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.