If you noticed it was a little bit chilly this past Sunday it wasn't because of Global Warming. It was not the icy breath of Jesus on your neck because, once again, you sat in bed eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch in bed instead of going to church.
It was because Hell froze over a little bit because I BAKED. Yes. Tis true. After a year and and 17 days of me being CupCate (dot vox dot com) I have just NOW gathered up the courage to bake.
And by "bake" I mean measure out some oil, water, and crack open a couple of eggs, and then let Betty Crocker do her thang. So, I made sure I didn't get egg shells in the batter, or didn't accidentally add too much water. (I know, Betty sure is complicated.)
But then, I realized that the Chocolate and Vanilla swirl cake didn't just swirl itself. Oh no. I was going to have to swirl it on my own. How one does that when making cupcakes, I wasn't too sure. I just got a knife out and started swirling.
All that swirling got really stressful, so I had to make a drink.
And low and behold, I managed not to burn anything. And while I don't have one of those neat little frosting swirlers (again with the swirling!) I managed to slather Betty's frosting pretty well. And check out the sprinkles...
For the past month I've kept a little, terribly exciting, squeal inducing secret to myself. I haven't told y'all yet because I (ever the optimist) was afraid that for some reason this little thing might never happen...
But alas. It has happened, and now I can share!
This past Tuesday I was interviewed by The Observer Woman, and had my photo taken with nine other amazing, young feminists for their upcoming piece that celebrates the young feminists of 2007.
It's taken forever for this to sink in.
Even standing there with my makeup done up, my feet aching in heels, and constantly going through every single America's Next Top Model episode I've ever seen thinking "What would Tyra say??!"; I was absolutely amazed by the whole thing.
The other women there were amazing. We were all about the same age, and I can't tell you how refreshing it was to be around young feminsts. Outraged, bright, intelligent, fiery, hilarious young women with so much ambition you can see it glimmering on their skin like a fresh coat paint.
Between the flashes of light, the fabulous Californian makeup lady smoothing out my out-of-control hair in between shots ("I love your rock 'n roll hair, sister, but you've got a wing on the side of your head.") and some guy standing over my shoulder with some clicking thing measuring the light by my face shouting "8.5!", I was like, "Seriously? How did I get here? When do I wake up and realize that I'm late for my shift at Starbucks?"
Our feature should be in the next issue of The Observer Woman, and the minute I get it in my hot little hands I will scan the hell out of it and post it. And likewise, if you're in the UK or London, pick up a copy! Draw a moustache on me and laugh. Throw darts at it! Whatever!
I just want to thank ALL OF YOU for reading, and for your constant support. I have met so many incredible people, and have had amazing things come my way because of this blog.
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.
My "authority" on Technorati has been slipping, slipping away over the past few months, due to my lack of posting, and the fact that I'm a boring feminist.
I was starting to get a bit bummed about it because I have to be the best at everything (because if I'm not I will be unloved and homeless) and then I saw this!
Apparently I have finally managed to nudge Engadget off of their top spot. I know! FINALLY, right? Do I get a crown?
Cate Sevilla is an online journalist and the Editor-in-Chief of BitchBuzz.com. A long-time lover of grilled cheese sandwiches and retro kitsch, give Cate the corner booth at any given diner and she's a happy bunny.
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