Matrix Fillmore
September 29th, 2007 | by Masa |
Kevin and I went to a bar called Matrix Fillmore about a couple of weeks ago after we had a dinner at Plump Jack cafe, which wasn’t as great as we expected. These stores used to be managed by a current San Francisco Mayor, Gavin Newsom, and his fellows. Well, I have to say they got an excellent taste in everything including food, cocktail, service, and design (except for the awkward noisy chair at Plumpjack), if you like white yuppie culture. Anyway, the purpose that I thought to post review about Matrix Fillmore is that I found an interesting and funny review about Matrix Fillmore in Yelp.com. Here’s the review.
———————————————————————————–
MatrixFillmore
3138 Fillmore Street San Francisco, CA 94123
Reviewed by Rockell G.
I wasn’t the coolest kid in high school. I know. You’re surprised, right?
You’re not? Ummmm, anyway…
I had an internet boyfriend (Hi Rich!) and when M&M’s wanted the public to vote for its new color, I signed into AOL and voted Purple about 100 times. What? I just really wanted to rock the vote. (As I’ve suspected all along, my vote does NOT count. The new color was decidedly Blue. LAME!)
I really didn’t come into my own until senior year. It was a bumpy road to this class act you see today.
Every time I go to the Matrix I feel catapulted back to sophomore year at Marin Catholic, where I have really bad hair and a propensity for sarcasm and exaggeration (haha. OK, I still have that). The place is like a breeding ground for Coach Bags and too much mascara. I don’t feel cool enough to sit on the hip purple banquettes and warm myself by the magical fireplace, although the drinks of which there are many seem to help as the night wears on.
Marina Girls are like the bitches I hated in high school; blonde, put together, and tedious. Marina Guys are like the assholes I wished I could have slept with in high school; football heroes, gay jokes and small penises.
In the Marina I tend to revert to my “I’m not pretty enough, don’t look at me, don’t talk to me” 15 year old self. So pathetic.
So Monday night I went for a cocktail w/ my favorite plus one and get this, the asshole jock that I always wish I could have slept with, well he was there. Who would have thunk that half the guys from my senior class would become striped shirt jockeys and set up shop in the Marina spending their weekends taking advantage of 21 year old bottle blondes with low self esteem? Shocking.
Confronted w/ this tall drink of hotness, I lowered my eyes. But something strange happened. I think they call it the moment of clarity.
I am blonde, I am put together, and I am not tedious in the least bit. I am actually smart. And witty. And I’ve got jokes (sometimes)!
I looked that jock in the eyes, and I smiled. I was instantly celebrated for my bravery, because he looked good, and he came over to talk. We caught up for a few minutes, and just as I suspected all along he was actually smart, funny, and nice.
I was ready to run away with him and have freakishly tall blonde babies when he made a subversive gay joke. I excused myself, feeling glorious. No big loss, anyway.
Like I said, small penis.
