CupCate.com

Dear Fellow Commuters (I hate your guts)...

Dear Fellow Commuters,

Hi! I'm not sure if we've met properly, but I'm sure you must know who I am, seeing as you somehow manage to dry hump me, sneeze on me, slice my flesh open with the corners of your newspaper, and jab your gargantuan handbag into my rib cage every morning on the train.

For the record, my name is Cate.

I know most of the time I dress like a broke college student, but really, I'm not just going to London to shop or to catch my 9am Art History class. I have a job. A real live one. I have emails that I need to answer, phone calls to return, and a boss to fire me if I'm late -  just like you!

So, I know how important it is that you get on this train promptly, as I need to, as well.

But the one thing I have that you don't, is consideration.

Ah, yes! Consideration!

Consideration: con·sid·er·a·tion [kuhn-sid-uh-rey-shuhn] -Noun
1. the act of considering; careful thought; meditation; deliberation: I will give your project full consideration.
2. something that is or is to be kept in mind in making a decision, evaluating facts, etc.: Age was an important consideration in the decision.
3. thoughtful or sympathetic regard or respect; thoughtfulness for others: They showed no consideration for his feelings.

I know this is a difficult concept to grasp, but trust me. It works.

For example, girl with the ugly skirts that are that are the wrong length and cut for your body type that waits for the 8:19 train with me. Look. I'm not sure if you realize this, but every single morning you practically shove me under the train so you can get in the doors before me, so that you can be sure find a seat for your ass and the massive log that's shoved up between your cheeks. And whyyyyy do you need a seat every morning? Because you're too lazy to get up 20 minutes earlier to do your FUCKING makeup at your FUCKING house like the rest of the FUCKING women in the world.

Can you imagine how many lives you would change by doing your makeup in the privacy of your own home? You would change mine, because you wouldn't be raising my blood pressure so early in the morning. You would also change the people that have to sit next to you on the train, by not getting your shitty Wet & Wild eye shadow all over them, and digging your pointy elbows into their love handles, reminding them that they really shouldn't have had that extra helping of risotto last night. See? Right there? That's like 4 lives! Just but having a little consideration.

And the rest of you, well, you're no better. I know you're important. I know you've got somewhere to be. I understand that if you don't get on this train you will more than likely die, but seriously. Let me help. Help me. Help you.

1.) A vagina and a set of ovaries does not entitle you to a seat on the tube/train.

Girlfriends, you are not senior citizens. You are not old. You are not disabled. Look. I know that second X chromosome gets pretty heavy and that sitting down on the tube is lovely privilege, but it's just that, sister. A fucking privilege, not a right. Therefore, do not trample me or shove me on the train just so you can HAVE A FUCKING SEAT.

2.) If you see someone who is pregnant, give them a seat. (Even if part of you thinks that they're just fat.)

Pregnancy sucks. It sucks even more if you have to walk up and down the stairs at a train station, and get shoved on a smelly, stinky train with all the mother fucking media people that work in the West End. If you see a lady with child, offer her your seat. Yes, she may decline, but chances are, she appreciates the kind gesture. Would you rather be the asshole who let a pregnant lady stand for 5 stops, or be the polite gentleman/woman who offered her a seat?

3.) "Would you mind taking your handbag out of my armpit?"

Here's an idea. If you have a massive handbag and you're in a confined space underground with lots of people surrounding you, take your It Bag off your shoulder, and hold it it front of you. No. Not like a baby, like a grocery bag. See? See how much space that just made? Look at you! Your growing up! And that bitchy looking art student has stopped hexing you!

4.) It's not your right to READ on the TRAIN

The Metro, The London Paper, The Financial Times, The Guardian...they're all fantastic papers, aren't they? And that book you're reading! It's awesome! However, you may notice that there are quite a bit of people around you. Therefore, if you just sucked it up, and put away your book./newspaper, see how much more space you created? I know all you want to do is stare at pictures of what Girls Aloud did last night. However, poking the woman standing next to you in the eye with the corner of London Lite isn't exactly considerate, is it?

5.) If you've been sitting on the train, this doesn't mean you also must get off the train first

How great for you! You've been sitting comfortably for the past half hour, checking your Facebook page on your Blackberry. However, you see all those people standing by the doors and in the aisle? Yeah. They're not so comfortable. They've had some weird guy rubbing his crotch on their backs for the past 30 minutes. Therefore, when the train stops, it's rather rude to hop up and shove past everyone, and try to get off the train first. Let all those suckers who weren't crafty enough to shove old ladies onto the tracks in order to get a seat off first. Jesus sees all!

6.) Get off your fucking phone.

You're not funny. No one cares what you did last night, or what you ate for lunch. (Good for you for only eating rice all day.) Your voice is irritating. No one cares how many sales you made at work. No one cares how much you hate your boss. You know what we care about? PEACE AND QUIET. We've been at work all day, too. Therefore, we all just want you to shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP SHUT UP.

7.) "Can you move down, please?"

No. No I can't move down. At least once a day, I'm standing on a packed train, under or over ground, and then some asshole jumps on the train 2 seconds before the doors shut for good and shouts, "Can you MOVE DOWN please?" Here's the thing, love. There ain't no fucking room. NO. WE CAN'T MOVE DOWN. TRY THE NEXT CARRIAGE. Or better yet, THE NEXT TRAIN.

I know these may sound like crazy suggestions, but trust me, they're just basic common sense. I'm writing to you, because I am sick and tired of getting pissed off and angry at every single person who practically shoves me on the escalator shoves me on the tracks so they can get by or get a seat on the tube. Yes. I know I need to center myself and realize that I don't need to get mad at everything.

But after I got hit in the head with the tube doors, last week, when some important jack ass needed to hop on the tube FOR ONE STOP, and not ONE PERSON asked me if I WAS OKAY. I've just had enough.

Therefore, I implore you. I beg of you. Please, next time you're on any form of public transport, try to pull your head out of your ass, and be a little more considerate, eh?

Love,

That angry girl who shouts at everyone and calls them cunts and yells I HATE PEOPLE in the middle of Waterloo Station

xoxo

You can take the girl out of California...

But you can't take the Californian beer out of the girl...or something like that.

Today while out grocery shopping at Tesco, we discovered two of the most exciting things ever: Sierra Nevada and Anchor Steam. Anchor Steam is my favorite beer, and we actually had a keg of it at our wedding reception. We've heard rumours that there is Anchor Steam on draft at about 4 different bars in London. One night we walked about 4 miles to these three of these different pubs, to find only one of them had it...but bottled...and that there were out.

However, tonight we bought 6 bottles of Anchor Steam at £1.49 a pop, and I bought so many that a guy in our aisle bought one, too. All I can say is that the moment I snapped the top off (even though it's a twist off) it was pure, alcoholic bliss.

I had HALF a SIP of a WINE COOLER...

No. I don't have any shame. While sitting in Starbucks with my sister and jacking some free WiFi, I made her watch Jackie and Debra. And then I thought it'd be real funny if I taped up my nose like Debra and try to make my sister laugh. And then take a photo. And then post it on the internet for everyone to see.

Positivity means hating less things

A couple months ago when I was having a hard time, I sent a desperate email to my old therapist and was like, "O hai, how can I make everything and everyone around me suck less?" She kindly reminded me that everyone around me doesn't exactly suck, and is probably trying the best that they can, and that maybe, just perhaps I could try to have a little more compassion for people.

My immediate reaction was, "Okay, but like...there are totally some people who are not trying their hardest. I HATE THAT."

And then I realized that the people who are not trying their hardest don't really affect me, as I've said peace out and moved on. I realized there are some people who do suck, but it's not my problem. Somewhere between having these people make me write seething "FUCK YOU!" posts and me getting to spend some time away from all that jazz, I started to see those situations a little bit better.

For example, some people are so small, that they feel the need to put on this giant show every single waking hour that THEY'RE BIG! THEY'RE MIGHTY! And you MUST RESPECT THEM. It's easy to get sucked into the show and to start to feel that freakish fear they are so desperately trying to inflict in you. Those fuckers want to make you crazy, and make you question everything from your confidence, to your way of eating, to why it is you do that whole breathing thing so incessantly.

However, if you adopt a different way of thinking, and dare question the mighty wizard of oz, you'll figure out all they are is some old dude with white hair behind a curtain.

Anyway.

I suppose that was my longwinded way of saying that I'm trying to be a bit more positive and a bit more grateful lately. I tried keeping a Gratitude Journal, and even bought the book Simple Abundance from Amazon and PAID EXTRA to have it rushed to me...but I got bored.

One of my new years resolutions has been "Try to hate less things", so, here is my attempt at being less hateful. I won't get sappy and start thanking the academy or anything, but the fact of the matter is, I should be grateful for all the things I have, and for being a Westerner, and that I am able to buy and consume some very exciting things. So here it is...

CupCate's Favorite Things
(or things I don't hate)

1.) Evian Brumisateur
Let's be honest, I don't even know how to pronounce that word, and the first time I saw these at Boots, I laughed. How preconscious do you have to be to get Evian spray for your face? However, whilst browsing for things to take on the plane with me, I recalled how disgustingly dry and nastified my face gets cruising at 35,000 feet above the ground. All I can say is that using this baby is like spritzing your face with purified angel tears.

2.) Old Navy Slippers
Now I know last year I fell in love with Old Navy's cupcake slippers, but this year my mom got me these, and I love them. They look very, I dunno, Dutch to me or something and I like to pretend I got them in the Netherlands when I wear them. (And also pretend that not every third person within driving distance to an Old Navy has them, too.) Favorite part? The pompoms. Sadly, one of the poms fell off and died, but I still have 3 others.









3.) E45 Lotion
For some reason I have a hard time finding lotion I like. Partly because I'm cheap, and partly because a lot of the lotions in the UK don't come with those nifty squirty tops that I must desperately have. I'm no good with twist offs. However, I finally tried this. It's about £5 and when you put it on, you can feel your skin drink it up and say thank you. It absorbs super quickly, and it doesn't smell like a baby's ass, flowers, or "fresh" anything.





4.) Blackberry Pearl 8120
This was my fantastic present from Iain for Christmas, and I have to say, I have a crush on this phone. I am scared to death of losing it/getting mugged for it, but am even more scared of using it. The typing thing I've almost got down, but it's just so different than my other phones that I still don't have all it's nifty tricks figured out. I'd liken it to having sex with a really hot person for the first time. You're not sure what the heck you're doing or what it wants, but you know once you figure it out, it's gonna be haaaawwt.




5.) Colored Sharpies
Yeah, I know this isn't 10th grade and that I'm not doing school projects all the time, but oh lord do I love me a good Sharpie. I recently discovered that the UK have STAPLES, and I nearly came just from looking at the big red sign. I found me a pack of colored Sharpies, and they help me stay organized. I find that if I do To-Do lists in bright, sassy Sharpie colors, I actually will get shit done...but mostly so I can have the satisfaction of crossing things off in different colors.

Why you always put the fork on the left...

When I went back to California, I met up with my lovely friend Liz. I used to work with Liz at Starbucks, where she was famously fired for writing "fuck off" on a customer's cup. (LOVE HER.) Liz knew me when I was in my psycho OMG STARBUCKS phase where I would yell at people for having white on their shoes because it THAT'S NOT ALLOWED IN THE DRESS CODE.

Last time I saw Liz it was last October, before I went to LA to go and get my "please marry me so I can stay in the country" Visa. I guess in the past year I've changed a bit. Aside from the fact that I've grown to be so incredibly mature and wise (ahhhahhahahha) and that my ass has gotten considerably more ample (thank you drinking problem English food!) apparently the way I talk has changed, too.

I try my hardest when I go home to not say things like:

-"Are you alright?"
In London this translates to "Hi, how are you?" In California it's like, "Yeah, of course I'm alright. Why are you asking? Do I seem like there's something wrong?"

-The usual suspects: Rubbish, Bin, Quid, Flat, Fuck Sake, Fucking Hell, CUNT, Twat, Jumper, Camp, Bollocks, "a bit", "d'ya know wha' I mean?", "I'm not being funny right -"

However, it takes my tongue, mouth and brain a while to get on California Vocabulary where I realize that I'll be able to say basil like "BAY-ZIL" and oregano like "OH-RAY-GAN-OH!" and vitamins like "VIE-TA-MINS" without getting laughed at. Plus, my ultimate favorite California word: HELLA.

So, when Liz saw me, I was still on my awkward transition phase, causing her to squeal, "Oh my god that sounded sooo British." whenever I let the old, "You alright?" slip.

I also have to admit that when I drink, this insane English accent comes out of me. I don't know what happens. I think because it's easier on the mouth to speak in an English accent than it is to speak in an American one (all those long "aaaaaa"s and "rrrrrrrr"s) that my drunken face muscles just prefer it. Or rather, slurring sounds sexier when done in an English accent.

So, anywaaaaay. This little observation has caused me to reflect on which parts of me are still 100% American, and what parts of me have changed.

I think one of the times I feel most self conscious about being foreign is when I'm at the dinner table. Not because I can't pronounce anything on the menu. Not because my knowledge of French wines is so bleak. No, it's not even because I have to refer back to that scene on Titanic when Leonardio DiCaprio is having dinner with the rich folk and that chick leans over and says, "Start on the outside and work your way in!" to remember which spoon to use first.

Nope. The issue is this: I eat with my fork in the right hand, and rarely use a knife. When I do, I have to put my fork in my left hand, cut with my right, and then do this ridiculous waltz of silverware (sorry, CUTLERY) and put the fork back in my right hand to eat.

I never knew this was a problem until it was pointed out to me by numerous people who laughed at me whilst I chased my Caesar Salad all over my plate, or tried ruthlessly to cut my steak with a fork.

So, I thought I would make a change and try very hard to eat with my left hand. I, stupidly, decided this on our anniversary while trying to eat at Pizza Express.

All I can say, is that I'm sure Iain never imagined having to explain to his wife how to use a fork and knife properly. I died laughing. My left hand has NO muscles or coordination, and I know I looked like a complete, red neck idiot.
 

I could NOT figure out how to hold the fork in my left hand. Iain says it's supposed to be "like if I were to go stab someone", and that I hold my fork wrong, as I hold it "like a pencil". We started looking around at other people to see how they held their fork...but that didn't help. I need to hold it like a pencil, which causes my whole hand to flop around like a fish. I looked ridiculous. (And I sounded ridiculous noting loudly that, "OOH! THAT'S why you put the FORK on the LEFT!")

I haven't really tried it since then, but I know I'm going to have to keep at it if I want to avoid embarrassing myself at a nice dinner.

But, while that attempt at making myself all European and Anglicized failed miserably...I seem to have managed to do it in a different way. And not necessarily in a good way.

This is me at the Sainsburys today. Please note the wellies. Please note the huge Argos bag. I have turned myself into an English Suburbanite and it must be stopped.

Okay, I don't always look like this. (Just on the weekends...and rainy Tuesdays when I've been locked in the house working from home all day...)

I suppose the bottom line is that we don't get to pick and chose how we adapt to our environment and our surroundings..but it happens. Whether we fancy it or not.