Today is Earth Day

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

Feliz Cindo de Mayo

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

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

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

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?

Climbing Out

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

Hi Gravy,

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

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

Hey John,

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

xoxo,
Gravy

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to Dr. Phil

Falling Down

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

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

- Kings of Leon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Would Jesus Do?

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

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to sacramental wine

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

Boy Culture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep Thoughts by Gravy Train

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drools

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

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

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

And I love you too, Jimmy Choo!!!

I Am Not Dead...Yet

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

Dear readers,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009 Can You Hear Me?

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

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

This post is dedicated to list making

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

Happy New Year!!!

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

Hello my dear blogger faithful,

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

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

XOXO,
Gravy Train


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

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to Luna bars.