3 posts tagged “sacramento”
Wow. How about I take forever to write about my trip back home?
Really. Seriously. I know I make false promises to you guys all the time like, "I swear I'll take more videos." and "I swear I'll blog more often." And then I go and shit all over the promise...but for some reason you forgive me. And it warms my little heart.
So, despite the fact that I lie to y'all left and right, I really do mean that I'll blog more this year. It's one of my new years resolutions that I know I won't break. I mean it. MEAN IT.
As far as the video goes...I just couldn't be bothered.I was going to video tape the surprise, but I knew my mom would cry...and then the thought of having a clip of my mom crying on YouTube just didn't sit well with me. So, alas. Hardly any video. But we do have some, mainly of me being lame and describing whatever bar/Starbucks we happen to be in at the time, BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT.
Anyway. I'll just give you a quick run down of our Christmas.
*The Surprise - to say the least, my mom was shocked. SHOCKED. She cried. My sister cried. (But not before calling me an asshole.) We all cried. It was great.
*My Chihuahua remembered who I was!
*I made mulled wine for my family. Despite my step dad making it clear I didn't use enough CINNAMON STICKS, I think it went down well. And so did our terribly English mince pies from Tesco.
-Mimi's Cafe
-Mel's Diner
-Lori's Diner at SFO
-The Pyramid cafe at SMF
-Round Table Pizza x2
-In 'n Out (GRANDE Margarita!)
-Chiles
-Chevy's
-Coffees from infinite Starbucks
-An EXCELLENT bar in San Francisco
And other various goodies such as Chex Mix, Cheezits and a fuck load of Anchor Steam, Barq's Root Beer & Sierra Nevada.
How we haven't died from massive heart attacks, I'm not sure.
*I had an awesome time cuddling with my dogs, and sitting on my mom's couch watching shitty programs like Twister Sisters and Bridezillas. But that all got a bit boring after a while and we managed to slip away for a day to visit a very special couple of friends, for a very special pajama party. Needless to say, we had a wonderful time hanging out with them, and it kills me that we all don't live closer together.
Other than the good times we had in California, we had some not so good times trying to get back home. After 6 hours of waiting in the ridiculous airport that is Sacramento "International" Airport on New Years Eve, we realized the staff there completely lied to us about our flight that was delayed due to "snow in Chicago", and we missed our connecting flight from Chicago to Heathrow. So. I ended up calling my mom and asking her to come get us, and that we would have to leave for London the NEXT day.
So. We ended up spending New Years Eve on my mom's couch.
At last, we made it back to London, to the frost, the rain and our fucking cold ass apartment. But, to me London has become home. A concept that seems rather strange these days....
Dear Women at the gym,
Hello. I know we haven't properly met, but I wanted to take this opportunity to reach out to you, considering we've been seeing a lot of each other lately.
(Yes, once a week is 'a lot' to me.)
I'm sure you must know who I am, as you have spent plenty a minute observing me. See, I'm the girl on the Elliptical machine next to you only going for 10 minutes at a speed of 6.7. I know you enjoy how slow I'm going because you keep looking over to make sure you're going faster than me.
I assure you, you are. You're the fastest Ellipitcal machine rider of all time. You win.
(Plus, it's my WARM-UP!!!)
And yes, that was me next to you on the treadmill ranting to my husband that I can't, "FUCKING believe I have to come to THE GYM and then am forced to stare at some dancer's FUCKING ass JIGGLE all over the place!!! This isn't a music video! THIS IS SOFTCORE PORN!!!" in between sweaty pants as I power walk because I "don't do running."
And just because I know you heard it, yes, that was me who farted next to you while you were taking up the whole floor doing your pilates exercises. It slipped. I'm sorry.
I can imagine why this was so alarming for you because clearly, you don't have gas. That would require eating.
I also just wanted you to know that YES, that's me in the lime green bikini from Old Navy two years ago that walked past you while you were perched on the jaccuzzi wall.
And,yeah, I could totally seeing you staring at my ass in horror as I walked by.
Our eyes met when I purposely turned around to catch you staring at my ass, and I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed how startled you were that OH MY GOD THE WOMAN THAT THE ASS IS ATTACHED TO HAS EYES.
I know it must be quite alarming, that I dare turn around and catch you in your sneaky past time of staring at other women who dare display the fat on their bodies IN PUBLIC and critiquing them and reassuring yourself that No...My ass is definitely smaller. Thank God. If I ever get that fat, I'll just kill myself. Ugh.
I know I have some nerve obstructing your view of the hallway to the steam room with my stretch marks.
And my cellulite.
And that ingrown hair on my shin.
Dude, I'm totally sorry. I know.
I'm, like, tooootally nastified.
But here's the thing. I'm going to the gym for a reason. And it's probably not why you're here.
I'm here, ladies, for my mental health. I'm here, for my physical health. And yeah, I'm to stay a bit more toned so I can eat my pizza and cupcakes and not have to keep buying a bigger pair of jeans every fucking 3 months.
To the girls in the pink track suits afraid of going any faster than 3.2 on the Elliptical because you're afraid of sweating, GOD ALMIGHTY GO HOME.
If you have nothing better to do than stare at other women and their fat in the pool area, why don't you go busy yourself with a session with a personal trainer, or go suck on a popsicle?
I may not be as dedicated as you are on the Power Plate, or lifting as much weight on the abduction machine, or be afraid of walking around in my bathing suit because everyone will see my thighs jiggle but that doesn't give you any more right to be here than me.
So, ladies. I just wanted to cut you a deal.
If you happen to be one of those women talking in the steam room about the £1million home in Cobham you were just looking at and how crazy you are because you forgot to tell your husband you were going to be at Yoga until 10pm last night I'm going to make you as uncomfortable as possible.
Yes, that was me who farted in the shower. (Again. It slipped.)
That was me standing there naked as long as possible while you and your gal pal Sandy discussed preschool prices and low fat salad dressing.
It may not seem like the most clever revenge I can get on your rudeness and irritating way of breathing, but being all offensive with my size 14 ass, and my offensively large tits, and tattoo, and stretch marks, and PUBIC HAIR (because, sorry, I'm not down with some chick waxing that shit all off) is the best I can think of.
I enjoy that when I do this y'all clearly get really fucking uncomfortable with having a naked chic who clearly doesn't do Yoga at 7:30 every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday night standing 2 feet away from you.
Ladies, I am comfortable with myself and comfortable with my body and CLEARLY that makes you uncomfortable.
Do me a favor and stop staring at my "flaws". If you're staring because you're impressed with my magnificent tits, than just say so. (I mean, you have every right to be. Let's be real.)
Otherwise, if you're staring at me with disgust and I catch you, you're going to get The Stare, and possibly a nipple in your eye if you happen to have a locker near mine.
You have been warned.
Kisses!!!
See you next Tuesday....
-Cate
xx
And another thing about feminist values!!!! - Kidding!
Unclench! I kid, I kid.
<Collective sigh of relief>
So. Tomorrow, at this time, I will be sitting at Heathrow airport, gel-less and liquid-less, waiting for the plane that will reluctantly fly me back to California.
What is it like to go back home, after you have been creating a different life across the world for the past 6 months?
I hear a lot of:
"But don't you miss your family?"
"You must want to go home. You poor thing. You must be so home sick."
So. Here's truth.
I miss our fine family tradition of sitting around the TiVo with our 3 dogs, while my Mom, Step dad and I create our own dialog for The OC while my sister screams,
"SHUT UP! Shut up! God! I can't EVER watch this without you guys talking!! This is serious! That's NOT what they're saaaying!!!! SHUT UP! Rewiiiiiind iiiiitttt!"
I miss my chihuahua (Bug, or more commonly referred to as The Bug or Bugawuga) driving me crazy because she just won't lay down with me, and instead wants to drag my dirty underwear out of the hamper and run around the house with it.
I miss my Step dad using a power drill at 7:34 on a Saturday morning while the rest of us are still asleep.
("What? It's not THAT early? Come on, Princess, wake up!")
And I miss seeing my mom in her glasses before she goes to bed, and her Ponds lotion on my skin after she kisses me goodnight.
Corn dogs, Taco Bell, The Roseville Galleria, and Starbucks' baristas that recognize me from that 1 time we worked together and not only give me a discount but understand what prissy drink I want.
(What's so hard about a tall, 2 pump sugar-free vanilla, soy, no water, no foam, with whip, chai??)
I miss the familiarity of driving up 80. I miss seeing people I know at Target and avoiding them.
("I hate that bitch. Do you think she saw me?", "She's right behind you.")
But my heart. My life. My fresh and promising new start that is composed of everything I love and am passionate about is 5,000 miles away from the life, and family, that I was raised to be a part of.
How can I ask them to understand that I was miserable in that life? Not because of them...But because it just wasn't enough for me. I needed more than amber waves of grain. The Golden Gate would never be the Tower Bridge...
They have let me go with as much ease as they could and without direct protest. They have understood the big crush that I've had on England since I was a little girl.
I just don't think it ever occurred to them that my crush would turn into a love affair that would move me 5,000 miles away from 'home".
And that this love affair with black, wraught iron fences, scones, tea and red telephone booths would lead me to the man that I was born to be loved by.
And to all of you men and women who have moved your life to another city, state, or continent, I'm sure can understand and appreciate that it is not easy.
At my worst moments, I have guilt. Guilt for leaving. Guilt for my absence at dinners, birthdays, and those lazy sunday mornings where we sit around eating country potatoes watching Nascar.
My heart finds it's home in two places.
One of the fun side effects of this, is that I have become somewhat of a Culturally Mutated Freak.
I will always be an American. I will always be a California girl. And my cowboy boots and Sugarland CD are ever present.
But I now say things like,
"For fuck sake! That got me right up! I got so fucked off that nearly gave him a bollocking!"
or
"That's absolute rubbish. Complete shit, that."
I now love Curry and Thai food. I tried "Duck in Oyster Sauce" the other night for the first time, and I loved it.
I can now drink multiple pints of lager like a pro, and I even enjoy a good Guinness every once and a while.
I can go into a restaurant with a table for one, and enjoy a meal alone without feeling embarrassed.
In fact, I can buy myself a glass of wine, and sit in a pub alone, too.
(Who says you should never drink alone?!)
I've really had to learn to be blunt, and honest and to really say what I mean. I've learned how to put those who give me unsolicited advice in their place.
These things may sound silly...But they're things I've never done before, and I don't know how long it would have taken
me to learn these things had I stayed in my comfort zone.
I have learned how to be still. I have finaly learned how to be comfortable and safe in my own skin.
I may not have it all figured out, but at least I'm not too scared to try.
So. Am I nervous to return home? .... I've had the runs for the past 24 hours.
Am I scared about applying for my visa? ....Scared shitless. I haven't slept much.
Being apart from Iain for a week isn't really going to be much fun either. :(
And thank you mother nature for increasing my emotional instability by giving me the gift of menstruation this week.
How I look forward to getting up every 3-4 hours throughout the flight, stumbling through the aisles, and trying to use a tampon in the bathroom the size of a coin purse during an inevitable storm of turbulence.
I wonder if they make tampons for long journeys...
Like, instead of Super Plus they'd make one, huge tampon with a incredible absorbency level...
Ya know, like, "Jumbo Jet Tampons, for those Transatlantic Flights".
Toxic Shock Syndrome? Pfffft. I'd be fine.
But, I'm still not packed....
Next time you hear from me, I'll be blogging via California, with my laptop on one leg, and my chihuahua on the other.
(And Iain on the phone, my Step dad sawing through a wall, and my sister screaming, "Get off the fucking phone! I can't hear Tyra Banks!!!!")
...Wish me luck.
I'll send you a ePostcard or something :)
