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

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.

Merry Christmas (Kwanza, Chanukah, or whatever else you celebrate)

Hi Ya'll,

I wanted to take a few minutes out of celebrating the birth of Baby Jesus (I personally rejoice the occasion by drinking soy eggnog*, eating tamales and DDRing it...Baby J would have wanted it that way) to wish you and yours a very Merry Dec. 25. May your lives be filled with lots of love, friends, peace and booze...that last one is very important I think.

Love,
Gravy Train

This post is dedicated to treadmills…Lordeh knows we will need them after the holidays.

*No health quips…I can’t drink regular dairy

The Wedding Chronic, What?, Cles of Gravy Train

The Ceremony Shot

Alternate title for this post: Pull Up a Chair Kids It's Gonna Be a Long One

You know it is funny, I actually don’t remember much leading up to my wedding except 2-3 hour workouts coupled with 12 hour work days and very little sleep. The stuff that I do remember are little snippets here and there sort of like a bad 80’s montage without the bad, yet oh-so-good, 80’s music to accompany it*. The randomness that I do recall is going to get my marriage license with my husband’s non-English speaking Scandinavian family in tow only to find out I had an expired driver’s license** and thus could not get a marriage paperwork done until I brought my passport. I recall forgetting my wedding dress at home and having to make the trek back home with Vicky B to get it. I recall getting ready in the morning and then dragging D all over downtown San Jose whilst I tried to find a drug store with an open pharmacy store. I recall getting ready with the girls and then taking pictures outside and then being at the church with an extreme case of nerves whilst the best man tried to calm me down outside the church as he fixed my hair and told me repeatedly that I looked pretty so I would not cry and ruin my make-up.

I also recall walking down the aisle with my parents and seeing Xtain standing there with a grin ear-to-ear and knowing that things would be better because he was there. I recall giggling the entire ceremony and hoping that the SJ Earthquakes (who were playing on the soccer field on campus) would win. I recall listening to nonsensical rap on the party bus back to the reception and laughing and having a great time. I recall is getting to the reception being shocked by how many people were there and then everything else is a blur of hellos, food, wine, music and art. The last thing I recall is getting back to our room that was covered in rose petals and streamers (pink of course) with a Baby Jesus* stamp on our bed and a bottle of Ace of Spades chilling on the night stand.

What I do remember fully, in every little detail, is the day after the wedding: it was the only time in my short married life that I actually felt married. As usual, we had a going away brunch for the bridal party and many of our out of town guests and I wore a white summer dress (in late October if you can believe that…God, I love San Jose) that I found ironic. As everyone wrapped up their post party meals my parents walked me to my hotel room made to keep me company until Xtian returned from taking his parents to our loft. When he returned, my parents bade their good-byes and left. And that is when it hit me…I was now a married person, for like ever. I no longer belonged to my parents or to myself even, but I belong to this man who not even five years ago had been a total stranger to me. My home was no longer my parents’ house in which I had freeloaded for 30 years (minus the time in my sorority house) but it was this loft in the city with this strange man who was now my husband. There was this odd moment of silence as we sat in the living room of our bridal suite soaking in the reality of our nuptials. The “I Dos” we had shared not even 12 hours earlier had pretty much said it all and in the end I guess there was really nothing left to discuss. Just us…left to be a married couple.

After a long pause, Xtian picked up the phone and called the spa to book a couple’s massage for “my wife and I” and I have to say I felt a little awkward at the sound of the word wife – like we were two kids pretending to be grown-ups. We went down to the spa and the hotel had already prepared a lovely and romantic treatment for us and I can just remember thinking two things…oh my gawd these people know that we like did it**** and oh my gawd I can’t believe I am married. After our massage we headed out to the hotel pool and just chatted about life like we used to before the wedding consumed our nightly conversations. Then the afternoon turned to night and we headed back inside so that we could again make the trek to my parents house so that I could pick up my honeymoon luggage. As I packed up my clothes in my childhood room a great sense of nostalgia came over me and I felt like a stranger in my own house. When had this little girl, with her curly brown locks and her love of boy bands, grown up? Would I make a good wife or was I doomed to repeat the mistakes of my generation who had made marriage a taken-for-granted commodity? Would all of my shoes fit in my new closets? Once I was done packing we headed back to the hotel as we had early honeymoon flights to take the next day. We got back to our room, crawled into bed and for the first night in a long time I stopped over thinking everything and finally slept – being at peace with the new married me.

This post is dedicated to my wonderful bridesmaids who gave me the best parties ever, kept me sane with many a late night chats, kept me away from ledges when I got a little too crazy and delusional, and when all else failed kept me drunk with the best vodka and champagne money could buy.

*If I were to insert a song here, it would be Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benetar…because that song ROCKS.
**insn’t the DMV supposed to send you a letter…as much as I like starting at my much thinner, much tanner and much blonder self on my driver’s license…I don’t check the expiry date
***So I am a big fan of having religious paraphanillia everywhere I go so that God can protect me. A practice that has boggled Xtian for many years (in fact, if you watch the movie Fools Rush In, in is pretty much us to a T minus the baby drama, shot-gun wedding and waspy family on his end…but that is an entirely different post all together ).
****Sorry for the TMI, but no matter your sexual history prior to marriage I have to say there is something about newlyweds that just makes you think ching.