The Real Housewife of San Francisco

Today is Earth Day

2011-04-22T13:15:00.000-07:00

The other day one of my colleagues posted on Facebook that he was a huge fan of plastic grocery bags. And despite trying to live a very green lifestyle, it was his ultimate non-green vice. That got me thinking: what are my non-green vices?

I mean sure, I recycle my pop cans and commute via train to work but I still have room for improvement right? I started to asses my greenness and my goodness, lot of work to do still. So below are some of my many green vices and how I will plan to change them starting today!

How will I green in 2011:

Plastic water bottles: There is a reason why I look younger than I really am* and that reason is water. I consistently have an overly large plastic bottle of water attached to my hand our mouth. This means I buy lots of bottles of water. Over the last year I have been making the slow switch to Brita water pitchers and camelback water bottles, but MAN do I love me a good bottle of chilled water that I then can toss instead of wash but c’est la vie. This year, vigilance will prevail and I will make sure to always have a reusable bottle handy.

Water consumption in general: So, I am a tad germaphopic and neurotic. This means I manually wash my dishes and then put them in the dishwasher and run it on the sani-cycle that includes an extra rinse or five. My lovely, yet hippie, sister was MORTIFIED when she found out. Apparently this wastes a LOT of water. She was even more mortified when she saw me do laundry as I like to wash my clothes in like colors. That means I wash blacks with blacks, and dark blues with dark blues, and baby blues with baby blues, and pinks with pinks. Apparently this TOO wastes a LOT of water. This is going to be a hard one for me without some form of therapy, but I will try to maybe wash in “normal” cycle…and maybe do a “darks” load instead of a wash by color…but I am already breaking into hives thinking about it.

Food waste: Have you seen the show hoarders? Well imagine that scenario going on in my fridge after a frenzied shopping spree at Whole Paycheck. I dunno what it is about that place that whips me into a gourmet cooking frenzy that before I know it I have filled my cart with the all the organic produce, herbs and protein that money can buy. The problem is I don’t really have time to cook daily and if someone says let’s go to out to this fantastic restaurant tonight, I immediately grab my bag and forget about the pork loin I am marinating in the fridge. Resulting in the tossing of above mentioned bags of organic produce, herbs and protein without so much as even turning on my stove. Le sigh.Yes. I have heard the phrase kids in third world countries don’t even have organic arugula to throw away so I will be better about buying only the food I need…even if the baby squash is on sale and looks delish.

So how about you, any green tips willing to share?

This post is dedicated to bus pants.

* Or so I am told, I think the work stress and lack of sleep have significantly aged me in the last three years

Blogvolution

2011-04-20T17:43:00.000-07:00

Dear friends…lovers…bloggers…I am temporarily back. I miss blogging, I do. Not because of the fandom success, fame and fortune it brought me*, but because I am normally a very reserved and controlled person and this blog gives me the opportunity to really open up and over share without barriers that are usually only taken down with copious amounts of wine. I like, actually love, control but unfortunately this means that I tend to internalize a bit in the sake of calmness and I am tired…oh so tired.

But do people still have blogs? Are they still the way to communicate to the outside world?

Furthermore do we, as an audience, still process the attention span needed for verbose daily online musings of the day? Or is our self indulgence buffet limited to 160 characters or less? I am going to take a chance on an unknown kid and say dn w/twtr and YES TO FULL SEMI-COMPREHENSIBLE SENTENCES…WOO HOO. And besides, I think I personally know all three of my readers - and we are all chatters - so I say pull up a chair and let’s get to talkin’.

There is so much to catch-up on since we last talked dear friends. Like how I am on impressionable SOB and have now taken to creating my own 35-for-35 bucket list ala R&N from Life-a-Roni. Or like how I spent the last year working 100 hours a week and traveling all over the place but no where all at the same time. Or even like how I love food and that is all I talk about and how I cook and eat and go out and eat and then talk about my next meal while I am eating.

Okay, so maybe a lot has not changed in the last year but it is fun to write about.

So for whoever is out there…still listening…still wanting their gravy train fix…I am here to deliver once more.** YAY! So who’s coming with me?

The post is dedicated to Jerry Maguire

*still waiting for all four of these things but whatevs
** Until I get bored, or hungry or overworked

Feliz Cindo de Mayo

2010-05-05T21:34:00.001-07:00

Happy Cinco de Mayo* friends.

While not Mexico's independence day, I (along with a number of beer companies) ask all of us to celebrate the power that a small group of determined Mexicans had when they gave an EPIC beatdown to the Frenchies in a battle of all battles at Puebla.

Outnumbered, outgunned, but thankfully not outsmart, they held their own and were able to keep the French occupation away from Mexico...for a little bit anyway.

Hopefully Mexico will be able to challenge their inner warrior again and deliver a similar beatdown to France when the two meet during the world cup qualifying round and send those bitches PACKING HOME. VIVA MEXICO! VIVA! VIVA ZAPATA**! VIVA!***

Anyway, the moral of the story here kids is that at the end of the day, and in any situation, don't ever give up and always, ALWAYS, go down swinging...who knows you may just win in the end.

SI SE PUEDE!

This post is dedicated to staying thirsty my friends (and my lovely sister)

*Cinco de Mayo, boys and girls, also happens to be the official holiday of my lovely hometown, San Jose. A day best celebrated by cruising, booty shorts and halter tops, and boys hanging over their car doors with camcorders (or I guess this day in age video enabled mobile phones) asking girls for their numbers. Sigh, I miss being home.

** Sooo a different battle but seriously it sounds way better than Zaragoza.

*** Nothing against the French, except during world cup time...and any other country that dare go against Mexico or the US...just sayin.

Open Letter To Jill Zarin

2010-04-30T11:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Jill,

Seriously, what the hell? I really liked you, I really did, but something about this season to me has completely turned me off, along with your wannabe crony friend LuAnn.

What’s up with all the nastiness towards everyone babes? I mean first there is the whole Bethany thing …I don’t even know where to start at. I mean yes, she told you to get a life, but based on your reaction this season, you truly should get a life. She is busy, she has work, she has a new man. Yes. So talking 20 times a day may be a bit too much. Oh did I mention she has a job, yeah? Good.

But it’s not just Bethany that makes me not like you, let’s talk a gander down judgmental memory lane to see where else you have faltered as a dear old friend:

The Brooklyn Fashion Show: Really? You thought that the best use of your time at a charity fashion show was to criticize the fashions down the runway and then make fun of your fellow cast mates instead of providing support. That just made me sad because it takes a lot of courage to walk down a runway with people judging you, I should know, I was a former model.*
Ramona’s Skin Care Line Party at Equinox: First of all, how was equinox? I am really, really, really considering switching gyms once my ankle situation improves. Where was I going with this? OH YES, I mean really did you need to walk in there with all of your god damned opinions…it is a freaking skin care line, get over it.
LuAnn’s evite to the Cocktails and Couture: HA HA, I did have to laugh because I too think evites are overall tacky but seriously this is not your event so shut your pie hole. I mean this is coming from the same woman who lets her stupid yelpy ass little dog poo on people then disses their “rubber” shoes. Ass.

Need I say more? No? Alright then.

I mean I have friends who are delusional half the time about how they have been wronged (though they really haven’t) and now they are a force to be reckoned with. Or how their poor choices are really not so poor because they are getting back at someone or something and it is that someone or something’s fault other than their own. So I guess I kinda get it. But not really because in the words of Kelly (though she meant this towards Bethany) “you are really really mean dude.” Totes unwarranted.

It actually kind of reminds me of the wannabes at school who tried so desperately to be popular and then in an afterlife of college, or strip joints, or whatevers they found their inner selves and decided that the best use of that self discovery was to be mean to other people. Laughable.

Anyway, I guess all I am trying to say…Jill Zarin…is that you should learn to take a good unbiased look in the mirror to make sure you are not the one being an asshole here. Just sayin.

In other news, OMG did anyone peep the life size portrait of Sonja and her dog? IN CASE YOU MISSED IT:

HA HA, I MUST get one of these for the loft of me and my fabulous new dog Tara Reid.

This post is dedicated to Pinot Grigo

*OMG, this is totes not true but it fits in with the story line so go with it.

Single People Alone Together

2010-04-28T14:54:00.001-07:00

I read this really interesting blog post* by this group of 20 somethings at work on their definition of marriage and what it means to be married. And, while I am nowhere near being a “20 something” I could seriously relate to all of the stories at one point or another in my life.

And it got me thinking to my own relationship, and what it means to be married. I mean, most of my friends are all single and damn proud of it as they should be, and even those of my friends who are married (which are like 3 of them) most act like single people anyway. So why did I go over to the “dark side” and choose wife instead of life?

I never wanted to get married, I will admit that. And even though Vicky and Pistol took bets that I would eventually change my mind, I was adamant in my decision that I wanted no part of that. So I sit here, in a pool of my own hypocrisy, happily married to a wonderful man and I can’t imagine my current life any different.

To me marriage meant children, it meant the second shift after work of cooking and cleaning and laundry (minus the gym and the tanning), it meant having to sacrifice who I am and the relationships I have built in order to become a perfect “we” to a man I have only known for a short period of time…I mean who the hell wants that?!?!

So what changed? What made me want to take that leap of fate that I wouldn’t be walking down the path of indentured servitude all in exchange for a shiny ring and a big party?

Honestly? It was rethinking the whole concept of marriage and creating my own dysfunctional version of it with a boy who seemed to be on board with my crazy antics. It was the understanding that I would be still be allowed to be myself – with my one sock wearing*, Britney obsessing, over working antics – without being judged and without being weighed down by this extra person who I am now legally tied to through various state documents.

I mean yes, there is still the cooking and cleaning part that I do (and he takes no part of) but really I can’t even blame him for that. It is my Latin Catholic upbringing, and the constant reminder from my parents that I need to be a better wife, that forces me to come home and make these elaborate meals while loading the washer, and feeding the dog, and a million other things, all the while checking my work email and responding to crisis. And when I complain, I get the “we should just hire someone to do that stuff” so I guess it’s all self induced from an internal cultural instinct like birds migrating south** for the winter.

But at the end of the day, Xtian and I are very much our own independent selves. I mean honestly, we both work and travel so much and even when we are home we are at our own respective workstations that it seems more like a roommate, with occasional benefits, situation than anything else. I trust and respect him, innately, and seek his advice as a teammate in my so called life but honestly how is that any different than my BFFs and if I lived with them(aside from the benefits situation, although they are all pretty hot so you never know)? And it works…for me. And isn’t that all that should really matter?

Now, I am in no means advocating that everyone get married or that everyone needs to be coupled up at all. What I am saying is that you don't let others define what your happiness is. Don't let people bully you into thinking that you need to be single or be married for that matter (lord knows I get pleanty of eye rolls and snarky remarks for being married). Define your own happiness and to hell with the rest.

::steps off soapbox::

This post is dedicated to Booger, Vicky B and Pistol…my forever soul mates

*If you are interested in the blog shoot me a note and I will email it to you
**If you got this, thank you for being my BFF.
***I am going with south here because it is closer to the equator and that is warmer…brownie points to those who get the reference

360 Degrees of Awesome

2010-04-27T10:49:00.000-07:00

As a proud member of all things extreme I have to say I officially have an extreme sports injury. And by extreme sports I really mean that my ankle could not stand the pressure of my weight any longer and gave way…while I was wearing Nike running shoes (you know the kind with the stabilizers inside)…while walking at a good 1.5 miles per hour…on a flat surface…in front of my yoga studio…FML.

Yes kiddies, I have sprained my ankle in the lamest way possible and to try to compensate I have made up a wild story at work about how I fell skateboarding*…except no one believes me because apparently I am not the skateboarding type. Sigh.

Case in point, IM convo with friend at work:
Ritchie Rich: hey, what the hell

Gravy Train: i went skateboarding this weekend and sprained my ankle

Ritchie Rich: you went to watch other people skateboard?

Ritchie Rich: and sprained your ankle climbing the stadium stairs?

Gravy Train: why does no one believe me

Gravy Train: i would totally skateboard

Ritchie Rich: GT, those kids fall

Ritchie Rich: a lot

Ritchie Rich: on their face

Gravy Train: OMG, ewe

Gravy Train: I mean rad**

I mean honestly, what the hell? At some point in my short…okay…long tenure at work I have seem to have come across as this girly girl square whose closest thing to extreme are the 4 inch heels she wears only sometimes because anything over 2.5 inches at work I think is inappropriate. And clearly I don’t even follow that as most people assumed that I had fallen out of my ridiculous heels and sprained my ankle that way.

When did this happen? I am sure at some point in my life I had an “extreme” edge...like the time I wanted to go Snowboarding and I picked out the perfect puffy white snow outfit for it. Or like the time I wanted to go skydiving and I found the perfect little rose colored goggles…I mean what is not extreme about that? And I absolutely ADORE surfing and would do it waaaayyyy more often if it did not require being in the sun and prematurely aging oneself, just saying.

Sigh, so the new goal is to do something extreme this year once my ankle recuperates. Any ideas?

So with that, I leave you with a hot ass picture of my cankle taken at work yesterday, yum, so you could ponder how I can get more of these in more legitimate ways.

This post is dedicated to the RICE method

* I honestly don’t know why I did not say a tennis injury as I actually do attempt the tennis playing often and it would be totes feasible for me to hurt myself while doing it. But I panicked and skateboarding was the first thing that came to mind.
** do the kiddies still say rad?

What Not To Wear

2010-04-22T12:09:00.000-07:00

Tom Ford once said* that the key to being a “fashionable” person is consistency…and if that is the case then I know for a fact that I consistently dress like a) a homeless person B) a disco queen or c) a school marm…does that make me fashionable?

I mean, yes I prefer loose flowy tops and dresses aka “teen pretgo tops and dresses” and if not that then ANYTHING bedazzled or jewel toned and if not that I prefer insanely structured clothes with pinstripes, and French cuffs and starchy collars and cardigans…I can’t help it. But lately, I do feel like I really don’t know how to dress myself anymore and I really am stuck in a fashion rut that is worthy of one of those make me over shows where they give you 5 grand to shop and make “new” outfits.

Sigh, I could really go for 5 grand for clothes right now actually…I would buy a shadow striped suit with both pants and skirt option probs from Boss since their cuts fit me alright and then a Thomas Pink slim cut French cuff button down in a jewel tone color, ballet flats from ‘Gamo and then maybe a cardigan from target…and that is all that budget would allow for but I do think those are some great finds. DOH, see consistency!

Anyhoo, so where am I going with this? OH YES! So yesterday when I was reading life-a-roni’s blog, R’s recent blog entry “characters that inspire my fashion sense” and I thought to myself “myself you should make your own post” So here we go the top five celebrities and/or movie/tv show characters that inspire me:

Vera Prescott in The Secret to My Success

I really don’t know if it is so much the outfits or her overall cougar lifestyle that I love so much but this woman is amazing and ever since a child I thought to myself: this is the kinda lady we should be (a pervy fit old rich woman FTW). I mean the shoulder pads, the heavy eye shadow and brows, the uber curly hair, the house in the Hamptons…I mean, what is not to love? Nothing if you ask me.
Pavarotti and Neil Diamond

SERIOUSLY!!! Cat suits and sequins and capes, oh my! SIGN ME UP! In the words of Rachel Zoe “loves me some sequins” and yes Rachel I loves me some too.
Veronica Palmer in Better off Ted**

I mean, really! She has the whole power executive look down pat***. From the hair, the shoes, the suits, it just all exudes power and that is something I attain to. Unfortch, I just look like a little wrapped sausage in my too tight suit and shirt because I am a stage one chunkler right now but that is beside the point. See that 5 grand in makeover shopping money would certainly go handy now, just sayin.
The Olsen Twins

Take a good look at the picture above. Did you take a good look? Okay, so if you see someone wandering the streets of San Francisco who looks like this but is, oh say 1,000 lbs heavier, please make sure to say hi because it is me. I don’t know what it is about this look that appeals to me, maybe the lack of effort except for the shoes and bags…anyone who knows me can tell you that I overall lack effort 80% of the time unless it comes to shoes and bags…and food but that is where I trump the olsens if you ask me.
Miranda in The Devil Wears Prada

Oh, one day Gravy Train one day. This woman is elegance personified, she always looks perfectly put together, her clothes are classy with an edge…and CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE SHOES AND HAND BAGS?!?! Oh Em Gee indeed.
The Red Heather in Heathers****

I love love love love love the preppy look, like beyond love. And the Red Heather was all this and more. I mean the penny loafers, pleated skirts, cardigans, hellz to the yes.

This post is dedicated to corn nuts

* I think I am totally making that up by the way, but I know it was a famous fashion designer so I think it was Tom Ford because dude is always wearing the same shiz.

** honestly is this show canceled? I mean it was totally brilliant and if that is the case it would make me uber sad

***Is this how you say this? I am soooooo not good with sayings and for many years ran around saying getting your bunnies in a row

****True story: Vicky B, Pistol and I had matching Bass penny loafers in high school that we put dimes in because we thought pennies were lame.

Hello, Is It Me Your Looking For?

2010-04-21T22:53:00.000-07:00

Yes kiddies, it is your old Auntie Gravy Train here and I think I am ready to bust a Jay-Z and come out of retirement for the umpteenth time.

I know it has been way to long and I am not sure how long I can keep this up, but I think it is time I return center stage for a final curtain call until my next curtain call on this thing we call life, love, happiness and to much booze.

Onward through the haze my friends: whose coming with me?

XOXO,
Gravy Train

This post is dedicated to Posh, Pistol and D...whoes daily blogging musings have kept me entertained enough to be jelly.

To Blog or Not To Blog: That Is the Question

2009-03-25T18:09:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-17T18:36:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-17T17:36:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-12T15:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-11T17:53:00.000-07:00

“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

2009-03-10T11:40:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated to Pistol

What Would Jesus Do?

2009-03-09T17:18:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-05T16:55:00.001-08:00

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:

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.
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

2009-03-04T15:17:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-18T08:48:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-15T17:55:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-14T12:35:00.001-08:00

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

2009-02-13T10:48:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-06T11:39:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-05T22:13:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-30T11:10:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-29T13:15:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-23T12:59:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-09T19:45:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-06T23:05:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-01-03T21:07:00.000-08:00

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.

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.*
Eliminate consumption of fake sugar. This means no mas to the likes of diet coke, splenda, et cetera.**
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.***
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.
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.
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.
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.

Happy New Year!!!

2008-12-31T13:27:00.000-08:00

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)

2008-12-25T12:16:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-23T12:10:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-21T23:42:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-17T18:50:00.000-08:00

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'

2008-12-15T11:47:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-15T10:22:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-12T11:24:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-12-11T15:10:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-10T21:02:00.000-08:00

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.