What A Difference A Year Makes ...

Hello you, 

Sliding into the itchiness of my office chair I prepared myself for the day ahead. My legs felt as if they were made of unset jelly and I was still a little shaky. Why you ask? Well dearest readers of mine I was recovering. Recovering from my first ever weekender completing two messy nights out on the town with non-stop consumption of alcohol and not much else. Over the course of the weekend there was a few mistakes, a wardrobe malfunction and even a tactical chunder! So lets together relive my first weekend of being twenty-three!

Rolling into work on Thursday morning I placed the eighteen cupcakes in the office with many a gasp and nosey look and they didn't take long to disappear, most of them gone by Elevenses. Making myself a coffee and being wished many happy returns for my special day was as wonderful as I had hoped for. I had some of the best work colleagues and when asked why I didn't take the day off, my reply was simple - Why would I ever want to be anywhere else? Arriving back at my desk there was already some colourful miscellaneous envelopes and a odd voice-mail from my engineers. Sweethearts really. Opening my cards I felt my smile grow bigger. As the day went on we were all treated to a McDonald's Breakfast and when my Regional Sales Representative arrived I got a beautiful little box of chocolates. The day flew by in a haze of congratulations, presents, messages all mixed in with the usual coffee and paperwork. 

As five arrived I grabbing my jacket and headed from the office to meet my Dad in the car-park. Heading out to dinner was going to be special as it didn't happen often and whilst I would have to share him I would still enjoy the company. Arriving at the restaurant I noticed a familiar blue car in the parking lot. With no time to ponder I was ushered out of the car and handed a big bag of presents from my Dad's girlfriend. Hugging and entering the 50's style diner we were seated. But wait! Who was that in my seat! Miss Tweedle-Dee! Miss Tweedle-Dumb! Oh happy days! A birthday surprise only made better for the fact that the evening before I was saying that it sucked that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb had to do overtime only to realise it was a porky-pie to throw me off the scent! And so an evening ensued of good food, good company and a near falling over my own feet. There was even a cheeky flash of my arse to the entire restaurant when I was asked to get up and dance with the eateries mascot which was obviously a waiter dressed up in what appeared to be a very creepy dog suit! Falling fast asleep that night I took a moment to look to the stars as I lay awake. 'What a difference a year makes?!' I thought to myself. 'This time last year everyone had just met Mr. Cheese for the first time and was commenting on how the way he looked at me was like nothing they had ever seen before' and as I wondered what life was like a few-thousand miles away I slipped into a slumber. 

Friday morning. Into work bright and early donning a simple pair of jeans and a jumper in anticipation for the evenings debauchery! Another work's night out was nearly upon us and there was still so much I had to do - Get my hair done, sort out work drama's, plan what I was wearing, organise everyone, tidy the flat in case I get lucky, 'de-fluff' again for the same reasons and decide what shoes I will wear. Frantically primping, pruning and pampering I was finally ready to paint the town red with my work buddies! And so with my golden dress, suspender tights, platforms and plastic crown I knew that it was a well-earned night off from being the office stress-head. All the best people were out in force, mainly to celebrate my twenty-third year on the planet but secondly to just get twatted! And twatted did we get. Heading from bar to bar there wasn't a moment my hands were not empty. A double screwdriver turned into two and before I knew it I was downing drink like anything. 

Into the next one we go, Bar Chameleon (Which is ironic since that is where I spent most of my college days in a bar called the same back home in Dunstable), after a few selfies with my little warehouse admirers I was well on my way to losing all decorum which was dangerous given the fact I see more of my work colleagues than I do my Nan. Mr. Warehouse was gunning for something to happen but as shy as he was all that was swapped was a few naughty flirts, admiring gazes and the constant hum from fellow employees that we should just hook up. More drinks down I soon I spotted a pole! Shiny and silver it glistened with spilt drinks and shameful sweat from many a spontaneous moment through the misty smog of the club. 'You are mine!' I thought to myself. But not before I had a cheeky photo with the bouncer and another few cocktails. Heading over to the dance-floor I suddenly without warning or even explanation I found myself wrapping my limbs round that infamous pole, desperately trying not to look like a complete tool. It did not work. At the time I felt stupidly sexy, now I realise I probably looked like a goofy lap-dancer. I would like to think that I looked at least somewhat endearing as I swung round and round nearly breaking my knee in the process. And although Mr. Warehouse had excitedly whipped out his phone and started filming (Yes there is video evidence - No your not going to see it!) I sensed that it may be used as evidence at a later date of just how drunk I really was. 

Third bar we entered was an old favourite. One of the first ever bars I went into as a new resident of Bedford, The Rose had everything you could ask for - Except a pole. Although if they were going to make an addition to the dance floor a podium suits me much better! I can be admired by all! Haha! Getting some more drinks in I could feel my limited fast approaching. Continuing to the dance floor me and my colleagues partied the night away. But as my blood-alcohol level got higher so did the level of outrageously cringe flirting that was going on, and not just between me and Mr. Warehouse. Oh no everyone was at it! It was like an infectious disease. We had been bitten by the Lust Bug and it wasn't about to let go! As people got down and partied on the dance-floor I continued to have a good time. Until that is I felt my seven-inch platforms give way. As I slowmo-ed through the thick air I felt a pair of arms reach out and catch me. Mr. Warehouse - Always there when I needed him! Quickly after though I felt an odd flopping on my foot. Feeling that this was a bad thing I took to the ladies to investigate. Sliding shut the lock on the cubicle door I realised the extent of the issue. My Shoe. It was broke. Not only broke but the entire sole was hanging on mere threads. Saddened that their maiden outing had ruined them I reluctantly slipped them off and popped on a pair of pre-planned pumps hidden in my clutch. 'Good thinking Batman' I thought to myself. Returning to Mr. Warehouse's patently waiting side he queried as to my now lacking height. After explaining what had happened we laughed it off and headed for a boogie! 

Lights on and it was apparently home-time. I didn't want to go home yet. I was twenty-three and still ready to party until the sun came up. Sadly the only place that was open was Subway and what looked like a gentleman's club. After loosing a few people to Cab's home, the few of us that were left headed to the line for the Exec Club and after a good ten minutes of trying to persuade Mr. Warehouse to come into the club with us and then eventually crash at mine he declined and went home in a taxi himself. Shocked that my not-so-secret-admirer turned down a night in my flat with the possibility of some spooning, I attended inside the sports bar where I was greeted by an empty dance-floor, a minimal crowd and a guy who thought that he was coming home with me. Deciding to call it a night I encouraged everyone to come back to my flat and call a cab home from there. As the night came to a close I found myself welcoming my boss, a creepy warehouse guy and a close office colleague into my humble home. Noticing one of my bra's on the floor I quickly threw down my jacket desperately hoping that the first thing my boss saw of my flat was my freshly washed bra just hanging about. Surreal as it was having my boss sitting at my dining table they all soon left, leaving me to put to bed the creepy warehouse guy. Bed for me - Sofa for him. 'No spooning for me tonight!' I thought as I quickly drifted off. 

I woke with a bang in the morning. Saturday. Not knowing what it is I pondered where the noise came from I lay in bed wondering what to do. Then a little head poked round the corner rousing me from slumber fast. It was creepy warehouse guy. The noise had been made by him when he had gone to the toilet and smashed his head on one of my many angled ceilings. After letting him out my flat I snoozed for a while before going into town for provisions for that evenings excitement. 

And so as everyone bundled into my little flat again the drinks began flowing. Champagne, more birthday presents, a phony scratch-card entitling me to over five-thousand fake pounds and a few dangerously brutal drinking games later and it was time to head out into town again. Partying the night away with Miss Stuu, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb we chugged down a Jaeger-Bomb each. As soon as it hit my lips I knew what was going to happen. Feeling the cough-syrup taste linger in my mouth I felt the swell in my stomach. Making my excuses I headed for the bathroom hoping I would make it in time. As I climbed the steps I sensed my mouth filling and watering in anticipation for what was to follow. Shutting the cubicle door I could hold it in no more and so out came a fountain of orange coloured watery vomit. Feeling proud of myself that it was so easily exiled from my body I found a glass nearby and placed it on the floor, my drunken state saying that it would look like someone had dropped their drink rather than someone chunking up all over the back of the door. Heading out and washing my hands I saw the cleaning lady and feeling bad I mentioned how someone must have spilt their drink whilst on the toilet. She smiled but we both knew what really happened. After lying through my teeth I left, secretly a little proud that I had got away with something so abhorrently unladylike. 

Whilst on the dance-floor, Miss Stuu, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I met a few friendly faces in town, one of which was Miss Tweedle-Dee's younger cousin on a night out also. Somehow the night ended with her sleeping on my lounge floor on the cushions from my couch. Another friendly face I would love to meet again was one of chiseled proportions and stubble. Taller than me and wearing a powder blue shirt I could tell even with beer goggles on he was a catch. After doing a cheesy reeling-him-in dance move, pretending I was fishing for him he returned the favour by lassoing me from the other side of the floor. In my trusty sneakers I felt much more at ease but with the knowledge that I couldn't really bring anyone back home I called it a night and decided to turn my back on the attractive dancer for as the saying goes - Sisters before Misters!

And so the story ends. A sticky kitchen floor, a body that is only just recovering from the shakes of alcohol withdrawal and three bin-bags later I know now that I can do two nights in a row! Here's to another year! Here's to being twenty-three!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx