Oksana "Trouble!" T.'s Profile

Has Thai corn cakes and is open til 2. And happy hour runs from 10 to 1:30 (I don't really know what the deals are though). Food was really good too.

I am sorry, dear owners and partners of 330 Ritch, I don't mean to shit on your leading car while it's raining at your parade, but, last night your bouncer verbally and emotionally assaulted me, displayed physical aggression toward me while standing six inches from me, and proceeded to be an ass afterwards.

It was my good friend's birthday yesterday and a whole bunch of us were having drinks to his health. It was a Giants home game day. He wanted to go to District (read "no parking"). We met up around 7, around 8:30 I learned that he parked somewhere illegally in someone's lot on Ritch street. Around 9:30 I found his keys in his jacket and decided to sneak out to move his car to a safer spot, given that game was over and there was probably more legal parking available around the area. I went outside and started looking for his car using point-and-press-unlock technique, because I don't even know what make it is, let alone model. I found it near what appeared to be an entrance to a club - four large serious guys at a door and a line of people. I got in the car and started it, then I realized that I am probably a little too tipsy to drive a stick shift, given that my daily driver is a tiptronic and I learned the hard way not to ride my bike tipsy - I got knees to prove that, not doing it again. I think I am a reasonable person - and I think it is reasonable not to want to crash a friend's car while tipsy. No DUI, no broken friendships, thank you.

This is where the fun part starts. I shut off the car, get out, and start calling the birthday boy so he can come and move his car. Out of nowhere a mountain of a man appears and starts screaming on top of his massive lungs to "MOVE YOUR CAR." I try to explain that this isn't my car, and that I am in the process of getting someone to move it. I couldn't even shove two words in. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" This mountain all of a sudden gets a little dangerous for my well-being. I get back in the car. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" All while trying to talk to my friend so he can come by. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" This guy is 6'2" tall, probably nearly 300lbs, shaved head, mean ass facial hair. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" His arm goes up in the air and he smashes at the driver seat window. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" I locked the car somewhere sometime between all the "MOVE YOUR CAR!" Voice like a fucking cannon. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" I am a 100lbs girl. Dude. How is this right? Oh wait, there is more! Shit just keeps getting better! "MOVE YOUR CAR!" I am trying to tell him I can't move the car. "YOU GOT THE KEYS. MOVE YOUR CAR!" - "It's not my car! I can't move it! I can't drive it!" - "MOVE YOUR CAR!" It's like trying to have a conversation with a megaphone. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" Like, the emotional damaged inflicted upon me is already enough to start crying. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" I'm a big girl, no crying. "MOVE YOUR CAR" He is bashing at the windows, side, front, with his 300-pound fist non-stop at this point while screaming "MOVE YOUR CAR!" loud enough to get people to come look. Trying to have a conversation with this "person" is no longer a reasonable thought. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" "MOVE YOUR CAR!"

My buddy finally makes it, "MOVE YOUR CAR!" I see him turning around the corner and unlock the car to get out. This guy yanks the door open! "MOVE YOUR CAR!" I get out of the driver's seat to let my friend in, who can only repeat "What the hell is going on here!" and make sure that I am ok. "MOVE YOUR CAR!" As he gets in the car, I look at this mountain of a guy and tell him that is what I was trying to do all this time. Response, surprisingly is still "MOVE YOUR CAR!" What the hell? "You see, we are moving the car! What are you going to do?!" "I AM GONNA SMACK YOU."

SAY WHAT?!?!

And then what? Seriously, dude. Jail? Again, just to remind you, this is a 300lbs 6'-tall black dude with shaved head against a 100lbs 5'5" girl. What the hell? What is wrong with you people?

I found out he works at 330 Ritch after all my friends wanted to go to an 80s party there - because he went in, got me and "asked" me to leave. Does this guy ever communicate on levels below 110 decibels?

Here is the sad part. I had a video camera with me the entire time. I could have recorded that, but I was in such intense shock from being yelled and smashed from all sides while in the car that I couldn't think of anything but duck-and-cover.

I have seen and met a lot of bouncers. I respect them most in the scene. Read all my other club reviews. Slide/Ruby Skye, Vessel, Ambassador, Harlot - dammit, the most gentle strong giants in the world of entertainment in this city.

WHAT THE F*** WAS THIS? How could anyone in such damaged state get a job like that? Why aren't people screened for anger management problems?

I had dinner there sometime after it opened. We came around 8 on a Wednesday and it was completely empty. Decor, service, and dishes were fresh and enjoyable. Prices are actually pretty good considering you get treated like a human and fed like you have taste buds. Oh, and the part that you don't have to stare at dusty wall treatments also rocks. Hopefully none of this is going to change with time.

I learned later that it got featured in a couple of design blogs and publications due to its design when it first opened.

For me this place started with a friend's birthday, which was not really a blast. But since it has continued with a number of awesome DJs, so I am pretty sure that unless I am banned out of there for debauchery or looking bored, I am going to be keeping Vessel on the radar.

The space:
It is absolutely obvious that the raised space near the staircase was designed to dismember people. I have heard people refer to it as "The Garden." I think it should be something more appropriate, like "Member's Graveyard." (pun could be intentional). There are two huge low tables standing pretty close to each other, and yet there is a tree stuck in the middle - this is a major traffic congestion route and a spot where most collisions happen, some of those between a drunken chicky and the tree itself. I think I only made it there twice, and one of those times was when the club was empty. But that space is also the best place to hide from either the DJ or the music.

Then there is that other area with wooden arches above it. Its kind of cool and lets you relax because the tables do a gorgeous job protecting you from the pseudo-dancer-infested main floor.

Also, as it has been pointed out to me numerous times, apparently there are sub woofers built into the tables, but they can't be used at the desirable power because guests' drinks dance off the tables and onto their Pradas (latter causes much grief from the guests with heavily advertised lack of financial limits... paradox?)

The main floor is pretty spacious, although gets packed at times so badly that you gotta sardine through the people and hope that they won't swing their drinks into you.

Bathrooms are hot, every single time I open the stall door, I want a) a hot model with messy hair and coke nose half-standing on the porcelain, b) my camera in my hand, and c) some lights. Tiling so many square feet with such tiny tiles was probably very expensive and time consuming. It probably set the opening date back a couple of weeks.

Another thing about this place is that you can sneak out unnoticed if you wanted to. There is an obvious path (also very convenient) that most barely notice. But I am going to keep it a secret for not-so-attentive ones.

Oh. And this space is absolutely gorgeous when there are no people there. I really wish at times that their prices were higher, door even tighter, and face control more strict just for the sake of people to at least appreciate the layout and decor. Although, that would potentially mean that I would not be invited to come in either.

The crowd.
Eeeeeh... I don't know. Not necessarily the best thing in town. Some nights should be advertised as "douche bags + marina blonds" only.  Sometimes the crowd is really amazing with barely any creeps in place. But any place is like that, you just have to know when not to go, I guess. I also have two skills: tune out the crowd and to turn away and pretend like I can't hear when someone smelling fruitier than the girl he was just talking to comes at me.

The drinks.
Expect expensive. But expect a lot and pretty good. I have not gotten table service here, but they seem on top of it (although, I was tipsy when I watched them).

The door.
Treat your bouncer as a person. Because most of the times you may not get any more real people after you make it through the door. Although, at this club, everyone seems pretty nice and real.

Oh... have you noticed that the complimentary cigs in the smoking room are laid out in alternating order? Yeah, details.

Sometimes I very seriously wish that life had an undo button in it.

I had visited this place three times. Here is my story.

Foreword: I realize that second language is a pretty high and wide barrier for most immigrants, which could cause a lot of miscommunication (and what could be considered rudeness), but when your first language is the same as that of your store's customer, you could easily get around that barrier. These people choose not to. I respect that choice, even if it has no logic behind it whatsoever.

Experience: The first visit the result was pretty good. I needed new heels on a pair of pumps, turn around was pretty quick and painless.

Second time I brought in two pairs of shoes, both needed new heels, and one needed to be fixed (simple-looking insert and sew deal). One of the pairs had a wooden heels, and one of the shoe came back with a huge, but not *very* noticeable scratch on it. Its not something I could have made on there, but it was presented to me as if "it was fixed for me." Uh. Thanks for putting it on there too.

Today I picked up my most favorite pair of black fuck me boots from getting new soles. This was my third and last trip here. I really wish I just wore them until there were holes in the soles and threw them out rather than have them trashed here - my most favorite, best-find-ever boots got completely destroyed. They had a rolled-up not-too-pointy sexy toe, with leather sole going up about 1/8-1/16 inch up the front edge. The sole was light brown leather to match the skinny wooden wedge, about 1/16. They were all perfect, except that the sole started wearing out. So I wanted the sole to get covered. I brought them in, and was told that the toe needed a little build up on the toe part, which I agreed to. I was quoted $28-something. When I came to get my newly-soled boots back, they looked nothing like what I brought in - sexy toes are gone - lots of new things about the new toes though: they are pointy (how can that be?), there is a huge scratch on the right one, which is just painted over (quote: "I fixed that hole for you, eh?! Looks great, doesn't it?!"). The sole that was rolled up the edge is now sticking out all over, and looks cheaply glued on and painted over. Its also about 1/8in thick, with some areas that are almost 1/4 thick. I brought them in with perfect toes and a sexy little skinny sole that was running up the front edge. Now they look plastic, and $90 cheaper (per boot) -  exactly twice as much as I got charged for new soles here.

Afterword: I don't care about the money as much. I just want to press undo. That's all I want.

That's all. Please give me my boots back. I am size 6.5. They are Kenneth Cole's "Outer Case." I just went on Zappos, they are not there, of course, otherwise I'd be buying a new pair.

End run: Lesson learned. I can't spell.

Sometime during my conversation with the salesman this happened:

"My dad so would not approve of this."

"Really? ... Where are you from?"

"o.O"

Little did he know that belt was going to be the biggest part of my costume.

There are many things I can't figure out about myself. But one I know for sure: I cannot, absolutely cannot afford myself.

Today half of the population of our office got organized and followed their noses to Bun Heaven. These buns sure do smell good. Even more so if filled with steak, mushrooms and cheese... Ah huh.

Mine got a little messy... But that is a different story.

I received wonderful service at this store. I wanted a new phone, I was walking by and decided to walk in. I was in and out in less than 30 min. Because of them I am still paying $7.50/mo for unlimited data and $7.50/mo for unlimited text.

My phone has had a tough life, and has seen better days. I probably dropped it at least fifty times, learned that it works great in the shower, and drove my car over it. Its still working fine. I am pretty sure it just doesn't want to die because it wants to see more of me. Its probably in awe with the conversations that go through it and definitely absolutely loving the text history. Its probably going through saved ones over and over and laughing silently at them... I mean, wouldn't you? Example:

[...]

In (11:00PM): "I am feeling very aggressive right now. What are you doing later?"

[...]

Yeah, so... uhm... yeah... uuuhm.

I thank Sprint and its employees at this particular location for providing me with tools, so I could receive, send, save, and reread things like this the next morning and laugh so hard that my eyes tear up.

Update - I felt bad. It was funny. But no one needs to go through the whole thing.

UPDATE: Reality check: failed. Bartenders are nice, but the rest just needs to go.

This review used to be 5 stars.

ORIGINAL:
Out of millions of ways one could get attracted to another, I am not lazy enough to write about three right now... here goes.

The Fireworks.
Filled with deafening crackling, steamy, and smoking attraction that starts with the tiniest spark and, fueled by whatever overly flammable combustible earlier consumed by its participants, blows up into a sparkling fireball, burning a spectator's or an innocent bystander's face. This attraction dies as quickly as it has started, sometimes leaving burn scars behind and rarely any memories.

The Chair.
Sometimes uncomfortable, hard, and full of ridges, used mostly for dining, it lures with a wonderful dish it was placed in front. Later, being moved into the bedroom, it becomes primarily what it was meant to be - a piece of furniture - and occasionally a hanger for clothes. Sometimes suffocating with with soft over-stuffed pillows, it draws by being placed in front of an entertainment center and housing a beer can holder. It doesn't let to get away, and if one does dare to run, the memory of complete comfort draws them back. This attraction always requires one to play the role of the chair and the other to get used to the fact that any attempt to create a spark will burn it down.

The Tide.
It rolls in slowly. First, with little waves washing over one's feet playfully, lulling and luring one to walk one little step deeper into the water. At some point, wether used to the temperature or not, one finds him or her self  almost waist-deep in. That is about the time when the waves become larger and stronger and finally take over, crush on one's head and take over the body leaving no chance to get back to the beach other than getting washed up onto the sand breathless, chewed up by the waves and underwater rocks some time mid-morning after. I personally believe this is the best way to die out of those being discussed here.

My attraction to Nihon was the latter kind. At first I hated it - I thought it was uncomfortable, dark, with drink menu completely not suiting my tastes. I guess my tastes evolved a bit because slowly, starting with getting used to the strong drink mixing habits of locals, then finding my perfect champagne cocktail for the most amazing sashimi dinner, then loving the space and decor, getting used to walking on the pebbled floor downstairs, I found myself in love with this place. I am going back soon. I am definitely not looking forward to being returned to the beach breathless, but there is hope, backed up by the times, sometimes in most cases, one ends up floating in the water with their eyes closed and smile across their face until they become it.

Sorry you had to read all this to get to that one paragraph that was actually relevant.

Oola is the name that first comes to my head when someone asks me to make up their mind about where we should have dinner tonight. No, I don't eat there every night, but if you have no mind of your own, that's where you are going to end up with me.

The space and seating is great both for dates and for friendly dinners. Even eating at the bar is comfortable, although not the definition of romantic at Oola. The music is really good, and even though it gets a little louder past 11pm, you can always hear your dinner partner without trying too hard.

The service is completely amazing. Period. They should open a school.

The drinks have been fluctuating, but lately have been pretty good. The margarita is strong and is definitely worth trying.

The food here puts me in euphoric state. I usually get the ribs and mac and cheese. All the salads on the dinner menu are amazing. Not too long ago I also discovered the ahi tuna appetizer, and now I just wish I could eat that much. Every single time I come to Oola, I end up wanting to order most of the menu, stop myself, still order way too much food, and leave with highly impaired motor functions.

If I didn't have dinner plans for another restaurant, you'd easily find me at Oola tonight.