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

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?

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.

Sponge Gravy Judgy Pants

I don’t know what is wrong with me. Maybe it is a severe case of the Mondays that has extended itself for an additional 12 days but I have been on a limited bullshit tolerance like you wouldn’t believe and apparently find it very appropriate to call everyone out at a moment’s notice…via this blog, and other passive aggressive means, of course that nobody reads. Whatevs.

At some point, when this barrage of hysterics of mine is over, I will have to inevitably apologize to someone for being a complete asshole by not censoring myself. Ugh, I hate apologizing. I hate it almost as much as I hate the sight of blood which is the thing I hate the most (aside from creepy crawly things and being disappointed which is the WORST). It makes me want to vom and faint all at the same time while being totally disgusted. Where was I going with this? Ah yes, this is why I have decided that if I don’t have anything nice to say that I should keep that shiz to myself and not be so quick to judge people.*

Case in point: At a work 1:1 strategy session on Wednesday, that turned into happy hour, I may or may not have been mean to a boy that I found annoying for no apparent reason than the fact that he kinda looked and talked like my frat brothers…that and he was rooting for the US to win the football match…I heart the USA team (TEAM BEASLEY) as well but OBVI I was rooting for Mexico and did not appreciate the gauntlets from an unknown dude.

Okay, well to be fair, it was not obvi to anyone but myself that I was in fact rooting for Mexico as I was wearing work clothes and did not have any of my football riot gear on. And the only gauntlet really thrown was that when he asked for the score I said 0-1 US and he said “yeah!” like any normal American. To which I informed him he could sit somewhere else, to which he didn’t but tried to make amends by agreeing with me that American Football should be called handball.

Sidebar rant: I seriously don’t get WHY American Football is called football, seriously it should be throwball or carryball or something else since they don’t really play with their feet now do they? Then again they don’t really play at all…I mean what is the point? 30 seconds of action, 2 minutes of reviewing plays and measuring stuff, then 20 minutes of commercial…what is the opposite of awesome…ah yes American football…I digress.

Anyway after the football incident he kept up his incessant babble of nonsense to which I had to be completely disagreeable and snarky…you know because I could and all. Annoyed I finally turned to D and asked “who the f*** is this guy and why is he here?” To which she turns, laughs hysterically, and informs me that said guy is Tom and he works with us. Oh. Shiz. I am AWESOME!!!

In typical Gravy mode, I had managed to be incessantly mean for no apparent reason other than the fact that he kinda annoyed me for kinda being a little on the insecure side and thus compensating by being loud and agreeable with the mean girl in front of him chugging beers. Ugh, raise your hand if you are an asshole.

I mean I am not saying being mean to people is okay if you don’t know them. That’s not it at all, but a little tact goes a long way in work place situations. So then I decide that it would be in my best interest to be nice since I will eventually run into this guy again at some point and being the work bitch is never a good thing. Turns out Tom actually really enjoys football but prefers the premiership (a little cliché yes but who can blame him). He is an artist, a painter with a post-modernist approach, but works in PR to pay bills (I am an art freak, in particular in post modern work, Dale…are you kidding me?!?! BRILL!!! I even got married in an art museum). He lives in the South Bay by choice which I can appreciate since I heart the South Bay.

Also turns out that once he is not worried about what people think of him and acting a part he seems like he would be very nice. So maybe we had more in common that I thought. Had I taken a chance on an unknown kid from the beginning we could have been watching the game together instead of me rolling my eyes and making a poor chap uncomfortable. Sigh.

Queue in sappy music…So moral of the story: I will be open-minded and nice when I meet new people and hope it does not bite me in the ass.

This post is dedicated Lindsey Lohan

* For those who clicked the link, you are welcome.

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.

The Dreaded Ex

The first time I met Fran was on my first venture out to Canadia…a “meet the folks” trip Xtian had arranged after only 6 months of dating*. I had heard her name before, but in my usual self-absorbed self didn’t really pay attention. Fran, you see, was Xtian’s high school sweetheart. A girl he dated for x number of months or years or whatever that was supposedly really smart and also pretty cute. I usually don’t pay attention to things like this because to quote Melissa Joan Hart in “Drive Me Crazy”: “High school love is for saps, or haven’t you heard?!?!” Digress. I had kinda forgotten about her until I walked into Xtian’s rents family room that fateful trip and I see a picture of Fran and Xtian in all prom glory. Unintentional for sure but I could not help to be slightly miffed at this and began to dissect the picture from every possible angle and obsess over it for no apparent reason other than I am a girl and this is what girls do.**

Xtian was invited to his high school reunion, not like a 5 or 10 year, but more like a “graduates of the uber gifted program.” Whatever. Given that I had no prior warning to this, the only thing I had in my bag that was approp was a little wrap dress that pretty much exposed my nonexistent boobage***.

Whatever, geeks love boobs right so I went with it. Well, after stressing about the lack of a camisole or safety pin, I free flowed it with black lacy bra and we take off. We get there and everyone is dressed in kahkis and blazers and like grandmamma dresses…my get-up just does not seem appropriate at all so I start to feel slightly uncomfortable. Then, Xtian decides to ditch me so that he can catch up with all of his old colleagues, teachers, et cetera. So there I am, not knowing a soul, awckward, boobs out and alcohol less****.

So I start wandering the high school aimlessly when I see Xtian talking to a random couple in the hall so I decide to go introduce myself just to have something to do. I walk up and he seems entranced talking to this girl so I kinda nudge myself an introduction. Turns out it is the infamous Fran. Shit. As in I look like shit and shit it his ex who looks like a square but at least is dressed approp for the event. Double shit. After I pretty much introduce myself, I make my way to go and Xtian decides to join me but not before turning back and saying “you look great.”

I mean I say that to people all the time and people say that to me all the time, it is polite and most of the time true, but I don’t know what it was about those three words combined with the wrong wrap dress at the wrong time but it sent me into all kinds of mental nonsense. I never really said anything about it, but that moment just sticks out for me because I am a gal who likes to torture herself.

Fast forward four-and-a-half years later I find myself back in Canadia doing the visit to the in-laws for the holidays (for those wondering the prom picture was NOWHERE to be found because you KNOW I looked). My wonderful mother in law had pulled out some childhood memorabilia for me to check out. Low and behold what do I come across? That’s right, Xtian’s high school yearbook. Of course I start reading every entry trying to find a glimpse of this Fran chick. So sad yet so true. Moving on

On our last day in Canadia, Xtian and I had made plans to have lunch with his high school physics teacher. Fitting, I feel, as he was indirectly responsible for us having an odd yet successful first date in a strange discombobulated way (which I will post on another day if I remember). We opt to meet at a local indoor mall as the city is still covered in snow and getting anywhere is such a wreck. Since I had about 30 mins to get ready I quickly showered, washed but did not dry my hair and applied make-up in Xtian’s dark room. LOVELY. Since we had an hour to kill, I figure it will give my hair time to dry and I can check out my make-up once we get to the mall.

We walk in, I start peeping the windows for any shopping potential, and then Xtian stops dead in his tracks and says “Fran.” Yes, same Fran that I was obsessing over when I read his high school yearbook the night before. Yikes. A nervous giddiness fills me immediately…here I was with sopping wet hair and freaking basketball sized earmuffs unsure of my make-up since I did it in the dark. I kind of felt like Carrie, from SATC, when she kept running into Natasha and the first time she was in cow girl outfit and the next in her underwear. Sigh.

Xtian introduces his fantastic wife and she introduces her bland husband. When discussing where we went on honeymoon he says we went to the Maldives to which she turns to me and says “no wonder you are so tan*****.” I then proceeded to spend the next hour trying to find mirrors in the mall to ensure that I did not overdo it with blush and bronzer (yes even in the snow you need a sun kissed look) so that instead of refreshed look I was going for I did not accidently get the Tammy Fay Faye Baker******* look. Jesus, what is wrong with me?

Nutshell: She is married 2 years in, he is married 2 months in, she just finished her PhD at MIT, he made VP at a prestigious financial firm at 27, her husband also just finished his PhD at MIT, his wife is…tan. Sigh. Well at least I am so cute whereas she is not cute dudes…like at all. Well okay, I guess she is alright, but not like this Natalie Portman I had made up in my head.

Then it hits me, here is this genius girl and her genius husband that have seriously done nothing to me and all I have to retort with is “at least I am sooooooo much better looking than she is”. Seriously? Is this what it boils down to? I mean I am no moron, quantum and advanced math does not faze me (in fact it actually kinda excites me) but let’s face facts…I ain’t impressing anyone lately with my level of smarts. How did I go from NASA interning and science learning to Britney Spears obsessing and Us Weekly reading? I mean it is not a competition…for all my faults I am sure she has her own, we all do. But what the hell am I doing at 30 comparing myself to anyone?!?! Haven’t I established my fabulousness enough that I have to go pick on this poor girl? Le sigh, I will add to my resolutions to rediscover my self-confidence AKA as major ego.

This post is dedicated to Tony Robbins.

* Canadian men and commitment, don’t know what it is but they just dig it.
** To everyone’s defense a pic of my quasi ex whateverness sat in my rents living room for YEARS (probs until about a year ago) when after various Xtian digs I moved it into the toy room. We are a house of procrastinators, sorry.
*** It seems I like to have my boobs constantly on display, don’t know what that is all about
**** I am actually not sure if there was or was not alcohol but I assume I would have been drunk at this point if there was, since I self medicate with alcohol when uncomfortable so I am thinking no.
*****And if by “so tan” you mean “so hot” then yes, that is why I am so hot.
******OMG, I heart her…like HEART HER. Probs more than Britney Spears, but I cannot confirm nor deny that.