To Blog or Not To Blog: That Is the Question

The more and more I engage in public webby type forums the more and more I feel the need to retract. Let me explain.

For one, I work in communications.
This means I have vested interests, outside of my own oh so fascinating life, in helping others communicate in the blogworld. If anything, I should be like Mother Theresa and put others in front of myself, at least online. That is if Mother Theresa were a blog/twiterer…which she wasn’t but who knows maybe she would be today.
MamaT RT: @Gandhi TweetUp for the next hunger strike http://tinyurl.com/wtfohGT2hel *

For two, I work period.
Which means I like to dedicate at least 24 units of time to work, 4 units of time to working out, 6 units of time watching bad TV/drinking wine and the balance sleeping.**

For three, I am insanely private.
So even things sharing nonsuperficial things like this or this makes me really uncomfortable. But I find solace in putting it out there since I never do normally and I feel it has made me more upfront in real life. Well, okay I guess I have always been rather curt so whatevs.

On the other hand, I LOVE LOVE LOVE reading blogs and I get so sad when my fav blogs site the very same reasons I want to go dark. Oh I am too busy to write, oh I have a new love in my life, whoops my blog got me fired. Okay, the last one totally legit and begs the question why blog.
I mean for one, your comments are awesome.
It really is like Christmas for me when I see someone has posted one.

For two, I can’t seem to stay away.
I love the allure of posting my random musings of the day/week.

For three, I need to practice what I preach.
If I have no qualms on telling others to engage engage engage online, shouldn’t I be drinking the same Kool-aid?

So that is where I am at, I am meeting myself at the crossroads. Not sure where this short-lived journey will take me or if I will get over it by tomorrow (which is totally possible as I am insanely fickle).

This post is dedicated to pen and paper

*So wrong yes I know. Mourn you till I join you.
**For those of you who get the reference, this is why we are friends.

Open Letter to Dave & Busters

Dear D&B’s,

Perhaps, before point the finger at you, I should take a long hard look at what on God’s living tarnation I was doing in your fine establishment but this letter is not about me, it is about you, so I digress.

I have traveled the globe over and “partied” in some of the world’s most exclusive places with little, if any, resistance by the “management.” In fact, I think usually bottle service and VIP access is usually what I am greeted with, so can you please explain to me why oh why the attitude at the front door when trying to enter your lesser establishment? Did I forget my driver’s license extension at home? Yes, but you also made it very clear a number of years back that you did not take passports as valid IDs despite trying to show foreign exchange students a good time. So what gives?

Is it perhaps because I did prefer to shop at places like Neiman over Forever 21 that deemed me unworthy of your boozy patronship? Is it perhaps because I don’t look like a mini-thug nor do I drink things like boons, kettle one, or Hennessey that made you feel that I was not a D&B fit? Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that I was not there to scam on boys who wear clothes that are too big for them that play video games all day whilst drinking said Hennessey…because that is classy…that made you think I should find mediocre watering holes elsewhere ? That was it wasn’t it? I knew it.

Yes, God may be punishing me for still drinking despite promises of teetotaler ways during lent, but let me give you a few words of advice: 5’2’’ girl in leather ballet flats with a cashmere sweater dress who is clearly above drinking age (despite a religious skin regiment even I won’t kid myself into thinking I look under 21... 23/24 yes but not 21) not really going to be the rambunctious type. Just saying. Especially when said 5’2’’ square beauty is accompanied by equally respectable, beautiful, non-thuggy looking people who buy premium alcohol…when you have it…which you said you didn’t because apparently your barkeeps are lazy and refuse to go to the bigger bar for the good stuff...that had it. So confused.

Incidentally, “good stuff” does not equal Absolute. In fact, I am absolutely sure that I would not consider that premium and I think you should not consider it premium either.

Thanks to you, and your one-fry-short-of-a-happy-meal management staff, I was not allowed to drink because of said misstep with the DL extension…not that you would have taken it as he clearly repeated over and over again. And, despite letting me in after serious tude, you still forced me to wait 90 minutes for a decrepit table so that we could enjoy our calorie laden food that was really sub-par if you ask me. Calorie laden food, mind you, that I could only wash down with Diet Coke because you would not allow me to drink after giving me the 3rd degree about my “extension” for my ID that you would have refused to take anyway…did I mention that already? I did? Oh good, want to make sure we are all on the clear here.

I guess not all was for rot, I did enjoy a few basketball matches that crowned me the victor time and time again (well only on one match but that was the one that counted) but you also had a generic branded wannabe DDR that pretty much canceled any kind of gaming cred I was planning on giving you for the glorious basketball game. In other words (something tells me you may not understand innuendos) you are still negative 1,000 in my book. Wait, so I guess all was for rot afterall.

Thank goodness for my fabulous friends who made all the difference in the world in making sure good times were had by all despite your lousy establishment that entertains even lousier people with even lousier than lousier staff. YOU. ARE. AWESOME.

xoxo,
Gravy Train

This post is dedicated to America's failed educational system...training future D&B managers one budget cut at a time

Moving On

John: Hey
Gravy: Hey is for horses…HA HA
John: How have you been? It has been awhile
Gravy: I have been good; I have something to tell you though
John: Me too, you first
Gravy: Xtian and I got engaged on Friday
Gravy: Isn’t that crazy?
John: You can’t be serious?
Gravy: Yes and why would you say that?
John: Gravy the 2nd and I got engaged
John: On Friday night
Gravy: You are effin kidding me!?!?!
John: No
Gravy: Call me

---

Although John and I tried to maintain our friendship over the last few years it is difficult being friends with someone whom you were never really friends to begin with. I think this is what happened to both John and I…John and Me…John and I (I never really get that right): we were never really friends so trying to maintain something nonexistent was hard.

There was the inevitable tension with our respective partners for one thing. As far as I understood it Gravy the 2nd never really took a liking to me (why would she?) and Xtian, though cordial, never really took a liking to him (why would he?).

Then there was the distance. I barely see/talk to my friends who live a mile away so why would I make new kinds of effort to keep in touch with someone I now had very little in common with? I had changed, he had changed, we had changed, what’s the point? I meant to keep in touch, I really did, but I mean to do lots of things that in reality I never really actually mean so meaning to stay in touch was low priority for me…and him.

In the end, aside from the obligatory “happy birthday” emails (we are three days apart thus rarely forget each other’s bdays) and random Facebook updates we have lost touch. He did indeed marry Gravy the 2nd and I did indeed marry Xtian (not on the same day thank God) and we both have moved on and I have rarely thought about that part of my life since then.

It was not until visiting my parents’ home last weekend and going through my journals and photo albums that brought all the memories flooding back.

This post is dedicated to Bridget Jones and her Diary

Climbing Out

From: John (john) [mailto:john@oldschool.com]
Sent: Wed 2/1/2006 3:35 PM
To: Train, Gravy
Subject: RE: Drinks?

Hi Gravy,

OMG yes I will be free. How long are you in town for? Where will you be staying? Do you want to stay with me? we must meet up. Bellow is my cell number though you should know it by heart.

From: Train, Gravy [mailto:gravy.train@supercoolplace.com]
Sent: Wednesday, February 01, 2006 3:20 PM
To: John
Subject: Drinks?

Hey John,

I will be in Toronto next week for a new business preso, would you be free for a drink on the evening of Wednesday, Feb. 8? It would be good to see you again, since it has been forever.

xoxo,
Gravy

---

The weekend prior, I had aided Xtian in packing up his fabulous apartment in San Jose so that he could unpack it in his fabulous flat in London. He left me the keys to his apartment and his car in the hopes that when he returned in a year or so I would be fully moved in. I laughed at the ridiculousness of his request but took them anyway for peace of mind. If he still had his things here then that meant that he would come back right? He had to. I was still here and I was perfect for him…at least I tried to be when I wasn’t second guessing everything he said and did and everything I said and did.

A week had passed that I had been without Xtian. We had fallen into a schedule, he would call me when he went to bed (my afternoon) and I would call him when I went to bed (his morning) and things seemed to be chugging along quite nicely, then again it was only a week. He was excited about my upcoming trip, not only would this be a good testing ground for me at work to see how good I would be at new business (if I only knew then that this would be what I would be known for at work) but also because he loved Toronto. He had gone to school near there and had all these great places he wanted me to check out.

Wed. 8th started off like no other except for the fact that I was starting out my day in Toronto. My mobile rings.

Xtian: “Hey baby wanted to wish you luck this week”
Gravy: “Thanks baby”
Xtian: “So what are you doing today?”
Gravy: “Breakfast meeting, then in the Toronto office for the day, then John in picking me up and we are going for dinner.”
Xtian: …
Gravy: “Well I hope you have a great day love, talk to you later”
Xtian: “Call me when you get home please no matter the time”
Gravy: “It will be really early for you in the morning, I will talk to you tomorrow”
Xtian: “Please just call me”
Gravy: “Okay, I love you”
Xtian: “I love you, please don’t forget that”
Gravy: “I love you too, with all my heart”

Later that night I met up with John at his house in little Italy. When I walked in he had a glass of Barolo waiting and started to give me a tour of his house. It was warm yet chic, very him. He looked the same yet so different…something had changed. The mystery that he always held was gone: he looked tired, unhappy; the spirit that I always admired from him seemed broken.

I opted out of the upstairs tour and told him I was starving and we should head to dinner soon. Truth be told, I was oddly nervous and my appetite was shot but I had no desire for the whole “this is my room” tour, for what? There was no point.

We get to the restaurant and it was incredible: the food, the people, the atmosphere. I was relaxed in no time. He told me about his girlfriend, I told him about my boyfriend. He asked me how I felt now that Xtian was gone, I told him I was fine, he laughed - in his mind there went the non-committal Gravy again (if only he knew).

We talked about our families, our mutual friends, the potential for marriage and 2.5 kids with our current mates vs. us together. And as nights like ours usually go, we reminisced about what could have been and what never will be. After dinner, we headed to a hipster bar where we had some more wine and shared a few cigarettes. Always shared, always Italian, and he would always light them for me so that I could take the first drag. He knew me so well.

The night drew to a close and he grabbed a cab for us so that he could take me back to my hotel. We sat in the warm car, he wrapped his arm around me – a force of habit that no matter how many years we have been apart neither of us ever seem to have broken no matter how inappropriate – and we sat in a comfortable silence making our way out of little Italy into the financial district. The cabbie pulls up to my hotel and as he gets out to walk me to my room, I tell him that he needn’t bother since it is late and we both have early starts in the morning.

He kissed me good-bye and for the first time in my life I remember not feeling powerless, not feeling lost at his touch. Maybe it was the snowflakes piercing reality on my face, maybe it was his hand that now felt so foreign as it held mine, maybe it was the fact that the “we” that I had held on to for so many years was beyond repair. At that moment, that exact moment, I knew it was over and that I could walk away…I pulled away from his embrace and that is exactly what I did.

I went upstairs, sat on my hotel bed, and called Xtian…whatever past that had haunted me and thus consequently haunted our relationship was over…and I could be his forever.

This post is dedicated to Dr. Phil

Falling Down

“Just know it was you all along that had a hold of my heart,

But the demon and me were the best of friends from the start”

- Kings of Leon

He was Italian-Canadian, Catholic, good family, spoke 3 languages, well dressed, well traveled and well mannered. John was my first love.

While we shared many of the same qualities, I was 19 (he was younger), self-absorbed, fun loving, hard partying and non-committal. I was his first love.

We openly dated for 6 months (my choice not his) and after the last of my shenanigans in that fatefull sixth month he decided that he needed someone who could provide a more stable and committed kind of love. I refused. He left and broke my heart.

For the next 5 years of our young lives we talked, we friended, we made-out, we argued, we stopped talking, we started again, we visited, we made-out, I was confused, he was confused, we were confused. He broke my heart again and again all the while the deeper I fell down the rabbit hole until the point I was an unrecognizable weaker version of myself whenever he was around. Yet he had known me for so long and knew everything about me that with one glance it was as if he could read my soul and thus held it captive for many years to come.

Enter 24. After a long hiatus of traveling post college for both of us, he ended up coming back to live in my hometown. He called me the night he came in and Vicky and Pistol (tired of the drama) insisted that I not run out and meet him. I didn’t. In fact, I spent the next 7 months avoiding him at all costs. The deeper I fell.

We met one night for drinks: his friends, my friends, our friends. We both fell back into our same old habits. It was nice. He asked me for dinner, he would make me my favorite dish and desert at his new place, and I readily agreed.

In-between the antipasti and the vodka penne he let me know that he was leaving to move back to Toronto to be with his family. That he had given the Bay Area a try to see if perhaps we could make things work and live happily ever after (as so many of our friends had repeatedly predicted) but that, as always, I had shown a disinterest in him and in being part of a committed relationship in general. I smiled, drank my Barolo, went upstairs to his bedroom where I curled into his chest and told him to make sure to stay in touch. It was July.

He left and I decided that it was time to grow-up. I gathered my resume together, called my temp agent to let her know I was planning to get a real job and I started to apply to a variety of jobs that had carrer potential given my random skill set. A friend of mine recommended me to my current employer (where I would later come to meet one of my dearest friends on the planet, D, and her subsequent fabulous friends G, Posh and A). I applied, got the job, and had my last temp job at a very (then) prestigious investment bank.

Xtian walked in. Xtain was Finnish-Canadian, beyond liberal, confident, aggressive, insanely smart and well dressed in a different kind of way. We talked, we laughed, he asked me for my number and I obliged. It was November.

By January we were in a committed exclusive relationship and the very next January he broke my heart. We were back together by April of that year but John was also back. A job title changed meant he would be coming back to the bay area more often. We would meet every chance we had – sometimes with friends, sometimes without – he had a girlfriend (also aptly named Gravy) and I had a boyfriend (also aptly a hockey playing Canadian).

We talked and talked and talked…about them, about us, about how we had grown-up, how we had grown apart. Yet despite both of us being in happy in our respective relationships something between us lingered. Dragged down by the weight our baggage we sank into the safety of our self-destructive routines. We both knew it was wrong, yet we both didn’t know how to not be physically or emotionally “us.” My friends nodded their heads in disapproval, my parents shrugged in confusion, and Xtian was Xtian…highly suspicious and competitive.

Late that winter, Xtian told me he would be moving to London for work. Later that winter, my boss told me she needed me to be in Toronto for a week for work. It was February.

The post is dedicated to the infamous cliffhanger, perfected by SO, since this post is long enough as it is.

Video Tuesday Extravaganza

This post is dedicated to Pistol

What Would Jesus Do?

To lent or rehab, that is the question. Based on a severely depleted wine collection, my inability to remain sober for more that 50% of the week, and the fact that I have gained about 10lbs (okay so like 7 but still) that I directly attribute to the boozing, I have decided that my poor little body must go into detox mode and I must lay off the Jesus juice permanently, temporarily, of course.

My first inclination was to go to rehab so that I could get 21 days off and spa, but when I broached the subject with Xtian of him sending me to Cirque or Promises (or any other rehab that has a nice spa and is close to a winery) he pretty much said that he would not fund my shenanigans since and that he was onto me just wanted an extended vacay. BLASTS. Additionally, he pointed out, rehab was not like a master cleanse*for 21 days and that if I actually went I would give up the sauce for ever…DOUBLE BLASTS. We are wine club members, please, this will never work.

Demoralized and defeated, I went about going back to work while swigging wine when I came to the realization that lent was upon us and that it would be a perfect time for me to give something up that I love so that I can be a better moral person who realizes that she is blessed with what she has. That sacrifice for me would be alcohol of all kinds. I mean there are kids with 3rd ranked tasting palaet that only drink boxed wine…and here I am taking for granted that I am blessed with a wine store across the street.

Genius I though, pure and utter genius. I quickly started recruiting members that include Posh, D and Pistol (soda for her). This was two weeks ago and I am unhappy to report that I have found it near impossible to remain even 2 days sober since Lent. I am a Catholic failure of epic proportions, never mind all my other non-Catholic tendencies like almost everything else, but whatever…my catechism instructor would be so unproud.

I plan to start again next week and then make-up the time I have lost in a weird self-induced post Easter repentance that will remind me that I am without willpower of any kind. Wish me luck kids, I am going to need it.

This post is dedicated to sacramental wine

*True story: When Xtian and I were exchanging rings at the altar I had to jam his ring on his finger (he is really lean but I like to poke fun sometimes) to which I looked up at him and said “master cleanse dude.” Totally inappropriate but now master cleanse reminds me of my vows.

Spontaneous Combustion

After recounting my latest tennis escapades, my work colleague turned to me and said “You’re kind of a yuppie, aren’t you?” Huh?!?! I have never been called a yuppie before, well I don’t think, snobby bitch yes, but yuppie, not so much. While I thought it was highlar (and inaccurate…well kinda inaccurate) it got me to think of other gross misperceptions people have of me. Like the fact that many people think I am a buttoned-up square (okay that one might be a little true), always truant (okay, so prompt is not in my vocab) and unspontaneous (is that even a word, if not then how can I be that?).

Why must everyone always judge me? WHY GOD WHY? Wait where was I going with this? Oh yes, so back to my nonsense. Now, to know me is to love me (or hate me but pretend to love me) and for those of you who know me know that I have two strict rules that I pretty much live by:

1. I don’t do “mini breaks” in the US, exception for Miami, and I especially don’t do Hawaii. I mean Vicky, Pistol and I rolled out there when we were 19 after a whim and summer job cash…puh lease. I remember both Vicky and I giggling in our sweltering apartment in Maui saying that we would not be back; the world was too big to be wasted on non-passport places. Hawaii was rookie shit.
   
2. I need AMPLE warning before doing anything, like ANYTHING. I hate last minute stuff; I need to be emotionally prepared to do anything and everything. Spontaneity stresses me out, makes me uncomfortable, stresses me out, gives me ulcers, you get the point.

Immediately after Yuppigate, I hop on IM and chat up my BFF Vicky B. We get to talking about work and how we need to make vacay plans and actually stick to them. You see, Vicky and I always make travel plans because we both have very similar travel profiles and vacation style (exotic and even packed) but these days our plans never making it past the "we should stage". When I was a nomad for those years post college, traveling the world and taking odd jobs to travel some more, she was my PIC*, my confidant, she was Waston. Nowadays we both work 80 hour jobs while reminiscing on IM of the glory days gone by.

One thing leads to another and bam all of a sudden I am on SPG.com and united.com, simultaneously, looking up travel packages to Hawaii…yes spontaneously looking up flights to Hawaii.

Exhilarated, I IM Pistol to see if she is in on this action, and being the good enabling friend that she is, she was a “hellz to the yes on that bitch” that culminated in purchased airfare and hotel reservations for 3 to Oahu in May (which Pistol tells me is where Honolulu is because Honolulu is not an island…GENIUS). How is that for spontaneous and rule breaking?

So yes, the countdown to Hawaii has begun and honestly I am kinda excited. I have MAJAH plans to surf every day that I am there and forcing Pistol and Vicky B to surf with me (shark and giant squid hopefully avoided).

This post is dedicated to ChaLEAN Extreme.

*Partner in Crime

I'm Not Dead Yet, Part Deux

Apparently, I like to go MIA every few posts so that you dear readers can wonder where I am …am I dead? Am I somewhere fabulous? Am I acting coy to toy with my readers? Am I sick again lying on my fabulous sheets?

Well the answer is that it is none of the above. For the last three weeks my life has been hell on earth if you describe hell on earth as conference rooms, PowerPoint, brainstorms, cold takeout, more brainstorms, more conference rooms, 2-3 hour sleep nights, et cetera. That is right I have been working my butt off at work working on something work related that is work huge. Have I confused anyone yet? No. Yes? Sigh.

At any rate I wanted to put on notice to everyone that I am back at my regularly scheduled programming. Upcoming topics include Wine for Jesus, Real Housewives tips and tricks, Nightclub genius in Mountain View, Why Pistol hates me and has barred me from commenting on her blog and I dunno maybe some NYE pics for good measure.

Until the next post lovelies and until then I leave you with this (thanks Posh):


This post is dedicated to caffeine and adrenalin…getting the job done since 1819.

Dr. Valenlove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Work Life In-balance

When you are as busy and important (no) as Mr. Train and I are, you get used to making decisions on the fly usually sacrificing self for the benefit of others…and by others I mean work which is the ultimate benefactor. You make do with the cards that you are dealt with and adjust plans accordingly to guarantee as much of a full house that you can get even though you are one card short.*

Thus began our three-day marathon in the attempt to celebrate our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple despite a crazy workload on a three-day weekend.

Day 1:
Saturday began with Xtain making me breakfast in couch** that consisted of oatmeal and apple juice while watching a romantic comedy of my choice. His first gift to me was a day pass off…which meant no cooking or cleaning for me all day. YAY.

Although I eventually had to clean and cook in the days that followed that may have been a con…whatevs. Xtian had to go and run a series of errands while I worked, primped and opted out of picking up the mess that is my life loft. I spent the day alternating between competitive analysis reading, facebooking and applying make-up. Lovely. Xtian came home with a beautiful bouquet of v-day flowers that he helped designed that included two pink and puffy carnations despite the fact that he hates the flower but I love them.

The rest of the day was spent working and working and perhaps more working then we heading down to San Jose to have Valentine’s Day dinner with my parents, my family visiting from Mexico and my two nephews. We had great food, great conversation, and great moments with the laptop as Xtain had to retire to the family room to continue his work while I entertained. Good times were had by all and at the end of the night we decided to retire back to SF while listening to girl rock (that man really does indulge my every whim) and chatting about what a great valentine’s day we had.

When we got home Xtain decided to spruce up the place a bit by taking out the recycling and pouring me a glass of wine…then he comes back in with this:

And inside is this Valentine's gift #2:

Despite the fact of our $50-$100 limit on v-day gifts, he breached the embargo and bought me a gold bag I had originally eyed in Dubai but was too busy shopping for actual gold care.


Day 2:
We both have an early start as Xtian needed to go into the office and I had a new biz deck and press release to finnish all with Sunday deadlines (which begs the question: since when did my office start to implement Sunday deadlines?). I spend the time working whilst talking to Vickie B on the phone for hours because she is so fantastic and gets all of my jokes.


We both work and work and work and then finally get together at 8ish to head out to Bacar for our romantic night out. I find it hard to settle into the conversation as I still have strategy swirling in my head all the while Xtian serves as my sounding board for my barrage of wine induced ideas.

We decide to pack it in kinda early and I come home to find this…part duex:

Day 3:

Trying to take a break from work we decide to go to Mel's for a calorie fest and perhaps some wandering around the union square area. We walk to borders because books rule and Xtian gets me this, my third gift:

I have a mild (total) obsession with Rick Bayless and, even though it sounds cheesy, he inspires me to be a better cook. I have been drooling over this book for months and now it is in my arsenal of books I will rarely use. YAY!!!

We closed out the night by my cooking my spicy shrimp pasta and then obsessive ironing all of my sheets (on the lowest setting possible with a hankie on top so as to not burn the thread count) while watching Big Love as Xtian...you guessed it...worked.

Despite all the work and whatnots I have to say this was Valentine's day was one for the books. All in all I made out like a bandit and I have to say this whole spreading things out was actually kind of fun.

This post is dedicated to smart phones

* I have no idea the accuracy of this card analogy as I only play blackjack because you get to rapidly add in your head and figure out odds…which is increasingly simple when slightly intoxicated

**I DESPISE eating in bed, I think it is a vile practice and will go so far as to request new bed linens and mattresses be flipped over if someone comes anywhere near a bed with food. Just ask Vickie B and Pistol who have had to shame many hotel rooms with me…actually don’t ask them.

The Best Things in Life Are Sometimes Free

• Laughing really hard with someone who gets you and creating inside jokes that only you guys will get for years to come.
• Rocking out at a concert, especially small ones, where you can disappear into the music and for only a moment you are not you but the lyrics of the music
• The inflection point between buzzed and drunk and facing the ultimate Robert Frost question.
• The smell of a new pair of shoes when you open the box for the first time at home
• Cooking with the nephews while they share the antics of their day.
• My parent’s house
• The strokes of a make-up brush on your face; the taste of lipgloss
• Freshly pressed high-thread count sheets shared with the person you adore
• Warm summer nights that allow for summer dresses, cocktails and good friends
• Being surprised…in a good way

Happy Valentine's Day

Since this is the holiday of friendship and love I wanted to take some time to wish you all dear readers a happy Valentine's day. May your lives always be filled with incredible people who love you dearly.

xoxo,
Gravy Train

Sponge Gravy Judgy Pants

I don’t know what is wrong with me. Maybe it is a severe case of the Mondays that has extended itself for an additional 12 days but I have been on a limited bullshit tolerance like you wouldn’t believe and apparently find it very appropriate to call everyone out at a moment’s notice…via this blog, and other passive aggressive means, of course that nobody reads. Whatevs.

At some point, when this barrage of hysterics of mine is over, I will have to inevitably apologize to someone for being a complete asshole by not censoring myself. Ugh, I hate apologizing. I hate it almost as much as I hate the sight of blood which is the thing I hate the most (aside from creepy crawly things and being disappointed which is the WORST). It makes me want to vom and faint all at the same time while being totally disgusted. Where was I going with this? Ah yes, this is why I have decided that if I don’t have anything nice to say that I should keep that shiz to myself and not be so quick to judge people.*

Case in point: At a work 1:1 strategy session on Wednesday, that turned into happy hour, I may or may not have been mean to a boy that I found annoying for no apparent reason than the fact that he kinda looked and talked like my frat brothers…that and he was rooting for the US to win the football match…I heart the USA team (TEAM BEASLEY) as well but OBVI I was rooting for Mexico and did not appreciate the gauntlets from an unknown dude.

Okay, well to be fair, it was not obvi to anyone but myself that I was in fact rooting for Mexico as I was wearing work clothes and did not have any of my football riot gear on. And the only gauntlet really thrown was that when he asked for the score I said 0-1 US and he said “yeah!” like any normal American. To which I informed him he could sit somewhere else, to which he didn’t but tried to make amends by agreeing with me that American Football should be called handball.

Sidebar rant: I seriously don’t get WHY American Football is called football, seriously it should be throwball or carryball or something else since they don’t really play with their feet now do they? Then again they don’t really play at all…I mean what is the point? 30 seconds of action, 2 minutes of reviewing plays and measuring stuff, then 20 minutes of commercial…what is the opposite of awesome…ah yes American football…I digress.

Anyway after the football incident he kept up his incessant babble of nonsense to which I had to be completely disagreeable and snarky…you know because I could and all. Annoyed I finally turned to D and asked “who the f*** is this guy and why is he here?” To which she turns, laughs hysterically, and informs me that said guy is Tom and he works with us. Oh. Shiz. I am AWESOME!!!

In typical Gravy mode, I had managed to be incessantly mean for no apparent reason other than the fact that he kinda annoyed me for kinda being a little on the insecure side and thus compensating by being loud and agreeable with the mean girl in front of him chugging beers. Ugh, raise your hand if you are an asshole.

I mean I am not saying being mean to people is okay if you don’t know them. That’s not it at all, but a little tact goes a long way in work place situations. So then I decide that it would be in my best interest to be nice since I will eventually run into this guy again at some point and being the work bitch is never a good thing. Turns out Tom actually really enjoys football but prefers the premiership (a little cliché yes but who can blame him). He is an artist, a painter with a post-modernist approach, but works in PR to pay bills (I am an art freak, in particular in post modern work, Dale…are you kidding me?!?! BRILL!!! I even got married in an art museum). He lives in the South Bay by choice which I can appreciate since I heart the South Bay.

Also turns out that once he is not worried about what people think of him and acting a part he seems like he would be very nice. So maybe we had more in common that I thought. Had I taken a chance on an unknown kid from the beginning we could have been watching the game together instead of me rolling my eyes and making a poor chap uncomfortable. Sigh.

Queue in sappy music…So moral of the story: I will be open-minded and nice when I meet new people and hope it does not bite me in the ass.

This post is dedicated Lindsey Lohan

* For those who clicked the link, you are welcome.

Boy Culture

You know, girls always get the bad rap…like ALWAYS. We talk too long on the phone with our friends, we read into things that are not there, we are clingy, we hog the bathroom, we gossip, we freak out, we watch “lame” TV, take forever to get ready…get my drift? Well you know what?!?! I just described about 99.9% if the boys I know and I am sick and tired of getting the bad rap. I am sticking up the proverbial middle finger to the girl stereotype and stomping my foot down…enough!

Yes you may try to play hard with your little friends as you watch “Universal Solider” (ahem, LAME) talking a big game, but then your hard game quickly converts to a gossip fest of the latest girl you are dating and what it all means: does she really like you? will she sleep with you? Will she take heed on your advances? Sound familiar? Yeah next time you wonder go straight to the source…we won’t lie about it…trust us.

You put out the hints…“oh we should hang out” “we should do this” “we should do that” and as soon as we reciprocate or say “yeah lets” you freak the eff out that things may or may not be going too fast…sound familiar?

Bathroom…DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED. Magazine racks were invented for men. Is there something wrong with the couch that you can’t read the latest issue of Playboy there? Yes, we must blow dry and do make-up in the most crucial lighting possible but net-net we equally hog son. So go project elsewhere.

As for clingy? Really? Do we really want to go there?!?! I have dated more men than I care to count before I got married and ALL of them were clingy…like all. Maybe it is because I preferred spending time with my friends or family than be all couple like but still. ALL OF THEM DUDES. God forbid you can’t make a quick visit/dinner/movies/couch snogging/chinging when they want you to; all of a sudden there is an issue. Puh-lease.

So sorry I sound like a bitter hater but before you boys start throwing your stones, realize that you live in a glass house. Steps off soapbox.

This post is dedicated to all the ladies that truly feel me, throw your hands up at me.

Typical Tuesday Lament

I see the dozens of cable from the EKG, hooked to my mom like a science experiment, and it seems like I have been in this position dozens of times before. Maybe it is because I have.

And I hate these walls. Dingy and yellow littered with posters advertising emergency response queues and vital call signs, I feel trapped. I want to take a sledge hammer and pound away against these walls until nothing is left but the ruble of the ER and us: my mom and her regularly paced beating heart, my dad in the getaway car and me with callused hands and a battered soul but with the knowledge that we would never have to go back because everything would be okay. Alas we are trapped.

Instead the florescent lights flicker above and the mixed scent of bleach, hospital beds and medicine fill my lungs. We make our way out of triage to the back where the beds are. Needles, vials of blood, wires surround my mom. My head spins. I touch nothing, germs abound in this place, and try to keep from passing out by starting at the floor. White.

My mom looks up towards me from the hospital hopeful but apologetic as she knows in 10 hours I will be boarding a plane for a very important work meeting if everything turns out okay. I could care less. I just want someone to tell me everything will be okay. My dad stands next to me in silence as I grill the surprisingly young doctor on his skill set and what exactly does he mean by “momentarily stopping mothers heart to start it again.” I silently panic.

Numbers, something I have loved my entire life, I have now grown to hate. 172, 169, 155, 170, 175. I stare at the heart rate monitor praying for solid double digits as the medical team tries to shock my mom’s heart into submission. It doesn’t work. They try again. 170, 169, 150, 88, 122, 88, 80, 80, 80, 80. It works.

I stand there fighting back tears, that I can latter shed in privacy, because I must be strong. I am no longer the youngest child in a family of four but the head of the family, responsible for dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s so that my parents medical treatment runs smoothly.

Quiet ensues. The yelling of the medical orders and decisions to make are confined to the other 30 beds in ER. The only ones left are my mom, my dad, the beating machines and me. We have small talk, I tell them about my day and how we all need to work out more. They agree, if only for tonight. The nurse comes back in to give me a strip of paper. My mom’s heart rhythm, she thinks I might find it cool. We go home.

Phew, we were able to make it out again and I look back to the hospital as we drive away and hope that I never have to go back. Deep down I know better. We make the very familiar drive home and I worry. I really hope everything is okay. Although blessed with young looking skin and pretty good curly hair, I curse my genes for making most of the women in my family susceptible to this nonsense...especially my mom. I wonder if and when it will be Xtian standing over my bed in silence as I stare at the monitor wishing for double digits. Sigh.

We go back home and my mom sits on my bed as she helps me pick out my outfit for my big presentation the next day as my dad tells me of the latest Netflix movie I ordered for him. I love these moments and want to relish in it forever. But it is late and I need to be on a plane. We go to bed.

I am in my room and everything overwhelms me. I grab my laptop and start to write.

Deep Thoughts by Gravy Train

Sunday night Xtian and I were celebrating our 3-month marriage anniversary by doing what we do best: me cooking my mom’s famous enchiladas while he worked and worked and worked. Whomever said romance was dead, come over to our loft (we will even supply the free ultra secure wi-fi). At any rate, we live across the street from a fire station so hearing sirens and seeing flashing lights is of no biggie…however after this went on for about 10 minutes I started to worry and went to look outside the windows.

Our entire street was covered in fire trucks and they had a ladder out with firemen trying to access our building. Since there were no fire alarms, I ask Xtian to tear himself away from his excel models to go peep the situation since I have chilies on the stove (a girl has her priorities). He goes out, but not before making sure I have my phone on me and that I put my shoes on just in case I have to evacuate ASAP.

As I stood there wondering if I am going to die (I think we covered in this post that I am beyond dramatic) I began to wonder if there is anything of emotional value I should collect just in case it comes to the whole evacuating/building burning down type of sitchu. I go upstairs, grab my diamond cross that my parents gave to me that has more meaning to me than almost anything else I own, make sure I have my wedding/engagement rings on and then patiently wait for an evacuation call whilst stirring chilies (hey if this shiz was not going to go down I was NOT going to wash a pot of stuck on chili pods).

There was nothing else I wanted to take…not my other jewelry, the expensive shoes, the fancy handbags, the designer clothes, the countless gadgets, my blinged out Rolex*…nothing. All the things that were really important to me weren’t really things at all but my family and friends who were all safely tucked away in their respective homes.

At the end of the day, it is not the material possessions that define us or make us whole. I mean, don’t get me wrong those things are very nice to have and I find great pleasure in a well crafted bag or shoe, but at the end of the day it is my family, friends and a warm meal that makes me truly happy – that defines who I am.

After about 10 minutes Xtian returns. Turns out it was just false alarm but the fire department was being extra cautious because you just never know. He went back to working and I went back to cooking with the added realization that that fateful false alarm ended up being a good reminder of what really is important in my life.

This post is dedicated to my family and friends…who ALWAYS keep it real.

*I don’t own a blinged out Rolex, or any other watch for that matter, though I am obsessed with the tackiness of gold blingy Rolexes and thus want one.

Drools

Times are tough for everyone and it is prudent for everyone to buckle down and save as much as possible just in case things get really really tough and we are duking it out in supermarkets for milk and bread. This means buying shoes for the sake of buying shoes is not prudent spending.

As such I, Gravy Train, will not buy shoes. Furthermore I, Gravy Train, will not pout to husband saying how she has found a new love of her life...in Jimmy Choo...and he should indulge her. Rinse. Repeat.

OMG, JIMMY I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!

And I love you too, Jimmy Choo!!!

I Am Not Dead...Yet

I wrote this yesterday but failed to post because I am awesome.

Dear readers,

For those of you wondering if I am living fabulously in some exotic location without internets or hobnobbing with SF elite whilst filming my reality TV show you are mistaken. I am writing to inform you that I am on my deathbed.

Well not literally on my deathbed since I am actually on my fabulous bed with 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets…but I am deathly sick. Well okay, I guess it depends how you “define deathly sick”…to me it means anything from an infected paper cut (gross) to sitting next to a person who coughed with their mouth open (double gross)*. The point? I have a severe cause of hay fever…hhhhheeeeyyyyy**…(I think) brought on from pollen or whatnots (I think) and since I “got married” and “left home” where I had warm loving parents that would dote on me and make me cocido when I was sick, I now find myself alone…all alone tucked in the fabulous sheets with no one to take care of me but myself. *** Le sigh, le sigh.

They always say in the moments like these, when the end is nowhere near, that you begin to take stock of your life. You begin to question if you are a good person and if you done good by those close to you. As I lay here covered in snotty tissues I am taking stock and realizing that my husband is fantastic whereas I…well not so much.

In order to get to where we are going we must first go to where this all began…two weeks ago in the very same loft where I now lay dramatically not dying.

It was Saturday night and I was feeling not alright, but whatever. A few friends decide to come up to SF to visit and since they are celebrating their one-year togetherness anniversary we decide to break out the champers****. One bottle of champers turns into two turns into three turns into let’s go to a club that then turns into bottle service with a magnum that then turns into another bottle of champers…all in less than three hours and amongst four people.

Needless to say that while I saved myself from a hangover that fateful Sunday morning (when you drink too much I find you stop getting these) I did not save myself from a vicious bout of sinusitis or something very similar…awesome. I proceed to stomp around demanding Xtian order me pizza from “that one place D said was good” and then, once I decide pizza will not make me feel better, hop on my non-blackberry smart phone and insist that my parents come see me stat because Xtian does not know how to properly take care of me and they need to bring me cocido…double awesome.

According to Newton’s law of motion***** every action has a reaction. Well my little shenanigans that day enacted a chain of reactions of epic proportions (not really). The week that followed, I manage not only to get both my rents sick…but I also managed to get little Xtian sick. Now what you don’t understand is that when Xtian is sick, the world comes to a screeching halt. Like most guys, they turn into big babies and coddling and attention must be paid at all times.

So here we are, Wednesday of last week and I am on the mend, I take off to work because being physically present is more important than not getting others sick apparently and when I come home I come to find a sulking Xtian…because he is sick. Which means I am now at his beck and call going to Walgreens to buy every medication known to man, making healthy yet nutritious meals that will make him feel better, wearing wireless headphones so I can watch TV and not disturb the peace, making tea, making more tea, and making more tea, you get my drift?
By Friday, I was aching to break free from domestic duties that I hop on a train mid-day and meet the a few girlfriends for wine lunch. I then proceed to go back into the office, hang out until 7ish then go to the grocery store leaving Xtian to fend for himself until 8:30pm. I whip up a quick dinner and proceed to bake…I never bake…just so that I would appear busy and important.

Saturday rolls around and I am up by 8am so that I can head down to the South Bay with D & G (ha ha) since Posh and her hubby were hosting a wine tasting excursion. This means again poor Xtian had to fend for himself whilst sick. After the wine crawl I head to SJ to hang out with my galpals spend the night there. Sunday is spent brunching with Vicky B and Pistol in SJ, reluctantly heading to SF to meet with my tennis pro, then dinner at A’s with lots and lots and lots of wine. Did I manage to ditch Xtian all weekend while he was sick so that I could come that much closer to Betty Ford? Yes, because I am triple awesome. I digress.

Karma is a bitch they say, and I have to agree. By Monday morning I woke up (hang over free again) but with this wretched case of “flu like symptoms” that I immediately blamed on Xtian – never mind that I had gotten him sick previously and it is actually more hey fever. I had to cancel dinner with my beloved YZA at this restaurant I have been dying to go to because now both Xtian and I were both sick, though given my past history that weekend I probs would have gone solo had I not been sick. Lovely. That day was spent mostly in bed for me while Xtian got up (still on the sick side mind you) and took care of me worthy of my mama or papa.

I know that in this blog (and in general I think) Xtian may come across as this work-hard, play-harder, business always comes first kinda guy. But the reality is that he is very sweet and nurturing and does go above and beyond for those he cares about, especially towards me…the spoiled brat he married. So this entire week instead of taking off and working his usual 14 hour days he stays late in the morning to make me tea and comes home early to order me food and tend to my every whim. He covered the upstairs lobby couch with a blanket so that I could lay there whilst watching TV. Speaking of TV, he sat through half an episode of 9-0 and a full Real Housewives because he knows crappy TV will make me better. Tells me I am the prettiest girl in the world even though I know I look like a mess (not even a hot mess) and that he is lucky to have married me…the girl who leaves when he is sick. Lovely.

So here we are on a Thursday night and my allergies are still out of control but at least it is raining so I should be on the mend soon (I hope so because I have a busy week next week with kickboxing, tennis and eating…lots and lots of eating…after all it is the last week of Dine about Town). I am watching Xtian play sweet romantical songs on my “Green iPod”****** and just feel really lucky and in love to have such a great hubby bubby (sorry to induce the gag reflex) and vow to be nice to him more often…and I mean it this time…stop laughing, I do mean it this time.

This post is dedicated to Flex accounts and the pharmaceutical industry.

*I am a crazy hypochondriac and am convinced that I am both SARS and bird flu survivor and no I have never been to high-risk countries.
**You can take the girl out of San Jose…
***And by myself I really mean Xtian who despite being on a cooking strike since the night we were engaged has ordered take-out, washed the dishes, made me tea, et cetera.

****Xtian also finds that days that end in y are good for breaking out champers.
*****Very generally speaking of course and most applicably disturbing that which is thus causing it to change…which is the first law in case you were wondering.
******Green iPod is very especial to me. A gift from Xtian when we were first dating 5 years ago that include the top 1,200 songs of my life…a project that took almost a year to finish.

The Dreaded Ex

The first time I met Fran was on my first venture out to Canadia…a “meet the folks” trip Xtian had arranged after only 6 months of dating*. I had heard her name before, but in my usual self-absorbed self didn’t really pay attention. Fran, you see, was Xtian’s high school sweetheart. A girl he dated for x number of months or years or whatever that was supposedly really smart and also pretty cute. I usually don’t pay attention to things like this because to quote Melissa Joan Hart in “Drive Me Crazy”: “High school love is for saps, or haven’t you heard?!?!” Digress. I had kinda forgotten about her until I walked into Xtian’s rents family room that fateful trip and I see a picture of Fran and Xtian in all prom glory. Unintentional for sure but I could not help to be slightly miffed at this and began to dissect the picture from every possible angle and obsess over it for no apparent reason other than I am a girl and this is what girls do.**

Xtian was invited to his high school reunion, not like a 5 or 10 year, but more like a “graduates of the uber gifted program.” Whatever. Given that I had no prior warning to this, the only thing I had in my bag that was approp was a little wrap dress that pretty much exposed my nonexistent boobage***.

Whatever, geeks love boobs right so I went with it. Well, after stressing about the lack of a camisole or safety pin, I free flowed it with black lacy bra and we take off. We get there and everyone is dressed in kahkis and blazers and like grandmamma dresses…my get-up just does not seem appropriate at all so I start to feel slightly uncomfortable. Then, Xtian decides to ditch me so that he can catch up with all of his old colleagues, teachers, et cetera. So there I am, not knowing a soul, awckward, boobs out and alcohol less****.

So I start wandering the high school aimlessly when I see Xtian talking to a random couple in the hall so I decide to go introduce myself just to have something to do. I walk up and he seems entranced talking to this girl so I kinda nudge myself an introduction. Turns out it is the infamous Fran. Shit. As in I look like shit and shit it his ex who looks like a square but at least is dressed approp for the event. Double shit. After I pretty much introduce myself, I make my way to go and Xtian decides to join me but not before turning back and saying “you look great.”

I mean I say that to people all the time and people say that to me all the time, it is polite and most of the time true, but I don’t know what it was about those three words combined with the wrong wrap dress at the wrong time but it sent me into all kinds of mental nonsense. I never really said anything about it, but that moment just sticks out for me because I am a gal who likes to torture herself.

Fast forward four-and-a-half years later I find myself back in Canadia doing the visit to the in-laws for the holidays (for those wondering the prom picture was NOWHERE to be found because you KNOW I looked). My wonderful mother in law had pulled out some childhood memorabilia for me to check out. Low and behold what do I come across? That’s right, Xtian’s high school yearbook. Of course I start reading every entry trying to find a glimpse of this Fran chick. So sad yet so true. Moving on

On our last day in Canadia, Xtian and I had made plans to have lunch with his high school physics teacher. Fitting, I feel, as he was indirectly responsible for us having an odd yet successful first date in a strange discombobulated way (which I will post on another day if I remember). We opt to meet at a local indoor mall as the city is still covered in snow and getting anywhere is such a wreck. Since I had about 30 mins to get ready I quickly showered, washed but did not dry my hair and applied make-up in Xtian’s dark room. LOVELY. Since we had an hour to kill, I figure it will give my hair time to dry and I can check out my make-up once we get to the mall.

We walk in, I start peeping the windows for any shopping potential, and then Xtian stops dead in his tracks and says “Fran.” Yes, same Fran that I was obsessing over when I read his high school yearbook the night before. Yikes. A nervous giddiness fills me immediately…here I was with sopping wet hair and freaking basketball sized earmuffs unsure of my make-up since I did it in the dark. I kind of felt like Carrie, from SATC, when she kept running into Natasha and the first time she was in cow girl outfit and the next in her underwear. Sigh.

Xtian introduces his fantastic wife and she introduces her bland husband. When discussing where we went on honeymoon he says we went to the Maldives to which she turns to me and says “no wonder you are so tan*****.” I then proceeded to spend the next hour trying to find mirrors in the mall to ensure that I did not overdo it with blush and bronzer (yes even in the snow you need a sun kissed look) so that instead of refreshed look I was going for I did not accidently get the Tammy Fay Faye Baker******* look. Jesus, what is wrong with me?

Nutshell: She is married 2 years in, he is married 2 months in, she just finished her PhD at MIT, he made VP at a prestigious financial firm at 27, her husband also just finished his PhD at MIT, his wife is…tan. Sigh. Well at least I am so cute whereas she is not cute dudes…like at all. Well okay, I guess she is alright, but not like this Natalie Portman I had made up in my head.

Then it hits me, here is this genius girl and her genius husband that have seriously done nothing to me and all I have to retort with is “at least I am sooooooo much better looking than she is”. Seriously? Is this what it boils down to? I mean I am no moron, quantum and advanced math does not faze me (in fact it actually kinda excites me) but let’s face facts…I ain’t impressing anyone lately with my level of smarts. How did I go from NASA interning and science learning to Britney Spears obsessing and Us Weekly reading? I mean it is not a competition…for all my faults I am sure she has her own, we all do. But what the hell am I doing at 30 comparing myself to anyone?!?! Haven’t I established my fabulousness enough that I have to go pick on this poor girl? Le sigh, I will add to my resolutions to rediscover my self-confidence AKA as major ego.

This post is dedicated to Tony Robbins.

* Canadian men and commitment, don’t know what it is but they just dig it.
** To everyone’s defense a pic of my quasi ex whateverness sat in my rents living room for YEARS (probs until about a year ago) when after various Xtian digs I moved it into the toy room. We are a house of procrastinators, sorry.
*** It seems I like to have my boobs constantly on display, don’t know what that is all about
**** I am actually not sure if there was or was not alcohol but I assume I would have been drunk at this point if there was, since I self medicate with alcohol when uncomfortable so I am thinking no.
*****And if by “so tan” you mean “so hot” then yes, that is why I am so hot.
******OMG, I heart her…like HEART HER. Probs more than Britney Spears, but I cannot confirm nor deny that.

Envious of Real Housewives of OC, Gravy Train Trumps Them With Her Own Post

In honor of tonight’s episode of the Real Housewives of OC and their trek to the opening race at Del Mar, I decided to post pics of my own race hats and outfits…my Kentucky Derby hats and outfits natches because that is just how I roll.

I cannot tell you how much I LOVE horses, like BEYOND love them, and horse racing is the epitome of the potential of the horse…the racing, the power, the muscles…it is just AMAZING. If you have not ever had a chance to go to races, please do so before you die.

Invited by a head honcho CEO and his rather fantastic southern socialite wife, Xtian and I headed out to Louisville so that he could conduct business of the financial kind and I could conduct business of the social kind with the races serving as a backdrop for our respective business dealings.

Day 1

Given that Xtian was already traveling for work, I made the trek out of SF solo with my hats in tow. Since I was carrying on my hats, and we had to go straight to dinner once in Louisville, I decided to dress the part and wore this fantastic black and white flowy dress with black and gold velvet peep toe shoes that made me look totally proper and super southern.

This is the only outfit I don’t have a picture of so you are going to have to trust me on this but let me just say, without sounding like my self-absorbed self, that during my layover in Chicago men stopped dead in their tracks and women commented on how fantastic I looked. Ahhh got to love those moments.

Xtian met me in the United lounge in Chicago then we made our way to our connecting flight to Louisville, first class of course because we needed extra space for my hats (a very special shout out to the ladies of that flight who gave them their own special seat) yay. Once there a black SVU waited for us to take us to dinner at Seviche. Now I am usually VERY skeptical of Latin food outside of California but let me tell you this restaurant lives up to the hype. INCREDIBLE. We headed out to our hotel after dinner so that we could get ready for the next day’s activities.

Day 2


Xtian wore a white linen suit and pale pink shirt and white leather shoes all from Boss and I wore a hat from Neiman, dress from BCBG and shoes by Dior…that I then switched out to randoms given the rain.

Given that all the men had board meetings during the day, I took advantage of the hotel gym and put in a 2 hour session that was awesome…awesomely horrid given it was in an open area next to the indoor pool and it was hot and humid. Got to love the South. After my workout, I went back upstairs to get ready for lunch and drinks at 21 Museum Hotel (this place is totally like a museum, modern and totally brill, you must also go here if you are in town) before heading out to our first race event …the Kentucky Oaks event. All of my fillies lost but I think Xtian actually won during the Oaks race…yay. After the races we went for drinks then dinner then bed (from what I can remember).

Day 3

I belive all of xtian’s suit was Zegna and shoes probs Ferragamo or Prada knowing him. I wore a hat by Millinery (for Neiman), dress by Cavalli and shoes by Blahnik…who brought her “a game”? This girl right here.

The AM meant more meetings for the boys which meant more working out for me and freaking out because I forgot my boob lifts and spanx at home. BLASTS!!! After some quick Mint Julips in the lobby bar we headed out in party busses to the races. Once there, we drank more mint julips and placed our bets for the variety of races.

The big horse to win that day was Big Brown (which my brother forced me to bet on) so everyone came out in droves to see if he would win. While Big Brown did win the Derby and was on his way to try to become a triple crown winner (he unfortch lost in the third race at Belmont) the only filly in the race, Eight Belles, that placed second broke her ankle and had to be put down. It was a very emotional experience for everyone who was there since horses really do become part of the racing community family. Ending a bit on a sour note, we watched another race then headed out to have dinner and lots of wine at Lilly’s. After that, we headed back to our hotel to have more drinks and pack as we were leaving in the AM back to reality, sigh.

This post is dedicated to Southern hospitality.

2009 Can You Hear Me?

Alrighty, it is that time of year again when we all gain perspective of our life over the previous years and make resolutions we really have no intention of keeping. In honor of that tradition, I have made a list and checked it twice of those things I vow to kinda try to do in 2009. Enjoy.

1. Stop speaking like a delusional teen. This includes saying words like totes, whatevs, vom, perf, probs, gorge, et cetera. This means I must also stop saying “Oh my God, I know right?!?!” in response to anything and everything. I am a 30 year-old well-educated professional who sounds like a total moron most of the time, I get it and it is time to change.*
   
2. Eliminate consumption of fake sugar. This means no mas to the likes of diet coke, splenda, et cetera.**
   
3. I was told once at a party that being 5’2’’ and 130lbs means you are morbidly obese. Given that I am morbidly obese I plan to lose about 10 lbs in oh nine. But not if it is too hard to maintain as maintenance of a slamming body is key…bobble head doll on the other hand not so key.***
   
4. Utilizing the snowball method I plan to pay off cards and whatnots so that I effectively work on a cash only basis as Suze Orman says to do. I believe that Xtian would call this paying down debt while staying cash flow positive…I once heard him say that on a conference call so I have been aching for an excuse to use it. Once accomplished I plan to put all my extra money in savings…well not all…we all have to do our part in stimulating the economy which I will plan to do via key sales such as the Nordies Half-Yearly or the Neiman Summer Sale…God bless America after all.
   
5. Limit alcoholic units consumed per week to 4. Since I moved to SF I have become a SERIOUS alcoholic pretty much depleting our very expansive (not to mention pricey) wine collection in a matter of two months. It would be one thing if I were hosting fabulous dinner parties or girls’ nights and drinking myself to a splendid stupor but it usually involves me, alone in the loft, blaring the Food Network while staring out the window to assess the parking situation on the street below. Sad, I know.
   
6. Use my Nike+ system I received last Christmas in my quest to become a runner. This is a carryover resolution of 08 that I did not accomplish. Boo.
   
7. Speaking of carryover resolutions, I vow to also be nice to Xtian this year. I just can’t help it, I mean he is such a doll to me about 92.7% of the time whereas I am a doll to him…well let’s not go there but let’s just say I ain’t making any dean’s list with my average. I am like one of those bratty kids on the Real Housewives of Orange Country, it is so ridiculous and I acknowledge that.

This post is dedicated to list making

* This may also have to include the elimination of my other choice phrases such as “OMG, I heart Britney” to anyone who will listen. I mean I totes do, but perhaps this is a convo I should have in my head.
**Well okay maybe I will occasionally indulge because 30 grams of sugar in a sprite is RIDICULOUS. I think the general rule is to not consume anything with over 6 grams so that is just crazy…expecially since you could probs have flan for that sugar count.
***I heart working out but I also heart wine and tasting menus (and McDonald’s Big Macs…OMG, so good right?!?!) so I think this may be impossible but at least I try.