Baby Brain!

Hallo there!

I hope this week finds you all in good health and enjoying the British weather we are having at the moment, unless you are in the Bahamas and reading along or somewhere else hot and sunny to which I congratulate you on your choice of weather and hope someone brings you a cocktail soon. 

This week I am feeling much better than I have been with a mixture of Hayfever, a hectic workload and not much sleep resulting in me feeling grumpy of late. However this weekend, spending it with friends, family and good food, all in the sunshine washing it down with copious amounts of Blossom Hill has obviously had a positive impact on me. Something else that has had an impact on me, and possibly put me in a favouring mood is children. To be more specific I should explain before someone starts throwing pregnancy tests at me! No I am not pregnant, or at least I think I am not anyway, but at Sunday's BBQ with Mr. Warehouse and his large family clan I felt more than ever that time was a-ticking and that my womb should probably be put up for rent in the next few years. 

I am almost positive that every girl my age has this problem though. There we are in the prime of our life, beautiful and as wonderful as we probably ever will feel. But at the back of our minds we know that there is only a limited amount of time that we have to procreate in. The hurry to get a career, find a man, settle down and start churning out sproglett's is immense and so is the pressure. Careers are limited now, and dating opportunities once college and university is over and done with are relatively slim unless you brave the dark depths of Internet dating. Forgive me for thinking so, but life seemed so much easier for our grandparents. I mean, you were cooped up in education until you were sixteen or so, then you found a nice job working in an office as a typist. Soon a young man would see you about town and ask you on a date. You would go jiving in a 1950's dance-hall and end up courting until your father was approached for your hand in marriage. Before you know it your 2.5 kids a dog and are looking like something out of a Betty Crocker cook book - Or at least in my head I am! Now I am sure that isn't perfect for everyone but for me it would and I am slightly disappointed in the fact I never made it to Uni and therefore maybe never met my future husband?

All of that aside however, if you had asked me a year ago, or even six-months ago, what my opinion of children, especially babies, was I would freeze with fear. Scared by snotty noses, nervous of nappies and wary of whimpers I had successfully avoided all contact with small humans for many years, even my own little cousins. However, over the past few months since Mr. Warehouse and I have been together I have felt increasingly more comfortable around children and babies, although granted I wouldn't know how to look after one on my own. I somewhat cockily think that I will just pick it up. Can't be that hard surely?! There just little people. "Who depend on you for everything" my inside voices say menacingly. And then it dawns on me how horrible that feeling must be. You can't have a lie-in. You can't just hit the town for a girls night out. You can't just make a quick detour after work to Debenhams just because you want to have a look for a nice pair of heels - Hell you can't even wear heels now your a mom! Leggings and flat footwear only for the school run and even then that's only after you have made several packed lunches and have prevented world war three from happening over Cornflakes or Coco Pops. 

I know that I am only twenty-three but I am well aware that I am not in a stable enough relationship or even financially strong enough for a child right now, let alone my living arrangements and lifestyle. People, and possibly more-so girls always question I find about "What would happen if I found out I was pregnant right now?" and I honestly think my answer is simple. I just don't know. Maybe before I would have said I would choose adoption or in some certain cases abortion, but maybe now my mind would change right now with my life as it is - A stable stead job, a good and loving boyfriend and a place of my own. Albeit it would be very far from perfect and the life I have wanted for myself from such a young age I think I would still learn to manage. After all, that is my job. 

I would definitely have to move somewhere bigger, leaving behind my pent house apartment with its sloped-ceiling, and cosy feel. Instead trading it in for somewhere more practical and with less stairs. I would at some stage have to think about giving up work to take maternity leave to live a life at home juggling Cbeebies, pots of 'HiPP' and a never ending rota of washing, instead of engineers and job paperwork. During pregnancy I would have to give up all the good things like wine, eggs Benedict and smoked salmon. I would have to sleep on my back and not my tummy as I usually do and would end up waddling more than a duck with a chaffing problem. All of this coupled with the lack of freedom, sleep and constant anxiety - Yes, I don't think I would enjoy motherhood as a twenty-something with her life full steam ahead. I would want to do it the proper way; Travel a bit, get a good job, nice place to live, meet someone and fall in love, move in, get married, and then start a little clan of my own. 

All that said though I kind of like the idea of being someone's sole provider. Their playmate, their comforter, their mother. I would be the kind of parent that would let them stay up and watch horror films (but only after I had watched them first to make sure they're not too scary). I would be the kind of mom that would rustle up some freshly baked goods when a broken heart is in need of mending. I would like to think that I would be that "hawt" soccer Moom that has all the kids round and secretly shares out some vodka between them all , in moderation of course. Hmm, yes. I think that motherhood would suit me in a way but there is a lot to do before we get there. Besides, a white picket fence and a four-bed detached isn't going to fund itself you know. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Working Nine To Five ...

Bonjour!

So as my first full week of being a fully fledged twenty-three-year-old I am beginning to get a bit more of a routine in my life now that the booze and birthday cake is done away with. Now that the partying is over and done with I can start concentrating on my big trip to Las Vegas in March of 2015. With just over six-months until I go I am already planning up, writing lists about list on reams of papers just waiting for the day I board that plane to a destination of many an American Dream. 

Last week I started my second job. Nothing special I must add; Just working in a call-centre calling people randomly and asking if they want to take part in a survey. Yep that's right, I am one of those annoying people that calls when your in the middle of feeding the kids, administering medication to your dog or even taking a leak. And it isn't the first time I have worked as a telephone operative as previous job roles in the past involved asking you for donations to charities you probably have never heard of, persuading you to take part in market research about lunch boxes and booking in a bowling game at your local alley. And some of the responses and people you get to speak to are just priceless. Oh yes, us call centre staff have heard it all. I don't think anything that someone says or does whilst on the phone could shock me anymore. 

I was coming to the end of my shift as a customer service assistant at a contact centre for a rather large national bowling alley. "Two minutes to go!" I thought in my head as I watched the analogue clock in the corner of my screen tick down the final moments of what had been a long and exhausting shift. Time soon to go home and put my feet up with a nice glass of wine. Then the dreaded tone beeped in my ear, abruptly crashing me down from my day-dream and into a script I knew off by heart. Welcoming the caller onto the line I looked at the clock as it turned 9pm. Everyone left apart from me. I was still sat there twenty-minutes later but it would be another fifteen before the caller eventually hung up. The lengthy caller in question was a rather demanding sweet-sixteener-to-be and with a birthday coming up in the next few weeks she was stopping at nothing to have it all her own way. Struggling not to laugh and snigger I listened to requests of her having pink flamingos and penguins greeting her guests from the entrance. She was only getting started. Banners of her face and with outside catering brought in for her twenty-something guest list I knew this was something I couldn't handle alone. 

With no other option I put the young prima donna on hold and called the branch to gain there advice. Of course, flamingos and handmade vol au vents were banned from the birthday celebrations but oddly the banners of the little darling was allowed, as was the throwing of glittery confetti as she exited the already booked limo. Thinking that the fifteen-year-old princess would kick off I took a deep breath before taking her off hold. Relaying to her the branches answers she seemed annoyed and miffed that someone was spoiling her big day but after explaining fully that flamingos and penguins were not allowed on the premises and that outside catering would be a breach of health and safety (I know that old nut) she seems to calm down. After yelling for her father and his credit card I finally spoke to someone I thought I would be able to make sense of. That was until, quite matter of fact, he said that he would buy her another pony. But egg finally landed on this well-to-do gentleman's lap as our company did not accept American Express and so had to end the call in order to find another card. Saying goodbye and ending the call I could already hear the tantrums erupting in the background. Thankful for the day off I had planned the following day I knew I would probably never hear from the little brat again. She will be eighteen now and probably still has that silver spoon wedged between those arse-cheeks of hers. 

Another job I had was market research, very similar to my second job now actually, carrying out surveys on behalf of big customers such as the government, phone providers and a multitude of high street banks. But with serious subjects to get statistics for you sometimes have to fight back the urge to just literally laugh out loud. I had this many a time, a few times where by you can plainly hear urination and others when it is simply as you go to hang up and hear the blop of a cistern and the thrashing of toilet water. One time I even caught someone in the tub! Clearly catching this man at an inconvenient time I promised to call back soon. But on the contrary he obliged and carried out the research questionnaire in full, adding in the odd splash and splosh for added effect. 

The majority of people you speak to you see are very nice and genuinely as a human being you don't want to be unkind or horrible to someone. You do get the odd dick-heads that are just shouty and angry but as I hang up and code away as appropriately and with my ears probably still ringing I think, well someone either hasn't been laid in a long time or has just burnt their dinner. Sometimes though you can call at the most in consonant of times in peoples lives and not everyone makes it easy for you to get out once your into a call. One elderly lady I spoke to whilst working in charity fundraiser answered the phone politely and kindly, a warm grand-mothering voice. When I asked for the man of the household, her husband, I was told he was not in. Asking for a time in which he would be available to speak with I was met with an answer I didn't fully understand until she had hung up. 

"Well pet, if you want to speak to him you will have to have a hot line to heaven" The old dear softly spoke down the line and before I even got a chance to open my mouth the line went dead. That wasn't the only thing as I soon realised that what the pensioner was trying to say was that her husband was dead. Feeling bad about it I tried my hardest from that moment on to be more careful with older people - They die more often. 

With targets to beat and completed surveys to get the stress levels on a market research company call floor are usually pretty intense, but sometimes you speak to that odd gem that just takes it all away. Like one man whom I spoke to on a cold winter's evening a few years ago. After going through the same old introduction again with yet another faceless voice I got an odd response that soon made me prick up my ears and put down my doodling pen. The gruffly voiced gentleman on the other end asked a common question as to what incentive there was for him in all of this. Stating clearly that there was no prize draw for a Porsche or cash give-away I was met with the usual steely cold response. Thinking that he was about to hang up I tried one last time to ask him to complete the survey. 

"You have a very sexy voice Abbey. Very seductive indeed. OK, I will do it. On one condition. Because I like your voice. I like to hear you talk. So carry on dear." Shocked I looked around. Involved with they're own workload no-one seemed to care that this older man may be praying on a college student. Doing my job I continued the seven-minute phone call without as much as a peep from the respondent apart from answering the questions of course, the odd grunt or pant for good measure being huffed down the phone from his end. What he was doing whilst I asked of his opinions on the war in Iraq I have no clue but I didn't want to ask. As we came to the end of the call I thanked him for his time and proceeded to end the conversation as quickly as possible. Not getting away easily he asked me a question I never expected. 

"Can I have your number?" A slightly out of breath man asked. Panicking I gave him the company number. 

"No. Can I have your number?" My admirer asked. Now bricking it I simply said that it was not company policy to give out individual personal details and again thanked him for his time, desperately hoping he would just go so I could go on break and laugh my tits off, hoping I never have to talk to him again. Silence was broken after a few after another frosty bit of dead-air. Finally the male hung up but not before thanking me for a very good evening indeed. Even sitting here now I can recall his final message - No No Abbey, Thank you. Thank you. 

And so I slog it out, day-dreaming away the moment I can watch a sham-Vegas wedding between two drunks that have just met. Thoughts of cocktails, wild and messy nights out and a naughty American fling. Week after week for the next six-months I shall continue to work my fingers to the bone in order to afford a holiday of a lifetime. And as I sit at my desk I wonder to myself, how an earth would I be able to date with two jobs, an apartment, a hectic social life and a holiday to save for, not to even mention Christmas! But somehow I think that maybe there is something brewing. Something that is maybe a little closer to home. Something that has been under my nose the entire time ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

How To Wrap Bread and Other Stories!

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 :) xx

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

The Sweetest Goodbye

Hi, 

So finally I can now put behind me another sickeningly romantic Valentines Day and look forward to the rest of what 2014 has to offer. So far I have Reading Festival '14 and not much else but with rumours of another mini-break to Chester with Miss Chocolate and possibly Miss Tatts our old college friend as well as a boozed up sunshine break with Miss Chocolate and friends too, there is much to anticipate over the coming months. However I feel that I have become more and more withdrawn over the past few weeks, slowly drifting further into the background, which as you all know is very unlike me. However I am sure I will pick myself off and find something fun to do although life hasn't been very fun this week. Allow me to explain ... 

Rushing around like a headless chicken (Mmm Nando's) I tried my best to finish my mountain of work on my desk before finishing half-day on Friday. Who knew that having a spa day booked would be so stressful and energy-draining. But I must confess, that wasn't the only thing I was heading to London for. I had some stuff I needed to collect from Mr. Cheese that I had left at his flat I so wished to visit one last time, and conveniently for me that aggravatingly contradictory man was heading through Kings Cross St. Pancras Station as I was. Whilst I was going in for some retail therapy and a rub-down, he was heading out on a family weekend to York visiting Grandad Cheese in hospital. And so as I clambered onto the train with minutes to spare I wondered again about what would happen when we finally said goodbye for the very last time. Watching the trees and countryside of the home-counties rush past the window I knew that despite my planning and preparation for this concluding encounter I had been building up to since I took a stand on New Years Day that it could all fall apart as soon as we met. And to some extent it did. 

Of course irony would have a part to play in all of this at some point, this is me were on about here, and right on cue we learnt that Mr. Cheese and I had ended up in the wrong parts of the station and as we had done on our first date, mostly down to my incompetence at geographical locations. Nevertheless I found him, that odd man in casual clothing looking nothing of the London sort, slumped against the glass wall of Starbucks trying to look calm but emulating an awkwardness and uneasiness at the whole situation. Approaching him with a strut in my step I desperately tried to stay calm, trying to remember all the things I would say and the positive crap Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee had drummed into me the past few months, not to mention countless others. Standing in front of the taller-than-remembered Mr. Cheese I saw him relax a little at the notion of my presence. Without a word I was pulled into a hug and almost instinctively I could feel my arms tightening around his waist, clutching at him never to let go. But I had to and noticing my warmth growing rapidly I reluctantly pulled away. 

As people sipped at over-priced coffee and as even more hustled and bustled around us I felt like Mr. Cheese and I were the only ones there. Making small talk we avoided the real reason we were both here in the middle of London. Rummaging in his bag he pulled out my things and handed them to me. I thanked him. Concerned about his Grandad I asked how he was. Mr. Cheese confirmed that all was not well and he was very sick. A million different scenarios ran through my mind and at the same time and as heartbreaking as it was to say I knew I had to offer some comfort. As we stood there eyes wide and filling with tears, saying nothing and everything simultaneously and knowing that the end was nearing I ran through the plan in my head once more. As I opened my mouth to speak, Mr. Cheese shook his head, still piercing my heart with those bright blue eyes of his. Ignoring his gesture I continued. 

"I will always be here for you. If you ever need me. Family, friends, work, anything. You know where I am." I croaked. I felt like I was in a Hollywood blockbuster but I knew that this wasn't going to end like it does in the movies. Taking my arm once more Mr. Cheese pulled me in for one last cuddle, confessing softly that he didn't want me to go. I agreed. I never wanted this to end. Ever. But I couldn't carry on. I cant carry on. I gave Mr. Cheese the chance to make it something wonderful but he chose not to. Slowly pulling away I went to start my well-rehearsed monologue but before I got a chance Mr. Cheese stole my spotlight. "Please don't go. I miss you." He said, voice breaking under every word whilst fighting back tears that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. Standing there in Kings Cross St Pancras there was still so much left to say. I wanted to scream at Mr. Cheese how obvious it is that this is right. How much I miss him as well. How I crave his attention and how I long for every part of him - His eyes, his beard, his lips, his hands, his hair. Hell even the tippee boobs and chest wig I will miss and all the little things that annoyed me about him.

In a way I saw that history was repeating itself in a way. Mr. Cheese had been in a similar situation only a year beforehand when a close family member passed away. Whilst I felt awful for having to do this now but I couldn't see any other way of fixing it. With his words I knew exactly what he wanted to say. I understood that Mr. Cheese missed me and I knew he didn't want me to go either but I think what he really wanted to say was 'I need you'. Gathering up the rest of my courage I pulled myself together to finish the show. I concluded with I had to go and that I will always love him. Kissing him softly and hearing my heart crack yet again I walked away, blending into the city crowds. As hot wet tears steamed I wondered where it had all gone wrong and if there was any hope of it blossoming again. But no. The chance was given and the choice was made. Now we have to lye in the beds that we made. Alone. 

A relaxing spa, massage and a drink with an friend took the edge off my afternoon engagement however as the journey home took a hold I could help but well-up again and so terminated my Friday; Crying all the way home listening to Maroon 5 and Ed Sheeran. Oh how break-ups fail to disappoint. As Dad has always said - Its always better in the morning (Meaning issues, not sex although it is a valid point to make that sex in the morning is just as fun as when the sun goes down). Upon rising from my bed on Saturday morning with the acknowledgement that I have less than ten hours to put together all my furniture with the help of Papa and turn my flat into a home ready for my house-warming not to mention cramming in some food shopping and relaxy-time. After spending the day calming my father down about the 'poxy wardrobe' and 'wanking bed' (don't quite know how either of those are possible for inanimate objects but there you go, Dad logic) I then embarked on some food shopping and tidying for the evenings entertainment. 

As I introduced the party guests to my humble home I was bombarded with Oohs and Ahhs and a steady flow of compliments from all and as we continued into the night I was glad I had something to occupy myself with although was fully aware that I still wasn't myself after yesterday's meeting. Saturday soon turned to Sunday and after waking up in all the wrong places, me and my entourage headed out for breakfast and not forgetting that I was having a date that afternoon with Mr. Minigolf I made sure to look my best. Unfortunately just after finishing breakfast I received a incredulous message that my date would have to be called off due to a break-in and that Mr. Minigolf and I would have to rearrange our little date for another time. In all honesty I think maybe some 'pieds froids' have taken hold although I am optimistic that we do want to meet-up at some point.

So that was my weekend, a somewhat bitter/sweet affair tinged with unfortunate incidents and sprinkled with erupting laughter and friends. Whilst the door is beginning to close on the saga with Mr. Cheese, I did receive a message from him asking to talk. I explained that I am more than happy to talk and to listen to what he has to say but I have said everything I want to a million times before, and whilst I cant see what difference it will make, I am happy to hear him out. Until that happens though I hope that I can get better and make life a little more happier than it has been ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Love is in The Air and It Stinks!

Hello there!

And what a busy week I have been having since the laziness of the past few. So typical boring British I shall begin with the weather however don't be turned off just yet as I am merely stating the fine fact that the past few days have been warmer than average and I am looking out of my window now at work from my new desk as Credit Control Administrator with a smile on my face in the knowledge that summer is only just around the corner. 

So this week in the UK and I am assuming most other places on planet earth it was that god awful day ... Valentine's Day. Now I love 'Love' and in fact I am sure that some of you will know that I am the kind of person that falls very easily and quickly for someone. Not naming names here but there is more Mr. Men here that there is in a children's book store! I enjoy the fact that for at least one day a year everyone should have the ability to either get chocolates, beer, flowers or sex and if your in a relationship then lucky you because you probably are getting all three. Valentine's Day is a wonderful occasion that you can celebrate with your loved one. Unfortunately for me those days were over some weeks ago and so this year I spent my Valentine's with my fellow singleton, Miss Tweedle-Dee and her cat (Although I'm not sure if the cat has a lover? Great now I'm starting to think that the cat gets laid more than I do!) 

Every year this calender event rolls around and every year I feel like carrying around a sick bag just watching other people being in love and in all honesty happy. I hate it. And yet at the same time I want to join in and share in that love although it is frowned upon to just pull up a chair to a couple on a date in a restaurant (Not from experience of course!) It is such a bitter/sweet moment. The fact is that whilst I had purchased slushy and somewhat crude Valentine's card's for Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee; I had also purchased, signed, sealed and delivered such a card for a certain someone. I shall not name names but I have been told off by many friends of mine for sending such a thing and to never do it again. Yes, that might not have been the most cleverest of things to do but I thought nothing of it and if I'm honest; hoped it would patch up some holes. 

Friday night after finishing work I headed home and packed a bag for the weekend. Not only was I indulging in a night in with my Miss Tweedle-Dee but I was also meeting with Miss Cupcake who is getting married in several months. Miss Cupcake has asked me to be the photographer for her wedding as mentioned last week and we had finally put aside some time in our busy schedule's to walk around the grounds in which the soon-to-be-weds intend to take their vows. Looking outside however hearing the rain start to drizzle down my quaint windows I felt that this may not be the weather for a half-hour walk to the train station. But I couldn't leave it as knowing England the rain could go on for days. Braving the cold, wet droplets I headed for the station only to get there colder and wetter than when I first started out. I was now frustrated and annoyed and just wanted to be warm and cuddly. And the mood did not improve when I got to the other end. I boarded the wrong bus which stopped half way and chucked me out in the middle of where I grew up (A place I despise with a passion). A typically deprived 'chav'-area and despite living there for the longest period in my life I had not taken on the appearance of a common resident around those parts. A life filled with 'Jeremy Kyle' and the occasional spliff, lounging in bed all day with the only reasons to get up is either going to sign on, feeding one of your nine children (all by different fathers) or maybe a trip to the local shops to steal stuff in your Primark ugg boots and pyjamas, or if your lucky a velour tracksuit! Yes I did not miss my hometown. 

Angrily cursing under my breath I huffed into the freezing air. Aggravated I punched in the numbers of a local cab company I knew of. As it dialled through I thought about how unsatisfying it is to just press a screen when you are mad. Long gone are the days where you could push down so hard of buttons they would catch under the plastic handset or snap shut that person on the other end of the line. In good time (But not good enough given my foul mood) the cab arrived and I was soon en route to Miss Tweedle-Dee's humble abode. As soon as I arrived I hopped straight in the shower, warming my bones that had chilled in the weather. Walking out into the warmness of her home I noticed Miss Tweedle-Dee had brought out her guitar. Feeling more of an improvement now I had arrived at my final destination and knowing the tune she was strumming away to I joined in with the chorus and thus commenced our Valentine's night. The remainder was just as I had hoped for. Girly chit-chat, Youtube videos, takeaway food and a horror film. I think it was one of the best Valentine's Days I have ever had, regardless if Miss Tweedle-Dee pre-booked me over a year in advance. I hope maybe next year I can do the same - With or without a boyfriend!

Who knows what next year may bring. The next twelve-months will be an exciting journey I shall share with you all once more again. The highs, the lows. The Mr.'s and the Miss'. Maybe this time next year I shall with with someone, or maybe just the same old loon still partying as she enters her twenty-fourth year of life! Regardless I know I'll have a whale of a time (maybe because I was called one on a beach sometime! Sad face). This week I have a flat to fix-up, a house-warming to prepare for and a date with someone who shall be named before encountered - Mr. Minigolf!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Move, A Promotion And A Dating Dilemma

Hiya, 

So after last week's fiasco involving the ever-alluring Mr. Cheese, my life in other areas has well surpassed my expectations. 

Ripping myself from my bed sheets I realised horribly that it was a Thursday morning again and not a Friday as I had hoped for. Asking myself what I should wear today I threw on a skirt and shirt combo and headed out the door to my car share. The day itself ticked along nicely until lunch whereby I had planned a lunch-date with my Dad's girlfriend who works just round the corner from me. Almost instantly conversation turned to Mr. Cheese and his disappointing absence from my world. Spending nearly an hour consuming ourselves with men problems I needed to return to my office and so we left. Upon arrival at my desk everything seemed normal. As the time dragged on more people started returning from their own lunch breaks. I thought nothing of it. Then I noticed people gossipping and a slow buzz took over the accounting department as mouths were twitching with a hum of knowledge. Now a few weeks ago it was apparent that our Administrator would be going on maternity leave very shortly to have a bouncy baby boy (well I'm hoping that they don't test him on the bouncy front, pretty sure that would kill the little mite). The company had started interviews for her role and I decided I would apply. Only I was too late. By the time I got to my manager's office to talk to her, the vacancy had been filled. No worries though, I already had a job I loved and would apply for something else if and when it came up. 

Within a few days there was a new face in the office and someone new to share the banter. Nevertheless a fortnight later here I was, at my desks, my fellow workers getting worked up about something. All of a sudden a colleague appeared by my side. Nothing unusual. "Probably some question I could help with" I thought, although I was secretly shitting myself thinking maybe I had done something wrong and that was the end of the line for me! Quite the opposite really. After turning to address the slim-figured women I was asked if I wanted the position of Credit Control Administrator? Stunned I asked why as the position had already been filled. It was then I found out what everyone was nattering about. The lady whom had been taken on in favour of 'yours truly' had disappeared and it was thought that she had simply done a runner on her lunch break, never to return again. As a grin started splitting my face, I knew I had bagged myself that illusive permanent job I had been searching for. Well for a year at least. Over the coming days I was told that the company would match my salary and I would benefit from holiday pay, sick pay and the option to join a pension scheme. Now truth be told most women tend not to return after a baby but even if the mom-to-be does come back I will have been grateful for the experience and appreciative for the opportunities it has given me. Today was my first day shadowing and I now have a further fortnight to gain all knowledge before the labour ward calls on the young-parent. 

So that's the work life, now onto the lurve life! Since the separation from suave Mr. Cheese, I have found myself bombarded with suitors from every angle; Dating websites, apps and just generally meeting people. Just so happens that between moving house, socialising with friends, going out with work, unpacking and bagging myself a career I have also managed to finally squeeze in a date. Whom you may ask? That little fortuitous Mr. Rockclimber. Following a lengthy conversation consisting of messages, SnapChat's and the odd text over the past three-months we finally decided enough was enough and that we needed to meet each other. 

Wrapping up warm and making sure that the new place was clean and tidy I forced myself into the cold, nearly-midnight air of Bedfordshire. "What are you doing?" I thought to myself. Truth be told I didn't know. What I did know was that it was very cold and I was meeting a man who I had been talking to for the past twelve weeks in a pub a short walk from my new flat at a very late hour in the evening. Upon meeting we shared a hug and ventured into the warmth for a beer. Conversation of good sorts followed - Food, the weather, friends and some funny little anecdotes I have also shared with you lot. But I think it was safe to say that I had pretty much made up my mind as soon as we locked eyes. Whilst I yearn to move on from the indecisive Mr. Cheese I am unable to. I wanted so much for Mr. Rockclimber to be a welcome distraction and a new lease of life for my young, wild and lustful intentions. Regardless of this fact he did indeed stay over that night, purely and simply because he was unable to get back home until the following morning. To answer your burning question - Yes we did. Strangely it was everything that I would have asked from a bed-partner; Romantic, hard, rough and yet so unbelievably soft and gentle with his hands that I swooned under his touch. But nothing. Nothing at all. I wanted to feel something. But all this encounter do for me was make me realise that my lactose-intolerance is not cured by finding someone else. Sadly I feel that Mr. Rockclimber and I wont work out. 

In fact, I wonder if I ever will sometimes - Meet the right one that is. Life was so uncomplicated and smooth running with Mr. Cheese it hard to imagine him not in it any more. I wish so hard that I could be simple and just "go with the flow" (Maaaaan) but I can't. I'm a girl. A women. I like cuddles and snuggles and bubbles of the belly variety. Mr. Cheese and I had a love-story to rival Disney; But instead of skipping off happily-ever-after, I'm indulging myself in any possible activity to take my mind off him - Secretly hoping he'll be beneath my window one day.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Languishing Laughs

Heyy, 

I hope that all is well in the world of you this week. I myself have had a slightly more upbeat and optimistic seven days since we last spoke. I have started packing, only two boxes I know but nevertheless it is a start and should be congratulated by a glass of wine in which I am sipping as we speak. This week in terms of the house I have visited my new abode yet again and look forward very much to moving in this weekend. Although I must admit the added stress and worry about money has got the better of me, and, knowing I wont be able to afford the large fees for moving in I have taken out a credit card. I am well aware of the implications that may arise from such a heavy responsibility but I plan to pay it all off within the first three months of moving in. Besides I have to - I have Kavos with Miss Chocolate to attend in the summer of 2014! Boy, Booze and Beaches! What more could a newly solitary women in her early-twenties ask for?!

This week has been better for a number of reasons. One of which is a new face! Mr. Rockclimber who I spoke of before Christmas and New Years if my memory doesn't fail me has been on the scene pretty much since Mr. Cheese and I went on our little break. Mr. Rockclimber however gained his name as he asked me on a date rock-climbing. I declined due to the fact I had only just found out about moving and subsequently though through no forward planning spent the weekend with Mr. Cheese. After New Years, he approached me and started small talk and now we have a date planned for Friday night - Just hours after I move in to Palais de A.Lou - A palace is much better than a Chateau! He did try to tempt me to go rock-climbing again, but I have no idea what I would wear so again aquested his request.

My other saving grace this week has got to be the bestie visiting! My little dumpling Miss Tweedle-Dee was ill over the weekend so was unable to join in with the ridiculousness however Miss Tweedle-Dumb was fit as a fiddle and in prime shape for a evening of giggles and drinks. Arriving at the station to meet her after a hard Saturday afternoon doing nothing but watching TV about current affairs and general crap Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I headed straight to the pub. After ordering food, failing several times as they seemed to be out of everything other than chocolate cake we sat down to have a nibble. Conversation almost immediately turned to the obvious - Mr. Cheese. Now since last week nothing much has changed in terms of updates, but with less than a week to go I am starting to feel apprehensive about our meet up with Mr. Cheese. And whilst I don't know for definite, I am sure that Miss South-Africa has made another appearance, especially after Mr. Cheese's vaguely coy plans for Sunday just gone. Nevertheless I tried my hardest not to speak of him, despite it taking up alot of conversation over the weekend. I think I know already what the answer is this weekend and should really prepare myself for the worst as I can't see this ever being resolved in a way I will be satisfied with. 

After a bite to eat the cigarette lounge called to us and so Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I retired before getting the next round of drinks in. Talk now turned to the recent events in her own life and the high possibility of moving overseas to be with her boyfriend who just got a job in Austria. I am excited for her, my dearest Miss Tweedle-Dumb, although it terrifies me that I struggled when I was just up the motorway in Northampton with Mr. Workaholic when that started heading south so god only knows what she may feel like in a country she has never even been to. Whilst I wish her all the best I silently hope that I have many more fond memories with her here in the land in which we grew up. It wont be forever I know that, but its scary not having your mom-therapist-stylist-sister-joker-lover-dancer-drinker pal and agony aunt right by your side. What am I going to do on a night out when I need a poo and I have to have help out of my play-suit?! What am I going to do when a boy breaks my heart (again)?! Oh my dear Tweedle-Dumb.

As the weather turned gloomy and wet we returned inside, only to find solace in the dessert menu. After scouring the small section for a good twenty-minutes I got tired of waiting and hummed a well know tune from an old TV programme called Countdown where by contestants have to make the longest word out of a whole bunch of letters selected by none other than Carol Vorderman (not Voldermort) - One of Britain's sexiest telly-cougars! Just as I finished my vocal chord, Miss Tweedle-Dee looked at me in horror only to notice that without thinking it, we had sat next to a huge poster of none other than Carol Vorderman herself. Bursting into hysterics we laughed for a further quarter-hour until we settle on pancakes and waffles. Finishing our desserts, stuffed to our rib's we noticed that the room was slightly warmer. Why? Well it seemed that a nice bit of eye-candy had fallen onto the fruit-machines and was making us both hot under the collar. Instantly we started coming out with all sorts of outrageous and cringe-worthy chat-up lines to approach him with and although none of these were put into practise, they were still funny to laugh at how unbelievably pig-headed men can be. As the last orders were called we headed home and after lots of chuckles and snorts we fell into a deep sleep next to each other for the last time before moving into my new flat.

And so after a date dilemma with Mr. Rockclimber where by I was basically blown off for a simple nose bleed his mom had, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I had a morning of Sunday shopping and then came home to pack. We did one box. Between us. Ooops! But nevertheless I had a good week and weekend. I have a busy one ahead of me though. Tomorrow I am round to Daddy's for dinner; Wednesday is the cinema with the Tweedles and some friends; Thursday is packing and Friday is move day! Friday night I have a date with Mr. Rockclimber and Saturday I plan to unpack. Sunday however is the day I am not so much looking forward to as I have to return to my old place to host the showdown of the year. Cheese vs. Moi! Who will win ... Nobody knows! Although I am anticipating since we have both been winning with the whole open relationship thing for so long one of us is bound to loose and I have a funny feeling I should get my gloves on early. But you never know, life has a funny way of surprising me so we shall just have to wait and see what happens when I write this next week from my new home!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Decision Time!

Well Hello There, 

How are we all doing, hope your fully recovered from your new years eve celebrations wherever in the world you may be! Hope you are having a good first few days into 2014 and enjoying what it has to bring. As for my life so far this year there have been some big changes, I have resumed working as a Credit Controller and am enjoying my first few days back. I am getting out and about viewing flats and new abodes I can begin writing to you from. But truth be told, the long dark days, horrid weather and general January blues are really taking its toll. Although there is a good reason why I should be so glum as things are a little different than when we last spoke. 

Now, New Years Eve was something I wanted to celebrate with all those I loved around me but as circumstances have it I ended up spending it in a west London pub, tears falling over my cheeks and soaked in wine. Allow me to explain. So for the past few months I have been asking The Tweedles - AKA Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb what their plans were for the New Year and what we were all going to do to celebrate it. After much deliberation there was still no conclusion and so instead of being stuck somewhere come midnight and not having anywhere to stay I decided to spend the evening with Mr. Cheese, despite the upset caused to certain individuals. After the struggles over Christmas, trying to figure out where this whole thing with Mr. Cheese is going I knew that the elephant in the room had to be confronted; And soon. 

Journeying down to London on the train I was optimistic about the evening and day that followed. I was hoping that Mr. Cheese and I would venture into the City on New Years Day and potter around a museum or something. Hopping onto the tube I made my way to Soho to meet Mr. Cheese, but as I was waiting in the rain outside in the busy streets my mood started to droop. I wasn't feeling very happy or excited. I just felt overwhelmed with the decision I would soon have to make. I knew in my heart though that whatever I was feeling right there would be melted away like snow as soon as the brilliance of the Fromage arrived. And true, it did. but kissing in the rain didn't feel as special as it should have. It should have felt better! Making our way back to the tube I was hoping that Mr. Cheese would help my mood lift. 

Upon arrival back to Mr. Cheese's west London flat, more wet and bedraggled than before we set about tidying up before settling down on the sofa for a cosy night in, softly whispering to each other how we have several hours to go until midnight. I felt for a moment and mentioned this to my date that maybe we were too old and just to go to bed to which I already knew the reply would be a stern "No." And so after feasting on restaurant take-out and wine we began to talk about memories of years gone by. I reminisced about the Tweedles and some of our first encounters of boys together and a few of the drunken teenage laughs we all had. I hoped in the back of my head they were having a good time too. Before we knew it the food had gone and our glasses were empty. Mr. Cheese and I had forty minutes of the year  left and decided to join his flat mate and her boyfriend down the road in the pub for some drinks to celebrate it properly. 

Entering the hot, stuffy bar I suddenly felt very under dressed in my flat moccasins, jeans and jumper combo. "I should have brought heels" I thought, silently begrudging myself for being ill-equipped. Even still I got some attention, although not always from the right people. Glancing at the clock as I was poured a glass of wine by the flatmate I pondered across the year before and the year ahead. Last year was very different and the year ahead, well, what will it entail? Who knows. As the clock passed midnight no-one noticed, including the DJ and so we ended up welcoming in the new year five minutes later like a bunch of unprepared school children on photo-day. Welcoming in New year I stood around, smile on my face watching everyone else kissing. For once I didn't know what to do. I know what I wanted to do. I know what I wanted to happen. But I doubted that was enough floor space for Mr. Cheese to spin me around and kiss me passionately in front of the whole pub. Eventually our eyes met and we kisses, holding each other tight as the festivities engulfed us. 

Soon the smooching subsided, I got talking to the flatmates boyfriend. I had only met him a few times, but from our encounters I had established that he was a pretty boy from up-north with a thick accent and a head to match but a lovely chap nonetheless. Not wanting to distract my attention from Mr. Cheese too much I turned back to face him. But as I slowly opened my eyes and twisted my body to meet his I felt a cold splash and a stinging sensation in my eyes. Yes. I had my first glass of wine thrown over me. Was it the angry ex-girlfriend whom apparently lives only a few blocks from the bar itself? No. Did I get caught up in an ugly fight? No. Had I been splashed by a runaway baby elephant that had sneaked into the venue and squirted his trunk at me (no pun intended). No, but close. As I had turned to face the dear Mr. Cheese he got excited about something his flatmate had said and unintentionally thrown my wine all over me. I know, and it wasn't even his. So as I stand there dazed and confused my eyes weeping with Blossom Hill and my jumper sodden I couldn't help but laugh. Mr. Cheese on the other hand was mortified. He quickly grabbed me and pulled me in close apologising for his clumsiness. I didn't care. It was an accident and I knew that, but for some odd reason I felt as if Mr. Cheese saw it as a horrible incident in which I would scream and shout at him for even attempting to make my mascara run. I didn't mind, I was just sad that my wine was being soaked up by my jumper rather than my blood-stream. 

As the night wore on and we made small talk amongst ourselves and the people around us I couldn't help but notice a tune I recognised. A song from my past. Whilst it was not hugely significant, I had been to enough DJ set's to know that the song that usually follows would be fatal to my already sodden cheeks. I made an excuse and made a dash for the exit before my ears could pick up any more music. But as I leaned against the window outside in the fresh, chilly air of 2014 my mind couldn't help hoping that Mr. Cheese would follow me outside and keep me warm. But placing a cigarette to my lips and as predicted the first chords of the song Mr. Workaholic and I shared rang out from the speakers; winding its way through the crowds, seeping into the night, poisoning my ears once more. I couldn't hold it back. I tried but as I beat off thoughts of Mr. Workaholic and the life we built together only a few years before but they were too strong. This was the song we first danced too. This was the song I first sang to him, yelling it across the dance floor as we spinned around happy to have encountered one another. This was the song that we would have our first dance to - Played acoustically and softly as we swayed with a hundred eyes on us. It was the song that ironically depicted our relationship. Almost down to the very last beat. As hot tears began to smudge my dark make-up I headed back inside in search of comfort. Finally finding Mr. Cheese at the table we were sharing I clung onto his arm for dear life, praying he would take not of the sounds that were haunting me. He did not. I curled in closer taking refuge in his torso. It was only when I explained the semantics and reasons why I was crying that he pulled me in for a brief, sharp hug. It was at this point I knew I needed more. 

Collecting our stuff after finishing another few bottles the four of us headed into the lit streets of London and made our way home. Laughing and giggling all the way Mr. Cheese and I highlighted the fact that the helium balloons I had "borrowed" from the bar should be put to good use, rather than letting them float away. Licking my lips and sucking hard I took in a deep breath. Holding it in until I was ready I spoke in a high-pitched squeaky voice. This was the first time I had tried helium. It made me light-headed after a while and for a moment I wasn't thinking about the roller-coaster evening I had. Entering once more into the flat, Mr. Cheese, his flatmate, her boyfriend and I all gathered round to watch the flatmate open her birthday presents. All were wonderful, but after all that excitement I was starting to reach my upper limit on the alcohol front and all I wanted was bed-time. Being slightly fragile both emotionally and drunkenly I felt that sex was maybe best left for the morning. Although come morning it was a very different story indeed.

Rolling over and checking the time I was alarmed to discover it was gone eleven in the morning. Gently waking Mr. Cheese from his slumber I mentioned this too him and how we had missed breakfast at our favourite cafe. I asked the simple question on what we were going to do with the rest of the day and after spending money I should be saving on a train fare to see him I was expecting to make it go a little further than just last night. Much to my disappointment that was not the case and a simple answer followed my simple question. Mr. Cheese replied by saying that he "just wanted to lounge about the flat and watch some football". It was clear his plans and mine for the first day into the New Year were very different. This got me thinking and for the next four hours I lounged in bed, mostly in silence, wondering if Mr. Cheese would ever make the move. Would he ever truly be all mine? The answer is no. Don't worry I asked. Straight-up asking him if he wanted me and only me, just us, together as boyfriend and girlfriend. His reply was the same as the first time we met - "I'm just not ready". 

Upset, angry, confused, frustrated, hurt, annoyed. Many words could describe how I am feeling both then and still now. I don't understand. If your eating Jam, should it really matter if its blackberry or strawberry, its jam all the same right? OK, maybe not the best comparison there but my heads a bit of a mess as I am sure you can imagine. And so after a solemn last supper (i.e - late lunch) we departed. Not wanting to go but knowing I had to we made the pact that we would only communicate through text messages and email until the first weekend in February when we shall meet again and see where we are both at. Since that moment there has not been a second that doesn't pass without me thinking of my dearest Mr. Cheese. But I know I need to do this. I want him and he doesn't want me so I need to distance myself from him. In my head I suppose this will make the real end much less painful. I can see us being so good together, but obviously he doesn't see this yet and I am hoping that some time apart will make him question why we aren't already an item. 

And so for the time being I shall try and keep my spirits high. Try not to worry too much about not having enough money to move. Try not to worry about work. Try not to worry about Mr. Cheese and his developing or dwindling feelings for me. I shall bounce back from this but right now I just wish that life would choose better moments than right now. Ugh! Roll on February!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Look Back In Time

Hello Again, 

Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. Three-hundred and sixty-five days. However you phrase it it has been a year, and what a year it has been! Not quite as dramatic and emotional as last year but nevertheless an eye-opener and a year to remember in my life as being the year of hope. Hope for a better life beyond where I am now and hope for one day finally getting over and coming to terms with Mr. Workaholic and the scars he has left me with. 

This year I have catapulted myself back onto the dating scene and created romances with some unlikely fellows from my past and a few fresh faces too. Mr. Coffee whilst we didn't work out, we still talk and will remain friends forever. Mr. Carrots I have since not spoken to but feel that this is best since the feelings received were stronger than being emitted. Mr. Accent I have not encountered since my TV appearance and don't plan on meeting up but you never know, could be a late grower - Like mould! And to all those others met under the cover of darkness in a stuffy club with music thumping and strobe lights blinking across the revellers, I bid you a fair well for this year and look forward to seeing you all next as my plans for being single still exist. And I know your all wondering about that little charmer, Mr. Cheese. Well I haven't missed him out. As it approaches the six-month mark in the early New Year, I have decided to cool it off for a bit. I have alot of stuff I need to sort out in my own life and having the constant 'will-we-wont-we' battle inside my head is stating to wear on me. I am starting off the New Year by having to move yet again and the stresses of that are already starting to pile up, not to mention not knowing when or whether my job will go permanent and on top of all that there is a storm coming in the way of a family argument with a magnitude to match a tornado. I am confused at when I stand in this whole thing and what we are, both going forward into the New Year but also beyond that. I still don't know how I feel about being solely someone elses and at the same time I know it would feel good too. Both Mr. Cheese and I have our own things to worry about in January so I'm hoping he will use this opportunity to reflect on the past few months and decide what he really wants. They always say that distance makes the heart grow fonder!

Also this year I have created some unforgettable memories with friends. From Miss Chocolate and I having a frolicking Friday night out in Frodsham earlier in the year to the night-out disaster that ended with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I in bed by 10-O'clock after drinking too much. All memories that will stick with me and keep me chuckling well into 2014. One thing I have learnt however is the sad story of how Miss Tweedle-Dumb, despite our antics is possibly moving to Europe to start a new life with her boyfriend whom recently was offered a job in Austria. Now don't grab your hankies (Or voo-voo-saila's) just yet as nothing has been confirmed and are pipe-dreams at the moment but I suspect that if all goes well, or not so, my fabulous Miss Tweedle-Dumb will be jetting off to start a life of Strudel and Bratwurst before we know it. But don't you all worry I will make sure she gets a send off like you have never seen before. As for Miss Tweedle-Dee, I'm hoping that regardless of our clashing opinions and different tastes that she and I will become closer as friends and learn to love each others annoying little traits. Miss Chocolate and I have a year of debauchery ahead of us in the form of more weekends away together, hopefully a week getting off our tits in a party island where the whether is hot and the booze is flowing, not to mention a steady flow of men to get our fangs into! 

And so I end this year as I did this time last year, with a man I am at a cross-roads with and feeling somewhat fulfilled in the year I have endured. I am proud to say that I have yet again survived a year of Trials and Tribulations of a Twenty-Something! 

I hope you all have a happy New Year and keep safe. I'll see you next year!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Morning all,  

So its that time of year again and all is well. Last week I shared the news with you all that I was yet again moving out of the hell hole I have spent the past few months living in and will hopefully be moving somewhere much nicer between now and the beginning of February next year. Also this week I have been busy with work, friends and family all in the run up to the festive period - Christmas! 

Now as many of you know, I had a bit of a pickle back in mid-October when Mr. Cheese asked me to come and spend the Holidays with him and his family. I was so taken aback by such a request that I didn't quite know what to do but nevertheless after thinking it over and being formally asked again by invitation of his parents I could hardly turn down a mini break with the Cheese's in rural, English countryside.  Whilst being a townie, I sure as hell know how to be a country bumpkin and feel I have been able to fit in well in the past when donning wellies and a pair of dungarees.  Only this time the added pressure of Christmas played on my mind and so I have decided to leave Mr. Cheese and the family to head back home for Christmas itself. It just wouldn't feel right not going for dinner with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb all with the possibility of bumping into some familiar faces. 

And so as I sit here on the train slicing through the hillsides I ponder across the few days I have spent with Mr. Cheese and his close-knit family. Since arriving at the grey, stone-built, cottage late on Saturday afternoon there have been a few comments made about my future with Mr. Cheese. From his jovial father, Pappa Cheese, I have been told that if I were to stick around long enough, I may be looking forward to Mr. Cheese inheriting his dad's good looks. Of course this, along with other comments, is something that played on my mind alot of late. I have had thoughts if Mr. Cheese and his wondrous charm. I think about the ideas of marriage and children.  I can't help it. Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's not. I don't know. But one thing I do is that despite trying to stifle these feelings for months, I do in fact love my darling Mr. Cheese. 

I want to scream it from the roof tops. Print out leaflets and tell passers by all these things I adore about him. The way he makes little noises. The way he holds me. The way he looks at me like no other man has ever looked at me before. And yet all of these thing's are somewhat overshadowed by the voice in the back of my head whispering darker thoughts of the year that lays ahead and what it might entail. Mr. Cheese could leave you. Lie to you. Pretend like everything is OK when in actually fact they are crumbling faster than a digestive in a mug of tea. Sometimes I feel so fragile and it makes me sick to think that nearly eighteen months on I am still dealing with the aftermath that Mr. Workaholic left me. Because he did. He left me. 

It was a wet, Friday evening in late April and I was ready to head home from my job in Northampton and into the arm's of Mr. Workaholic. My future. Everything I have been building my life towards for the past two years. Some day this man, this wonderful man I had dreamt of my entire life would be my husband and the father of my unborn and as yet unconceived children. As it tipped down with rain I excitedly ran to his white car waiting for me in the car park if my work. After shutting the door and pulling across my seat belt I moved in for a kiss and asked how Mr. Workaholic's day was. As we pulled out of the gates I knew that something was wrong. ''Maybe it was just a hard day at work'' I thought and didn't dwell too much on it.

Arriving home to our little two-bed terraced house we shared in an up-market suburb of South Northamptonshire I set about preparing dinner and making sure Mr. Workaholic was happy. I made his favourite and set it down on his lap in front of the telly. But something was gravely amiss. He seemed lost. I placed our plates on the coffee table and pulled him in for a cuddle, in turn asking what was wrong. He said nothing and shrugged it off but I knew better. After a while of trying to talk to him, going through every possible option - Had his nan's cancer returned? Was his father been taken ill? Is his brother still taking drugs despite his unstable mental health? No. None of them so I said that if he couldn't talk to me he should call his sister or maybe his mum. It was at this point he burst into tears and being utterly confused I knew this was something big. I urged him to speak to someone. If not me then someone else. I felt broken to know that he couldn't tell me but knew that he might be able to sort it out after speaking to some family or friends. Hours later a blotchy, red-eyed Mr. Workaholic pattered down the stairs of our little home and fell onto my lap, yet again falling apart in my arms. When I asked what was wrong this time I got the truth. The words rang out across the lounge, echoing through the rooms, smashing my whole being to pieces. ''I love you, but I don't want to be with you anymore.''

Feeling a rush of adrenaline my body couldn't handle it and as the poison seeped into my fairytale I dashed to the bathroom, being violently sick as my world fell apart. Hot tears streamed down my face rolling over my cheeks as I wretched once more. This can't be real. This can't be real. I kept reciting this in my head as spiralled deeper. The room began to spin and I felt myself getting dizzy. It was at this point I heard banging on the door and before I passed out I pulled down on the handle allowing my torturer in. I became hysterical and so the repetition began of salty tears and dry vomiting. How could this happen? Why? How long has Mr. Workaholic felt like this? Was there someone else? Was I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? All questions that are still left unanswered to this very day. 

As Mr. Workaholic pulled me in for a hug I pushed him away, disgusted at his works spilling out of his mouth, burning me like napalm, scorching my skin, forever to leave marks on my soul. In a hysteria I ran to our bedroom. The black, iron-framed bed we shared lay in the middle of the room. The one he gave his virginity to me in on our first night together. Flying open our wardrobes I snatched at clothes, pushing them fanatically into a bag. I didn't want to be here any more. I needed my Dad. Everything passed in a blur as I was screamed at to stop from an equally emotional Mr. Workaholic sobbing on the landing of our little home. As I pushed passed him he tried to stop me. Thundering down stairs and out into the crisp wet air I dialled a number, never thinking I would be saying this in a million years. A deep, jovial voice answered happy to see the caller ID. ''Daddy, I need to come home'' I said through my swollen throat. After the concerned enquiry and explanation I croaked a hard phrase. ''He is leaving me. He doesn't want to be with me anymore!''

As I turned to head back in out of the cold I saw a timid frame in the hallway. ''I'll take you'' he said with sorrow eyes. And so yet again I was forced to be in the company of Mr. Workaholic, a man whom up until an hour ago I loved. Truth be told I still did and I knew I would keep on loving him until the day I die. The journey was long and painful. I cried the whole way. So did he. We cried together mourning the end. But was this the end? Was this it? Everything I have been working towards and this is where the road ends? I was devastated. And as we arrived outside the house my Dad shared in Flitwick with his girlfriend I didn't even say goodbye as a left the car, making sure my bag was in toe, running into the arms of my father as his girlfriend attended to Mr. Workaholic to see he was alright to drive to his mother's a few miles down the road. Once more I cracked in my father's arms, disintegrating into a billion tiny, particles. I felt like a fragile glass on the edge of a cliff ready to plummet. 

And so began the months of therapy and depression that descended on my life still to haunt me to today. In the weeks that followed we had no choice but to live under the same roof, in the same martial bed and side by side ad we used to. After a trip to Ireland to clear my head whilst visiting family I returned back to our broken home to discover it somewhat empty. He had taken most of his things but also our sofa, the dining room table and chairs, the fridge-freezer, washing machine and both the bed we shared and the first bed we owned in the guest bedroom.  I was left with no bed and no sofa, in a cold and lonely shell of a house with the ghosts of better times suffocating me and invading my sleep. I didn't eat for several weeks and lost alot of weight and at times even thought about suicide to put an end to my literally aching heart. My lowest point was calling out to a charity helpline, pouring my entire existence to a women I have never spoken to before or since. From that point on I knew I could do better. I could get through this and become an even stronger person. 

I am still heartbroken and I am still mourning the life I never had. The children we had already picked the names out for - Oscar and D'Arcy; Names I still can't bear to hear, names that make my stomach turn. The lives they could have had and how they would have grown as humans. The house we never had. The BBQ's and parties and Christmas's we will never shared with loved ones. The holidays and memories all gone. Burned. Forever to be etched on my heart. But I know that one day, regardless of how painful that moment was in my life and how hard it was for me to drag myself out of, I know I will be alright. I know that one day I will have a family of my own with beautiful children and a wonderful, loving husband. A big house full of laughter and memories and plenty of time for all the BBQ's and parties and Christmas's I could wish for. Maybe it will be with Mr. Cheese? Maybe not? I don't know. But one thing I do know is that I love him and want to live life as it comes.

So Merry Christmas everyone and whoever you are, wherever in the world you are reading just remember that life gets better. 

'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