Time to Move On

So long, good-bye, to you my friiiiieeend. Farewell good day, until we meet again.

Well for those of you still checking this site is now defunct. Blame it on my insane work sched. or perhaps my wedding planning but I must call it quits on this site.

For those of you DIE HARD fans (Hi mom) you can now find me here which i find more fitting for my present situation. Tee hee. Hope to see ya'll there.

xoxo,
GT

Open Letter to Razor-Challenged Dudes Everywhere

Alternate title for this post: Enough already

Dear Dudes,

Okay, enough with the fucking beards guys. I am so over that look it is not even funny. Just today at my work alone I have spotted five fucking beards…FIVE!!! And for an office that only has about 2 dudes in it, that is a crazy high ratio.

Seriously guys, seriously. What is it with the beard? I mean you still have to shave, right, so it is not like it is a laziness type thing. Do you feel it makes you look more macho nacho or something? It makes you look older if I do say so myself, and that can never really be a good look I don’t think but then again look at Clooney so who am I to judge?

I have to say that I was not always a beard hater. When Xtian first began to rock his beard way back when I thought it was bold look very fitting for this high-power snootin falutin type of alpha male persona. But that was then and now somehow a memo went out to dudes everywhere that the beard was the next big thing and low and behold it has become a commoditized fixture in a society full of beard poseurs. It's like the whole Moto RAZR thing all over again except take our mobile phone and instert Joe Sixpack's face.

I mean never since the whole Fuggs craze have I been that appalled at a single one fashion accessory turned wrong, turned WAY wrong. So please guys unless you look way better with a beard than without (and for 99.9% of you guys you look better without) shave that shit off.

Off my soapbox.

xoxo,
GT

OMG Yes OMG No

OMG OMG OMG, JORGE MIGUEL is coming to the US ya'll! This cannot be true, I LOVE LOVE LOVE him! Like LOVE HIM! For my money, he is the best male singer alive on the planet - his voice is just so bloody brill it is not even funny.

My friend Tristen called me this morning to tell me that her station has been promoting the concerto (pronounced for purposes of this post concherto) for weeks now but given my disdain to listen to the actual radio I have been so clued out. Naturally after her call I dropped everything I was doing and frantically got online to peep the tix sitchu...well it turns out I will be in New York for work then....NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Its like that Alanis "Ironic" song (except the song should be called doesn't it suck since the examples she lists aren't really irony but I digress) except this is far worse than a traffic light while I am already late. This is like mayja (pronouned ala Posh Spice for purposes of this post as well).

Sigh, I will have to figure something out because this is an event NOT to be missed.

Random sidebar note:

Despite almost being 30 this post makes me sound 12 n'est pas?

This Is How We Do It – Valley Edition*

Last Friday night I felt a lot better than I had all week and as such fully convinced myself that I was on the mend. With that in mind, I decided it would be a great idea to spend the weekend at my sister’s house in the valley where I could laugh and chat with my bro (La Bamba) and sis (Nala) and then hang out with my outrageously adorable nephews Elias and Tobias.

So Saturday morning my mom and I headed out just in time to make it to Elias’ first baseball game of the season (yes in true renaissance form we are a family of academia, art and sport). I am not sure who really won but I guess everyone did since no one was keeping score…sweet GO RANGERS!

Well given that I get extremely cold at any sign of wind and was still on the mend, for the game I decided that it was perfectly okay to be decked out in a beanie, scarf, gloves to complete my usual Olsen Twins look. Hello totally appropriate right? Well this random dude came to talk to La Bamba's mom, whom I was sitting next too, and then he randomly turns to me and says “Hey, you look like that dog.” UM, WTF?!?!

Perhaps I should preface this by saying that my gloves and matching beanie are light and dark green stripes with a matching solid green scarf (cute, right. And I don’t mean that as a question, I mean that as a California statement whereas we end all of our statements with the word right, right) and said dog he was referencing is Blues Clues who I guess wears a light and dark blue stripe scarf and maybe a similar stripped hat hat but I can’t back that up. BUT come the fuck on, who says that to a girl? Esp. one that a) you don’t know and b) is WAYYYY hotter than you. Of course, I then proceed to rag on him for the duration of the scoreless game to which he keeps apologizing and telling me I am totally cute but seriously dude…in no mood for your antics. Whatever.

After the game, and with a slightly less self-absorbed ego, the fam and I head out to a restaurant where you can throw peanuts on the floor. Actually my real purpose for heading out to Trace to begin with (aside from the game) is this place; I have been demanding to go there since I found out that you could do this sort of thing. I am an incredible and rather ridiculous rule follower so the fact that it was in the rules to litter it totally brilliant. Well it totally delivered and even scored extra bonus points for blaring country music (which I rather happen to enjoy but rarely get to listen to because no one else I know likes it) while having their waiters line-dance to popular tunes to entertain the diners…dance monkey dance.

Post lunch, we all headed back to my Nala’s house to hang out and plan our next strategic move of my big night out in the valley. YAY. After some discussing - and some serious reservations from my mom and Xtian about my well being and going out in the cold - La Bamba, Nala and I decide to hit up the new local pub to check out the action for the night. This my friends did not disappoint.

Upon entering, we saddled up to the bar to order pints of Guinness (yes I was drinking beer on antibiotics) and found ourselves seated next to the two biggest cougars with the biggest fake tatas and botox that side of the Altamont. Throughout the night they proceeded to hit on anything and everything that walked (mostly of the younger male variety) whilst ordering a barrage of drinks worthy of a 17-year-old. I am talking about Kamakazi shots, Sex on the Beaches, Midori Sours, Purple Hooters…I mean throw in some Long Island Ice Teas and we are talking about a typical Tuesday night during Gravy Train’s senior year in high school. We, and I am sure the rest of the bar, proceed to gawk, judge and laugh at these ladies throughout the night all the while discussing, at perhaps an inappropriate audible level, the pros and cons of being a cougar. Good times.

After a few rounds we call it a night and head back home where I promptly try to crash on the couch but instead con La Bamba and Nala into a late night discussion about God knows what (perhaps of me dying in an earthquake that night) until I doze off at an ungodly hour. It was a great day and a total top night for me and for a lady whom mostly stays in on weekends watching countless hours of bad tv it was about time I was out and social.

The next morning I woke up feeling like total crap and of course now continue to be sick for the second week in a row. Brilliant. I am such a partying rockstar n’est pas?

*And by Valley I mean the real valley as in central valley not Silicon Valley which is totally different I think.

Apparently, I'm Perfect

Alternate title to this post: Like Duh or There Are Signs Everywhere

So while I was posting my previous rant on being emo the horoscope came on Univision (I credit my Spanish being so good since I watch countless hours of TV in Spanish and usually watch movies in the Spanish track if available).

According to Hispanic fortune teller Walter Mercado Leos are "perfectly created creatures of God." Amen, Walter, amen. I feel so much better already. I am perfect (and so not self-absorbed).

Apparently, I’m Poor

I work from home on Fridays which means especial perks like getting to pick up the post when it arrives and day time food network programs in the background as I slave away on my pretty little laptop. So as Paula’s Home Cooking blares in the background I go an pick up the post and to my surprise I have a letter from my employer stating that “based on my earnings” I am eligible for EITC. What is EITC you ask? Well students, it is a “refundable federal tax income credit for low-income working individuals and families.” Huh?

While I am not bringing down the serious paychecks, thankfully I have a fiancé for that, I have never really considered myself “low-income” by any means. I mean, I think I make a decent living that affords me luxuries like yearly membership in the SF Opera’s Young Donors Club (this my one attempt at being classy), a multitude of designer shoes (granted half of those are purchased by non-EITC qualified Xtian), and the ability to click the higher income boxes that surveys usually include when they are trying to figure out who is visiting their sites. So what gives?

I, never being one to deny any kind of free money…especially when it come to the government, checked it out immediately to see what my US funded payload would be like. It turns out I am not as poor as my employer thinks I am. Well okay, correction, I am poor because of my own poor financial choices not because I don’t make some kind of decent money (well I don’t make money in my profession really but that is an ENTIRELY different subject).

So guys, remember if you get this letter don’t let it get you down about your dismal paychecks, you are not as poor as your job makes you feel. And while we may be poor in our bank accounts people we are rich in our closets and isn’t that what really matters in the end?

Beware of Dog Nappers

Alternate title for this post: Get Your Hands Off My Bitch, Bitch

Editors note: this is an old post I wrote but forgot to post because I had no power.

Well here is a hurricane touching down in San Jose and as such the power has gone out to my house. This means no Internets, no computer (as it is I only really have 45 mins left of juice on my laptop) and as such no work. So I took this opportunity to make a cold lunch for my mom and I since we could not cook and discuss the hurricane going on. As we are discussing I see my two dogs out in the back yard just hanging out in the rain, they had escaped through the dog door in our garage since they love the rain.

Anyway, not 5 minutes pass by when all of a sudden I hear both my dogs going ballistic in an area that sounds like the front yard of my house. So I go and the sitchu out when low and behold I see my German Sheppard, Bono, in attack position ready to pounce on God knows what. As I survey the scene, I see a green Ford Taurus with all of their doors open as well as the trunk parked at an angle in the middle of the street. Then I see this old fat lady kinda crouching down to the floor with something in her hand (in the middle of the hurricane mind you) and my little Chihua, Pizza, totally going ballistic yet kinda going towards this lady with the open doors. That is when it hit me…SHE WAS TOTALLY TRYING TO STEAL MY DOG ala a perv in a made for TV movie.

I storm out of my house, guns blazing, in my house slippers and wild and crazy hair to find out what the hell is going on by screaming a number of obscenities and calling the dogs into my house so a) Bono would not maul her…I would rather do that and b) so secure Pizza’s safely. As I am careening towards her, she stammers out that she thought the dog was a stray and wanted to find out how it belonged to as she slams her doors and screeches out of my court. WTF?

I then go survey how the dogs got out in the first place and either the wind knocked our side door open or someone pushed it open. Scary.