54 posts tagged “cupcate”
On this very day, exactly two years ago, I started this blog.
And, I have to say, aside from marrying Iain and moving over to London, joining VOX and creating CupCate.com was the best decision I have ever made.
Without this blog, and without supportive, fabulous, good looking neighbors and readers like you - I don't know where I'd be.
Thank you so much for all of your support and for continuing to read and comment post after post.
You guys are so awesome, and have no idea how much you all mean to me!
Tonight I shall rub pink frosting all over my body and chug vodka in your honor.
Why hello there!
If you've been on Twitter the last few weeks you'll have noticed about 1,000 "COME VISIT WE'RE STREAMING LIVE! LIVE I TELL YOU!!!" tweets from various people.
At first I was annoyed. WHY would I want to see you live? I barely know you! This is all moving too fast! Next thing you know you'll be wanting to leave a freakin' toothbrush over here and have your own drawer!
But now I totally get it. It's freakin' fun. I'll be trying to do one every night, so, come by and visit! I'll be posting on BitchBuzz's Twitter whenever we'll be going live on Qik.
Why, hello there all you fabulous people.
Not much going on here other than Iain and I locking ourselves in our home office to work on launching BitchBuzz. We've left the room only to sleep, go and grab a take-away curry, and to try and take a few photos that we're going to base the new BitchBuzz logo on.
While I was all dolled up, we went ahead and a few for my VOX avatar, as I've had the same one for almost two years now.
Once I stopped laughing and having nightmarish flashbacks from The Observer Woman photo shoot, we finally managed to get a good amount of usable shots, so hopefully our new logo will be up and ready to go very soon.
I won't show you any that we're going to base the logo on just yet, but here are some of me being an asshole, grabbing my own boobs, and trying make "the sexy face".
Yes, the dress I'm wearing is my wedding dress, which is cool for various reasons. The first being that this means I can actually GET INTO IT, which is always an exicting moment.
Secondly, I'm getting multiple uses out of it. I've worn this puppy 3 times now, which makes me sort of proud that I managed to buy a wedding dress that I liked so much I actually want to wear it again.
Anyhoo...
Thank you all so much for your support. You're the best Internet friends a gal could ever ask for.
I've been keeping a juicy, titillating secret from you the past six months.
Her name is BitchBuzz, and she is going to be your new favorite website. Trust me.
BitchBuzz is written by myself and a group of passionate, feisty writers that are fed up with blogs and magazines for women that promise to be different, and end up making us feel like crap.
We're not interested in being perfect feminists: We knit, we bake, we fuck, and we blog. In short, we do whatever makes us happy and encourage other women to do the same.
We're going live on August 4th! Join the BitchBuzz group on Facebook and become our fan! Befriend us on Myspace, follow us on Twitter, and drool over our photos on Flickr. Stalk us! Love us! Read us!
We're currently looking for more writers to join the team, so please let me know if you're interested!
Today, Iain and I drove to the sea topless.
Until you've driven around sans top, eating an ice cream and blasting Sugarland, I'm pretty sure you've never known happiness.
(Finally, our decision to buy a convertible in England makes perfect sense!)
I used to point and laugh at the good folks of the UK whenever the sun decided to come out. It could be barely 20 degrees Celsius, and they'll all be outside, drenched in SPF 50 and standing in line at an ice cream van discussing their evening plans for a BBQ.
Me, hailing from a town where it's likely to get up to 110 Fahrenheit in July, would roll my eyes and mock them endlessly.
Now, I am one of the assholes drenched in SPF 50 standing outside a que of 20 or more people, just to get a freakin' Cornetto so I can sit outside under the sun. The first summer I came to the UK I was shocked by how warm it was. Apparently it was the hottest July they've ever had, and I felt right at home.
Sadly, this past summer was the exact opposite. We saw the sun for about two weeks at best, and then all it did was piss down with rain. And be cloudy. And then hail. And then rain some more.
I no longer laugh at how giddy this country gets when the sun is out. I get it. I totally get it.
Therefore, instead of staying at home watching old episodes of Smallville and only leaving the house to walk down to Starbucks this Sunday, Iain and I left the house with one goal: TO GET AS MUCH SUN AS POSSIBLE.
We started the day off by driving to Box Hill, where we stood in a line of 20 or more people, just to buy two Cornettos and a bottle of water. The view at Box Hill is gorgeous, so if you have yet to go there, I suggest you do next time the sun is out.
We sat for a good hour, judging everyone near us and enjoying the view. The woman flying a kite in a really annoying fashion, the gay couple in front of us with the cute puppies who rudely didn't offer us any of their picnic, and all the pasty, sunken-chested men with their shirts off made for excellent conversation and people watching.
Then! Iain surprised me by driving us out to Worthing. The sea was gorgeous, the cocktail I had at a bar by the shore was amazing, but the people we saw...I won't even go into it. All I'm going to say is that they were unique, and we probably will never go back there. (But really it was lovely.)
On another note, things are doing very well over here in The Home Offices Of CupCate. We have some very exciting prospects, which, to say the least, is very comforting. Thank you all again for your encouragement and the birthday wishes.
I started my day with tequila...
With a side of Sex..
And wrapped it up with a lovely batch of home made, pink cupcakes.
If that's not the perfect way to start off my 23rd year, than I don't know what is.
A huge thank you to everyone who wished my happy birthday! :)
A lot of people wish to themselves that they didn't care what other people thought about them.
However, when it comes to most of the women I know, there seems to be the common mantra of, "I just need to not give a shit."
Whether it's "giving a shit" if a potential new boyfriend that's probably "just not that in to" us calls or not, or fretting endlessly about what our coworkers are saying behind our backs - we all tend to wish we just cared a little bit less about what's going on out there.
Lately, I definitely wish I didn't give a shit about stuff.
I wish I didn't give a shit what some of my contacts thought, and just said: "Listen, I really like you, but unless we decide when/if you're going to pay me, this really isn't going to work out."
I wish I could show up at 10:08 every morning with a piping hot soy-no-water-chai from Starbucks in my hands with my iPod blaring and float over to my desk like it ain't no thang and all the while laughing to myself because I know it's not like they can fire me (muahahahahah)...but I can't.
You'll find me at my desk no later than 9:15, and taking a 15 minute lunch to go get whatever I can find at Marks & Spencer that "isn't going to make me feel fat" and eat it hunched over my desk, feeling naughty as I read Fart Party for another 15 minutes.
I can't tell you how many times I've ignored a snide comment ("So do you have a plan? Do you know what you're going to do now that you don't have a job? Or are you just going to wing it?") because I don't know what will happen if I were to make it very clear that I DO in fact GIVE A SHIT.
Actually, I take that back. I pretty much do know what will happen if I voice my said giving of the shits: nothing.
Well, they will probably be caught off guard, think to themselves what a bitch I am, and move on. Or they won't even notice. Or they'll think I'm right.
...Or, they will freak out. Or, they'll Twitter about what a nasty bitch I am and then tell everyone on Facebook and then they'll Google Bomb me and make it so that when you Google my name you'll find some horribly set up web page that says, "...IS A FUCKING BITCH-HEADED TWAT WHO GIVES A SHIT!!!" written using the spray paint function on MS Paint and then EVERYONE WILL KNOW WHAT A HORRIBLE STUPID PERSON I AM AND NO ONE WILL EVER HIRE ME OR LOVE ME AND I'LL END UP HOMELESS AND ALONE (AND PROBABLY WITH A DISEASE).
I suppose the lesson in all of this is that I need to realize my worst fear is not going to happen simply by stifling my ridiculous need to go above and beyond and to hand out free sexual favors to prove that I'm nice and reliable...because sometimes "nice
and reliable" means "pushover" and that's something I'm really not prepared to be. (Anymore.)
So. I think tomorrow I'll start not giving a shit by writing some rather awkward emails, and by not smiling and saying thank you when someone offers to shove their foot up my ass for free.
And on that note, I really need to get to bed so I can get up early and catch the 8:19 train so I can get into work a half hour before I need to for reasons I don't understand...
Maybe I'll start this whole "not giving a shit" thing on Monday. (I'll be 23 that day. And officially unemployed. That seems like a good time to start.)
I thought I would try a new approach to this whole, looking for freelance work thing. Sure, being angry and panicky and all fearing the fear of failure is really good for my mental health and my husband just loves being around me when I'm like that - but I thought maybe I'd go out on a crazy, bald, umbrella slinging whim and try a different way of thinking.
I've been trying to make a lot of changes, lately. When I got back from Tokyo I was all, "Fuck this! This is my life! My L-I-F-E! It's short! I gotta start doing shit! HARDCORE." And then like magic, the Universe was all, "Hah-hah, Grasshopper. You want change? You think you want to live your life, HARDCORE!? YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND, SUCKA." And, like magic, my job refused to stop paying my obscenely high, trillion figure salary which then resulted in me making the decision to peace out.
So, in the midst of panicking and worrying about money and breathing in bags of all shapes, sizes and colors - I'm trying to...redecorate and refurbish my life.
See, I love myself. A lot. But I feel like somewhere over the past two years I went from being a really cute shabby chic studio apartment to being a 2 bedroom,1 bath cottage that sort of resemble the shabby chic studio aparment, but wtih considerably more room in both the rear and middle section. The owner started to feel really bad about the house, but was too busy enjoying red wine and pizza and sleeping in late to like, mow the lawn, get new furniture or replace the peeling wallpaper.
So, my goal is to refurbish the house, inside and out, to being the spacious one bedroom studio apartment with funky furniture, colorful walls and a tiny yet bountiful garden in front.
So, to do that, I've here's what I've been doing:
* While I may not seem like the yoga type, I totally dig it. I've always to get ball bendy and stretchy and to be less homicidal and more zen, so I'm doing yoga once a week.
* I always look at cute girls with glasses and am filled with jealous rage, so I'm going to take my ass to Specsavers and get some cute glasses.
* I'm going to the gym! And working out! And lifting weights, and trying to, oh I don't know, fit into the hot jeans I used to wear when I first moved here. Imagine! JUST IMAGINE. If I could get my ass into US size 6s or 8s again, I would be SOOOO HAPPY!!!! (Fat and happy, I'm over it. I'm cool being thin and content. Or how about thinnish and not hating how her body looks every single fucking day of her life. My that sounds nice.)
* I've seriously been taking vitamins. Vitamins for my hair and skin, a multivitamin, and these nifty effervescent Vitamin C tablets. This really isn't that big of a deal, but I just wanted to type the word effervescent. It's my favorite new word.)
I'm trying to calm. I'm trying to center. I'm trying to get my shit together and move forward so I don't feel like a stagnant twat all the time. I just feel like I haven't DONE anything. It's horrible, and I defend myself all the time saying, "I'm not LUCKY! I had to WORK for all this!!!!!"
But I don't know if believe that anymore. Since picking up and moving here, I don't feel like I've been particularly brave or proactive about anything. Yes, I did a damn good at my job. Yes, I was asked to be on TV and in a magazine and to give some quotes here and there and was basically handed a writing job.
In my heart, I want to work my ass off. I want to be brave. I want to be tired and excited all of the time, and to take a massive risk, and then get to bask in the glow of my success.
But at the moment, I have to admit, I'm so scared of actually working that hard. I'm scared of taking a risk, because what if that glow doesn't come?
What if I'm the girl who moved here and then had some good shit happen to her...and then have that be it?
That can't be it.
I won't let it be it...but I have to admit I've been sitting here with a few tools and a shopping list of supplies I need to refurbish my "house"...and I feel like all I can do is sit and stare at my To-Do list through tearful eyes.
I can do this. I will do this.
It's just a shame getting started has to be this hard.
...and I drank myself into oblivion instead.
My dear friend Isabelle had a housewarming party this past Saturday, and it was what the Brits call a "fancy dress" party. Personally, when I hear fancy dress it strikes fear into my heart because I don't have any fancy dresses and JESUS that means I would probably have to shave my legs or something. And wear nylons.
I hate nylons.
But actually, Fancy Dress = Costume Party, which = MUCHO GRANDE FUN.
The theme of said party was "heroes" (not the show) and my hero, naturally, is a crackhead, scabby, emaciated, incredibly talented singer with a giant beehive and an incarcerated husband.
Behold the glory that is me as Amy Winehouse.
I'm not sure if halfway during the evening I decided that I really was Amy Winehouse or if the beehive made me feel like I could handle more alcohol than usual that night...but I definitely was, um, fucked up to say the least. I started out pulling my best "hammered Wino face" in pictures at the beginning of the night, and then as things progressed, I'm pretty sure wasn't acting.
No, no, no...
Dear Internet/Silicon Valley/San Francisco,
Hi! It's me. Cate. CupCate. Of the London CupCates.
Here's the thing, homie...
I was made redundant at my job last week.
I'm there for another month, as I've agreed to do some very limited freelancing work on ye old Dollymix in June, and then after that, I'm broke, I mean, 100% open and available for new freelancing work.
Shit like this happens when you're freelance. The economy's bad at the moment (so I hear) and things are looking a little dull over here in the UK blogging industry. For example, please observe what happens when you Google "UK Blogging Jobs":
While there are no hard feelings and I understand that the company I worked for for the past year and a half "feel that we can no longer pay your incredibly inflated salary and support your extravagant lifestyle", it still sucks.
It sucks like...
...when you know you're in a relationship that is eventually going to end because either one of you doesn't want kids and/or you haven't had sex in 3.5 years and although you didn't want to marry the guy or even get a cat with him, when he looks at you over over half melted Jamba Juice, and says, "You know...I just don't think this is going to work. It's not you, it's me. It's been great, "
You're sort of relieved because you know how it's going to end, but then it just sort of pisses you off that HE BROKE UP WITH YOU and he gets to keep the apartment and YOU'RE THE ONE who has to start Googling BLOGGING JOBS and thinking about how you're going to be able to afford your next root canal...or something.
Does that make sense?
So, that's how I feel. I understand, I'm cool with it, I see how it's better for both of us in the end...but finding enough freelance work to float me for the next few months is my main concern at the moment.
Please, let me explain how.
See, while you're sleeping, I'M AWAKE. You're site will be guaranteed to have fresh content on it by the time you and all those returning visitors go back to your site first thing in the morning. PLUS, how IMPORTANT and SERIOUS will you look by having INTERNATIONAL CORESPONDENTS??
TRES. IT WILL LOOK TRES/MUCHO/A LOT IMPORTANT.
So, all I'm saying, San Francisco, is that you're very wealthy. You've got a lot of blogging jobs, but it would be better for you if you just shelled out the cash to pay some hot ass bloggers in sterling and let them telecommute from London Town.
Just think! I can get you all the latest news on what drugs Amy Winehouse did last night, who Russell Brand is boning this week, and what Heather Mills is lying about lately BEFORE all of your other US based bloggers. Time is on my side! You're 8 HOURS BEHIND ME. Do you know how many hits you could be getting in those 8 hours!?!?
TRES. YOU COULD BE GETTING TRES HITS.
I know I'm American and all, but all this means is that I know shit about TWO cultures! TWO! How many do you know about? It's probably like one and a half. I can talk about Richard Hammond and Miley Cyrus with equal ease. If you want me to be British, I can be British! I sleep with a British guy on a regular basis! I'll even lie and say I like Marmite. I'll throw in random 'u's in my spelling.
Liouke Thious
But in all seriousness, Silicon Valley...San Francisco...California...The United States of America....
We have some fine bloggers in the UK.
But!
There is only ONE in particular that has not only participated in a rather bland, awkward debate over WAGS live on Sky News, and managed to become a sex and relationships expert for Yahoo just months before they fired thousands of people, and (AND!) was misquoted in a grid about feminism in The Observer Woman, complete with an unflattering embarrassing photo.
Where the hell else are you going to find those kind of qualifications?
I may not be whorish enough, *ironic* enough, or have a strong enough love for cocaine to be a part of Gawker, or perhaps friendly and perky enough to be a part of Sugar....but god dammit, I am all for settling and deal with disappointment and low pay very well.
Please. CALL ME.
Cate
xx
PS. In all seriousness, if you have any blogging or freelance writing work done, please get in contact. PM me or my email is in the links on the side. Please? I'll send you a photo of my bra.
