Happy New Year!!!

To quote Montel...this is how we do it in the Train household

Hello my dear blogger faithful,

I promise to be back next week with my regularly scheduled programming of my latest romps that may or may not include vodka, ear muffs, blasts from the past and realizing I am an academic idiot. But tonight I wanted to take the time to wish you a very merry New Year.

Hope your nights are filled with laughter, love and whatever else fills your heart’s desire. Here is to a fantastic 2009, ching ching! May we all keep our sanity, our jobs and our blogs.

XOXO,
Gravy Train


This blog is dedicated to Xtian and his fascination for champange that he even bought me my very own bottle for tonight that sports my last name.

Merry Christmas (Kwanza, Chanukah, or whatever else you celebrate)

Hi Ya'll,

I wanted to take a few minutes out of celebrating the birth of Baby Jesus (I personally rejoice the occasion by drinking soy eggnog*, eating tamales and DDRing it...Baby J would have wanted it that way) to wish you and yours a very Merry Dec. 25. May your lives be filled with lots of love, friends, peace and booze...that last one is very important I think.

Love,
Gravy Train

This post is dedicated to treadmills…Lordeh knows we will need them after the holidays.

*No health quips…I can’t drink regular dairy

Good Idea/Bad Idea Show-Down: A Retrospect on Gravy's Monday

Good Idea: Having coffee to stay warm
Bad Idea: Having about 5 cups before noon despite getting to work at 9:30am.

Good Idea: Having lunch with a former colleague to hear how her time off is going
Bad Idea: Having 2 glasses of said wine and then going back to work to have more coffee

Good Idea: Hitting the gym post work to burn much needed calories
Bad Idea: Meeting with personal trainer who could care less you had 2 glasses of wine and a vat of coffee that then after personally kicking your butt for an hour, puts you on a Stairmaster to “work off your wine” for another half out.
Worse Idea: After said working off of the devil wine taking an hour long Zumba class…because you know…you can.

This post is dedicated to Luna bars.

The Wedding Chronic, What?, Cles of Gravy Train

The Ceremony Shot

Alternate title for this post: Pull Up a Chair Kids It's Gonna Be a Long One

You know it is funny, I actually don’t remember much leading up to my wedding except 2-3 hour workouts coupled with 12 hour work days and very little sleep. The stuff that I do remember are little snippets here and there sort of like a bad 80’s montage without the bad, yet oh-so-good, 80’s music to accompany it*. The randomness that I do recall is going to get my marriage license with my husband’s non-English speaking Scandinavian family in tow only to find out I had an expired driver’s license** and thus could not get a marriage paperwork done until I brought my passport. I recall forgetting my wedding dress at home and having to make the trek back home with Vicky B to get it. I recall getting ready in the morning and then dragging D all over downtown San Jose whilst I tried to find a drug store with an open pharmacy store. I recall getting ready with the girls and then taking pictures outside and then being at the church with an extreme case of nerves whilst the best man tried to calm me down outside the church as he fixed my hair and told me repeatedly that I looked pretty so I would not cry and ruin my make-up.

I also recall walking down the aisle with my parents and seeing Xtain standing there with a grin ear-to-ear and knowing that things would be better because he was there. I recall giggling the entire ceremony and hoping that the SJ Earthquakes (who were playing on the soccer field on campus) would win. I recall listening to nonsensical rap on the party bus back to the reception and laughing and having a great time. I recall is getting to the reception being shocked by how many people were there and then everything else is a blur of hellos, food, wine, music and art. The last thing I recall is getting back to our room that was covered in rose petals and streamers (pink of course) with a Baby Jesus* stamp on our bed and a bottle of Ace of Spades chilling on the night stand.

What I do remember fully, in every little detail, is the day after the wedding: it was the only time in my short married life that I actually felt married. As usual, we had a going away brunch for the bridal party and many of our out of town guests and I wore a white summer dress (in late October if you can believe that…God, I love San Jose) that I found ironic. As everyone wrapped up their post party meals my parents walked me to my hotel room made to keep me company until Xtian returned from taking his parents to our loft. When he returned, my parents bade their good-byes and left. And that is when it hit me…I was now a married person, for like ever. I no longer belonged to my parents or to myself even, but I belong to this man who not even five years ago had been a total stranger to me. My home was no longer my parents’ house in which I had freeloaded for 30 years (minus the time in my sorority house) but it was this loft in the city with this strange man who was now my husband. There was this odd moment of silence as we sat in the living room of our bridal suite soaking in the reality of our nuptials. The “I Dos” we had shared not even 12 hours earlier had pretty much said it all and in the end I guess there was really nothing left to discuss. Just us…left to be a married couple.

After a long pause, Xtian picked up the phone and called the spa to book a couple’s massage for “my wife and I” and I have to say I felt a little awkward at the sound of the word wife – like we were two kids pretending to be grown-ups. We went down to the spa and the hotel had already prepared a lovely and romantic treatment for us and I can just remember thinking two things…oh my gawd these people know that we like did it**** and oh my gawd I can’t believe I am married. After our massage we headed out to the hotel pool and just chatted about life like we used to before the wedding consumed our nightly conversations. Then the afternoon turned to night and we headed back inside so that we could again make the trek to my parents house so that I could pick up my honeymoon luggage. As I packed up my clothes in my childhood room a great sense of nostalgia came over me and I felt like a stranger in my own house. When had this little girl, with her curly brown locks and her love of boy bands, grown up? Would I make a good wife or was I doomed to repeat the mistakes of my generation who had made marriage a taken-for-granted commodity? Would all of my shoes fit in my new closets? Once I was done packing we headed back to the hotel as we had early honeymoon flights to take the next day. We got back to our room, crawled into bed and for the first night in a long time I stopped over thinking everything and finally slept – being at peace with the new married me.

This post is dedicated to my wonderful bridesmaids who gave me the best parties ever, kept me sane with many a late night chats, kept me away from ledges when I got a little too crazy and delusional, and when all else failed kept me drunk with the best vodka and champagne money could buy.

*If I were to insert a song here, it would be Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benetar…because that song ROCKS.
**insn’t the DMV supposed to send you a letter…as much as I like starting at my much thinner, much tanner and much blonder self on my driver’s license…I don’t check the expiry date
***So I am a big fan of having religious paraphanillia everywhere I go so that God can protect me. A practice that has boggled Xtian for many years (in fact, if you watch the movie Fools Rush In, in is pretty much us to a T minus the baby drama, shot-gun wedding and waspy family on his end…but that is an entirely different post all together ).
****Sorry for the TMI, but no matter your sexual history prior to marriage I have to say there is something about newlyweds that just makes you think ching.

Typical Housewife Weekend

I never got the memo that once you become a Housewife your social calendar books up…that or it is just the holiday season and everyone wants to party like it is 1999…probs the latter because let’s face it, I am just not that important…I digress.

Friday night was the legendary party I wrote about last Friday. The setting was incredible, the people were very smart and interesting*, and the housewives were vicious…welcome to the shark-pen I guess. I counteracted the snarky HW* comments by drinking expensive wine…buckets of the stuff...whilst staring in my own personal karaoke show singing along with the host of the party (adore him and his wife…who was so nice) to awesome 60’s and 70’s rock. So good…and surprisingly instead of being mortified Xtian joined along.

Saturday morning was brunch at Town's End followed by my PBDing** on the couch while watching Clueless so that I could recharge batteries for the night ahead. Saturday night, Xtian and I headed out to another legendary party of epic proportions. That’s right: D’s Family’s Christmas party in all of its 80’s theme glory. Going in full Secrets of my Succe$s mode, Xtian dressed up as Brantley Foster/Carlton Whitfield and I dressed as Vera Prescott…of course. The outfits were hilar, the food was delish, and the alcohol was free flowing. Thankfully I was driving that night because, based on Xtian’s PBD the next day, I would still be in recovery mode.

Sunday, my two BFFs Vicki B and Pistol came over to have our annual Christmas dinner were we each pick a complicated gourmet dish…and then we make it ourselves. Given the rain nonsense that was SF that day we decided to instead Waiters-on-Wheels it and watch Gems TV nonstop so that we could learn as much as possible about gemstones…hey we all have our thing right?!?!

The end result of such an exciting weekend for me has been an excruciating headache and probs a 20 lbs weight gain. The party continues this weekend with my employee only holiday party followed by a late dinner at Gary Danko on Friday night and perhaps some Bubble Lounge action on Saturday. Yes, it does suck to be me.

This post is dedicated to Aleve

*Housewife
** PBD is a trademarked by Shallow and Very Single, Inc.

Ain't No Future in Yo Frontin'

My dearest YZA just sent me this fantastic little morsel of news that is just too good to pass up.

Apparently, according to well informed sources, 4 out of 5 Housewives of Hotlanta are broke*.

Say it with me kids...O.M.G.

I feel conned and betrayed like the time that YZA told me that Milli Vanilli were lip syncers**.

This post is dedicated to fact checking

*I don't mean to make light of other people's economic woes (we all have them during this wretched economic time) but what DOES bother me is that many of these ladies did think of themselves above EVERYONE.

** This may or may not be true, but I kinda want to say it is.

Open Letter to Gretchen

Dear Gretchen,

My name is Gravy Train and I too am the latest housewife (San Francisco based) of my own reality show*.

I have to say when you were first introduced in the fifth season opener, I didn’t particularly like you. Like the rest of the female population, when you came on scene with a guy old enough to be Father Christmas I did have to question your intentions with the man. I laughed, at not with, when your future step-daughter told you to get a job** or like when the other girls were mean to you...to be honest I kinda felt like you deserved it.

However, the more time I spend in my new role as a housewife the more I find that you and I have more and more in common than I could have originally imagined. Like for starters, when you went to that sample sale party with the tacky clothes and you were practically eaten alive by the other housewives with taunts of gold digging and daddy stealing…I feel you (except for the tacky clothes…I love me a good animal print any day of the week, but seriously…seriously). Or like when the same alleged women try to “make you feel welcome” by making snide remarks of future divorces and prenuptial agreements thus questioning the very existence of your well-funded relationship…um, hello, that is totally me.

So I guess what I am really trying to say, Gretchen, is that while I can’t really support your consistent use of fake nails or your complete lack of knowledge of the world economy, politics, or pretty much anything else that does not have to do spending your fiancé's money***, I will no longer judge you nor make snarky comments whilst watching your noble prize worthy show. Friends?!?!

Xoxo,
Gravy Train


This blog is dedicated to French manicures and airbrush designs


*Still pitching Bravo on the Real Housewives of San Francisco concept, so please put in a good word for me.
** Further proof that I would home school my kids if I ever regrettably have them. Not to be a trader to younger generations but seriously how clueless are these people?!?!
***Although he is in the automotive industry n’est pas? So I REALLY do think you need to pay attention to what is going in the world…no judgment, but I am just simply saying, don’t be caught with your pants down.

Egads Cinderella, We’ve got To Get You Ready for the Ball

Okay, I know I promised tales of my honeymoon romps and whatnot but I think I have already told all three of my readers about my ventures so you could wait for a few more days for my back logged posts. We have more pressing matters to discuss, like Gravy attending her first society function as a married woman…GASP.

Tonight (la la la la la tonight) Xtian and I have been invited to attend the holiday party of a trés well-know, high-powered lawyer (think Cher’s dad in Clueless but like not crazy) at his home in the fancy pants Presidio district. Talking real estate, his house is probs one of the most baller houses in SF that makes you drool and perhaps a little green.

This holiday event is anticipated, and well attended, by many of the SF glitterati so being invited is a true honor (that and he just so happens to be insanely good friends with my husband…who is 28 mind you…but I digress). While this is not the first time I attend these types of events, this will be the first time (well second if you consider Xtians holiday party…where we were seated alongside a legendary financier who pretty much funded EVERYTHING successful on the Internets…take that pets.com) as an SF Housewife so I kinda feel like it is a big deal.

I wake up this morning in a tizzy since I have STILL to decide what I am going to wear and, of course, this is the one Friday I have to go into the office so I cannot lounge around the loft working on my laptop whilst I read up on current political events (Chechnya…chech-ne-ah) with rollers in my hair and slathered in moisturizer to get that J.Lo glow. BLASTS.

I have narrowed the costume selections down to a few options but I think if I am to make a dignified impression I need to make sure to keep the outfit classy* yet sassy. This means boobage covered (this is SF housewives not OC) but still play the sexiness a little perhaps with a little fitted dress in a jeweled toned color that plays up my Latin-ness…added bonus is that this gives Xtain that “exotic housewife” cred. HA HA. As for shoes, I think I need to go with a little bling that compliments my cute pedicure (THANKS D!)...either of the Blahnik or Wiseman variety…side note: I really do need to buy more gold shoes.

As for the various conversation I will be having as I work the room, I have prepared a few taking points that should get me throughout the night. Thanks to my nephews, Elias and Tobias, my knowledge of kid stuff should cover me with the other housewives (Kumon makes a great supplemental program to strengthen math skills, for my money CMTSJ has one of the best theater program in the South Bay, and learning Korean is the new Mandarin)…check. As for the partners, lawyers, financiers and other over-all ballers, I will have to rely on today’s WSJ, NYT, FT.com headlines and my extensive knowledge in technology to contribute good conversation. If that fails, I will wow them with my study in astrophysics…that should cover me well right?
Well wish me luck kids and I promise retelling of stories of champers falling from the heavens and velvet ropes parting like the sea.

This post is dedicated to Spanx

*Haven’t you noticed that when people say they keep it classy it is because they are tacky as hell? I am classy.

And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?

A few days before my wedding I was at my Great Aunt’s house and one of my older cousins, Pandy, was there. The subject turned to my pending nuptials and she jokingly reminded me that this was “going to be first of your five marriages. Good job, hope the party is fun.” Natch! Stunned and taken aback I asked her what she meant by that and she then proceeded to remind me that from the time I was 4 (sick I know) until about 23 I would run around telling anyone that would listen that I intended to be married multiple times because the only high-point of being married was to have a HUGE party and wear a great dress. Totes inapprop, but to her defense I may have said this to her at her own wedding…both her first and second.

I have to say, I never really envisioned myself as a bride much less a wife. I am not very bridey or girly…in that way. I mean I am UBER girly in that I love pink, Britney Spears, hate icky crawly things and have a mild (okay TOTAL) obsession with shoes and hangbags.* But in my ultra girl world, boys never really factored into the picture in any sort of seriousness.

I never really liked having exclusive boyfriends because I did not like the hassle of being tied down to anyone. I mean if you think about it, marriage is like “game over” right? So why ANYONE in their right mind did it boggled me to no end. It’s just so final, no reset button, no do-overs, you are pretty much done.

So here I am 30 years old married to my “exclusive” boyfriend of 5 years and I have to say it’s not so bad. I mean to be honest, it is kinda the same except I just spend more time in our place (I am Latin and Catholic and a square so no, we did not live together). I mean there is still the finality of it all…but then there is also the comradery that you are in this together, the joy of trying to “make it” in this cold cruel world**, the benefit to have someone take out the trash and kill icky crawly things and the joy of being with someone who makes you happy (and keeps your cold feet warm at night). If that is what final looks like, well then maybe that is not so bad, right?

Anyway, the whole point of this is never say never because you never know when never will bite you in your love stricken ass. Make sense? Stay tuned tomorrow I promise retellings of wedding fêtes and honeymoon bliss.

This post is dedicated to my gay friends who still have to fight for their right to party at their OWN legally sanctioned weddings. Please remember LOVE not 8 HATE everyone.

* I am sorry but when I a girl tells me she is not “into shoes” it makes me cringe…ugh talk about a waste of a vagina…crass I know.
** And by “make-it” I mean reap the benefits off my rather already made 20-something year old husband who affords us our lifestyle…kinda like Kato…except hopefully the hubby is not OJ because that would not be good.

The 80’s Called, They Want Their Power Couple Back

My name is Gravy Train and I am a newly minted San Francisco housewife. Not a housewife in the traditional sense, my primary occupation is still my PR job, but a housewife nonetheless. I run my new household armed with a ton of registry gifts and knowledge imparted to me courtesy of Food Network

My husband is in “finance” and I am in “communications,” yes cliché 80’s NYC coupling but whatever, it works. I can provide access to sought after locations, venues, et cetera and he can provide the means to ensure all parties involved have a dandy old time…isn’t that a matchmade in yuppie heaven?

So this is my story as I move from being a mama's girl to an "SF Housewife" all in one fell Harry Winston clad swoop.