Hallo there!
I hope this week finds you all in good health and enjoying the British weather we are having at the moment, unless you are in the Bahamas and reading along or somewhere else hot and sunny to which I congratulate you on your choice of weather and hope someone brings you a cocktail soon.
This week I am feeling much better than I have been with a mixture of Hayfever, a hectic workload and not much sleep resulting in me feeling grumpy of late. However this weekend, spending it with friends, family and good food, all in the sunshine washing it down with copious amounts of Blossom Hill has obviously had a positive impact on me. Something else that has had an impact on me, and possibly put me in a favouring mood is children. To be more specific I should explain before someone starts throwing pregnancy tests at me! No I am not pregnant, or at least I think I am not anyway, but at Sunday's BBQ with Mr. Warehouse and his large family clan I felt more than ever that time was a-ticking and that my womb should probably be put up for rent in the next few years.
I am almost positive that every girl my age has this problem though. There we are in the prime of our life, beautiful and as wonderful as we probably ever will feel. But at the back of our minds we know that there is only a limited amount of time that we have to procreate in. The hurry to get a career, find a man, settle down and start churning out sproglett's is immense and so is the pressure. Careers are limited now, and dating opportunities once college and university is over and done with are relatively slim unless you brave the dark depths of Internet dating. Forgive me for thinking so, but life seemed so much easier for our grandparents. I mean, you were cooped up in education until you were sixteen or so, then you found a nice job working in an office as a typist. Soon a young man would see you about town and ask you on a date. You would go jiving in a 1950's dance-hall and end up courting until your father was approached for your hand in marriage. Before you know it your 2.5 kids a dog and are looking like something out of a Betty Crocker cook book - Or at least in my head I am! Now I am sure that isn't perfect for everyone but for me it would and I am slightly disappointed in the fact I never made it to Uni and therefore maybe never met my future husband?
All of that aside however, if you had asked me a year ago, or even six-months ago, what my opinion of children, especially babies, was I would freeze with fear. Scared by snotty noses, nervous of nappies and wary of whimpers I had successfully avoided all contact with small humans for many years, even my own little cousins. However, over the past few months since Mr. Warehouse and I have been together I have felt increasingly more comfortable around children and babies, although granted I wouldn't know how to look after one on my own. I somewhat cockily think that I will just pick it up. Can't be that hard surely?! There just little people. "Who depend on you for everything" my inside voices say menacingly. And then it dawns on me how horrible that feeling must be. You can't have a lie-in. You can't just hit the town for a girls night out. You can't just make a quick detour after work to Debenhams just because you want to have a look for a nice pair of heels - Hell you can't even wear heels now your a mom! Leggings and flat footwear only for the school run and even then that's only after you have made several packed lunches and have prevented world war three from happening over Cornflakes or Coco Pops.
I know that I am only twenty-three but I am well aware that I am not in a stable enough relationship or even financially strong enough for a child right now, let alone my living arrangements and lifestyle. People, and possibly more-so girls always question I find about "What would happen if I found out I was pregnant right now?" and I honestly think my answer is simple. I just don't know. Maybe before I would have said I would choose adoption or in some certain cases abortion, but maybe now my mind would change right now with my life as it is - A stable stead job, a good and loving boyfriend and a place of my own. Albeit it would be very far from perfect and the life I have wanted for myself from such a young age I think I would still learn to manage. After all, that is my job.
I would definitely have to move somewhere bigger, leaving behind my pent house apartment with its sloped-ceiling, and cosy feel. Instead trading it in for somewhere more practical and with less stairs. I would at some stage have to think about giving up work to take maternity leave to live a life at home juggling Cbeebies, pots of 'HiPP' and a never ending rota of washing, instead of engineers and job paperwork. During pregnancy I would have to give up all the good things like wine, eggs Benedict and smoked salmon. I would have to sleep on my back and not my tummy as I usually do and would end up waddling more than a duck with a chaffing problem. All of this coupled with the lack of freedom, sleep and constant anxiety - Yes, I don't think I would enjoy motherhood as a twenty-something with her life full steam ahead. I would want to do it the proper way; Travel a bit, get a good job, nice place to live, meet someone and fall in love, move in, get married, and then start a little clan of my own.
All that said though I kind of like the idea of being someone's sole provider. Their playmate, their comforter, their mother. I would be the kind of parent that would let them stay up and watch horror films (but only after I had watched them first to make sure they're not too scary). I would be the kind of mom that would rustle up some freshly baked goods when a broken heart is in need of mending. I would like to think that I would be that "hawt" soccer Moom that has all the kids round and secretly shares out some vodka between them all , in moderation of course. Hmm, yes. I think that motherhood would suit me in a way but there is a lot to do before we get there. Besides, a white picket fence and a four-bed detached isn't going to fund itself you know.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label 23. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 23. Show all posts
Monday, 8 June 2015
Monday, 26 January 2015
Spreading My Wings
Morning one and all,
So the past couple of weeks have been hectic and in all honesty I know that the next few up until I leave for the States are going to be even more-so. But as life passes by in a haze, blurring one day into the next and weeks into months I wonder to myself when I have a moment from the manic madness that surrounds my desk and wonder what I want from life.
Consulting my head I know that my long-term prospects are to find a man, settle down, move in, get a dog, get engaged, become someones wife and bear children then spend the next eighteen-plus years of my life occupied by baby vomit, what Sarah said at the school gates last Friday and why Dairylea Triangles only come in packs of six. And that is all whilst trying to hold down a job, house, bills and keep my husband relatively happy with the weekly blowjob, despite me having to wait ages for him to return the favour. Ahh yes, how I cannot wait for life to start with me being the head of my family.
But something has struck me the past few months, and that is the fact that I am twenty-three. I still have lots and lots and lots (and lots more) living to do before that happens. Your twenties are meant to be the throwaway years. The ones that you spend travelling through Cambodia with some random hippie called 'Russell' whom of which you have a passionate love-life despite it not being a permanent fixture. The years you spend drinking away your hard-earned cash and sleeping with less than affluent village idiots where you have a better relationship with your duvet than with your mom or dad.
Yes, I have thought for a long time about what I want out of life and what with being twenty-six days and counting into the New Year there is no time like the present to make some changes in order to better myself, my horizons, love-life and experiences making me an all-round better person and someone who will be able to grow some more delectable tales to tell. When I finally put down the bottle of Sambuca and turn off the disco lights in my late twenties I want to be prepared with stories of the years when I was acting-adult. I want to have dinner parties with new friends and go to mother and baby groups where we can chat about all sorts of life lessons and anecdotes that would help us through the sleepless nights and mash-throwing contests of our children.
While Mr. Cheese was not the best kind of person in all regards, least his bedroom ability to keep up with my libido, he did awaken a fire within me to get out into the world and see things. When Ghana-gate was first announced I always thought I would like the idea of just going somewhere for several months and travelling, working, learning and having fun all at the same time. Maybe I would make some new friends or even meet that all-illusive 'The One'. Africa. Asia. Australia. The Americas. All are so rich with sites and scenery I am struggling which to do and where to go. Mr. Warehouse? I don't think or even know if he is the travelling type. He is such a home-bird I think it would be too much to fly away for months at a time with no sense of where we are going and what we are doing. I don't honestly think he is cut out for it, let alone us as a couple?! Besides I think I would enjoy it more and I may get more out of it if I was on my own. Anyway, you can only fit one person on an elephant at once!
I have however settled with this year exploring a little closer to home. Europe will be my big hitter this year and I may consider taking a good two weeks in order to go travelling around it, accompanied by as many weekends away as I can cram in. Denmark, Switzerland, France, Italy, Poland and Austria are all top of my list including fascinating cities like Prague, Budapest, Berlin and others slightly closer to home like Dublin, Belfast and Edinburgh. I would like to say that every bank holiday apart from the end of May (being Miss Tweedle-Dumb's birthday which I would be crazy to miss) and Christmas/New Years I would like to get away somewhere. Although with the first Bank Holiday of the Year looming just a fortnight after flying back from Las Vegas I will have little time to hatch a plan of action. I was thinking of maybe even packing a bag and heading straight to the airport to pick up a cheap flight anywhere and just going for a mad spontaneous binge getaway.
However in order to do this I must take action. I must be proactive in my search for adventure with the view to seek out fun and delve into the unknown. You see, after Mr. Workaholic left I was completely empty. I had no purpose in life and nothing to get up for in the morning but to go to work, with the odd occasion of escaping wretched Northampton to come back home and get drunk with friends just to take the pain away from the heartbreak. Slowly I have come round to the idea that I need to explore, not only myself but others and new things. I feel that I am now, partly because of Mr. Workaholic, that I am a commitment-phobe, megalomaniac who gets bored very easily.
Maybe this is another one of my Quarterly-Life-Crisis', but of late my toes have been chillier than ever, although they are now starting to thaw out after someone surprised me with just some simple affections and kind gestures. Sometimes you can be so wrapped up in something or an idea about what you want to do, that you loose sight of just how good you have got it. Things in my head recently have become clouded and as a result I have felt trapped and in need of escape, which probably explains the thoughts of travelling and exploration I have day-dreamt about at my desk. There is only one way out from the situation I find myself, and I know, from experience, it will not be pretty or easy but it is something that may well have to be done. When or even if is another kettle of Koi Carp.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So the past couple of weeks have been hectic and in all honesty I know that the next few up until I leave for the States are going to be even more-so. But as life passes by in a haze, blurring one day into the next and weeks into months I wonder to myself when I have a moment from the manic madness that surrounds my desk and wonder what I want from life.
Consulting my head I know that my long-term prospects are to find a man, settle down, move in, get a dog, get engaged, become someones wife and bear children then spend the next eighteen-plus years of my life occupied by baby vomit, what Sarah said at the school gates last Friday and why Dairylea Triangles only come in packs of six. And that is all whilst trying to hold down a job, house, bills and keep my husband relatively happy with the weekly blowjob, despite me having to wait ages for him to return the favour. Ahh yes, how I cannot wait for life to start with me being the head of my family.
But something has struck me the past few months, and that is the fact that I am twenty-three. I still have lots and lots and lots (and lots more) living to do before that happens. Your twenties are meant to be the throwaway years. The ones that you spend travelling through Cambodia with some random hippie called 'Russell' whom of which you have a passionate love-life despite it not being a permanent fixture. The years you spend drinking away your hard-earned cash and sleeping with less than affluent village idiots where you have a better relationship with your duvet than with your mom or dad.
Yes, I have thought for a long time about what I want out of life and what with being twenty-six days and counting into the New Year there is no time like the present to make some changes in order to better myself, my horizons, love-life and experiences making me an all-round better person and someone who will be able to grow some more delectable tales to tell. When I finally put down the bottle of Sambuca and turn off the disco lights in my late twenties I want to be prepared with stories of the years when I was acting-adult. I want to have dinner parties with new friends and go to mother and baby groups where we can chat about all sorts of life lessons and anecdotes that would help us through the sleepless nights and mash-throwing contests of our children.
While Mr. Cheese was not the best kind of person in all regards, least his bedroom ability to keep up with my libido, he did awaken a fire within me to get out into the world and see things. When Ghana-gate was first announced I always thought I would like the idea of just going somewhere for several months and travelling, working, learning and having fun all at the same time. Maybe I would make some new friends or even meet that all-illusive 'The One'. Africa. Asia. Australia. The Americas. All are so rich with sites and scenery I am struggling which to do and where to go. Mr. Warehouse? I don't think or even know if he is the travelling type. He is such a home-bird I think it would be too much to fly away for months at a time with no sense of where we are going and what we are doing. I don't honestly think he is cut out for it, let alone us as a couple?! Besides I think I would enjoy it more and I may get more out of it if I was on my own. Anyway, you can only fit one person on an elephant at once!
I have however settled with this year exploring a little closer to home. Europe will be my big hitter this year and I may consider taking a good two weeks in order to go travelling around it, accompanied by as many weekends away as I can cram in. Denmark, Switzerland, France, Italy, Poland and Austria are all top of my list including fascinating cities like Prague, Budapest, Berlin and others slightly closer to home like Dublin, Belfast and Edinburgh. I would like to say that every bank holiday apart from the end of May (being Miss Tweedle-Dumb's birthday which I would be crazy to miss) and Christmas/New Years I would like to get away somewhere. Although with the first Bank Holiday of the Year looming just a fortnight after flying back from Las Vegas I will have little time to hatch a plan of action. I was thinking of maybe even packing a bag and heading straight to the airport to pick up a cheap flight anywhere and just going for a mad spontaneous binge getaway.
However in order to do this I must take action. I must be proactive in my search for adventure with the view to seek out fun and delve into the unknown. You see, after Mr. Workaholic left I was completely empty. I had no purpose in life and nothing to get up for in the morning but to go to work, with the odd occasion of escaping wretched Northampton to come back home and get drunk with friends just to take the pain away from the heartbreak. Slowly I have come round to the idea that I need to explore, not only myself but others and new things. I feel that I am now, partly because of Mr. Workaholic, that I am a commitment-phobe, megalomaniac who gets bored very easily.
Maybe this is another one of my Quarterly-Life-Crisis', but of late my toes have been chillier than ever, although they are now starting to thaw out after someone surprised me with just some simple affections and kind gestures. Sometimes you can be so wrapped up in something or an idea about what you want to do, that you loose sight of just how good you have got it. Things in my head recently have become clouded and as a result I have felt trapped and in need of escape, which probably explains the thoughts of travelling and exploration I have day-dreamt about at my desk. There is only one way out from the situation I find myself, and I know, from experience, it will not be pretty or easy but it is something that may well have to be done. When or even if is another kettle of Koi Carp.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 12 January 2015
It's Bat Country!
Hello there one and all,
I hope you are all well and that twelve days into the new year I am starting to wonder if some peoples New Years Resolutions have caved in yet. I know that mine are being stretched further and further each day. Who knew that being on time was such an effort?! Nevertheless I am thoroughly looking forward to the year ahead and in particular for events in less than eight-weeks time. I can hardly believe that my little pipe dream with Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee's family is nearly here. It seems like only yesterday I was begging for somewhere to find the money to go and now, after working at my second job in the call centre for nearly six-months solid, listening to people moan and groan and hang-up on you I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
When Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I were little-r we were obsessed with Johnny Depp. We were obsessed, watching films with even only a few seconds of his baby face in and we would coo and giggle. We all became infamous in our schools library, forever misusing our school's printer to copy reems and reems of Johnny Depp photos, sticking them everywhere from our Notebooks to our walls. We would recite lines from films and take any opportunity to turn a class project into something about J.D. Our school text books were testaments to our following, like a shrine to Mr. Depp with hopeful scrawling's of "Mrs Depp" and "Cry Baby's Baby" wishful squiggles of three girl's whom knew nothing of the world and how it worked let alone what love was and both how electrically brilliant but also earth-shatteringly devastating loving someone can be. Looking back on it, things were so different back then; everyone seemed to be richer in so many ways - Money, Friendships, Families. Life in general seems much easier as a pre-teen than as an adult.
There was one film in particular that as thirteen-year-olds my Tweedles and I took too more than others and that film was called 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas', as written by the late and great Hunter S. Thompson in the 1970's and directed by Terry Gilliam in 1998, the film follows two journalists Raoul Juke, played by Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro as Dr. Gonzo on a drug fuelled binge through the City of Sin, Las Vegas! As a little person this was a thrilling and exciting film, if not very adult movie to be watching at such a young age. I was hooked. I wanted to know everything and scoured the internet in my lunch breaks with my best buddies by my side looking for nuggets of film-buff knowledge to gain an understanding of Johnny Depp as both an actor and a fellow human. Johnny spent four-months living in the basement of Hunter's home in pursuit of gaining a better understanding for Hunter's mannerisms and habits so as to portray the character well. It seemed normal for us as teenage girls to do the same and as I conjured up dreams of being a starlet in front of the camera whilst Miss Tweedle-Dee directed and Miss Tweedle-Dumb wrote scripts.
A few years ago I was given a blue, silken bound book, Inside it contained a little of what I have shared with you all today in regards to my friendship with my dearest friends, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Along with pictures of all my ex-lovers and hilarious moments up until I was twenty-one there was a Gem I had not seen in years. It was a story about three eighteen-year-old's on their first holiday. Destination. Las Vegas! Turns out in this story Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I all bump into Johnny Depp who invites us back to his and his Fiancées house (whom was Vanessa Paradis at the time) to look after his children (whom are now in there teens) and spend our holiday there. Eventually the story ends with the three of us permanently staying over there and I fall in love with an hot American waiter. Oh how I do love my best friends and the wishful life they bring me! Funny to think, looking back as Miss Tweedle-Dumb ticked away at the keyboard in the library and printed the tale in bold orange letters that little did we know within the next decade we would be planning for a trip to Sin City ourselves - Minus the Johnny Depp stalking and nanny duties ... And probably even that waiter dare I say!
Leaving the past behind me with fond memories I look forward now to when I finally board that plane. Goodbye cold, wet and possibly snowy Britain and hello to the Nevada Desert where the sun isn't the only thing that will be getting high. I did plan to loose some weight and get down to not only a figure I can be happy with but something that I can show off on social networking sites. "Look at me bitches! I am in Vegas whilst your at your desks! Ha! Oh is it raining outside. Not to worry myself about though as someone called Chad or Chuck is bringing me another Sex on the Beach!" I would say as I casually upload pictures of me in swimsuits lazing by the pool and naked on a bed full of Dollar bills. Obviously there will be the traditional photo's of the Las Vegas sign and the skyline at night. I am sure that there will be many a night spent in a casino or two, drinks flowing and bottles be popping. During the day trips to the local Mall, Markets and down-town sights will be in store as well as maybe a cheeky trip out to Area 51 and the Grand Canyon. I would love to ride horse-back through the sand dunes of the Nevada but I doubt my Tweedles will be so frivolous. Everything aside, I am thoroughly looking forward to my trip and I cannot wait to spend all of what I have been saving for the past nine-months for. Roll on March mother-crackers!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
I hope you are all well and that twelve days into the new year I am starting to wonder if some peoples New Years Resolutions have caved in yet. I know that mine are being stretched further and further each day. Who knew that being on time was such an effort?! Nevertheless I am thoroughly looking forward to the year ahead and in particular for events in less than eight-weeks time. I can hardly believe that my little pipe dream with Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee's family is nearly here. It seems like only yesterday I was begging for somewhere to find the money to go and now, after working at my second job in the call centre for nearly six-months solid, listening to people moan and groan and hang-up on you I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
When Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I were little-r we were obsessed with Johnny Depp. We were obsessed, watching films with even only a few seconds of his baby face in and we would coo and giggle. We all became infamous in our schools library, forever misusing our school's printer to copy reems and reems of Johnny Depp photos, sticking them everywhere from our Notebooks to our walls. We would recite lines from films and take any opportunity to turn a class project into something about J.D. Our school text books were testaments to our following, like a shrine to Mr. Depp with hopeful scrawling's of "Mrs Depp" and "Cry Baby's Baby" wishful squiggles of three girl's whom knew nothing of the world and how it worked let alone what love was and both how electrically brilliant but also earth-shatteringly devastating loving someone can be. Looking back on it, things were so different back then; everyone seemed to be richer in so many ways - Money, Friendships, Families. Life in general seems much easier as a pre-teen than as an adult.
There was one film in particular that as thirteen-year-olds my Tweedles and I took too more than others and that film was called 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas', as written by the late and great Hunter S. Thompson in the 1970's and directed by Terry Gilliam in 1998, the film follows two journalists Raoul Juke, played by Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro as Dr. Gonzo on a drug fuelled binge through the City of Sin, Las Vegas! As a little person this was a thrilling and exciting film, if not very adult movie to be watching at such a young age. I was hooked. I wanted to know everything and scoured the internet in my lunch breaks with my best buddies by my side looking for nuggets of film-buff knowledge to gain an understanding of Johnny Depp as both an actor and a fellow human. Johnny spent four-months living in the basement of Hunter's home in pursuit of gaining a better understanding for Hunter's mannerisms and habits so as to portray the character well. It seemed normal for us as teenage girls to do the same and as I conjured up dreams of being a starlet in front of the camera whilst Miss Tweedle-Dee directed and Miss Tweedle-Dumb wrote scripts.
A few years ago I was given a blue, silken bound book, Inside it contained a little of what I have shared with you all today in regards to my friendship with my dearest friends, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Along with pictures of all my ex-lovers and hilarious moments up until I was twenty-one there was a Gem I had not seen in years. It was a story about three eighteen-year-old's on their first holiday. Destination. Las Vegas! Turns out in this story Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I all bump into Johnny Depp who invites us back to his and his Fiancées house (whom was Vanessa Paradis at the time) to look after his children (whom are now in there teens) and spend our holiday there. Eventually the story ends with the three of us permanently staying over there and I fall in love with an hot American waiter. Oh how I do love my best friends and the wishful life they bring me! Funny to think, looking back as Miss Tweedle-Dumb ticked away at the keyboard in the library and printed the tale in bold orange letters that little did we know within the next decade we would be planning for a trip to Sin City ourselves - Minus the Johnny Depp stalking and nanny duties ... And probably even that waiter dare I say!
Leaving the past behind me with fond memories I look forward now to when I finally board that plane. Goodbye cold, wet and possibly snowy Britain and hello to the Nevada Desert where the sun isn't the only thing that will be getting high. I did plan to loose some weight and get down to not only a figure I can be happy with but something that I can show off on social networking sites. "Look at me bitches! I am in Vegas whilst your at your desks! Ha! Oh is it raining outside. Not to worry myself about though as someone called Chad or Chuck is bringing me another Sex on the Beach!" I would say as I casually upload pictures of me in swimsuits lazing by the pool and naked on a bed full of Dollar bills. Obviously there will be the traditional photo's of the Las Vegas sign and the skyline at night. I am sure that there will be many a night spent in a casino or two, drinks flowing and bottles be popping. During the day trips to the local Mall, Markets and down-town sights will be in store as well as maybe a cheeky trip out to Area 51 and the Grand Canyon. I would love to ride horse-back through the sand dunes of the Nevada but I doubt my Tweedles will be so frivolous. Everything aside, I am thoroughly looking forward to my trip and I cannot wait to spend all of what I have been saving for the past nine-months for. Roll on March mother-crackers!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 22 September 2014
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
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
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