Can you use the word "Dope" still at Twenty-Eight?

Heyy, 

Finally a night in for myself! Mr Warehouse dropped off at the pub and with my semi-healthy chicken salad kebab on stand-by I settled in for the night, feeding the hounds and getting comfy on the couch. It had been so long that I could barely contain my excitement when Mr Warehouse had said he was going to the pub and asked me for a lift. Gladly I dropped him off and anticipated an early-ish night. Mr Warehouse had joined Mr CWG for a night of laughs and lads banter at his old local in the next village over. But now I was home, as the night sky turned darker I had back to back Teen Mom UK, Teen Mom OG and all-new American Horror Story to catch up on. I was very much enjoying my overdue night in front of the box, well that was until I realised that a house is bigger than the old flat and after watching American Horror Story I promptly went around and locked all doors and windows, just in case you know ... 

Soon enough though I got a message. It was legible and spelt correctly so assumed that my future husband was totally fine and had not had too much sauce. However, as I pulled up outside the pub I was greeted by a rather sobered-up Mr CWG, however, Mr Warehouse, my darling sweet boy was absolutely sozzled. Bidding farewell and with promises of seeing each other within a few hours for my birthday party/get-together the following day, I proceeded to take Mr Warehouse home for a glass of water and a couple of paracetamol with a side order of bucket-by-the-bed. 

Pulling away I was met with screams as my burly bae decided that we were going to hit every car that was coming in the opposite direction. This was not the case and as I poodled down the at speed limit of thirty miles an hour, I was told that I was going "far too fast" and to "slow the fuck down". Nearly wetting myself with laughter I must admit I was barely able to keep my eyes open and on the road for how funny this all was. That was until, baring in mind that it was past midnight, I was overtaken by a motorcycle. 
"OOOH HARRY YOUR A WEEEZAAARD!" I heard Mr Warehouse exclaim in the actual worst Scottish accent I have ever heard. Unable to contain the laughter, it only egged him on as he carried on shouting and yelling that "yeeer a weeezaaard Harry! A weezard!" 

Squealing round every bend, twist and turn along the country roads, we finally arrived home, although not before me as the glorified taxi driver was groped and had to tell my gorgeous man off for fiddling with the radio and insisting that he played Heart FM, probably one of the worst things to listen to in the dead of night. Heading indoors we were greeted by the puppies and Mr Warehouse made a dash for the fridge, berating me that I had serviced myself in terms of getting a kebab and yet he was practically starving and wasting away! Hardly. 

Slamming a chicken burger into the microwave and heading to the toilet I thought that the special bucket (originally bought I think as we really tried with the whole adulting thing and planned to use it for washing up or cleaning however was now only reserved for really special nights out whereby someone has gone in a little too hard). Heading upstairs it was only a matter of moments before I was being preached too about the warnings of alcohol abuse and how Mr Warehouse "will never drink again", shortly followed by some long stints hanging out in our bathroom, blowing it from both ends the messy fuck. Least he had the special bowl with him for company as after asking if he was OK all alone in there I soon drifted off to sleep.  

The following morning I was yet again awoken to Frankenstein's borderline nauseating whining and crying and bitching! Oh ma gaad! When will this dog learn I will come down, eventually. I just wanted a fucking lay-in! Attending to him at a stark 6am, only a matter of hours after I fell asleep, leaving my betrothed on the bog with his head in a bucket of his own vomit. The house was far from party-ready and I was seriously reconsidering a cancellation, maybe faking illness or something just so I could lounge about all day in my PJ's and eat cake and binge on American Horror Story, this time in the daylight so the monsters don't seem so real. Returning Frankenstein to his cage and heading back to bed myself I knew it wouldn't be long before his whimpers and cries awake me once more. 

As morning broke, I greeted a very sore-headed bear downstairs and continued the war effort in order to get the place poppin' ready for some drinking and some partying. However, as 4pm rolled around, the start of the party, I realised by the number of cancellations that kept flooding through that there would only be a very select few that would actually turn up. I did, however, polish off nearly a whole bottle of Gin and shared a bottle (OK maybe shared was a strong word as it was barely half a glass) of prosecco with my Auntie, and many, many a Slimming World Syn in the sausage rolls and corn dogs - a feeble homage to my American bezzie Mrs Tweedle-Dumb who couldn't be here to share in this day a part of it!

The day itself went well and I enjoyed the company of all those bitches that could be arsed to turn up. I was spoilt too with pressies of wine and gin and Baileys Strawberries and Cream. From Miss Tweedle-Dee I received a stunning Morphe make-up Palette, along with a bottle of my fave perfume (Clean Rain if anyone is asking for Xmas!) and a super unique horror-film-inspired charm bracelet complete with Freddie, Jason and Chuckie encased in silver, and that was just to name a few. My lovely step-parents (Miss Tweedle-Dee's Mom and Dad) bought me a Pink Gin gift set, a Bathbomb advent calender and set of make-up brushes. Mr Warehouse spoilt me and showered me (literally) or maybe should I say bathed me in about ten different bath bombs, all from my fave store - LUSH, along with some HomeSense Schpoopy candles smelling like pumpkin shit and other fucking dope autumn smells (I'm twenty-eight can I use "dope" now?) and another stunning make-up palette, this time "Take me back to brazil" by BeautyBay. I was certainly spoilt and now am looking forward to counting down the last few days until I can finally say ... It's a year 'til my wedding day!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

How To Wrap Bread and Other Stories!

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Morning All, 

So after looking back through the altercations of last week I realized it was slightly melancholy if I do say so myself. Thankfully things are starting to peak but not after some rough "single-girl" moments that I have had to endure this week. Nevertheless I have improved my mood and you'll never guess what did it ... 

Friday evening rolled around and after regretfully turning down a night out with Miss Chocolate, Miss Tatts and some old friends I settled down into the sofa, grateful that this will be the last night sleeping on it before my mattress was due to arrive the following morning. However after watching 'Bridesmaids', a film I had been meaning to see for some while, I ended my evening crying into a lone scatter cushion wishing that I too had a man that wanted me that much. Irish accent and being a cop were obviously optional but I wouldn't turn many people down - Unless you had a face that looked like a bag of burnt Lego bricks! Finally I settled down in bed, thought the same old thoughts I always do before drifting off into a deep and warm sleep. Thankfully I didn't have one of my reoccurring nightmares in particular one's of my own wedding day. In hindsight now I don't think I have ever had a pleasant dream of my wedding. There is always something going wrong - The groom doesn't turn up, my dress is ugly, my Dad dies before he gets the chance to walk me down the aisle, my mother turns up, Mr. Workaholic burst's in confessing his undying love for me and I somehow have to get him out or even worse, I'm early. The latest was whereby I had know idea whether my groom even wanted to marry me or not. It was terrifying. And yes, I did know who the groom was. Although it wasn't all bad though as my nightmare ended in a dream-like state when I found myself being rushed down an empty street crammed full of attractive suited men. Only issue is that I was lying belly first on a hospital bed with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee pushing it down the road, wedding dress up by my tits, flashing all the boys. Seriously don't laugh. Whilst it was an entertaining end it still had me waking up in a sweat!

As morning broke on Saturday I aimed to have a productive day and maybe head out into the Town Centre for some shopping or actually tidy my little flat. None of that happened and I ended up spending the majority of the weekend wrapped up on the sofa, eating and watching crap. It dawned on me that having a boyfriend or even someone of such status is much better than being single. I was starting to hate single life right there and a part of me yearned to message Mr. Cheese. It had crossed my mind then to message Mr. Minigolf since I had not heard from him since he cancelled our date. I suppose a part of me knew that it was a lost cause as he hadn't contacted me at all but I threw caution to the wind as per usual and tapped out something generic. To my surprise within minutes I had a response but conversation quickly dried up. Getting darker outside it was clear I wasn't to be moved from my couch let alone venturing outside! As the weekend telly kicked in I watched people kissing, holding hands and even one happy couple share their engagement with the world on live TV. Aggravating as it was to Single-Me, Relationship-Me loved the idea and praised the man's bravery. Begrudgingly I made cookies to take my mind off things but that didn't help and neither was the romcom I watched later on and I was feeling crappy with a mix of junk food, lack of male attention and my lonely self seemed to make everything ten-times worse. 

My mattress had been delivered earlier that afternoon and was freshly sat on my bed ready for my weary head, I couldn't help stare at it thinking that this was the epitome of Singlesville. Not wanting to I clambered into the clean, crisp sheets and snuggled down. Looking up at the stars from my roof light it felt as if for the first time this year I knew that everything in life was going to be alright. Sunday I planned to be more structured and aimed to get more done. It was not an attempt in vain and whilst everything still has not got a place in the flat, slowly but surely its getting there. Sunday evening I had been invited to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's family home for a roast and much appreciated that was. Cooking a roast for one is just so sad and lonely and the cardboard ready meals are even worse! Before dinner however was a good old chin-wag with Miss Tweedle-Dumb. I thought about talking to her about Mr. Minigolf and the fact that we had been messaging most of the afternoon but I didn't want to jinx it as I was starting to like him a little and knew how easily things could turn sour. Instead the conversation turned to our work processes again as we had discussed also on Thursday evening when we both met for dinner after work. 

Before we knew it we were laughing about all the things that piss us off about guys and how Mr. Workaholic had this weird spray/spitting thing that would happen whenever he got excited. Turns out Miss Tweedle-Dumb does that too. I felt it - Eww! Digression continued into how to arrange a fridge with regards to sandwich making, fruit and vegetables and other miscellaneous items, not to mention a rundown of Miss Tweedle-Dumb's guide on how to wrap bread. Now I am well aware at this point in your reading you are probably wondering what the fuck I am on about and how my best-friend and I have very odd conversation but I'm sorry guys I can't be pillow fights and making out all the time!

Leaving Miss Tweedle-Dumb's last night was fun but after talking of our Reading Festival trip in summer I decided to listen to some Arctic Monkeys who have recently been headlined for the weekend. If you haven't heard them then where have you been the past decade, grab their album 'AM' and tick it on repeat. Mind you that's exactly what I have been doing since yesterday evening and all I can think about when hearing the melodies in my ears is how much I want to have Mr. Minigolf on my couch, straddled and begging for me to push it a little further. I cant stop it. Seriously I was on my way to work this morning and I couldn't stop thinking about it a massive smile cracking my face in half thinking about all the things we could do as sounds of guitars and other instruments swooned through the lustful air. Even now my mind is racing with bad thoughts. Hmm ... 

And as the new week begins I wonder what it has in store for me and all I encompass. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to keep life interesting so maybe you'll hear some of them next week?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx