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| - This place lives up to one third of it's name, as this 'grotto' is never of shortage of girls. But it ain't green, and nobody would have a room like this!
For some reason, all of my Mandarin speaking girlfriends decide on this place when I ask them where they'd like to eat? Maybe it's because it's the giant racks of magazines shelved along the entrance which features just about every Asian publisher in existence.
Wooden tables, wooden chairs, wooden frames for the walls, wooden bubble tea bar. Oh it's a bubble tea joint, now I know why all of my Mandarin female friends likes this place. Must be quite lucrative to open a business which all the Chinese girls are genetically pre-dispositioned to throw their money at. Since when are grottos made of wood? Also, where is the green? I don't see anything of that colour?
The food is horrible, not a single item on the menu is fresh. The chicken wings are packaged grocery frozen wings, this I am certain! I know that price chopper taste anywhere! The only thing that they made from scratch is the rice...if you consider cooking rice in a rice cooker making things from scratch.
The bubble tea, is not so bad. Good size, but so what? It's just powdered sugar water. Should I be impressed by the bartender for diluting the correct concentration of powder to water ratio? Did he have to go to culinary school for that?
Why are these women not buying snake oil instead?
The mystery of my ethnicity's fascination with this elixir continue to astound me.
There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed.
My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone.
In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others.
I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling.
This confession has meant n.......oh wait sorry, wrong blog..
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