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

Blogvolution

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

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?

What Not To Wear

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:

1. 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.
   
   
2. 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.
   
   
3. 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.
   
   
4. 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.
   
   
5. 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.
   
   
6. 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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to pen and paper

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

Open Letter to Dave & Busters

Dear D&B’s,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xoxo,
Gravy Train

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

Moving On

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to Bridget Jones and her Diary

Climbing Out

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

Hi Gravy,

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

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

Hey John,

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

xoxo,
Gravy

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to Dr. Phil

Falling Down

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

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

- Kings of Leon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Video Tuesday Extravaganza

This post is dedicated to Pistol

What Would Jesus Do?

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

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to sacramental wine

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

Spontaneous Combustion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to ChaLEAN Extreme.

*Partner in Crime

I'm Not Dead Yet, Part Deux

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And inside is this Valentine's gift #2:

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


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


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

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

Day 3:

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

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

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

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

This post is dedicated to smart phones

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

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

The Best Things in Life Are Sometimes Free

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

Happy Valentine's Day

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

xoxo,
Gravy Train