Merry Ex-Mas!

Hi, 

So last week was a bit of a hilarious mess really but all in good humour as I am sure that now many of you will be wary of going to the spa for fear of Steam Room's with legs and those dreaded paper knickers. So far this week it has been quiet hard work. My partner on my account at work has recently taken ill bless him and I am now having to face some very big and very important meetings with my boss's boss to discuss our accounts in the coming days. If there is such a god, other than Google then can you please make sure that my colleague is fit an well so I don't have to flounder at the meeting tomorrow. That would be great thanks. Oh and whilst your there, going down a couple of dress sizes and up a cup size would be much appreciated! Besides stressing about my work as a financial lady I have been relatively relaxed about everything else. Since speaking to Mr. Cheese in depth about Christmas plans and being personally invited by his parents has prompted me to make a concrete plan. I plan to go with Mr. Cheese and his family up to the countryside of the North-West of England the weekend before Christmas and stay there up until the Eve whereby I shall hop on the train back home and spend the most important part of the Holidays.Christmas Eve as usual will be spent eating good food with good friends and maybe a few cheeky shots although I doubt it could beat last years escapades...

Christmas Eve 2012. This year so far I have gained a job, dealt with the difficult break-up from my beloved Prince Charming, recovered from another yet bout of Depression, gone on my first girls holiday, moved into my own place, turned twenty-one, stopped sleeping with my Ex, lost a job, moved back in with my Dad and his girlfriend, claimed benefits, got a new job and rekindled an old high-school romance. Such a busy, busy year. And yet here I am round a table in my local pub with my the Tweedles and a good friend. Miss Tweedle-Dumb has just passed her driving test and has bought a blue Vauxhall Corsa we have decided to call 'Blu Cantrell' and Miss Tweedle-Dee has got a new job working in the same company. 

I felt nervous. I knew that essentially I was in his playground. His territory. You see Mr. Workaholic could be anywhere in this modern and sleek tavern. Feeling anxious I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind. As myself and my two best friends sat and chatted waiting for the final guest to arrive they asked how I would feel if I saw him. I brushed it off coolly with a shady answer and diverted the conversation swiftly. Finally our guest arrived, Miss Tweedle-Dee's Ex-Girlfriend whom she had recently befriended again after a brief spat. As we sat down Miss Tweedle-Dumb went to to the toilet whilst Miss Tweedle-Dee and her Ex went to order food at the already buzzing bar. Coming back to the table their faces were ashen. They confirmed my worst fear. Mr. Workaholic was here with his sister in toe! After getting back from the little-girl's-room Miss Tweedle-Dumb confirmed the siting of not only my Ex and his sister, but also his mother and his mother's boyfriend. Trying not to panic I shrugged and simply said that we were at opposite ends of the pub and so it was fine. If several adults cannot be in the same room as each other after living together for nearly two years then I think that it's a little petulant. Nevertheless I stood from my chair to order my own food. After paying for my meal up front I noticed from the corner of my eye a tall, dark handsome man slouched across the sticky bar. No mistaking it. It was him. Mr. Workaholic!

Seating myself in good company talk soon turned to other things and just before dinner arrived I insisted they opened the presents I had saved so hard to buy them whilst not having a job. Although the excitement and joy were overshadowed by some bodies moving their half-eaten dinners to a table across from us. 'Much closer than the other side of the boozer' I thought to myself. Yep, that's right. All four of the Ex-Family had moved significantly closer to me and my friends. Getting agitated I added it to the things in the back of my head and ramped up the volume and actions. I opened my presents I had received and squealed in delight as I unwrapped the literature and nic-nac's from my Girls. Everyone was pleased and in a happy mood. As we ate food and drank more we chatted about the year that had gone and the year that was to come. I think it was safe to say it wasn't the best year of my life but I overcome some things I thought I would never be able to bounce back from and now I knew I could do anything. I could take over the world. Just as I was feeling invisible something Kryptonic arrived to dash my superpowers. It was the Ex-mother-in-law(ish). Everyone stopped eating. Jaws dropping open revealing half eaten potato and carrot. Shocked as was I we listened to her shpeal. Phrases like 'You look beautiful' and 'Oh how skinny you look, have you lost weight?' flew out of her mouth like pigeons and shat all over my parades. 

 As if the cringe-meter wasn't broken enough she then addressed my fellow dinner guests asking if they were all having a nice evening and looking forward to Christmas. Numbly they all nodded and replied quietly. As she left she said how good it was to see me and mentioned again how well I looked. Continuing our meal, myself and the girls felt very, very awkward and on-edge. Although I had a feeling that it was not the last. Finishing our meal Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I braved the fresh winter air for a cigarette and a chat about what had just happened. I felt awful for the fact that my friends had to endure my embarrassment with me and promised that we would try and make the best out of a bad situation. Walking back into the warm, bright restaurant come bar chain we soon noticed we had some new neighbours on the table adjacent to us. Yes. It had happened. Again.

As I took my seat at the head of the table so as to protect Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and her Ex from the onslaught that might follow I was approached again by said Mummy Workaholic. Again praising me for looking so good and well and loosing alot of weight since I last saw her nearly ten months ago. I felt like saying to Mr. Workaholic's interrupting mother that sometimes when people break-up with other people for no apparent reason after planning entire lives with each other and building foundations for the future sometimes you just loose your appetite for simply how sick they make you feel. After telling me of her plans to drink herself into oblivion with her cheating boyfriend, heinous son and bitchy daughter she left me and my friends to it. I don't know why she told me her plans for the night, nor the timings of these plan's either. I was never going back to her son ever again. He fucked it all up. Not me. Soon, after about an hour they all left to hit the pubs, clubs and bars of our small home-town, although I was swiftly off home to anticipate Santa's arrival on the morrow. But not before a quick death-stick and drink to settle ourselves. Whilst outside on a fag break with Miss Tweedle-Dumb we joked about when her Ex was turning up to the party. She laughed but she wasn't laughing when she returned to our table only to find the table once containing Mr. Workaholic and Company had since been replaced by her own Ex-Boyfriend and some friends I knew from college. 

You honestly couldn't make it up. At first there was one awkward moment and then there were three. I don't think any of us have laughed awkwardly so much in our lives. Still I knew then as I know now ready to publish that it would one day be a good story to tell. Here's hoping that this Christmas Eve won't be quite as eventful...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Halloween Sparty

Morning All, 

I hope you are all well and dandy. I know I am, especially after the weekend I have had! Now after last week's entry I felt again a little unstable as to what, why and how of my blossoming romance with said Mr. Cheese, although I know that when the time is right maybe things will finally be planted in the pot to grow and nurture. In the mean time though I might as well carry on living my life as a half-single twenty-something; partying, hanging out with friends and family, enjoying life and seeing whats on offer. 

All week at work was a slog as usual, consisting of some very, very slow days. These however were eased by banter filled emails from my Tweedles and Mr. Cheese from their own offices across the country. Finally though Friday had arrived and as work colleagues diminished by the hours it was finally the clock hit home time. As I hitched a lift home from another work buddy I contemplated my evening ahead but most importantly what I was going to wear! Now as it has been that time of year again for most places in the world, especially the States; Halloween has been very much on my mind since me and Miss Chocolate agreed to a night out to celebrate. Dress code: Fancy dress!

So as I pottered about the flat, organising my outfit and planning my beauty schedule I couldn't help think about some of the words of wisdom have been for my first night out after things have started getting serious between me and Mr. Cheese. To be honest I have morals and whilst everyone might not agree with them they are mine and I stick by them. The phrases 'what someone doesn't know wont hurt them' and 'logically your still single so anything goes' are a frequent topic of conversation amongst my friends and I when the subject does arise and I must say that I suppose in some respect's; I agree. Whilst I have not been seeing anyone else since meeting Mr. Cheese, I suppose in a sense there is nothing stopping me from doing so, apart from the fact that I was brought me up better than that and am a very faithful, loyal and trustworthy girl. Now I am not saying that in any way it is OK to cheat as it were but the fact is that we are not in a concrete relationship means that I suppose the rules could be bent if Mr. Cheese and I wanted to bend them. I mean if the tables were turned and something happened on Mr. Cheese's side, be it a kiss or a full blown orgy, then yes of course I would be upset, but at the end of the day Mr. Cheese and I are not fully exclusive (yet) so I would really have no grounds to stand on. It would be very hypocritical to have two people playing the same game but by different rules. Regardless of all this I pushed aside my minuscule worries of round-about-infidelity to the back of my mind and donned my Little Red Riding Costume including cute pig tails, blackened Halloween eyes and wolf claw scratches I headed for the station.

Upon meeting Miss Chocolate in my hometown I realised I was possibly overdressed for the occasion. With fake blood smeared across her face and a full outfit of black topped off with a sheer white blouse I knew something had gone wrong with the school girl idea. The reason. Boobs! Apparently some people are very sadly well endowed and this means that certain items of clothing do not do up. Mainly that shirt. Unfortunately this is not the plight I have with my small to average C-Cup breasticles. Heading into the pub however the punters didn't seem to care as mouths dropped and eyes were adverted towards us. Or at least that's how it plays out in my head as I write tonight. Grabbing some drinks and necking some shots and bombs we discussed men and how much they aggravate us sometimes. As the music bounced on so did we and onto the second venue of the night. 

Heading into the small, dark alternative club under the speed-way I could see Miss Chocolate would not enjoy her experience here, whilst I however felt at home and at ease with the company in there. Among the party-goers were vampires, werewolves, zombies and bloodied people although there were some very out-there costumes. After a few moments adjusting to the atmosphere I noticed a horror movie puppet, a clown (very scary), a viking and a pirate. Throughout the female population there were broken creepy dolls, brides, nurses, skeletons, maids and cheerleaders - All dead of course. As we went to the bar to get some drinks Miss Chocolate and I made our first friends of the evening, someone named after a brand of chocolate whom I had met there before and another gentleman who looked very much like an Ex of mine whose profession lied within agriculture. Well OK, he was a farmer. 

As we clinked our glasses and toasted to being somewhat single, our newly acquired male friends looked on in awe as we slipped the smooth and fruity cocktail down our throats. High-fiving for a reason I cannot recall we sat and I struck upon with the farmer-doppelganger. He had come as a Zombie although I was not fully convinced he had made as much effort as myself. Mr. Zombie seemed nice enough and after he finished his own drink he bought me one. Smiling and saying a polite 'thank you' we headed back to Miss Chocolate who was perched on a stool not looking very impressed at the growing club of scary costumed people. As conversation progressed I soon realised that Mr. Zombie and I had nothing in common. And he laughed like Santa. And so for that reason, and the fact Miss Chocolate had bartered the time we would spend at venue number two, we left but not before I was awkwardly serenaded by Mr. Zombie to a song that spoke of being 'broken' and not being able to 'feel emotion'. Yes. I had to leave. And as Miss Chocolate and I scurried away I knew that although the night had only began, I certainly knew that Little Red Riding Hood's woodcutter was not nearby. Possibly in the Midlands?!

The following morning I woke in my own bed and still dressed in what I went out in. Little Red was feeling nearly dead with tiredness. Nevertheless I got up and dressed, tidied up and left for my spa day with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Stuu. We had wittingly called this occasion a Sparty! Although as myself and Miss Tweedle-Dee found out it was not very Sparty when you nearly sit on someone in the steam room for fault of it being too steamy! The only way we could identify said individual from the fixtures and fitting was the sheer fact that I thought ''Oooh, that bench has legs ... Oh wait! Oops!'' Indeed this could have quiet easily been an awful faux pas, but that was not the only calamity at our Sparty for Miss Stuu and I got alot closer than intended. 

Walking into our treatment room dressed in a bikini, soft fluffy robe and slippers, Miss Stuu and I were excited to be rubbed down with aromatic oils and creams to make our skin feel silky smooth and releasing all our tensions of the world. Unfortunately or fortunately my masseuse was not called Chantelle. The two massage ladies asked us to remove our pool soaked swimwear and pop on what was handed to us in a little plastic pouch. Instantly I knew what it was. Yes, there was no mistaking it as Miss Stuu looked at me in horror we agreed that these were paper panties. removing them from the packaging we giggled and laughed at the ridiculousness of them and without hesitation I stripped off to wriggle into my new briefs. And Brief they were indeed. They barely covered my biscuit and Miss Stuu had trouble keeping hers from falling down. In between fits of laughter and a shocked paper-pantie daze I hadn't noticed that the spa girls were getting impatient outside and suddenly opened the door to our treatment room where both myself and Miss Stuu were fully naked apart from our thin underwear. After apologising and shutting the door swiftly I laughed as I hopped onto the massage bed and stuck my head in the doughnut hole while Miss Stuu sheepishly followed. Safe to say that it was very relaxing and paper pants I could get used to. Although on cringe-scale I doubt this tops the Tweedles experience whereby Miss Tweedle-Dumb fell asleep she was so relaxed ended up snoring and then farted and woke herself up all the while Miss Tweedle-Dee on the other hand died of embarrassment. Sometimes you really have to question the utter brilliance of your friends!

And so that was my weekend. Sunday was relaxing as I spent it with family visiting my Grandad in hospital whilst he recovers from major heart surgery. Thankfully he pulled through and is now on the mend. Get better soon  G-Dog! As for this week nothing special is planned, except from maybe a surprise visit to London to see a certain kind of Cheese!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Carrot's Can Help You See In The Dark

Evening everybody, 

Now after last week's entry I have been made aware that my twenty-second birthday is nearly upon me. Oh what an age but so far I don't think I have much to show for it apart from some very good stories and a few not so good. Haha. One story in which I have yet to share with you all. 

Now before Mr. Cheese walked onto the scene (or galloped on, with his tin-foil suit and Zebra steed intact) I was just starting out, dabbling my feet in the cold waters of dating. This was when I met Mr. Carrots. We were introduced through friends after Miss Chocolate had been befriended by him on a social networking site some months earlier. She had no qualms with me and Mr. Carrots meeting for a casual date after she said that he was far too clingy and 'try-hard'. Should have known from the beginning really?

After a few weeks of mindless chit-chat we decided to meet up in person. Mr. Carrots lived on the outskirts of Luton and I in Flitwick with Daddy and his girlfriend at the time. We agreed to meet in the town centre and to go for a couple of drinks before I continued my evening with Miss Chocolate and some old college friends. I knew that Mr. Carrots wasn't a looker but when you are single and someone shows you interest you don't turn it away, besides - Maybe it would be a grower, like mold? Thus said, this was not the case. He was not my type at all but I thought he deserved at least a chance. 

Walking up to the court-yard where we had planned to meet there was only one lone figure standing out. It was him. Mr. Carrots. Whilst on the phone to Miss Chocolate I thought that maybe I could just ditch it and do a runner. Then I got a text. He had seen me. As I hung up and nervously walked over to where he was standing there was defiantly no turning back. Mr. Carrots wasted no time in pulling me in for a bear hug and awkwardly I went in for the french double-cheek kiss which he didn't get at all and we ended up in an head-swaying competition in which we both didn't want to be entered in. Eventually we started to walk further into the town and began the small talk. Obviously forgetting the fact that I had told Mr. Carrots previously I had lived and still visited regularly Luton he began to point out buildings of significance and explain their purpose. I didn't have the heart to tell him again and so just let him waffle on.

After a short walk we arrived outside a pub I knew well. Taking me inside I watched as Mr. Carrot's face dropped to the floor and with everyone in the bar looking at us like we just kicked a cat, typical me I made a chirpy comment about getting us a table whilst he grabbed up some drinks. As I approached the table I took a moment to look around. Two women in the corner of foreign origin whom I am almost positive were waiting for the streets of the town to get dark enough so they could go out to work. The rest of the locals were men, all of them above the age of forty with a taste for beer and possibly the odd scrap. Yes. I knew this bar well, but not for the right reasons. 

It was at this point that a drunken resident stood in front of the table I had chosen and proclaimed his love for me in an heavy northern Irish accent. Still to this day my friends are amazed at how well I can pull it off. Whilst he adorned me with praise for my beauty I silently begged him to leave before Mr. Carrots arrived through an awkward smile. Finally he left and soon Mr. Carrots took his place and we proceeded with the conversation. By this point I had already felt that there was not spark, not even a click of a lighter and that sweet as he was, Mr. Carrots was not a future Beau. 

As the conversation progressed it finally was spun round to football. After about ten minutes of awkward and ideal conversing about football and the weather I was praying for a ice-breaker but I knew that even a Blue Whale couldn't break this iceberg! Then out of the corner of my eye and almost like a message from the man upstairs himself was a pint of beer placed calmly on our table. The Irish drunk was back. Secretly laughing to myself I knew form that moment this was going to be a date to remember and for the remainder of our time in that pub we were bombarded with stories of this man's childhood. In fact I found out more about this man than I did about Mr. Carrots! We learnt that this drunk had a very, very large crush on me and kept telling me how beautiful I was - But before you all start asking me out, just remember he was drunk! He explained how his father was of Scottish descendants and owed a travelling funfair that him and his twin sister (who would 'beat the crap outta ya if ya tried anything') travelled around in as children. More detail was given about his twin sibling when he described in detail their ability to know what the other is speaking and communicate telepathically. 

during the conversation with our new found friend the drunk would look into the blue eyes of Mr. Carrots and ask if he was 'starting' on him and if he 'had a problem' to which Mr. Carrots responded simply but nervously with no each and every time he was asked. Suddenly from no where he bellows out ''Carrots'' and me and my date look at each other in horror as we await an explanation. The residing drunk then argued with himself about why he kept thinking of carrots? ''Maybe I need to buy some?'' he said, to which the best reply in history came from my hum-drum date. "Maybe your twin sister is thinking of buying carrots and that is why you are thinking of carrots?!" He said jovially to our intoxicated third wheel. And there erupted my laughter for no longer could I hold it in; a mixture of pure and simple awkwardness with added dating failure made me burst out in a fit of chuckles. 

It was just after this that I realised that me and Mr. Carrots were in a battle of who-will-finish-their-drink-first. I knew that if I didn't drink the last dreg's of my wine, we would both be forced to endure the constant back and fourth of conversation between a drunken old man and an already floundering first date. As soon as I put my glass down after gulping down the warming Rose, Mr. Carrots finished his and the Irish bum asked us if we wanted a fresh one. I didn't even give Mr. Carrots a chance to answer as I chipped in and mentioned that we had places to be and had to leave. Quicker than a Cheetah on speed we both left and headed to another bar on the other side of town where we sat for a short while continuing the in-and-out conversation. After that he constantly text me asking to meet up. He even gave me the pet name 'Carrot' - Not exactly come to bed is it? 

I couldn't do it. I couldn't go on a second date with someone if it there was nothing there. So safe to say that life has somewhat mellowed out a bit since my encounter with Mr. Carrots but that doesn't mean it is no longer exciting. My date with Mr. Carrots, whilst not the best, was sadly not to be anything more than just a foot in the door. I am sure though that some day he will make some girl very happy and I genuinely wish him all the best, but unfortunately that girl is not me. Maybe I shall find someone soon? Maybe? But for now I am just enjoying life as it is; friends, family, work, social life and best of all I'm not lactose-intolerant!


'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Midsummer Night's Disaster!

Hi,
 
So after another week of relentless searching for that perfect abode it has beaten me yet again. I can understand why boffins say that moving into a new home is one of the most stressful things a human can do. On the up side, the weather has been great here in this part of the UK. After walking around Sunny Bedford most of Saturday Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I decided it was just too sunny to stay indoors and procrastinate and so we decided to head to the pub. To celebrate the weather, the three of us decided on a road trip and all went to Cambridge for the day, meeting up with Miss Tweedle-Dumb's boyfriend. A wonderful day out in the sunshine if I do say so myself and defiantly to be repeated!
 
However it is nights like this one, hot, humid and sticky that remind me of all those many moons ago (Not that long ago actually) when I was living in Northamptonshire after my separation from Mr. Workaholic. You see when I split from my Ex, we went our separate ways. He went squealing back to Mummy and I continued, although shattered, to work in Northampton. It was during those months that I was on a regular night out with my work colleagues - A mismatch of people from all backgrounds and ages with varying degree's of humour, tolerance and intelligence. Getting dressed up I decided that for the first time ever I would go out with my legs on show and bare from tights. I wore a red dress as well which apparently shows men that the wearer is amorous, fiery and lustful. Don't know about that given how the night ended?!
 
Walking into the posh cocktail bar the group of us headed straight to the bar and got a round in and it wasn't before long I was dancing along with the rest of them, giggling at our bosses embarrassing dance-floor shapes. After coming back from outside to get some air I went back to our table, although I had noticed a new pair of eyes in the room. A tall, pale, handsome figure loomed over the other side of the bar. I smiled and thought nothing more of the innocent looking stranger. As the night continued though I couldn't help but think about him, until that is he was tapping me on the shoulder. As I turned the handsome stranger lent in and said he like my dress and thought I was very beautiful. I was flattered and completely taken aback by the fact that someone other than my pig of an Ex-boyfriend actually fancied me. I returned the complement. From there on in we spent the next few moment complementing each others persona. Mr. Sick, as he shall be referred to, was wearing a mauve, designer polo shirt and a pair of tight, black, skinny-jeans finished off by a pair of branded boots which were slightly out of place for a chic city club. From progressing conversation I gathered his name, that he still lived at home with his parents and that he was a car sales man. For some odd reason I thought Mr. Sick looked slightly Irish; What with the dark-blonde hair combed into a stylish quiff, baby face and blue eyes I fell a little. However our encounter was to only be brief as I was swept away by a fellow work buddy to dance.
 
As the night wore on and after another trip to the bar we met again. Mr. Sick said that he had to go as his friend was sick and he needed to get him home and would have to go with him. Tipsy, I had said that Mr. Sick could stay with our group of friends and pointed in the direction of my work friends at our V.I.P table we had blagged earlier in the evening. Obliging Mr. Sick left to see his friend off in a cab and then returned with two bottles of beer. "My mate has left this one untouched, you can have it if you like and I'll buy you a fresh one after." He said. Dubious I took the bottle of warm beer and thanked him. He only added to my suspicions though when he said "Don't worry, its not spiked with anything!" Instant flop. I smiled and grinned but at the next available opportunity I put the beer on a table hoping he wouldn't notice. He didn't and after buying me another rancid beer we decided to attempt that age old tradition of dancing. Lets just say that Mr. Sick's dance moves were across between Elvis and Michael Jackson being struck with a tazer gun. It was at this point I noticed he was drinking incredible fast, although I didn't think anything of it. After a while Mr. Sick and I decided to head to a new bar and after walking into the fresh summer air we started to converse again. I bragged about how I lived by myself and had and en-suite room as he stared at me in awe. I knew at that point what would come of the evening. Mr. Sick and I headed to another club and straight to the bar we went, although I was buying this time - I was sick and tired of lousy beer. Passing him his drink we danced some more.
 
Suddenly Mr. Sick grabbed my hand and dragged me outside! Teetering on heels in the chilly air I asked what the plan was. Mr. Sick shrugged his shoulders. There was no point in beating round the bush. Both of us knew where the night would end and after I had spouted off about living alone I thought it would only be rude if I didn't show him where I lived. So we hailed a cab to take us back to mine. After a few smug looks and smirks from the driver I started to talk as if we had been together for ages and that this wasn't just some randomer, this didn't quash the taxi drivers looks though and I felt as though he had seen this story a million times before. Pulling into my quiet cul-de-sac Mr. Sick graciously and generously paid for the twenty-quid taxi fare and we left the cabbie and his opinions behind. Opening the door to my room I let Mr. Sick take a seat on my bed as I showed him my bathroom and asked if he wanted a drink. I felt as though I was in some cheesy rom-com and Mr. Sick's next comments didn't help. He had noticed some erotic fiction on my bedside table and decided that the best thing to do would be to say "Lets reenact some scenes?" To think that if Mr. Sick had ever actually read the book in question, then he could have ended up in a compromising position with a gag ball and some handcuffs. Regardless of that the lights were dimmed and we started to kiss.
 
Not the best kisser of all time although not the worst, although he did have a thing about moving the hair out of my face whilst making-out and loved touching my facial features. Somewhat romantic, but after a while you feel like your a piece of Braille. Although when it come down to the heavy stuff, well, he really didn't like receiving oral. I mean most men go mad for that kind of stuff, and I have been told that I'm 'experianced' in that department. His loss though. When it was my turn to lay back and think of England, all I could think about was the systematic and robotic nature of his hand movements. It was like I was a stubborn stain that needed to be cleaned. When it then came down to the nitty gritty, Mr. Sick attempted, but it was very much a 'is it in yet?' affair. Not my kind of party. I decided to play the tired card and we both rolled over. Mr. Sick attempted the 'big spoon' position and I succumbed.
 
It was only when I opened my eyes again that I heard Mr. Sick retching. Bolting upright just in time to see him puke all over my bed, splashing both me, the duvet and the floor in vomit. Thankfully I didn't have to cart Mr. Sick to the bathroom as he made his own way there, finishing in the sink. Rubbing his back I thought about what I had let myself in for. After profusely apologising he tried to kiss me. Nope. Returning to bed and tucking Mr. Sick in like a child I somehow thought how I was doing the right thing. Most women and indeed some men in my position would have just thrown them out on their ear after what had already happened. But I couldn't. The thought that he could be roaming the local area like a lost animal, drunk and being sick was something I could not live with. So I kept awake and whilst the sun came up and the birds started to sing Mr. Sick lived up to his name a further three times, covering my bathroom in barf. There wasn't one thing that didn't suffer. Towels, toilet, shower door, bath mats, clothes basket, shelf and mirrors were all destroyed by the exorcist like puke-fest. Finally as morning broke and I looked at the clock, the screaming 10am told me that he had to go. And so I released him back into the wild, not even exchanging numbers. Only names.
 
And so that is the story of Mr. Sick. A genuine tale of drunken mess and a hero that was willing to let a mess like that back into her bed to sleep it off. The worst part about it was that he still wasn't Irish. If anything he told me he was originally from Manchester. Close enough I suppose. For some odd reason Mr. Workaholic was thrilled to hear of my bedroom misfortune and used it as an excuse to wheedle his way in again like the slimey toad he is. But still I keep on searching - Both for my new pad and for a new man ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Boulders and Lemons ...

Afternoon Amigo's,

So after last week's hectic week I am finally relaxing on my comfy bed in my Pee-Jays! Another birthday has come and gone and at last Miss Tweedle-Dee has caught up with the rest of us girls and is now twenty-one! I feel old when I think about my last few months as a twenty-uno. Slightly depressing thought. Now aside from the manic week I have had, something more juicy ...
 
Now I am sure that if you are as addicted to television as I am then you will have watched a programme on Channel 4 in the UK called 'First Dates'. And if you watched especially carefully would would have seen a particular sexy face that was Moi! You see I have never been shy in front of the camera as when I was younger I used to be the star of all the home movies before my parents separated. As friends and family gathered around on sofa's and stool last Thursday evening we all waited in anticipation to see their loved-one on the telly. Forty minutes in I appear in a minty, white dress and black blazer with my hair tied up in a top-knot. Cringe was not the word. As I sat in front of the box, watching everyone squeal and squirm as they sat, glued to the screen. The conceited gentleman I had the pleasure of spending my evening with was a young Liverpudlian man whom some of you know as Mr. Accent. Now regardless on how I felt about Liverpudlian's in my last post (See Blind Date ...) from my perspective I felt it went well and I had a very enjoyable evening, although our date did consist of discussing for the most part food. This is one such event that you can now watch on repeat if you so wish to. So there I am on the box, with millions watching and I'm discussing on how I love to drink milk and love lemon cake ... the tarty-ier the better. It was a very minimal part of the date in which I was discussing with Mr. Accent my love of baking and in particular my lemon drizzle cake and just how many lemons I use to make it. Four, if you were wondering. I like my drizzle cakes very sour! I also discussed my love of dairy products in particular milk. This was in response to an odd but relevant question asked by Mr. Accent on what would be my favourite drink. So yes I'm sure that you can imagine the fits of giggles and spontaneous laughter that erupted when my mouth decided to talk poo.
 
After our date however we were asked our opinions and as truthfully as possible I answered that it was a really good date and an enjoyable experience. When asked if there was any spark and as to weather a second date was on the cards I replied with an honest and simple 'Dont Know' - although I did elaborate that there was no spark, but maybe it was a 'grower - like mould'! And with that comment teamed with Lemon-gate I was propelled into the social media and online forums, being hash-tagged and shared across all networks. I didn't mean it in a disgraceful of horrible way, just what was what I was trying to elude to. Unfortunately what Mr. Accent said next made sure that any relationship-mould was cleaned up with some anti-bacterial bullshit. When asked how the date went, Mr. Accent kindly expressed in an unusual way, stating that it was *pause* "very different". Mr. Accent went on to describe the encounter like being "stuck in a tunnel with a boulder at the end". Nice! Catapulted back to my sofa I noted that everyone was in discussed. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb were horrified at his comments and enraged they took to the world of social media to vent their upset. I felt indifferent to it though. It was sad that it had happened as it made me out to look like I was a complete idiot who thought the date went well, whereas Mr. Accent had made it out to seem like a complete train crash. regardless of how we both felt, there was no denying that there was no spark and whilst it had been nice to meet, it wasn't a 'Grower'.
 
Completely unphased by his comments I ended the night by bidding a fare-well to my guests as they concluded that it was him that looked bad given his two-faced attitude and not me. Just as Miss Tweedle-Dee was leaving she checked my phone and asked whose number it was. I had only just recently got a new phone so dismissed it verbally as maybe someone who I hadn't messaged in a while. Then Miss Tweedle-Dee said the name of the sender out loud and suddenly a chill ran up my spine. Feeling my stomach do somersaults I took the phone from her. It read: "Just watched you ..... You looked so pretty and came across as the lovely warm person you are. Well done you. x" I froze. My eyes transfixed on the shiny screen. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb knew who it was as others started to question. The message was from Mr. Workaholic's mother whom I became very close with. Essentially I treated her like my own absent mother. A thousand questions fizzled in my head. Why would she message me? Why would she still have my number after more than a year's separation from her beloved son? Why would him and his family yet again exhume those awful memories? Dismissing it completely and brushing it off I said my goodbye's. It didn't work with the Tweedle's though, they could see right through me and my fake smiles, because they knew that deep inside it was like someone had unleashed the maggots and it would only be a matter of time before they start to rot the good memories of our relationship once more. After Dad and his girlfriend had ascended the stairs to bed I followed.
 
Sitting in bed though reflecting on the past hour I began to wander deeply about the fresh communication between me and my ex's mother. I still loved him. Nothing to deny there. As I thought about her comments and what might have been if things had been different the tears began to flow. The realisation had set in that Mr. Workaholic had more than likely watched me too. He had seen me flounder on television whilst on a date with another man. Drowning in the depths of ridiculous conversation and silly comments. I felt worthless. Why had this happened? It had been nearly eighteen months and yet here I was curled up on my soft bed, crying like a child into my duvet. Thoughts of Mr. Workaholic and his friends laughing at me, his family judging me on every aspect like they did when we separated. Maybe Mr. Workaholic had moved on and had a wonderful new girlfriend with legs up to her ears, pretty face, small waist and large asset's - All the things I lacked. Mr. Workaholic was probably laughing at what a pathetic excuse I was right then. Was I over him? No. Do I think I ever will be? No. You see my friends, heartbreak his a horrible thing and I wish none of you have to experience it but I have and it has made me who I am today - A better, stronger, harder person.
 
After pulling myself together I realised my phone was going loco. Taking a peek through blurry eyes I saw some beautiful messages. Messages of congrats and appreciation as well as the odd jibe at lemons or milk. Generally really lovely messages on how I have big balls for doing something like this and being able to stand up and get out there in terms of dating. So many wonderful supportive communications from old school friends, old work mates and people I didn't even know. I have even had a few admirers and potential next dates. So to those of you that said something nice, thank-you. You helped me to realise that despite the aftermath of my fifteen minutes of fame, I have come along way from Mr. Workaholic and the days that I was begging him to come back. As Miss Tweedle-Dumb put it, maybe this is a little push and a small nudging reminder of what he let go of. And who know's maybe he'll come begging soon?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Muchas Gracias ...

Hi Everyone,
 
My goodness what a week. Exhausting and stressful but glad that I am able to reveal all to you now. You will be pleased to hear that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb are not burnt to a crisp but heavily tanned, although much to their dismay 'The Peel' as it is now refered to has started. So after leaving you last week in stiflingly hot Majorca I am now safely back in the UK, but not without our fair share of problems let me tell you that ...
 
I found Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb by the pool still sunning themselves trying to cram as much tan-time as possible and after a brief disagreement we started to get ready for the transfer coaches arrival. Boarding the coach and finding our seats we appreciated the on-board air conditioning. Bumbling around the local towns and hotels picking up tourists I began listening to a Belfast family and willingly allowed their accents to bless my ears. That is until a well-bronzed, middle-aged couple got on board and started rustling their travel documents. Upset at their rudeness I gazed out the window at the setting sun over Spanish wasteland. I started to day dream of meeting the perfect Irishman in a bar; Tall, dark and handsome with a thick Irish accent. Mmmm! Suddenly though I was snapped back to the cooling coach. Then, Miss Tweedle-Dumb had started to explain how our flight back home was cancelled. Laughing I told her to sod off and stop pulling my leg. Her face was serious but still I refused to believe her. "How dare she snap me out of a pleasant pipe dream of me and my future Husband meeting in a smokey, old-style city pub on 'The Green Isle'. Rude!" I jovially said to myself. As we arrived at the airport though, worrying that my fantasy was interrupted was the last thing I had to worry about. Our flight had been cancelled!
 
Whilst the Tweedles panicked, as did the rest of the coach party, I grabbed a luggage trolley and loaded our bags. Pacing into the Airport itself we joined a line that was already a few hundred long and several people wide. After hearing the stresses of Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee I decided to go and ask someone what was going on. I joined some people talking to a young attendant and she informed us that due to some issues with the French authorities no flights were allowed into the airspace at all and that almost eighty percent of flights that day and before had been cancelled. These problems could last for up to four days she went on. Armed with this information I waddled back to The Girls and told them what I knew. Several moment later after discussing options a few of us in the lengthening queue were asked to make a separate line for people going to certain destinations. Like sheep we herded round the desks waiting to hear our fate. Becoming bored I started to befriend a pudgy man behind us in the line. I was somewhat dazzled and slightly bemused by the fact that the larger man had a full set of gold teeth. "Very odd" I thought. But after listening to his conversation to a fellow line-ee I discovered he was a washed up pop star who had appeared on a talent programme some years back. Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had to watch some of his performed and cringed watching them later on.

Finally arriving at the desk we were told by the lady that the next available flight wasn't for another three days, but it wasn't guaranteed that would be able to leave either. We had no choice. We had to take it. So Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I agreed and our flight was booked for nearly midnight on Thursday evening. But there was a problem. It was only Tuesday. Where were we going to stay for the next seventy-two hours, or more if our new flight was delayed or cancelled! Thankfully the airline recognised this and whilst they admitted that it wasn't the travel providers fault they had to help somehow. So they paid for Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I to stay in a three-star, all-inclusive hotel for a couple of nights and also arrange for pre-paid taxi's to collect and drop us off. Happy for the solution all three of us bundled into a cab and headed to our beds - Not before another dispute due to the fact we were all starving and wasting away due to not eating since breakfast.

And that was that. Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had worked out that we had bagged a ten-night holiday in sunny Spain for just under £200.00! Bargain if I do say so myself. The morning after our terrible Tuesday I was able to engorge myself with my all-inclusive breakfast so I didn't die of malnutrition, however the water I feel did alter a few things. Lets just say that The Tweedles and I took a few trips to "Brown-Town" during those extra days - at least the Loo was nice though. The extra few days we spent relaxing by the pool, topping up the tan and drinking pre-mixed Pina Colada's whilst trying to avoid the over-enthusiastic holiday rep's. So here I am, back home at last. But its not all boring - Oh no! Because I can promise you next week will be a storm ... Watch this space!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx