Hi There,
Since last week surviving the life or death scenario of the London Underground (and an evening with friends), slowly but surely I have been taken over by a headache-infusing, runny-nose-bringing, achey-skin-feeling winter bug! I suppose I could say that in a way Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her Boyfriend of many, many moons did bring me back a present from Rome - A Cold! In a way you could say that I my body has been invaded by a foreign object (of influenza)!
And so - I am ill! Just what I need before our annual works Christmas Party whereby we all get absolutely sloshed on overpriced wine, watch the boss dance some very odd Elvis inspired moves and end up having a row with your other half in the middle of the street in the town centre after he turned from Gorgeous Gent to Grumpy Granddad in under 2.4 seconds. Ahh yes the annual 'Do! Something everyone looks forward to and hardly anyone really remembers past the first round of Jager Bombs at 6.30pm, just before the starters arrive.
Last year's Blog post was entitled "The Argument That Was Not An Argument!" and was, and still is, one of my most popular reads. If you haven't already I urge you to read along as there are a few choice phrases and interesting pieces that make me realise that even a year on I love my cuddly grumpy cat!
But what men, including Mr. Warehouse and the other Mister's that came before him, did not seem to grasp is how much I personally and together with all women kind, enjoy getting ready for such a social occasion. The hair, the make-up, the outfit, the shoes, the bag, the schedule, the conversation starters!? Its like going on multiple first dates, only with your work colleagues AKA people you have spent more time with than your own parents! Its stressful.
Now first of all the dress, what I deem to be one of the most important dresses you will all year. Apart from maybe if you got married. Or Graduated. Or something else important like walking for Chanel or Prada. But anyway, I digress. Last year I wore a just-above-the-knee, muted Grey Lipsy dress with thin straps and skater style skirt. I loved it to pieces and had many a compliment on the night however, I feel as though now I need to up my game a little this year. It was sparkle and sequins galore and I am still on the hunt (with yes, less than four days to go) for a dress that is as equally, if not more sequiny and glitzy and shiny as last year. 2014 was the year of the twinkle. 2015 however will be the year of possibly the very-deep-V-neck, bra-less number. 2016? Not so sure yet although with upcoming New Year Resolutions coming about I may well have to set myself the unmanageable goal of slipping into a size 12 for next years Office Christmas Party which will unfortunately end on the fourth of January when I rediscover the leftover box of Celebrations left under my desk from Christmas Eve.
Next is the hair and make-up. You don't want something too complicated as by the end of the night it will be all falling out of place and probably have more than a few cocktail sticks hanging out, especially if my workplace has anything to do with it?! Yes, simple, yet elegant. Soft curls are always a good start and for make-up; Wide faux eyelash-ed eyes with a classic red lip always works a treat. But always remember the key is making yourself look better that you do when you are just plain old Margaret from Finance sitting at your desk but not to make yourself look like you just walked out of the Crayola Factory and been to have your hair cut by Edward Scissorhands.
Now yes I understand that there are some females that will find this time of year horrendous as wearing make-up and dresses in the force to look pretty and girlie is totally not them, and I get it. Trust me when I say that I am sitting here right now in my Cookie Monster Dressing Gown and not much else, sipping on Baileys and enjoying the fact I am still wearing my UGG boots from work, feeling sorry for myself as I am sick with a cold. There is nothing more I love more than curling up and watching some trash TV ideally with a pet of some kind and pigging out on junk food and take-away's. But I cannot deny that I do love a party. And The Office Christmas Party is no exception ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Hair. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hair. Show all posts
Monday, 14 December 2015
Monday, 2 November 2015
Trick or Treat!
Hello Dears!
So after returning home after Dreamboys last week to my very own Dreamboy, I decided to spend my weekend with him and his family celebrating the dead and dressing up for a frightful night of goblins and ghouls! Why its Halloween of course!
Another big change was my hair colour this week and after quite frankly years (with the odd ginger phase thrown in for good measure) I had been blonde since probably the Mr. Workaholic days. And as scary as it initially was looking back at myself sitting in a top London salon (I had gone there as I had scouted out a girl looking for some training in colour correction to pass her hairdressing exams) I was nervous about what other people would think of my new luscious shiny brown locks. But my reaction has been mostly good, in fact better than I anticipated. Brown has been a big change back to something somewhat more normal, even if it does remind me of the mother!? All day today at work I was being told how sexy, mature, grown up and attractive I looked now I was Brunette. Even caught the eye of some of the lads from the warehouse - Next to my very own Mr. Warehouse, who, after tugging at my head for several moments realised that this was for real and not just a wig. And so I am now Brunette and boring - I can safely say that four days into being a brownie; Blondes definitely had more fun. Or maybe it was that I can still have the same fun, just Blondes can get away with more!?
One reason, but not wholly, why I wanted to go to the dark side was simply that I didn't think my Halloween costume looked right with Blonde hair. Brunette Little Red Riding Hood certainly looks more a part than Blonde Little Red Riding Hood which made an appearance at a club Halloween disco one year. Mmm, yes definitely think I will be showing off the naughty Brunette do for a few months yet, might even keep it for summer too!?
But yes this week in the UK and I am almost certain the rest of the world it was Halloween! This year I went as Brunette Little Red Riding Hood, or as I liked to put it, Little Dead Riding Hood completed with scratched face as if from a mysterious werewolf. Now if I could get away with it, and not upstage completely my other-half's family, I would throw a hum-dinger of a partay. But unfortunately Mr. Warehouse's cousin already beat me and is now such a mainstream tradition in the family that even if I threw a small one it would look as if I was trying to out-Halloween-party-him. But don't you worry, give me a few years, maybe a family of my own and I will start to throw some crazy parties around here! No dinner parties allowed - Boring arses!
But it got me thinking about Halloween in general because in Britain, unlike in the States it is a very small, almost insignificant holiday. Well in fact its not even given that title here. In Ireland I know for sure they celebrate it as the Eve of The Day Of The Dead which is held on the 1st or 2nd of November to celebrate the dead and their lives - But in England, we don't. I think, or at the very least it is an old South American thing but I like it and the The Day Of The Dead is a celebration and the costumes and make-up, whilst scary are very much beautiful and artistic. I am seriously considering this as an option for next year already! Although I am not really sure if this is something Mr. Warehouse would feel comfortable in ...
Halloween is also the time for little snotty nosed kids and spoilt brats of teenagers to walk around houses, pumpkin indulged or not and knock on the doors until sweets, money and any other piece of materialistic value appears to have been plonked in their buckets. I suppose its like a poor man's backwards Santa Claus. Now I myself would have loved to go Trick or Treating. My parents had explained it to me that in the olden-times children would knock on the door, someone would answer and after screaming joyfully "Trick or Treat" the home owner would ask for a trick. The child, or children, would then perform a trick - Singing a song, doing a magic trick or telling a joke or a poem. I knew the values of this sacred day in children's calenders, but alas I never got a chance to. My father, but mainly my mother, found it as a form of begging and as a result whilst my friends called round to my door and everyone else's on the street, I was forced to shamefully open that said door and hand out the years supply of sweets and chocolate no-body had eaten since the last time they came a-calling.
This in turn I think made me more determined to go all out when I was old enough to not listen to them, opting for going out out and staying late to parties I didn't know the host of. I still have yet to this day to throw a banging party or go trick or treating, but I know that when I have my own kids they will be able to have those opportunities I did not. Heck, I will probably even dress up with them! Probably in something cliche and cute like a Franken-family or a cool family get up like The Addams Family or a Twisted Batman inspired clobber! As for my pre-mommy stage of life though, the standard anything-goes Sexy Halloween Costume will have to do. Since turning seventeen I have been as a Bat, Witch, Goth, Fallen Angel, Little Red Riding Hood, Cat, Snow White, Wolf and a Dark Fairy. But what will I be next year?! That is the question?! Maybe a freaky take on a couples dress up like Disney's 101 Dalmatians, or Corpse Bride?! Maybe Something different like a Broken China Dolly, a better version of Kim K's Poison Ivy or Sexy Skeleton! Hmmm ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So after returning home after Dreamboys last week to my very own Dreamboy, I decided to spend my weekend with him and his family celebrating the dead and dressing up for a frightful night of goblins and ghouls! Why its Halloween of course!
Another big change was my hair colour this week and after quite frankly years (with the odd ginger phase thrown in for good measure) I had been blonde since probably the Mr. Workaholic days. And as scary as it initially was looking back at myself sitting in a top London salon (I had gone there as I had scouted out a girl looking for some training in colour correction to pass her hairdressing exams) I was nervous about what other people would think of my new luscious shiny brown locks. But my reaction has been mostly good, in fact better than I anticipated. Brown has been a big change back to something somewhat more normal, even if it does remind me of the mother!? All day today at work I was being told how sexy, mature, grown up and attractive I looked now I was Brunette. Even caught the eye of some of the lads from the warehouse - Next to my very own Mr. Warehouse, who, after tugging at my head for several moments realised that this was for real and not just a wig. And so I am now Brunette and boring - I can safely say that four days into being a brownie; Blondes definitely had more fun. Or maybe it was that I can still have the same fun, just Blondes can get away with more!?
One reason, but not wholly, why I wanted to go to the dark side was simply that I didn't think my Halloween costume looked right with Blonde hair. Brunette Little Red Riding Hood certainly looks more a part than Blonde Little Red Riding Hood which made an appearance at a club Halloween disco one year. Mmm, yes definitely think I will be showing off the naughty Brunette do for a few months yet, might even keep it for summer too!?
But yes this week in the UK and I am almost certain the rest of the world it was Halloween! This year I went as Brunette Little Red Riding Hood, or as I liked to put it, Little Dead Riding Hood completed with scratched face as if from a mysterious werewolf. Now if I could get away with it, and not upstage completely my other-half's family, I would throw a hum-dinger of a partay. But unfortunately Mr. Warehouse's cousin already beat me and is now such a mainstream tradition in the family that even if I threw a small one it would look as if I was trying to out-Halloween-party-him. But don't you worry, give me a few years, maybe a family of my own and I will start to throw some crazy parties around here! No dinner parties allowed - Boring arses!
But it got me thinking about Halloween in general because in Britain, unlike in the States it is a very small, almost insignificant holiday. Well in fact its not even given that title here. In Ireland I know for sure they celebrate it as the Eve of The Day Of The Dead which is held on the 1st or 2nd of November to celebrate the dead and their lives - But in England, we don't. I think, or at the very least it is an old South American thing but I like it and the The Day Of The Dead is a celebration and the costumes and make-up, whilst scary are very much beautiful and artistic. I am seriously considering this as an option for next year already! Although I am not really sure if this is something Mr. Warehouse would feel comfortable in ...
Halloween is also the time for little snotty nosed kids and spoilt brats of teenagers to walk around houses, pumpkin indulged or not and knock on the doors until sweets, money and any other piece of materialistic value appears to have been plonked in their buckets. I suppose its like a poor man's backwards Santa Claus. Now I myself would have loved to go Trick or Treating. My parents had explained it to me that in the olden-times children would knock on the door, someone would answer and after screaming joyfully "Trick or Treat" the home owner would ask for a trick. The child, or children, would then perform a trick - Singing a song, doing a magic trick or telling a joke or a poem. I knew the values of this sacred day in children's calenders, but alas I never got a chance to. My father, but mainly my mother, found it as a form of begging and as a result whilst my friends called round to my door and everyone else's on the street, I was forced to shamefully open that said door and hand out the years supply of sweets and chocolate no-body had eaten since the last time they came a-calling.
This in turn I think made me more determined to go all out when I was old enough to not listen to them, opting for going out out and staying late to parties I didn't know the host of. I still have yet to this day to throw a banging party or go trick or treating, but I know that when I have my own kids they will be able to have those opportunities I did not. Heck, I will probably even dress up with them! Probably in something cliche and cute like a Franken-family or a cool family get up like The Addams Family or a Twisted Batman inspired clobber! As for my pre-mommy stage of life though, the standard anything-goes Sexy Halloween Costume will have to do. Since turning seventeen I have been as a Bat, Witch, Goth, Fallen Angel, Little Red Riding Hood, Cat, Snow White, Wolf and a Dark Fairy. But what will I be next year?! That is the question?! Maybe a freaky take on a couples dress up like Disney's 101 Dalmatians, or Corpse Bride?! Maybe Something different like a Broken China Dolly, a better version of Kim K's Poison Ivy or Sexy Skeleton! Hmmm ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 2 June 2014
Flirting With Feminism ...
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Hello Again,
Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him.
However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys.
Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it.
However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough.
After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble.
We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening.
Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go.
If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Hello Again,
Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him.
However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys.
Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it.
However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough.
After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble.
We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening.
Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go.
If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
Game On!
Afternoon All,
So another week down and this week we celebrate it being less than a month until Christmas, when that big guy comes down the chimney and we all end up stuffing our faces with yummy food. And while everyone else is flapping about shopping and plans and all the rest of it, I am cool as a kumquat as I have all mine in the bag, or sack as the case may be!
After spending the working week in finance as a credit controller, my team and I have had to get a grips with the new system that has been introduced which has been difficult but I am sure that by the time we all leave for the holidays we will have mastered its workings! Only having to work a three day week helped too though as I had taken Monday off for the photo shoot and then Friday for getting my hair done. Yes, I did it. Although the results were not as expected. Nearly four hours after firstly walking into the salon in Croydon and after being charged more than expected for a colour I didn't ask for it was safe to say I was aggravated. I said strawberry blonde not strawberry jam! I was so angry and upset I decided to hit the shops for some retail therapy, hoping to improve my mood, but it was a phone-call from that compatible lover himself, Mr. Cheese. After convincing me to come by his after I had finished spending more money he left me with the classic one liner that despite the colour of my hair, I would still look gorgeous. Since I was going to a big, corporate rugby match tomorrow (I know very posh) with his flatmate and parents I felt that this would be as good time as any and so bags in toe, I made my way from south London to his place and we spent the evening together snuggled up on the sofa, blankets and all, watching David Attenborough and eating pudding mis-mash. Bliss!
Saturday morning Mr. Cheese and I spent the whole morning lounging in bed, in between snuggles, sleep and seducing one another. Highlight of the morning definitely has to be my lover pointing at my waist and ordering me - 'Off!' Oh how I do enjoy being submissive. But not all the time - I like control too! Haha. After more napping and natter we got up and made some breakfast. Super healthy seeded bread (probably made by hippies in a caravan up a mountain) with what else than lemon curd smothered into its crustiness. Mmm. Settling back into the lounge with a mug of proper coffee and some toast I knew that things couldn't be easier than right then. After a while of watching telly and munching I suddenly realised what the time was. I had less that forty-five minutes to get ready and leave. That included make-up, lashes, nails, outfit and that all dreaded fire-extinguisher mane! Thankfully the stylist on Friday had styled it so that the big curls stayed in meaning I didn't have to do much but as Mr. Cheese, his flatmate and I left for the station I felt nervous about meeting his parents again with my new hair that I wasn't that confident in. But my hair wasn't the only thing I was troubled by; My nails were unpainted, m lashes were still in their box and my face looked like my cousin had done it. I was not feeling my best. But despite this I pretended and rocked the thrown-together outfit like I was in Dior and Versace.
Upon arrival at the stadium my feet were already killing and I was hoping that I could sit for a while before mingling with the corporate box hoo-ha's. I was handed my ticket which looked very posh and I entered a world I was unaccustomed to. Doing what I think every girl does in this situation I grabbed this opportunity with both hands and simulated that I knew what it was like to do this all the time, secretly being in awe of the fancifulness of such an invite. Meeting Mr. Cheese's father in the foyer I was quickly informed by Daddy Cheese that the whole room had heard about me and my blonde hair from him. Saying nothing more we turned and walked down the plush carpeted hall to the Presidents Lounge. Taking a seat I felt as if I had been told off and was annoyed at myself for disappointing his Dad with a blonde-bombshell expectation. Nevertheless I took the afternoon in my stride and even had a brief chat with Momma Cheese about how lovely it looked. I think she was trying to be nice. It was clear I came to that event with a tomato adorning my head. As the first course of dinner arrived I looked to Mr. Cheese for conversation but obviously he was engrossed in an already heated discussion of the football matches of the day and I knew from that point it would be a battle I would not win. Instead I noticed that the man drinking Guinness across from the table from me was looking as awkward as I felt. He was the owner of a large car restoration company whom Papa Cheese knew well and had invited both him and his wife along, although his wife kept company with Momma Cheese for the majority of the afternoon and into the evening.
Finishing the meal just in time for a few drinks we entered the chilly air surrounding the stadium and took our seats. Not wanting Mr. Cheese's flatmate to feel out of place as a third wheel I struck up conversation about himself including all those lovely all-inclusive, first class, business trip's he gets to go on. Very envious. As the game commenced Mr. Cheese showed me some appreciated public affection with some cuddles and kisses. Watching and clapping as our home team took the lead we made small talk and enjoyed the classy atmosphere. Several times after chatting to the flatmate I would feel a little tug closer to my lover's body. A little jealous of some potential competition me thinks? I found it sweet that he wanted to protect me and keep me for himself, even if we aren't specifically exclusive - Yet. After the game we all headed back inside and this was when the evening got interesting. Under the watchful gaze of Momma Cheese I was questioned by my new-found, Guinness-loving friend about my employment and my family as well as my love-life. And yet again the dreaded question came up, ''How did you guys meet?''.
Now whenever this occurs both Mr. Cheese and I have a plan. We understand that it is more widely accepted in the day and age that people meet online, but for kids of our age we feel that there is somewhat still a taboo that exists. Unfortunately our cover story of the butterfly bridge fist date did not work and like a dog with a bone the Guinness guzzling guy pestered until I stated we met online. It was only now I realised that the whole table was looking round at us, Master Cheese included. Blushing awkwardly and seeing that Momma and Papa had noticed as well I diverted conversation to something else. After that I felt Mr. Cheese's eye's keeping a watch on me as I continued talking to the man across me from the table. It was good to have especially when some lurid and rather blatant sexual remarks were made about my chest. I was flattered even if it was from an old man getting progressively more intoxicated by 'the black stuff'. I managed those comments well though and as a result didn't need my knight in the seat just next to me, although the squeeze of my thigh after shunning his advances did make me smile.
As the evening drew to a close I noticed I had polished off a large bottle of wine and several strong cider's. I was drunk. and despite me slowing down on the booze it was too late the damage was done. I think I held my own though and came into my own skin, chatting and laughing at ease with people I had only just met. Sober thoughts set in as I wondered about being sick. Oh dear lord I was in front of Mr. Cheese's parents! What happens if they thought I was a alcoholic that couldn't handle a few glasses and bought me AA classes for Christmas and I don't mean for breakdown cover. I think I covered it well. I didn't fall over and I didn't make a complete tit of myself. Hopefully they will invite me again sometime. Such a wonderful afternoony-evening filled with good food, great company, flowing drinks and a great game of rugby. What girl doesn't enjoy watching hunky men run around in shorts getting muddy and hugging each other! None ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So another week down and this week we celebrate it being less than a month until Christmas, when that big guy comes down the chimney and we all end up stuffing our faces with yummy food. And while everyone else is flapping about shopping and plans and all the rest of it, I am cool as a kumquat as I have all mine in the bag, or sack as the case may be!
After spending the working week in finance as a credit controller, my team and I have had to get a grips with the new system that has been introduced which has been difficult but I am sure that by the time we all leave for the holidays we will have mastered its workings! Only having to work a three day week helped too though as I had taken Monday off for the photo shoot and then Friday for getting my hair done. Yes, I did it. Although the results were not as expected. Nearly four hours after firstly walking into the salon in Croydon and after being charged more than expected for a colour I didn't ask for it was safe to say I was aggravated. I said strawberry blonde not strawberry jam! I was so angry and upset I decided to hit the shops for some retail therapy, hoping to improve my mood, but it was a phone-call from that compatible lover himself, Mr. Cheese. After convincing me to come by his after I had finished spending more money he left me with the classic one liner that despite the colour of my hair, I would still look gorgeous. Since I was going to a big, corporate rugby match tomorrow (I know very posh) with his flatmate and parents I felt that this would be as good time as any and so bags in toe, I made my way from south London to his place and we spent the evening together snuggled up on the sofa, blankets and all, watching David Attenborough and eating pudding mis-mash. Bliss!
Saturday morning Mr. Cheese and I spent the whole morning lounging in bed, in between snuggles, sleep and seducing one another. Highlight of the morning definitely has to be my lover pointing at my waist and ordering me - 'Off!' Oh how I do enjoy being submissive. But not all the time - I like control too! Haha. After more napping and natter we got up and made some breakfast. Super healthy seeded bread (probably made by hippies in a caravan up a mountain) with what else than lemon curd smothered into its crustiness. Mmm. Settling back into the lounge with a mug of proper coffee and some toast I knew that things couldn't be easier than right then. After a while of watching telly and munching I suddenly realised what the time was. I had less that forty-five minutes to get ready and leave. That included make-up, lashes, nails, outfit and that all dreaded fire-extinguisher mane! Thankfully the stylist on Friday had styled it so that the big curls stayed in meaning I didn't have to do much but as Mr. Cheese, his flatmate and I left for the station I felt nervous about meeting his parents again with my new hair that I wasn't that confident in. But my hair wasn't the only thing I was troubled by; My nails were unpainted, m lashes were still in their box and my face looked like my cousin had done it. I was not feeling my best. But despite this I pretended and rocked the thrown-together outfit like I was in Dior and Versace.
Upon arrival at the stadium my feet were already killing and I was hoping that I could sit for a while before mingling with the corporate box hoo-ha's. I was handed my ticket which looked very posh and I entered a world I was unaccustomed to. Doing what I think every girl does in this situation I grabbed this opportunity with both hands and simulated that I knew what it was like to do this all the time, secretly being in awe of the fancifulness of such an invite. Meeting Mr. Cheese's father in the foyer I was quickly informed by Daddy Cheese that the whole room had heard about me and my blonde hair from him. Saying nothing more we turned and walked down the plush carpeted hall to the Presidents Lounge. Taking a seat I felt as if I had been told off and was annoyed at myself for disappointing his Dad with a blonde-bombshell expectation. Nevertheless I took the afternoon in my stride and even had a brief chat with Momma Cheese about how lovely it looked. I think she was trying to be nice. It was clear I came to that event with a tomato adorning my head. As the first course of dinner arrived I looked to Mr. Cheese for conversation but obviously he was engrossed in an already heated discussion of the football matches of the day and I knew from that point it would be a battle I would not win. Instead I noticed that the man drinking Guinness across from the table from me was looking as awkward as I felt. He was the owner of a large car restoration company whom Papa Cheese knew well and had invited both him and his wife along, although his wife kept company with Momma Cheese for the majority of the afternoon and into the evening.
Finishing the meal just in time for a few drinks we entered the chilly air surrounding the stadium and took our seats. Not wanting Mr. Cheese's flatmate to feel out of place as a third wheel I struck up conversation about himself including all those lovely all-inclusive, first class, business trip's he gets to go on. Very envious. As the game commenced Mr. Cheese showed me some appreciated public affection with some cuddles and kisses. Watching and clapping as our home team took the lead we made small talk and enjoyed the classy atmosphere. Several times after chatting to the flatmate I would feel a little tug closer to my lover's body. A little jealous of some potential competition me thinks? I found it sweet that he wanted to protect me and keep me for himself, even if we aren't specifically exclusive - Yet. After the game we all headed back inside and this was when the evening got interesting. Under the watchful gaze of Momma Cheese I was questioned by my new-found, Guinness-loving friend about my employment and my family as well as my love-life. And yet again the dreaded question came up, ''How did you guys meet?''.
Now whenever this occurs both Mr. Cheese and I have a plan. We understand that it is more widely accepted in the day and age that people meet online, but for kids of our age we feel that there is somewhat still a taboo that exists. Unfortunately our cover story of the butterfly bridge fist date did not work and like a dog with a bone the Guinness guzzling guy pestered until I stated we met online. It was only now I realised that the whole table was looking round at us, Master Cheese included. Blushing awkwardly and seeing that Momma and Papa had noticed as well I diverted conversation to something else. After that I felt Mr. Cheese's eye's keeping a watch on me as I continued talking to the man across me from the table. It was good to have especially when some lurid and rather blatant sexual remarks were made about my chest. I was flattered even if it was from an old man getting progressively more intoxicated by 'the black stuff'. I managed those comments well though and as a result didn't need my knight in the seat just next to me, although the squeeze of my thigh after shunning his advances did make me smile.
As the evening drew to a close I noticed I had polished off a large bottle of wine and several strong cider's. I was drunk. and despite me slowing down on the booze it was too late the damage was done. I think I held my own though and came into my own skin, chatting and laughing at ease with people I had only just met. Sober thoughts set in as I wondered about being sick. Oh dear lord I was in front of Mr. Cheese's parents! What happens if they thought I was a alcoholic that couldn't handle a few glasses and bought me AA classes for Christmas and I don't mean for breakdown cover. I think I covered it well. I didn't fall over and I didn't make a complete tit of myself. Hopefully they will invite me again sometime. Such a wonderful afternoony-evening filled with good food, great company, flowing drinks and a great game of rugby. What girl doesn't enjoy watching hunky men run around in shorts getting muddy and hugging each other! None ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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