Evening one and all,
So after last week's blog post I thought that I would have lost at least something after attending a few more sessions at my local gym and after following the weeks of personal training sessions it would appear that all the hard work is starting to pay off. More and more people are starting to notice that I have lost a bit of timber. In fact, at my weekly meeting on Thursday last week I was told by my personal trainer that I had lost nearly two stone in the last 8 weeks or so. Hard to think that I have had several social events, two holidays and even Christmas as well. I am so pleased with myself and whilst I am still in the size 18 category in most shops I am certain that I will not be there for long. Anyway on with the show ...
This weekend was going to be a game changer and something that would hopefully change the spending habits of Mr Warehouse and I, all in preparation for us to hopefully own our own home. Be it this year or next (and heaven forbid if it is any longer than that) I would like Mr Warehouse and I to be in a home that we own, at least in part anyway. I know that it is almost as a pipe dream thinking that I might be able to move in and buy a house by the end of the year, but the way I see it is that if I do not aim high I will not get anywhere, constantly frittering away money on nothing. Obviously, that all being said it was almost a pointless waste of time getting up early on Saturday morning.
Waking after a late night watching crap TV and listening to Mr Warehouse tap away on his Xbox, we were late and to make matters worse what woke me up was a phone call from the bank. Unfortunately for me they were calling to let me know that despite my 30-minute phone call earlier in the week with a customer service adviser at the Call Center, the information I gave regarding wanting an appointment to speak with an adviser about saving for our first home and potentially about getting a mortgage had not been passed on. Infuriated, I certainly did not have time to discuss the reasons as to the Call Center's fuck up. Angry and annoyed at the fact that I had not woken up on time and was now about to be late to our first appointment with a different bank for the same reasoning as before. Running out of time, I ended the call, threw on some clothes and slapped on some make-up and headed for the car.
On arriving to our first meeting with a mortgage adviser, nearly 25-minutes late, Mr Warehouse and I stood in the queue like total lemons waiting for someone to come and talk to us. Once the in-branch staff had finished dealing with all the other busy customers and they had and finally got on to seeing us, it was far too late to do anything and as a result we were turned away. I suppose in a way it was my fault and I should have made sure my alarm was set and whilst it is not a major problem in the grand old scheme of things it was certainly annoying to have not one but two appointments for through on the same day, one of which at least was out of our control.
With this, I thought that Mr Warehouse and I would probably find somewhere for a cheeky fry-up and maybe a spot of shopping. Nope! Following a march out into the street from the bank foyer, Mr Warehouse and I started to crack with each other. The niggles and snaps came thick and fast as we both understood each other's frustration at the mornings activities, or not as the case maybe. Feeling like the world was against us, not to mention each other, we headed home and kept ourselves to ourselves. I was angry that we had missed our appointment and Mr Warehouse was not accommodating in any which way with what he wanted to do after the morning activities had fallen through. Mr Warehouse was annoyed that I was annoyed about the banks miscommunication and ergo missing our other appointment. The most frustrating thing about being in a relationship with Mr Warehouse is the fact that he does not want to argue and refuses to have any confrontation whatsoever. Everyone enjoys a good bust-up right?
Sitting in silence as I scrolled through my phone whilst the Bae cleaning the kitchen I certainly felt guilty for taking it out on him when it was not really his fault. Obviously I am a woman and would never let on that I was never in the wrong. Nevertheless when the dog farted and broke the silence we couldn't help but look at each other and laugh. Following our unfortunate morning we headed out in the afternoon in order to go and play with some Meerkats.
I had bought Mr Warehouse a present of being a zoo-keeper for the day for his birthday in August last year, and including looking after all animals and cute ones, scary ones and creepy ones he opted instead to look after some Meerkats. Certainly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I would highly recommend the activity for anybody who enjoys animals and wildlife especially those with kids. Maybe not something about Mr Warehouse and I could take our smaller relative to due to the fact that they are either loud and rambunctious but also that my cousins are quite timid and are more like scaredy cats than Meerkats. A nice meal out courtesy of the whoever brought us the Nando's voucher for Christmas and a trip to the pub to watch the football on Sunday pretty much concluded our weekend. Suffice to say that it has probably been the most active of weekends since before Christmas I am certainly glad to be having things to look forward to instead of thinking about how far away our summer holiday is! Uhhh So Long!!!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Meeting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Meeting. Show all posts
Monday, 15 January 2018
Monday, 15 August 2016
The Do's And Dont's of Dog Ownership
Heyy,
Last week was finally over on Friday and it couldn't have come soon enough for me and my other office colleagues. With our big-big boss away on Holiday, sunning it up in Dubai we were left to finish up month end ourselves, which I think, went better than everyone was expecting.
A relaxing weekend has ensued over in the Bedfordshire Countryside surround Mr. Warehouse's family home of Marston Moretaine. I was expecting to meet up with my father for the first time this weekend but for one reason or another it wasn't convenient so we have rearranged for next Saturday so watch this space, but with it being Mr. Warehouse's birthday on Thursday, this weekend was meant to be all about him not me and my father. Anyway, I am sure I can cram it all in.
A little overcast for a weekend that was due to be hot and sunny we nevertheless enjoyed the time we had together, spending it with Momma Warehouse, the Dog and on Saturday we had the pleasure of meeting Momma Warehouse's new boyfriend. Seemingly lovely and polite he was a pleasure to be in company with, talkative and very nice to be around. However whilst there was little or no disagreements or altercations, I would consider his choice in dog ownership something of a sticking point for me.
Now most people will know, or at least should do - Especially if you have a doggy in your life, that chocolate of any sort is poisonous to our canine friends. Chocolate and products containing Cocoa are very bad for doggies, not only potentially making them fat but also because of the dangerous toxins in them. Theobromine is a chemical found in Chocolate and Cocoa and unlike humans, dogs struggle to digest it making them poorly as toxins build up in their bodies. Milk can also make your pooch sick as some dogs are lactose-intolerant and unable to process dairy in the same way we humans can. Not that you should really give your dog any human food but some of the most harmful treats are not just Chocolate and Cocoa products, but also Grapes, Macadamia Nuts, Corn-on-the-Cob and anything from the Onion and Garlic family food groups.
Nevertheless this did not stop Momma Warehouse from telling us that her new boyfriend feeds his little toy poodle White Chocolate 'MilkyBar' Buttons. Mr Warehouse and I agreed already that even before we met him it was frustrating that he appeared not to care for his dog in the right way. But that was my opinion and in all fairness throughout the whole weekend whilst I noticed the 'MilkyBar' Buttons in the fridge, I did not see them being administered. But as well as the sixteen-year-old (one-hundred-and-twelve dog years) fluff ball being fed 'MilkyBar' Buttons, she was also not fed proper meals and instead was hand-fed treats of dried duck breast and chews, something again Mr. Warehouse and I frowned upon.
I suppose I cannot judge too much as if I am honest both Mr. Warehouse and I both give our dog lots of tit-bits and treats from our dinner plates and in all fairness anything that is left over and not poisonous to dogs, goes in her bowl for the next mornings breakfast anyway. She wont eat much vegetables or fruit but loves bread products and pasta, but always in small portions so as not to get fat. In a way I suppose were all guilty of over-loving our animals, children and partners sometimes, feeding them with love and food that they simply do not need.
On the Saturday afternoon however we needed to pop down the shops for some essentials the next morning and so as normal we went to get Mr. Warehouse's Dog, but as we got her harness ready and strapped her in, we heard a whimper and a yelp. Followed by yet more cries we figured it was coming from the elderly toy poodle. She wanted to come and play with our Pooch! ''Awwh a little play date'' I thought. Looking up at her owner, Momma Warehouse's new boyfriend, I said that if she wanted to come she was more than welcome too. With some brief reassurances I was handed the lead and off we went. I was shocked and surprised to see that this little old doggy lady was as fast and as rambunctious as our eight-year-old-Labrador, able to keep up and run along side us all as we walked the road to the corner shop and back. It fills me with hope when I think back to that Saturday afternoon walk that maybe our poochie-poo's wont die young and could live to be the ripe old age of sixteen and more.
He was however a gentleman through and through and even helped me by driving to Milton Keynes to get my phone fixed and collect a replacement so I suppose he isn't all bad and if his dog has lived to be over one-hundred in dog years then he is obviously doing something right. So nice is he, that I have even invited him to my Birthday Party in a few weeks and look forward to hopefully seeing more of him about. Maybe this one is a keeper - For Momma Warehouse obviously ... Not me?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Last week was finally over on Friday and it couldn't have come soon enough for me and my other office colleagues. With our big-big boss away on Holiday, sunning it up in Dubai we were left to finish up month end ourselves, which I think, went better than everyone was expecting.
A relaxing weekend has ensued over in the Bedfordshire Countryside surround Mr. Warehouse's family home of Marston Moretaine. I was expecting to meet up with my father for the first time this weekend but for one reason or another it wasn't convenient so we have rearranged for next Saturday so watch this space, but with it being Mr. Warehouse's birthday on Thursday, this weekend was meant to be all about him not me and my father. Anyway, I am sure I can cram it all in.
A little overcast for a weekend that was due to be hot and sunny we nevertheless enjoyed the time we had together, spending it with Momma Warehouse, the Dog and on Saturday we had the pleasure of meeting Momma Warehouse's new boyfriend. Seemingly lovely and polite he was a pleasure to be in company with, talkative and very nice to be around. However whilst there was little or no disagreements or altercations, I would consider his choice in dog ownership something of a sticking point for me.
Now most people will know, or at least should do - Especially if you have a doggy in your life, that chocolate of any sort is poisonous to our canine friends. Chocolate and products containing Cocoa are very bad for doggies, not only potentially making them fat but also because of the dangerous toxins in them. Theobromine is a chemical found in Chocolate and Cocoa and unlike humans, dogs struggle to digest it making them poorly as toxins build up in their bodies. Milk can also make your pooch sick as some dogs are lactose-intolerant and unable to process dairy in the same way we humans can. Not that you should really give your dog any human food but some of the most harmful treats are not just Chocolate and Cocoa products, but also Grapes, Macadamia Nuts, Corn-on-the-Cob and anything from the Onion and Garlic family food groups.
Nevertheless this did not stop Momma Warehouse from telling us that her new boyfriend feeds his little toy poodle White Chocolate 'MilkyBar' Buttons. Mr Warehouse and I agreed already that even before we met him it was frustrating that he appeared not to care for his dog in the right way. But that was my opinion and in all fairness throughout the whole weekend whilst I noticed the 'MilkyBar' Buttons in the fridge, I did not see them being administered. But as well as the sixteen-year-old (one-hundred-and-twelve dog years) fluff ball being fed 'MilkyBar' Buttons, she was also not fed proper meals and instead was hand-fed treats of dried duck breast and chews, something again Mr. Warehouse and I frowned upon.
I suppose I cannot judge too much as if I am honest both Mr. Warehouse and I both give our dog lots of tit-bits and treats from our dinner plates and in all fairness anything that is left over and not poisonous to dogs, goes in her bowl for the next mornings breakfast anyway. She wont eat much vegetables or fruit but loves bread products and pasta, but always in small portions so as not to get fat. In a way I suppose were all guilty of over-loving our animals, children and partners sometimes, feeding them with love and food that they simply do not need.
On the Saturday afternoon however we needed to pop down the shops for some essentials the next morning and so as normal we went to get Mr. Warehouse's Dog, but as we got her harness ready and strapped her in, we heard a whimper and a yelp. Followed by yet more cries we figured it was coming from the elderly toy poodle. She wanted to come and play with our Pooch! ''Awwh a little play date'' I thought. Looking up at her owner, Momma Warehouse's new boyfriend, I said that if she wanted to come she was more than welcome too. With some brief reassurances I was handed the lead and off we went. I was shocked and surprised to see that this little old doggy lady was as fast and as rambunctious as our eight-year-old-Labrador, able to keep up and run along side us all as we walked the road to the corner shop and back. It fills me with hope when I think back to that Saturday afternoon walk that maybe our poochie-poo's wont die young and could live to be the ripe old age of sixteen and more.
He was however a gentleman through and through and even helped me by driving to Milton Keynes to get my phone fixed and collect a replacement so I suppose he isn't all bad and if his dog has lived to be over one-hundred in dog years then he is obviously doing something right. So nice is he, that I have even invited him to my Birthday Party in a few weeks and look forward to hopefully seeing more of him about. Maybe this one is a keeper - For Momma Warehouse obviously ... Not me?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 22 October 2013
Meeting the Friends and Hearts That Mend
Hello to you,
My, my what a week it has been. A week of mischief, meetings and marvellous company. To be honest it was as sticky as I expected, what with meeting Mr. Cheese's friends and all. It could have been a lot worse. Like if his ex-girlfriend had turned up. Yeah could have been a tad awkward there?!
So as I sat at my desk and slogged it out at my new job in finance I realised that it was again that time in the week where it was home-time on a Friday evening. Packing my stuff up and hitching a ride to the station from a kind work colleague again I would be lying f I wasn't nervous a little bit about meeting the friends of illustrious Mr. Cheese. Although I should be thankful in the fact that I only met one, a fellow female, on Friday evening and then had the weekend to recover before meeting the old school friends gang on Sunday evening to celebrate a friends birthday. Slouched in the passenger's seat of the little red run-around as the sun slowly settled on the horizon over Bedfordshire I soon realised that in fact I did look like dog shit. My band tee and jeans were fine for work on a dress-down-Friday, but for meeting pretty much Mr. Cheese's best friend; Mmm, Not so much! Thing is that all week I had been planning what I was going to wear and how my hair would be and what style of make-up to go for. A nice sheer floaty blouse to make me look not like a hippo in drag, simple make up topped with killer heels that would hopefully wow the BFF into giving me the seal of approval. And whilst I had made it to the town where we planned to meet for dinner and drinks in good time, I knew I wouldn't have enough time to grab something new to wear. So I embraced my trampiness and rocked it in my 'cool' t-shirt and wedged-boots.
Walking from the station though I figured would be alot easier and quicker than waiting for public transport, plus it would be a fun walk. Oh and how right I was! Teetering down the road, head down, thinking of conversation starters and making sure my hair didn't go crazy I suddenly hear a voice from behind. I listened, tuning in to what they were ranting about. It was me! "Work it honey! Work it! That's it swing your hips!" the womanly voice bellowed down the busy street. As I tried to ignore it I knew I would have to turn around and acknowledge this Guru somehow. Expecting someone from America's Next Top Model shouting encouraging tips for walking in heels I was shocked to find that as I turned around it was not Tyra Banks but someone who resembled a meatball. There I was walking down Hitchin High Street, minding my own business when all of a sudden Dumpling-features starts raining down heel help. Smiling I turned back around hoping she would stop. She didn't. Continuing I could tell she wouldn't give up until I did as she asked. So I relaxed my ankles, pointed my toes, pushed my chest and my buttocks out and swayed my hips like never before. Now Girls, you know what I mean when you secretly line up the paving stones on the ground or see an empty corridor and you then spring into action, taking on the persona of a skinny model thundering down a D&G catwalk runway. Bag on your arm. Stern look on your face. Working it. Somehow the Meatball's encouragement worked and I stomped into town in style, feeling alot better about myself, despite the embarrassment.
As Mr. Cheese and I sat in the local bar awaiting the impending doom of meeting his lady friend we chatted as normal. I noticed in the corner of the bar a man sitting alone. After watching for some moments, a women walked in and sat down with him. A first date. It threw me back to my first date with Mr. Cheese and oh how memorable that one was. Gazing forever into his eyes I forgot that I looked a mess and slowly let the cider wash away my remaining fears of aesthetics. Smitten, I was about to say something I had never said out loud for the first time properly, when Mr. Cheese's old university pal arrived and I stood to greet her, knowing that I could just simply tell him later on. Conversation flowed right away, thanks to Mr. Cheese elaborating on the fact that I quiet openly fancy another one of his house-mates from uni days I have yet to meet. As giggles were shared so were stories of what we all do for a living and as time passed we began to get more hungry. And so off to the Mexican we went.
A wonderful meal later and several snigger's about the names on some of the yummy cocktails Mr. Cheese, the friend and I retired to the bar upstairs and continued the conversation around awkward moments, usually to do with me. I loved how Mr. Cheese gave me the floor to be myself and tell brilliant stories of my past, and since I adore nothing more than being the centre of attention it was perfect and it was safe to say that I was in my element. Soon minutes turned to hours and eventually it was time to go home, but not before heading for some cheeky shots in a bar nearer town. All three of us encountered slippery nipples, threesomes and nearly a screaming orgasm, all without taking our clothes off. Gotta love the naming of some drinks 'eh? Then again, I was fully aware that the screaming orgasm was only moments away when Mr. Cheese and I got home, and I'm not talking beverages.
Throwing me across the bed and diving on top of me our naked bodies embraced each other in a hot battle. Sliding me across my silken bedsheets I hung off the end of the bed whilst he made sure the neighbours knew his name. Oh what a god that man is! Defiantly one to save for the 'Bank'. Saturday morning Mr. Cheese woke me as usual when either of us sleeps over, by gently kissing me on the forehead to wake me from my slumber. How wonderful! It was at this moment that I remembered what I wanted to tell Mr. Cheese the previous evening in the pub before his female friend turned up. But before I had a chance he said how he was hungry and to be honest I needed to get up as I had a train to catch at midday to go visit my Grandad whom was in Hospital near London. "Its OK" I told myself you can let him know later on. Meeting my Uncle, Aunt and their two adorable boys I knew I would enjoy their company for the day even though the circumstances weren't great. After arriving home from the Hospital, shattered from my cousin's rambunctiousness all I wanted was a quiet Saturday evening was spent lounging in front of the box, snuggled up with Mr. Cheese and that's what I got. Laying in his arms as we drifted off to sleep I said what I had been meaning to say all weekend, but alas he had fallen asleep. Bless.
Sunday morning I felt prepared to say it again as I made breakfast for a sleepy Mr. Cheese. Mmm, Warm toasted bagels with smoked salmon and cheese spread and a pot of breakfast tea to wash it all down. I think Mr. Cheese enjoyed it at least I hoped so? Mind you, I didn't hear any complaining as he chomped down and watched Match Of The Day with me on the sofa, cuddled in a soft, fleecy blanket but before we knew it half the day had disappeared and we were sat, entwined in each others limbs watching what I call 'House Porn' which is basically really nice houses on house programmes that you know can never own without robbing a bank. Mr. Cheese and I shared ideas of the perfect home and thus a perfect image of the future was starting to blossom. Quickly I stamped it out though, knowing that I didn't want to get my hopes up and putting all my eggs in one basket.
After a lazy afternoon it was soon time for the last encounter of the weekend. The old school friends. This time I made sure I looked the dog's bollocks rather than the dog's ass. As I lay down beside Mr. Cheese as he napped I gazed longingly at his face as he dozed. I thought of what I wanted to say and how I would word it again and again. Eventually he awoke and told me how stunning I looked. I figured this was a better time than any to tell him how I had been feeling since last weekend. It was then that I confessed how I was loosing my war and that whilst I try to fight it nearly every day and at every moment I am with him, I am, in actual fact, falling madly in love with Mr. Cheese. To this his response was initially I think shock. Don't know why. I'm a babe! (Obviously ironic because I am not a babe ... Much!) He didn't really say much after that. Just silence. I genuinely did not expect anything back as I know he is not in the same place I am right now in terms of mind, body and soul; but I at least expected some words. Finally he broke the awkwardness and said that whilst he had not yet thought about those feelings or idea's yet, he did really like me and cared for me very much. Well. Its something right?
Later that evening as we walked into the quiet, country pub where Mr. Cheese and I had our second date, I felt more nervous than Friday night. A larger group and more to impress. "Bring it on!" I thought. The birthday card seemed to go down well, as did the illustrations inside. Yet again the night flew by in a haze of idle small talk and standard conversing. I spoke to a lovely man whom shared a passion for all things British like myself including Margret Thatcher - god rest her soul, and shared in my argument that England needs a lady in charge. I also talked with a training doctor/surgeon and an aspiring writer and his graphic designer girlfriend. Yes. Mr. Cheese's friends are posh. Yes. Most of them went to private schools. Yes. They all went to university and had degrees. And there I was. Little state-school, university drop-out, uninteresting me. For the first time in a long while I was in the background of the event and for some odd reason I cannot understand why, every time I went to open my mouth and say something the whole pub would go quiet, hanging on what I was about to say. And then I would just muddle my words and make a congealed mess of my sentence. Yes. I was definitely the most unintellectual person there. They must have thought I was on day release or something?! As the night wore on though and people started leaving for bed I felt more at ease and started sharing anecdote of life with the birthday boy and his missus. Then came the question.
"So, how long have you too been together then?" asked the birthday novelist himself, imposing the idea that we were in fact a couple. Awkwardly I looked at Mr. Cheese in panic, knowing that we hadn't really thought about tackling these types of questions. Stepping forward though he simple said that we had just been seeing each other for a few months. Phew! Close call. Then the question about how we met from the graphic-designer-girlfriend and I explained away our first date with ease and soon the conversation moved on, not before being told that I was a keeper and that we should totally hook up. Screaming in my head I thought "Jeez, I'm working on it here!" as I smiled politely and took the compliments, blushing and looking at the ground. As last orders were rung out from the bell by the bar I whispered to Mr. Cheese that I was going to the bathroom and to watch my bag. As I turned to walk away he pulled me back slightly before I got too far and gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek. Grinning like a Cheshire cat I scurried off to the bathroom and did a happy dance as I was followed by a chorus of "Awwhs" from his friends.
And so that has been my week so far, well the weekend at least. Work isn't all that interesting I am sure you will agreed. Living for the weekend is the best, especially when you have great people to spend it with. All this fluffy 'Love' stuff has got me thinking about the future though. Maybe a little too much? I mean I am still young and so is Mr. Cheese. Do I really want to tie myself down into another relationship again. I don't know. I love being single. But I also love the feeling that I get when I'm in a relationship. I like spending time with Mr. Cheese alot and can't think of anything better to do with my time. But I also have to live a little before settling down again me thinks. Uhh, and here in lies the issues!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
My, my what a week it has been. A week of mischief, meetings and marvellous company. To be honest it was as sticky as I expected, what with meeting Mr. Cheese's friends and all. It could have been a lot worse. Like if his ex-girlfriend had turned up. Yeah could have been a tad awkward there?!
So as I sat at my desk and slogged it out at my new job in finance I realised that it was again that time in the week where it was home-time on a Friday evening. Packing my stuff up and hitching a ride to the station from a kind work colleague again I would be lying f I wasn't nervous a little bit about meeting the friends of illustrious Mr. Cheese. Although I should be thankful in the fact that I only met one, a fellow female, on Friday evening and then had the weekend to recover before meeting the old school friends gang on Sunday evening to celebrate a friends birthday. Slouched in the passenger's seat of the little red run-around as the sun slowly settled on the horizon over Bedfordshire I soon realised that in fact I did look like dog shit. My band tee and jeans were fine for work on a dress-down-Friday, but for meeting pretty much Mr. Cheese's best friend; Mmm, Not so much! Thing is that all week I had been planning what I was going to wear and how my hair would be and what style of make-up to go for. A nice sheer floaty blouse to make me look not like a hippo in drag, simple make up topped with killer heels that would hopefully wow the BFF into giving me the seal of approval. And whilst I had made it to the town where we planned to meet for dinner and drinks in good time, I knew I wouldn't have enough time to grab something new to wear. So I embraced my trampiness and rocked it in my 'cool' t-shirt and wedged-boots.
Walking from the station though I figured would be alot easier and quicker than waiting for public transport, plus it would be a fun walk. Oh and how right I was! Teetering down the road, head down, thinking of conversation starters and making sure my hair didn't go crazy I suddenly hear a voice from behind. I listened, tuning in to what they were ranting about. It was me! "Work it honey! Work it! That's it swing your hips!" the womanly voice bellowed down the busy street. As I tried to ignore it I knew I would have to turn around and acknowledge this Guru somehow. Expecting someone from America's Next Top Model shouting encouraging tips for walking in heels I was shocked to find that as I turned around it was not Tyra Banks but someone who resembled a meatball. There I was walking down Hitchin High Street, minding my own business when all of a sudden Dumpling-features starts raining down heel help. Smiling I turned back around hoping she would stop. She didn't. Continuing I could tell she wouldn't give up until I did as she asked. So I relaxed my ankles, pointed my toes, pushed my chest and my buttocks out and swayed my hips like never before. Now Girls, you know what I mean when you secretly line up the paving stones on the ground or see an empty corridor and you then spring into action, taking on the persona of a skinny model thundering down a D&G catwalk runway. Bag on your arm. Stern look on your face. Working it. Somehow the Meatball's encouragement worked and I stomped into town in style, feeling alot better about myself, despite the embarrassment.
As Mr. Cheese and I sat in the local bar awaiting the impending doom of meeting his lady friend we chatted as normal. I noticed in the corner of the bar a man sitting alone. After watching for some moments, a women walked in and sat down with him. A first date. It threw me back to my first date with Mr. Cheese and oh how memorable that one was. Gazing forever into his eyes I forgot that I looked a mess and slowly let the cider wash away my remaining fears of aesthetics. Smitten, I was about to say something I had never said out loud for the first time properly, when Mr. Cheese's old university pal arrived and I stood to greet her, knowing that I could just simply tell him later on. Conversation flowed right away, thanks to Mr. Cheese elaborating on the fact that I quiet openly fancy another one of his house-mates from uni days I have yet to meet. As giggles were shared so were stories of what we all do for a living and as time passed we began to get more hungry. And so off to the Mexican we went.
A wonderful meal later and several snigger's about the names on some of the yummy cocktails Mr. Cheese, the friend and I retired to the bar upstairs and continued the conversation around awkward moments, usually to do with me. I loved how Mr. Cheese gave me the floor to be myself and tell brilliant stories of my past, and since I adore nothing more than being the centre of attention it was perfect and it was safe to say that I was in my element. Soon minutes turned to hours and eventually it was time to go home, but not before heading for some cheeky shots in a bar nearer town. All three of us encountered slippery nipples, threesomes and nearly a screaming orgasm, all without taking our clothes off. Gotta love the naming of some drinks 'eh? Then again, I was fully aware that the screaming orgasm was only moments away when Mr. Cheese and I got home, and I'm not talking beverages.
Throwing me across the bed and diving on top of me our naked bodies embraced each other in a hot battle. Sliding me across my silken bedsheets I hung off the end of the bed whilst he made sure the neighbours knew his name. Oh what a god that man is! Defiantly one to save for the 'Bank'. Saturday morning Mr. Cheese woke me as usual when either of us sleeps over, by gently kissing me on the forehead to wake me from my slumber. How wonderful! It was at this moment that I remembered what I wanted to tell Mr. Cheese the previous evening in the pub before his female friend turned up. But before I had a chance he said how he was hungry and to be honest I needed to get up as I had a train to catch at midday to go visit my Grandad whom was in Hospital near London. "Its OK" I told myself you can let him know later on. Meeting my Uncle, Aunt and their two adorable boys I knew I would enjoy their company for the day even though the circumstances weren't great. After arriving home from the Hospital, shattered from my cousin's rambunctiousness all I wanted was a quiet Saturday evening was spent lounging in front of the box, snuggled up with Mr. Cheese and that's what I got. Laying in his arms as we drifted off to sleep I said what I had been meaning to say all weekend, but alas he had fallen asleep. Bless.
Sunday morning I felt prepared to say it again as I made breakfast for a sleepy Mr. Cheese. Mmm, Warm toasted bagels with smoked salmon and cheese spread and a pot of breakfast tea to wash it all down. I think Mr. Cheese enjoyed it at least I hoped so? Mind you, I didn't hear any complaining as he chomped down and watched Match Of The Day with me on the sofa, cuddled in a soft, fleecy blanket but before we knew it half the day had disappeared and we were sat, entwined in each others limbs watching what I call 'House Porn' which is basically really nice houses on house programmes that you know can never own without robbing a bank. Mr. Cheese and I shared ideas of the perfect home and thus a perfect image of the future was starting to blossom. Quickly I stamped it out though, knowing that I didn't want to get my hopes up and putting all my eggs in one basket.
After a lazy afternoon it was soon time for the last encounter of the weekend. The old school friends. This time I made sure I looked the dog's bollocks rather than the dog's ass. As I lay down beside Mr. Cheese as he napped I gazed longingly at his face as he dozed. I thought of what I wanted to say and how I would word it again and again. Eventually he awoke and told me how stunning I looked. I figured this was a better time than any to tell him how I had been feeling since last weekend. It was then that I confessed how I was loosing my war and that whilst I try to fight it nearly every day and at every moment I am with him, I am, in actual fact, falling madly in love with Mr. Cheese. To this his response was initially I think shock. Don't know why. I'm a babe! (Obviously ironic because I am not a babe ... Much!) He didn't really say much after that. Just silence. I genuinely did not expect anything back as I know he is not in the same place I am right now in terms of mind, body and soul; but I at least expected some words. Finally he broke the awkwardness and said that whilst he had not yet thought about those feelings or idea's yet, he did really like me and cared for me very much. Well. Its something right?
Later that evening as we walked into the quiet, country pub where Mr. Cheese and I had our second date, I felt more nervous than Friday night. A larger group and more to impress. "Bring it on!" I thought. The birthday card seemed to go down well, as did the illustrations inside. Yet again the night flew by in a haze of idle small talk and standard conversing. I spoke to a lovely man whom shared a passion for all things British like myself including Margret Thatcher - god rest her soul, and shared in my argument that England needs a lady in charge. I also talked with a training doctor/surgeon and an aspiring writer and his graphic designer girlfriend. Yes. Mr. Cheese's friends are posh. Yes. Most of them went to private schools. Yes. They all went to university and had degrees. And there I was. Little state-school, university drop-out, uninteresting me. For the first time in a long while I was in the background of the event and for some odd reason I cannot understand why, every time I went to open my mouth and say something the whole pub would go quiet, hanging on what I was about to say. And then I would just muddle my words and make a congealed mess of my sentence. Yes. I was definitely the most unintellectual person there. They must have thought I was on day release or something?! As the night wore on though and people started leaving for bed I felt more at ease and started sharing anecdote of life with the birthday boy and his missus. Then came the question.
"So, how long have you too been together then?" asked the birthday novelist himself, imposing the idea that we were in fact a couple. Awkwardly I looked at Mr. Cheese in panic, knowing that we hadn't really thought about tackling these types of questions. Stepping forward though he simple said that we had just been seeing each other for a few months. Phew! Close call. Then the question about how we met from the graphic-designer-girlfriend and I explained away our first date with ease and soon the conversation moved on, not before being told that I was a keeper and that we should totally hook up. Screaming in my head I thought "Jeez, I'm working on it here!" as I smiled politely and took the compliments, blushing and looking at the ground. As last orders were rung out from the bell by the bar I whispered to Mr. Cheese that I was going to the bathroom and to watch my bag. As I turned to walk away he pulled me back slightly before I got too far and gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek. Grinning like a Cheshire cat I scurried off to the bathroom and did a happy dance as I was followed by a chorus of "Awwhs" from his friends.
And so that has been my week so far, well the weekend at least. Work isn't all that interesting I am sure you will agreed. Living for the weekend is the best, especially when you have great people to spend it with. All this fluffy 'Love' stuff has got me thinking about the future though. Maybe a little too much? I mean I am still young and so is Mr. Cheese. Do I really want to tie myself down into another relationship again. I don't know. I love being single. But I also love the feeling that I get when I'm in a relationship. I like spending time with Mr. Cheese alot and can't think of anything better to do with my time. But I also have to live a little before settling down again me thinks. Uhh, and here in lies the issues!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 21 May 2013
The Blind Date ...
Evening All,
So whats new this week, eh? Well alot in fact. As I am sure you know I have had a very busy weekend. On Saturday came the shopping which nearly gave me a heart attack having spent nearly £100.00 in my favourite high street store. Sitting in the car after some frantic and high energy retail therapy Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I decided it would be best to head home and start preparing for my blind date! It took a total of nearly two and a half hours to primp and preen me to a knock-out level for my blind date. I had the works; eyebrows - which killed like a bitch, full face of make-up, hair and nails too as well as my outfit. By the end I was ready to present myself to my parents and the rest of the public. Mumma Bear was very happy, almost crying at one point stating how grown up I looked and what a transformation I had made. After being dropped at the station by Miss Tweedle-Dumb I nervously stepped out of the car and headed for the platform. Petrified I boarded the train to take me to central London. Still bricking it I made my way to the area surrounding St. Paul's Cathedral but somehow walking past the monumental structure of beauty its self, seemed to calm my nerves. Taking a few moments to collect myself together and secretly having a pep talk I continued to walk into the restaurant where my blind date was already waiting at the table.
As the matradee took my coat and showed me to my table I glanced at the person I would be spending the next few hours with over dinner. My date stood from his chair to greet me and we had an awkward European kiss before sitting down, whilst I had to do a more awkward movement of sitting down whilst the matradee pulled out the chair for me and sadly then attempted to push me in not realising I was indeed a heffa-lump in disguise as a beautiful women. Almost immediately after that we were asked what we would like to order which threw me off given the fact I had only just realised where the menu was. After asking for a few moments to decide I struck up conversation with my blind date. Shock coursed through my veins as my ears sharped to hear his voice. I had been set-up with someone who I had previously stated that if I was ever to encounter a date with such person 'I might just have to shoot myself in the face right there and then'. I was hoping for a date with a sexy Welsh or Irish accent, but instead I was sitting across from a handsome Liverpudlian lad. To be honest though, it wasn't as bad as anticipated as his accent wasn't as strong as I expected, I mean I had heard worse and at least he wasn't Scottish. Soon though the dislike of his accent faded and I started to see past it.
Astonished, my Liverpudlian date handed me the wine list which was encased in a posh looking leather bound book. I say shocked because I have never had wine with a man before. Mr. Workaholic rarely drank and when he did it was always a pussy drink like a brightly coloured alcho-pop. Still in awe of the gentleman across from me I flicked through the pages knowing that I was having an abnormally indecisive day and that making a decision was going to be tough. Closing the wine bible and handing it back to my date I asked him to choose as I was useless at making decisions on anything of late. And that was the first thing that we shared in common, indecisiveness. The first of many you could say as for the rest of the date we talked food and not much else. Giggling away,we were uncouthly interrupted by a waiter. Still reeling from the fact that Mr. Accent drank wine, we agreed on a sweet rose to settle our nervous stomach's. But then came the fumbling and odd procedure of the customers checking weather the wine is in actual fact out-of-date. I'm pretty sure that should be somebody's job out back - checking if the wine is off so that consumers don't have to. Nevertheless, Mr. Accent and I played along the game and became wine connoisseur, swirling it round and round in our glasses, sniffing and tasting. Was tempted to gargle but thought that might be too far.
As the date progressed, I found out that we had much more in common than originally thought. Mr. Accent and I had a passion for baking and loved to experiment with food which was another blow to the system as the most adventurous Mr. Workaholic got was chicken dinosaurs and potato waffles. Its funny how right now you think I am joking but oh no dear reader, this is true - Mr. Workaholic lived on chicken dinosaurs and potato waffles only to be alternated between chicken aeroplanes. Mr. Accent however was very keen on fish dishes and his favourite pudding was a speciality of mine - Sticky toffee, date and walnut muffins with gooey toffee sauce. Ironically as Mr. Accent and I were poured another glass of overly-priced wine we both selected a fish dish for our main meal, however, Mr. Accent's dish was missing the bacon. I didn't say anything but after the waiter had left I think Mr. Accent had sensed that I was wondering why he had refused the tastiness that is bacon. Another surprise. "I am a practising Muslim" Mr. Accent explained and whilst he has piercings and tattoo's he still believes in the core values of the religion, not that I had a problem or anything. The conversation soon left food and we went on to discuss family and life back home. As we continued our conversation the waiter arrived with our food presented beautifully and piled high on our shiny plates.
Chowing down on dinner in the most elegant way possible, I started to take in some of the features of Mr. Accent. Dressed in a rather provocative T-shirt showing an attractive young women biting at her own top in a sexual manner which was teamed with tight dark jeans and a black blazer Mr. Accent looked every bit the gentleman he was proclaiming to be. Mr. Accent was slightly bigger built to some of my previous Ex's and was quiet a bit older too - only twenty-three, but still older that prior love-interests. Mr. Accent, although a practising Muslim due to his father's heritage he was Caucasian and thanks to his mother's Norwegian background he had the most beautiful blue eyes. They sparkled like aquamarines in the light of the restaurant, large pupils indicating Mr. Accent was liking what he saw. With his facial hair and combed hair Mr. Accent resembled a face I knew of but still to this moment I cannot think as to where from.
Throughout pudding we discussed previous relationships and what exactly we were looking for. I explained in as little detail as possible about how Mr. Workaholic had just randomly one day came home to tell me he no longer wanted to be with me. This, although I thought was a horrendous way to break-up was topped by Mr. Accent. I was perplexed to learn throughout our conversation that Mr. Accent had been previously engaged to his last partner and was with her for a considerable amount of time before she cheated and ended the relationship. After discussing feelings and fears of a new relationship from both of our situations, I could see how hurt he still was by talking about his ex-fiance's infidelity and I tried to move the conversation onto better, more positive things. I think though that in hindsight he is still a little hung-up on his Ex and would like to rekindle things with her. It would seem a shame if Mr. Accent was to get back with his Ex as he is such a lovely guy and deserves much better than her cheating skanky ass.
The date ended well though and on a high. After nearly having a coronary after paying fifty-quid towards splitting the bill, Mr. Accent and I left the restaurant, but not before telling the matradee off for trying to dress me in my coat when that was clearly his job to do as a proper gentleman. Obviously this was never said out loud but I am sure that is how it would of happened if vocabulary was involved. Walking into the cool summer air surrounding St. Paul's Cathedral we exchanged numbers and went on our way into the night. Cleverly Mr. Accent had bagged a hotel room for the night and I couldn't help thinking that I should have too. By the time I got home it was gone three in the morning and I was shattered. Falling into bed I made a decision for the first time that day that although Mr. Accent was a charming, handsome, wonderful man it was sadly not meant to be. I am sure though that one day he will make a lady very, very happy.
And so the quest continues to find me a man. If you are over twenty-one and have matched most of my 'Hit List' (Sexy hair - Preferably dark, Gorgeous eyes - Again preferably dark but open to suggestions, Good teeth - Because nobody wants to make-out with a horse and Nice shoes - Just because) then please feel free to apply below. Besides, there is always next time isn't there. And it's not all a waste as I have a good friend in Mr. Accent. There is also a busy bank holiday weekend coming up. Miss Tweedle-Dumb's birthday, a night on the tiles with Miss Chocolate and a day trip to the seaside - Yes, alot to cram into one weekend. Somewhere in all of that fun I have to make time for drinks with Mr. Mot which I am sure will end with another story to tell.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou :) xx
So whats new this week, eh? Well alot in fact. As I am sure you know I have had a very busy weekend. On Saturday came the shopping which nearly gave me a heart attack having spent nearly £100.00 in my favourite high street store. Sitting in the car after some frantic and high energy retail therapy Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I decided it would be best to head home and start preparing for my blind date! It took a total of nearly two and a half hours to primp and preen me to a knock-out level for my blind date. I had the works; eyebrows - which killed like a bitch, full face of make-up, hair and nails too as well as my outfit. By the end I was ready to present myself to my parents and the rest of the public. Mumma Bear was very happy, almost crying at one point stating how grown up I looked and what a transformation I had made. After being dropped at the station by Miss Tweedle-Dumb I nervously stepped out of the car and headed for the platform. Petrified I boarded the train to take me to central London. Still bricking it I made my way to the area surrounding St. Paul's Cathedral but somehow walking past the monumental structure of beauty its self, seemed to calm my nerves. Taking a few moments to collect myself together and secretly having a pep talk I continued to walk into the restaurant where my blind date was already waiting at the table.
As the matradee took my coat and showed me to my table I glanced at the person I would be spending the next few hours with over dinner. My date stood from his chair to greet me and we had an awkward European kiss before sitting down, whilst I had to do a more awkward movement of sitting down whilst the matradee pulled out the chair for me and sadly then attempted to push me in not realising I was indeed a heffa-lump in disguise as a beautiful women. Almost immediately after that we were asked what we would like to order which threw me off given the fact I had only just realised where the menu was. After asking for a few moments to decide I struck up conversation with my blind date. Shock coursed through my veins as my ears sharped to hear his voice. I had been set-up with someone who I had previously stated that if I was ever to encounter a date with such person 'I might just have to shoot myself in the face right there and then'. I was hoping for a date with a sexy Welsh or Irish accent, but instead I was sitting across from a handsome Liverpudlian lad. To be honest though, it wasn't as bad as anticipated as his accent wasn't as strong as I expected, I mean I had heard worse and at least he wasn't Scottish. Soon though the dislike of his accent faded and I started to see past it.
Astonished, my Liverpudlian date handed me the wine list which was encased in a posh looking leather bound book. I say shocked because I have never had wine with a man before. Mr. Workaholic rarely drank and when he did it was always a pussy drink like a brightly coloured alcho-pop. Still in awe of the gentleman across from me I flicked through the pages knowing that I was having an abnormally indecisive day and that making a decision was going to be tough. Closing the wine bible and handing it back to my date I asked him to choose as I was useless at making decisions on anything of late. And that was the first thing that we shared in common, indecisiveness. The first of many you could say as for the rest of the date we talked food and not much else. Giggling away,we were uncouthly interrupted by a waiter. Still reeling from the fact that Mr. Accent drank wine, we agreed on a sweet rose to settle our nervous stomach's. But then came the fumbling and odd procedure of the customers checking weather the wine is in actual fact out-of-date. I'm pretty sure that should be somebody's job out back - checking if the wine is off so that consumers don't have to. Nevertheless, Mr. Accent and I played along the game and became wine connoisseur, swirling it round and round in our glasses, sniffing and tasting. Was tempted to gargle but thought that might be too far.
As the date progressed, I found out that we had much more in common than originally thought. Mr. Accent and I had a passion for baking and loved to experiment with food which was another blow to the system as the most adventurous Mr. Workaholic got was chicken dinosaurs and potato waffles. Its funny how right now you think I am joking but oh no dear reader, this is true - Mr. Workaholic lived on chicken dinosaurs and potato waffles only to be alternated between chicken aeroplanes. Mr. Accent however was very keen on fish dishes and his favourite pudding was a speciality of mine - Sticky toffee, date and walnut muffins with gooey toffee sauce. Ironically as Mr. Accent and I were poured another glass of overly-priced wine we both selected a fish dish for our main meal, however, Mr. Accent's dish was missing the bacon. I didn't say anything but after the waiter had left I think Mr. Accent had sensed that I was wondering why he had refused the tastiness that is bacon. Another surprise. "I am a practising Muslim" Mr. Accent explained and whilst he has piercings and tattoo's he still believes in the core values of the religion, not that I had a problem or anything. The conversation soon left food and we went on to discuss family and life back home. As we continued our conversation the waiter arrived with our food presented beautifully and piled high on our shiny plates.
Chowing down on dinner in the most elegant way possible, I started to take in some of the features of Mr. Accent. Dressed in a rather provocative T-shirt showing an attractive young women biting at her own top in a sexual manner which was teamed with tight dark jeans and a black blazer Mr. Accent looked every bit the gentleman he was proclaiming to be. Mr. Accent was slightly bigger built to some of my previous Ex's and was quiet a bit older too - only twenty-three, but still older that prior love-interests. Mr. Accent, although a practising Muslim due to his father's heritage he was Caucasian and thanks to his mother's Norwegian background he had the most beautiful blue eyes. They sparkled like aquamarines in the light of the restaurant, large pupils indicating Mr. Accent was liking what he saw. With his facial hair and combed hair Mr. Accent resembled a face I knew of but still to this moment I cannot think as to where from.
Throughout pudding we discussed previous relationships and what exactly we were looking for. I explained in as little detail as possible about how Mr. Workaholic had just randomly one day came home to tell me he no longer wanted to be with me. This, although I thought was a horrendous way to break-up was topped by Mr. Accent. I was perplexed to learn throughout our conversation that Mr. Accent had been previously engaged to his last partner and was with her for a considerable amount of time before she cheated and ended the relationship. After discussing feelings and fears of a new relationship from both of our situations, I could see how hurt he still was by talking about his ex-fiance's infidelity and I tried to move the conversation onto better, more positive things. I think though that in hindsight he is still a little hung-up on his Ex and would like to rekindle things with her. It would seem a shame if Mr. Accent was to get back with his Ex as he is such a lovely guy and deserves much better than her cheating skanky ass.
The date ended well though and on a high. After nearly having a coronary after paying fifty-quid towards splitting the bill, Mr. Accent and I left the restaurant, but not before telling the matradee off for trying to dress me in my coat when that was clearly his job to do as a proper gentleman. Obviously this was never said out loud but I am sure that is how it would of happened if vocabulary was involved. Walking into the cool summer air surrounding St. Paul's Cathedral we exchanged numbers and went on our way into the night. Cleverly Mr. Accent had bagged a hotel room for the night and I couldn't help thinking that I should have too. By the time I got home it was gone three in the morning and I was shattered. Falling into bed I made a decision for the first time that day that although Mr. Accent was a charming, handsome, wonderful man it was sadly not meant to be. I am sure though that one day he will make a lady very, very happy.
And so the quest continues to find me a man. If you are over twenty-one and have matched most of my 'Hit List' (Sexy hair - Preferably dark, Gorgeous eyes - Again preferably dark but open to suggestions, Good teeth - Because nobody wants to make-out with a horse and Nice shoes - Just because) then please feel free to apply below. Besides, there is always next time isn't there. And it's not all a waste as I have a good friend in Mr. Accent. There is also a busy bank holiday weekend coming up. Miss Tweedle-Dumb's birthday, a night on the tiles with Miss Chocolate and a day trip to the seaside - Yes, alot to cram into one weekend. Somewhere in all of that fun I have to make time for drinks with Mr. Mot which I am sure will end with another story to tell.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou :) xx
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
A Shock, An Invitation And Compulsory Meeting
Heyy,
So after last weeks interesting episode, I have encountered a shock announcement, a few revelations and an invitation which ultimately brings with it a predicament! Now would you really expect anything different from me readers? I understand that you also felt that last weeks instalment was a tad long and for this a apologise, but hopefully it was worth it in the end. Ill try and keep this one short and sweet.
After finishing a uneventful day at work I decided to call my personal 'Agony Uncle', AKA Mr. Mot. I had not spoken to him in a while and thought that it would be a good idea to have a chat on my usual commute home. We talked endlessly about the weather, jobs and what we were doing that week. Mr. Mot and I also discussed his girlfriend and the progress of their melodramatic relationship and yet again the 'Proposal' was brought about. Again I refused but something inside of me willed me to give in to temptation. I didn't. Further down the conversation we were discussing how Mr. Mot was attending a concert in London over the coming weekend and that his girlfriend was unable to attend. I asked as to why she wasn't making the event, expecting the reason to be something trivial like work commitments or family life. No. "Are you really that stupid?" Mr. Mot asked me. I had no idea what he was on about. Has he told me something and in my old age I have forgotten? Am I going mad? You see, up until this point Mr. Mot had failed to tell me a formidable bombshell that I was stunned to learn about as this had been the case for some weeks now. Mr. Mot had thought he had already told me that his girlfriend was now several weeks pregnant carrying his unborn child. I mean at this point in time it is really only a foetus, a small ball of cells that multiply every so often to gradually transform into a little person. I have known Mr. Mot for several years now and this was a very big shock indeed, not to mention that this added strain has made him question their entire relationship and its future.
Although it did get me wondering about my fate and weather I would be able to have children one day. Obviously not with Mr. Mot, however we have said that if we are still single by our mid-thirties then we shall elope, saving each other from a one way ticket to loserville where lonely single people own several cats and gradually deflate with age until the impending doom of death arrives. Its not like we wouldn't make beautiful children. Blue eyes and blonde hair - it would be like raising a little family that even Hitler would be proud of. But having a baby with someone you love and want to be is equally important when bringing up a child, I think. Honestly though, after hearing from the horses mouth what my ex got up to after we separated was something that brings me joy to this day. But that's a story for another day. What I am trying to say is that I was sure that I wanted all of that with someone and now that its gone, I'm not sure that I will get the opportunity again. Well, until is Mr. Mot and I start the deflation process.
Speaking of the ex, I will be having an encounter this week. I will have to stomach Mr. Workaholic's overbearing ego and poncy manor for a few hours whilst we finalise some financial paperwork that has not been sorted out for nearly a year. His excuse? "I have been busy". Well, unless a porn website has recruited Mr. Workaholic as new member, part of there climax-tester wank panel I doubt you have been very busy. Either that or you have found a new chess buddy *Snorts and snigger's loudly*. I am not looking forward to the meeting however it will be that last I shall have to ever encounter him. Mind you, I said that the last few times I have blessed with Mr Workaholic's presence. Also this week after an interesting invitation from a mutual friend of me and a another, whose name I shall not mention as they may be reading, I may be attending an event with Miss Chocolate. I shall not reveal any more information as I don't want to spoil the fun I may have, but will defiantly update you all on how it goes. As it is St. Patrick's day this coming weekend in the UK, Miss Chocolate and I will be celebrating in true Irish style, although she does not know this yet.
Anyway I think I deserve a nice hot bubble bath. Time to wash away my sins and all that filth of the day.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So after last weeks interesting episode, I have encountered a shock announcement, a few revelations and an invitation which ultimately brings with it a predicament! Now would you really expect anything different from me readers? I understand that you also felt that last weeks instalment was a tad long and for this a apologise, but hopefully it was worth it in the end. Ill try and keep this one short and sweet.
After finishing a uneventful day at work I decided to call my personal 'Agony Uncle', AKA Mr. Mot. I had not spoken to him in a while and thought that it would be a good idea to have a chat on my usual commute home. We talked endlessly about the weather, jobs and what we were doing that week. Mr. Mot and I also discussed his girlfriend and the progress of their melodramatic relationship and yet again the 'Proposal' was brought about. Again I refused but something inside of me willed me to give in to temptation. I didn't. Further down the conversation we were discussing how Mr. Mot was attending a concert in London over the coming weekend and that his girlfriend was unable to attend. I asked as to why she wasn't making the event, expecting the reason to be something trivial like work commitments or family life. No. "Are you really that stupid?" Mr. Mot asked me. I had no idea what he was on about. Has he told me something and in my old age I have forgotten? Am I going mad? You see, up until this point Mr. Mot had failed to tell me a formidable bombshell that I was stunned to learn about as this had been the case for some weeks now. Mr. Mot had thought he had already told me that his girlfriend was now several weeks pregnant carrying his unborn child. I mean at this point in time it is really only a foetus, a small ball of cells that multiply every so often to gradually transform into a little person. I have known Mr. Mot for several years now and this was a very big shock indeed, not to mention that this added strain has made him question their entire relationship and its future.
Although it did get me wondering about my fate and weather I would be able to have children one day. Obviously not with Mr. Mot, however we have said that if we are still single by our mid-thirties then we shall elope, saving each other from a one way ticket to loserville where lonely single people own several cats and gradually deflate with age until the impending doom of death arrives. Its not like we wouldn't make beautiful children. Blue eyes and blonde hair - it would be like raising a little family that even Hitler would be proud of. But having a baby with someone you love and want to be is equally important when bringing up a child, I think. Honestly though, after hearing from the horses mouth what my ex got up to after we separated was something that brings me joy to this day. But that's a story for another day. What I am trying to say is that I was sure that I wanted all of that with someone and now that its gone, I'm not sure that I will get the opportunity again. Well, until is Mr. Mot and I start the deflation process.
Speaking of the ex, I will be having an encounter this week. I will have to stomach Mr. Workaholic's overbearing ego and poncy manor for a few hours whilst we finalise some financial paperwork that has not been sorted out for nearly a year. His excuse? "I have been busy". Well, unless a porn website has recruited Mr. Workaholic as new member, part of there climax-tester wank panel I doubt you have been very busy. Either that or you have found a new chess buddy *Snorts and snigger's loudly*. I am not looking forward to the meeting however it will be that last I shall have to ever encounter him. Mind you, I said that the last few times I have blessed with Mr Workaholic's presence. Also this week after an interesting invitation from a mutual friend of me and a another, whose name I shall not mention as they may be reading, I may be attending an event with Miss Chocolate. I shall not reveal any more information as I don't want to spoil the fun I may have, but will defiantly update you all on how it goes. As it is St. Patrick's day this coming weekend in the UK, Miss Chocolate and I will be celebrating in true Irish style, although she does not know this yet.
Anyway I think I deserve a nice hot bubble bath. Time to wash away my sins and all that filth of the day.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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