, the food is sub-par. I mean, it's consistent and tasty, but it's just what it is. As far as fast food goes, though, it's pretty dang fabulous.

I am not happy with this place. No, not at all, my friends. Pull up a chair.

I discovered Pacific Beach Tan while jogging home from the gym one day. I almost ran smack into a sign advertising a free tan that they had placed on the sidewalk outside their salon. I had been really wanting to visit a tanning salon due to the lack of sun in Portland, and I thought the whole "free tan" thing was just what the doctor ordered.

When I entered the salon a few days later, I was greeted by a girl whose skin color has not as of yet been recognized in Webster's Dictionary. There are seriously no words to describe what I saw. It looked like someone had painted the surface of her body with a thick layer of orange paint mixed with peanut butter. It was not attractive and looked extremely artificial. I am not oblivious to the "fake-tan look," but, I'm telling you, this was different. She looked like a cartoon. I'm only telling you this because I'm trying to set the stage for you to see her as an unattractive, fake villian. Picture her with horns also, please.

Miss Peanut butter and I discussed my skin type and which bed I would like to be placed in. I told her that I had come in because of the free tan, and she acknowledged, or I though she did. She asked me if I had brought in my goggles, and I said I didn't have any as every salon I'd ever been to provided them free of charge. She informed me that it would be $3.00 for a pair of goggles, so I took out the credit card. When I signed the c/c slip, I noticed that I was being charged $18.00, so I asked her what was up. She said that the one tan was $15.00, and then the goggles were $3.00. I reminded her of the free tan, and she said that it was only offered when you bought a package of several tans. I was pretty irked about this, as I could have tanned at my gym for $6.00. Strike one for Pacific Beach.

So, being the pushover I am, I didn't complain and went over to my stand-up tanning bed. I disrobed and pushed the button for the lights to turn on. I was just starting to get into a love ballad by J. Lo and Marc Anthony when the lights shut off. It was seriously no longer than a minute. I tried to push the button again. Nothing. So I got dressed and walked to the front, where nobody stood. I walked around the salon. Nobody. Hmmmm. I opened the front door to sound the little ringer, and Miss P.B. came out of her Jiffy jar to the front. I informed her of what happened, and she told me to push the button again. I told her I did that, and she acted annoyed and told me that I must have not pushed the right button. I assured her, but she told me to just do it again. Strike two.

So I went back to the bed, disrobed again, and pushed the button. Over and over. Nothing. By this time I was pretty frustrated. I dressed again, went to the front, and told her again that the bed wasn't functioning. She said matter-of-factly that I would just have to come back the next day, then, because it was against state law to tan twice in one day. I told her that I had only received one minute of exposure, but she said it didn't matter and that I would have to come back the next day and that by then the bed would be fixed. I told her that I wanted to be in another bed and I wanted to tan right then, but she reiterated that it was against state law and that she wouldn't put me in another bed. Strike three.

To her credit, she told me that the computer prevented her from doing it, which I guess could be true but sounds weird to me. She also said that I could use any bed I wanted the next day, even the $45.00 one. That was nice, but I was still pretty mad about the situation, and when I got home I told my husband about it. He was pretty upset himself because of the $18 tanning price, and he suggested that I get a refund. I'm not one to do that sort of thing usually. Actually, I really struggle with being assertive and usually will still eat my food even if it does have a hair in it just so I don't have to raise a stink. But I figured this was a good time to work on standing up for myself, so I drove back over there and asked for my refund. I was informed about a no-refund policy. I refuted and told her that I would like her to put the money back on my card. She told me that the computer wouldn't let her. She was very nice about it, which kinda made me even more annoyed, if  you know what I mean. She sounded like she could be the voice on an automated line for a bank.  

So I left defeated, white, and $18 poorer for no good reason. I will curse this salon until all the peanut butter in all the world returns to it's rightful place- on faces of elementary school kids in cafeterias around the country. Not on the body of a android.

Grrrrrrrrrrr.

Picture this:

28 year old marries 24 year old.

28 year old moves to college town so 24 year old hubby can finish college.

28 year old is limited to friendships with girls who grew up with Britney.

28 year old rolls with it. She shops at Forever 21. She says "aww...SNAP" and calls people Donkey Biters. She regresses to feel that meaningful conversations really can be had by text messaging.

And then she walks into the Provo Gold's Gym. And enough is enough for goodness sakes. 28 year old wants to shout: I GIVE UP!!!!!!!! Because there's only so many 20 year olds in spandex you can handle when you're 28, and this particular gym exceeds my limit.

Give me the overweight bandanna man with the fishy smell that drips all over the treadmill.

Give me the dolled-up middle-aged Zsa-Zsa look-a-like in her rinestone-flecked jogging twin-set who leaves the makeup stains on the sweat towels.

Give me Mr. Yoga man who looks like a cross between Gumby and a pretzel.

But if I have to see one more bare midriff girl who can eat pizza until 3 in the morning and never bloat, than I swear I will be the next person you hear about that spontaneously combusts.

So, Gold's Gym, why don't you have a big fat pizza party? Why don't you just eat cake. And when your young, spandex-clad members eat enough to realize that they are super-human metabilizing freaks of nature that don't even need a gym membership, THEN you can give me a call.

And when you do, make sure to save me some leftovers.

I'm writing this review on Cafe Gratitude mostly for myself, it seems, as there are already hundreds already written. I'm embracing my narcissism these days.

I was first introduced to Raw Food in 2003 while living in Santa Cruz. I was tending bar at the time (pre-conversion), and the result was a stomach that hung ever so elegantly over the sides of my jeans. I decided that I wanted to shed a few pounds, so I browsed the athletic classes at the local J.C., and I decided on ballet. Why I decided that the answer to being unhappy with my body lie in donning a leotard, I can't tell you. But I can tell you that my reasoning left me the first time I walked into class.

These...people... if you can call them that...they, um, were not like me. They were really, really...REALLY pretty people. Really skinny. Really shiny. Really happy-looking. And they were all wearing my leotard. I began to develop a new understanding of the recent rise in school violence.

Over the semester, I got to know a few of these...people... and learned that they all had special eating habits. One man I danced with (a ballerin...o?) swore by raw food. He gave me a book,  "Cleanse and Purify Thyself," on the subject. He was the most healthy-looking person I had ever seen, so I read the book with secret plans to morph into his fraternal twin.

Ever since, I have been passionate about raw food. Mind you, I am also very passionate about In-N-Out Burger. But I always feel so good when I incorporate more raw food in my diet, and I really believe that it has a positive affect on my complexion. My husband laughs at my accusations, but I'm telling you, raw food and cleansing cures a lot of ailments.

Well, moving on to Subject Relevance, Cafe Gratitude is hands down the best raw food restaurant I've ever been to. Not only is the atmosphere really unique and fun (each table doubles as a board game), but the food is artfully prepared with fresh, organic fruits, veggies, nuts and seeds. Each item on the menu is an affirmation, so you get to boost your mental health every time you order ("I'll have the 'I am beautiful.'"). Oh, and the food tastes good too. Ok, I admit, if you're really craving some soul-food, this is not the place to go.But if you've been up late watching infomercials about the new break-through diet pill or you're face-book quote is "STOP THE INSANITY!" then you might want to try something that's 100% guaranteed healthy while still edible.

My only gripe is that the prices are high. I mean, it's to be expected, though, because of the quality of the ingredients and the complicated preparation (soaking, dehydrating, sprouting, ect.) but how about an "I Am Broke?" for the menu?

Oh, Laundry Day. The most despised day of all the days. It's like taxes, homework, and cleaning blinds all in one. Oh dreary me. Dreary you. Dreary us all on Laundry Day.

Me and my husband just moved into a new apartment so small you could pee on it. I can't believe I just said that. So what? I'm leaving it in. Anyhow, the point is that we lack most modern amenities, like a dishwasher, washer/dryer, and an oven that doesn't set off the fire alarm every time you try to be Martha and actually cook something for your starving husband.

I've had to go to self-serve laundromats before, but not for a long, long, long time. I think I forgot what a true Laundry Day was like. I think I underestimated the effects of Laundry Day on a person's mental health as well as on their ability to procrastinate. My baskets are finally realizing their full potential as they reluctantly accept every wearable thing in my wardrobe. When I get down to my only formal dress and the ski pants, I know it's time.

Laundry Day for me consists of lugging two baskets plus two hefty-size garbage bags stuffed full of clothing, sheets, and towels, a separate bag full of my value-size (35% more!) detergent, bleach, stain remover, and fabric softener, bedding draped over my head (for lack of a third arm), and pockets full of quarters. Add that image to a remarkably long, ice-covered path which spans from our downstairs basement apartment to the driveway, and you can begin to understand why I consider this day life-threatening.

In days of old, I would try to lighten the load of Laundry Day by going to laundry cafes, where the sound of live music and the distraction of cute scenesters would drown out the vibration of the spin cycle. Brainwash in SF is the best of these establishments I've visited, but Santa Cruz and Oakland has it's share of hip laundromats too.

But Provo? Nope. As a matter of fact, there are barely any laundromats in the city of Provo. The closest 'mat I could find was in Orem. Laundry Plus. More like Laundry Minus. Minus the hip music. Minus the cool crowd. Minus the menu of drinks and sammies. Minus cleanliness. Minus washers that actually wash and dryers that actually dry.

The laundromat itself is ginormous. It could fit a space shuttle. Or alot of machines that actually wash clothes instead of just filling up with water and then refusing to do anything else, creating a dirt-shirt-stew. Laundry at Laundry Plus consists of constant washer surveillance. Further, the place couldn't get any more filthy. There are old, rancid couches in what I guess is supposed to be some sort of lounge area/ sporting good area? I'm still trying to decide: the Flinstones TV that seems to be broadcasting a Dawson's-Creek-Athon denotes lounge, but the many various broken bicycle parts strongly indicate junkyard.  Did I mention that the couches are rancid? I avoid them due to the risk of hypodermic needle puncture in my touchy. As a matter of fact, while I'm lifting and re-lifting washer lids in an attempt to restart cycles, I half-expect to at any minute witness a wild-eyed, bearded, emaciated, naked, bandanna'd man running wildly into the 'mat with fists full of  hypodermic needles and carnival prizes, screaming, "DRUGS!!!!!!!! MURDER!!!!!!!!!! PEEWEE HERMAN!!!!!!!!!!" from a foaming mouth. If ever a person was to be found, it would be at Laundry Plus.

But, for the record, a young latina who is always working (the daughter of the owner), is very nice. When she's not engrossed in her television shows or talking on her cell phone, she's very helpful. She's helped me with the broken machines many times and she always refunds me the money that I lose. One star for that.

I spent a considerable amount of time broke in NY. I lived in a basement studio that lost complete power every time the garage door to the complex was used. I walked to work in the snow everyday (uphill both ways) as a result of parking tickets, a boot, and towing fees that I couldn't pay. I worked 3 jobs and considered selling my eggs. It was great fun.

During this time, I lived on popcorn and licorice (one of the perks of working at a video store), and the weekly lunch that was hosted by the pharmaceutical rep at the women's clinic (2nd job). But every once in a while, I could scrounge up enough change to buy a good, hot slice of NY pizza. Don't get me wrong, NY pizza is remarkably cheap. Like $2 or $3 a slice at most. But I was just remarkably poor.

The thing about NY pizza is that, generally, the cheapest slice is better than the very best, most expensive pizza anywhere else. Part of this phenomenon is due the insane amount of pizza joints- like ten or more per block- and the need to compete with their quality and price. But the secret is in the crust. It is the same reason NY bagels are so dang good. By the way, I have inside information on this: My old roomate used to work in a bagel shop in NY and he told me why the breads of NY are so outstanding. I won't reveal why, but I suffice it to say that it is virtually impossible to recreate the texture and taste of NY bread in any other state than NY. The fundamental ingredient is found NOWHERE else in the world.

With that said, I have since become a pizza snob. Try as I might, I cannot find a pizza slice that compares to what I've experienced in the dirty, greasy, but glorious stand-up-countered pizza joints of the NY city streets. So, Nicolitalia, don't feel so bad. You're good. You're even REALLY good to the unrefined tongue. But to me, you're just a slab of greasy cheese on some flat cardboard.

If it makes you feel any better, I liked the broccoli on the veggie slices. Oh, and the sausage was good too. And the delivery guy didn't freak out when he saw me in my sweats and knotted up hair- product of not showering all day. Product of distraction. Product of Yelp.

I hate going to movies. The seats are stiff, and even if they do recline they never let me snuggle up to my husband the way I want to. Plus, my feet are always cold (are all their vents on the floor?) and I like homemade snacks to munch on while Keanu drives the bus.

Enter Pageant Theatre. I love this place. The couches make me feel like I'm right at home. The popcorn is homemade. They'll let you bring your fuzzy blanket and whatever other snacks or drinks you want to. Plus, they show good movies- mostly independent films. I've seen many a documentary there, and those are my favorite.

Oh! And the best part are the prices! Who wants to pay $12.00 to be cold, stiff, and alienated from your spouse? The pageant is super cheap, especially on Mondays ($2.00 I think).

So next time you're about to go see another generic hollywood flick, check out what's playing at the Pageant. You'll be glad you did. (ok, so I didn't really know how to end it. Sometimes you just have to rely on cheesy conclusions.)

When Rawbar first opened it's doors, I was really excited. I had been getting my sushi fix at Katsu's, which isn't horrible, but my palette had been refined by city living. When I saw the bar's urbanesque atmosphere, I was curious to see if little Chico had finally caught itself a big fish. See, that's why I don't do this professionally.

Moving on, I was sorely disappointed. I really wanted to like it. The service was great. I loved the vibe. But the sushi left much to be desired in the way of fish. I don't doubt that it is high quality fish, there just isn't enough of it! The rolls are ginormous, but it's all rice. It seems that the owners are trying to make a buck by making massive rolls constructed mostly of rice, with a bit of fish (for garnish?) and then charging big city prices because of the size of the rolls and the bar's image. Further, there are less rolls than I am accustomed to per order.

Compared to the many sushi bars I've visited over the years, which include NY, SF, and the bay area's finest, this place is subpar and highly overpriced for what it offers.

But for the record, the service was great and the ambiance was fun. For that I'll give it 2 stars.

In December of 2006, my boyfriend of 8 months proposed to me on Christmas Eve. I can't say I didn't see it coming: we had been discussing marriage for the past 5 months, and I had already been semi-planning the wedding secretly. I was just waiting for the ring like a racehorse waits for gunfire.

Now I could finally contact my chosen vendors and taste some cake. The problem was that I had been looking for months for a wedding dress that would satisfy the desires of both my inner child, with her fairy-tale inspired princess-dress dreams, and at the same time my current, more refined fashion appetite that channeled such icons as audrey, jackie, every Prada thing ever made. Further, I wanted to find a modest dress that I could wear to get sealed in a Temple, which is believed by my church to be a highly sacred House of God for those non-Mormon's out there.

Well, after much searching I had at least made some solid decisions: No sequence, pearls, lace, or any embellishments. I wanted to focus on the quality of the fabric, lines, and construction of the dress, and I didn't want the integrity of these key elements to be compromised by gaudiness. I wanted pure silk. I wanted beautiful ruching. I wanted mermaid style, old hollywood elegance. And I wanted it all under $3,000. Preferably under $2,000.

That's where Penny, the dressmaker behind "Penelope's" came in. She was referred to me by the same highly trusted source who recommended my photographer. Going to see Penny for the first time, I felt like I was Cinderella going to her fairy godmother with a pumpkin and some rats. I was sure I would get laughed at for my unrealistic desires, and talked into a standard, boring, mormon cut-out of a dress (read: t-shirt style short-sleeved top, puffy A-line skirt. Buttons down back. Long veil.) I was all but shaking.

But that was not the case! Penny listened and took notes, and even presented me with a book of silk samples to choose from. She sketched out the dress with my direction, and then quoted me a price that almost took the wind out of me. I wanted to shout from the rooftops- "The Church is True!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (Also, a Mormon reference. Sorry.)

And so my perfect dress was constructed. The end.