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

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.

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.

Envious of Real Housewives of OC, Gravy Train Trumps Them With Her Own Post

In honor of tonight’s episode of the Real Housewives of OC and their trek to the opening race at Del Mar, I decided to post pics of my own race hats and outfits…my Kentucky Derby hats and outfits natches because that is just how I roll.

I cannot tell you how much I LOVE horses, like BEYOND love them, and horse racing is the epitome of the potential of the horse…the racing, the power, the muscles…it is just AMAZING. If you have not ever had a chance to go to races, please do so before you die.

Invited by a head honcho CEO and his rather fantastic southern socialite wife, Xtian and I headed out to Louisville so that he could conduct business of the financial kind and I could conduct business of the social kind with the races serving as a backdrop for our respective business dealings.

Day 1

Given that Xtian was already traveling for work, I made the trek out of SF solo with my hats in tow. Since I was carrying on my hats, and we had to go straight to dinner once in Louisville, I decided to dress the part and wore this fantastic black and white flowy dress with black and gold velvet peep toe shoes that made me look totally proper and super southern.

This is the only outfit I don’t have a picture of so you are going to have to trust me on this but let me just say, without sounding like my self-absorbed self, that during my layover in Chicago men stopped dead in their tracks and women commented on how fantastic I looked. Ahhh got to love those moments.

Xtian met me in the United lounge in Chicago then we made our way to our connecting flight to Louisville, first class of course because we needed extra space for my hats (a very special shout out to the ladies of that flight who gave them their own special seat) yay. Once there a black SVU waited for us to take us to dinner at Seviche. Now I am usually VERY skeptical of Latin food outside of California but let me tell you this restaurant lives up to the hype. INCREDIBLE. We headed out to our hotel after dinner so that we could get ready for the next day’s activities.

Day 2


Xtian wore a white linen suit and pale pink shirt and white leather shoes all from Boss and I wore a hat from Neiman, dress from BCBG and shoes by Dior…that I then switched out to randoms given the rain.

Given that all the men had board meetings during the day, I took advantage of the hotel gym and put in a 2 hour session that was awesome…awesomely horrid given it was in an open area next to the indoor pool and it was hot and humid. Got to love the South. After my workout, I went back upstairs to get ready for lunch and drinks at 21 Museum Hotel (this place is totally like a museum, modern and totally brill, you must also go here if you are in town) before heading out to our first race event …the Kentucky Oaks event. All of my fillies lost but I think Xtian actually won during the Oaks race…yay. After the races we went for drinks then dinner then bed (from what I can remember).

Day 3

I belive all of xtian’s suit was Zegna and shoes probs Ferragamo or Prada knowing him. I wore a hat by Millinery (for Neiman), dress by Cavalli and shoes by Blahnik…who brought her “a game”? This girl right here.

The AM meant more meetings for the boys which meant more working out for me and freaking out because I forgot my boob lifts and spanx at home. BLASTS!!! After some quick Mint Julips in the lobby bar we headed out in party busses to the races. Once there, we drank more mint julips and placed our bets for the variety of races.

The big horse to win that day was Big Brown (which my brother forced me to bet on) so everyone came out in droves to see if he would win. While Big Brown did win the Derby and was on his way to try to become a triple crown winner (he unfortch lost in the third race at Belmont) the only filly in the race, Eight Belles, that placed second broke her ankle and had to be put down. It was a very emotional experience for everyone who was there since horses really do become part of the racing community family. Ending a bit on a sour note, we watched another race then headed out to have dinner and lots of wine at Lilly’s. After that, we headed back to our hotel to have more drinks and pack as we were leaving in the AM back to reality, sigh.

This post is dedicated to Southern hospitality.

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.

And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?

A few days before my wedding I was at my Great Aunt’s house and one of my older cousins, Pandy, was there. The subject turned to my pending nuptials and she jokingly reminded me that this was “going to be first of your five marriages. Good job, hope the party is fun.” Natch! Stunned and taken aback I asked her what she meant by that and she then proceeded to remind me that from the time I was 4 (sick I know) until about 23 I would run around telling anyone that would listen that I intended to be married multiple times because the only high-point of being married was to have a HUGE party and wear a great dress. Totes inapprop, but to her defense I may have said this to her at her own wedding…both her first and second.

I have to say, I never really envisioned myself as a bride much less a wife. I am not very bridey or girly…in that way. I mean I am UBER girly in that I love pink, Britney Spears, hate icky crawly things and have a mild (okay TOTAL) obsession with shoes and hangbags.* But in my ultra girl world, boys never really factored into the picture in any sort of seriousness.

I never really liked having exclusive boyfriends because I did not like the hassle of being tied down to anyone. I mean if you think about it, marriage is like “game over” right? So why ANYONE in their right mind did it boggled me to no end. It’s just so final, no reset button, no do-overs, you are pretty much done.

So here I am 30 years old married to my “exclusive” boyfriend of 5 years and I have to say it’s not so bad. I mean to be honest, it is kinda the same except I just spend more time in our place (I am Latin and Catholic and a square so no, we did not live together). I mean there is still the finality of it all…but then there is also the comradery that you are in this together, the joy of trying to “make it” in this cold cruel world**, the benefit to have someone take out the trash and kill icky crawly things and the joy of being with someone who makes you happy (and keeps your cold feet warm at night). If that is what final looks like, well then maybe that is not so bad, right?

Anyway, the whole point of this is never say never because you never know when never will bite you in your love stricken ass. Make sense? Stay tuned tomorrow I promise retellings of wedding fêtes and honeymoon bliss.

This post is dedicated to my gay friends who still have to fight for their right to party at their OWN legally sanctioned weddings. Please remember LOVE not 8 HATE everyone.

* I am sorry but when I a girl tells me she is not “into shoes” it makes me cringe…ugh talk about a waste of a vagina…crass I know.
** And by “make-it” I mean reap the benefits off my rather already made 20-something year old husband who affords us our lifestyle…kinda like Kato…except hopefully the hubby is not OJ because that would not be good.

The 80’s Called, They Want Their Power Couple Back

My name is Gravy Train and I am a newly minted San Francisco housewife. Not a housewife in the traditional sense, my primary occupation is still my PR job, but a housewife nonetheless. I run my new household armed with a ton of registry gifts and knowledge imparted to me courtesy of Food Network

My husband is in “finance” and I am in “communications,” yes cliché 80’s NYC coupling but whatever, it works. I can provide access to sought after locations, venues, et cetera and he can provide the means to ensure all parties involved have a dandy old time…isn’t that a matchmade in yuppie heaven?

So this is my story as I move from being a mama's girl to an "SF Housewife" all in one fell Harry Winston clad swoop.