Beautiful Nightmare

Evening Guys,
   
On closing my eyes I have somehow been transported to a district that I have never been to before. Down a single country Lane surrounded by trees and bushes and on the opposite side of the road to where I was stood I could see the rolling countryside and disappearing sun. Mr. Warehouse appeared soon after and we entered the Cottage-Barn type venue to have a look around. Looking around however I couldn't help but get the feeling that we were either being watched or preyed upon. As my fiance and I wandered around the dark wood stained walls and buildings, I felt myself constantly looking over my shoulder. It wasn't long before I saw him. Mr. Workaholic. 

Making some sort of excuse I left Mr Warehouse to look around the remaining of the buildings and out houses, following Mr Workaholic into a quieter area of the estate I asked him rather frantically what an earth he thought he was doing here. 
"I needed to see you" He muttered, hushed so as not to be discovered. 
"I am a engaged woman now and you have no right turn up here - What were you thinking?" I demanded, terrified about Mr Warehouse made come along and think that something was going on when it was not. As Mr. Workaholic took me further away from my husband to be, my Ex and I snuck around the lush gardens, fountains and water features of the grounds. Mr Workaholic continued his soliloquy saying that he was unable to let me go ahead with the wedding. 
"This should have been somewhere that we would have been at time at the knot, not you and someone else. I cant let you go through with this - Please lets try again?" Mr Workaholic cooed. This was beginning to get dangerous as I could feel myself getting hotter as the moments passed. I continued to feel as though I was cheating on Mr Warehouse even though I had done nothing wrong. Just being in the same company and presence as Mr Workaholic was just as potent as before and as time went on talking about how we used to be I struggled to keep my cool. 

And as I walked closely with Mr Workaholic through the dark Forest like environment I wondered why. Why now huh?! Why would he choose this moment or this time in my life when I am happy and settled, ready to start a new beginning with someone to come back into my life and want to start again. It was Mr Workaholic that ended it all between us! Now don't get me wrong it wasn't a relationship that ended badly in the sense that there was infidelity or anything, just that Mr. Workaholic felt there was more out there than me and he wanted to find it all out. As we stopped walking amongst some trees, Mr. Workaholic turned to me and asked me to leave it all behind. As the raging battle inside my head continued, I try to reason with myself. Yes Mr. Workaholic was a brilliant lover back in the day, the best maybe - or so I thought at the time. But I have to remember that Mr. Workaholic was also the same person that left me screaming and begging in absolute turmoil as he drove away, leaving me in the home you used to share with a shattered life and a broken heart. I felt so stupid. Why should I be getting emotionally involved in something that had ended over six years ago? My memoirs started to flood back and were a stark and brutally honest reminder of how things genuinely used to be - Play fights that got out of hand, annoying each other and Mr. Workaholic putting me down or making horrid comments about me - Something Mr Warehouse would never do. But there were also laughs and giggles and happiness. 

"I am an engaged woman and I'm happily in a relationship where I mean something to someone and I to them. I cant just throw it all away like you did." I said, appalled at the notion I had been wanting for so long all them years ago. Mr. Workaholic decided to call it off in late Spring, nearly seven years ago and I suppose I never really got over it totally but it was those darker thoughts and feelings I was desperately trying to cling on to so as to hold off the passion and lust I still felt raging up inside me. But it was too much. Reasoning and promising me that things would be different this time, Mr. Workaholic leaned in closer and we passionately kissed. Shocked, horrified and stunned I backed away and surprised myself by saying "OK"

I needed to let my fiance know that the wedding was off and the engagement was over. Finding my way back to the dark wood stained barn I found Mr Warehouse wondering where I was standing around and waiting for me. I felt awful as I left Mr Workaholic in the shadows, but not nearly as awful as I would feel having to go through with what I was about to do. An emotionally charged goodbye ensued with me explaining it that it was simply not Mr Warehouse that was to blame and that this was something that I had selfishly wanted for some time. 
"I love you" I said as I left, saying goodbye to the same distraught and heartbroken face that I knew only too well. 

Returning to Mr Workaholic I wondered if I have done the right thing by going back to him. It had not worked once before and would give good reason to it not working again second time around. Nevertheless I pushed all of this to the back of my mind as I left Mr Warehouse to gather his things to leave. Hours seemed to woosh past in a rush of excitement and giddiness. Yet I felt like there was something ever so foreboding. Something was not right. Then suddenly I knew. Standing with bags packed and ready to go in Mr Workaholic's girlie white hatchback I knew I couldn't do this. Running all the way back to the almost black, wood-stained barn I found Mr Warehouse packing his bags and ready to leave, tail well and truly between his legs. And like in some kind of Hollywood movie I ran and embraced Mr. Warehouse as hard as I could never to let go again. Kissing and holding each other I began apologising and telling Mr. Warehouse that it will never happen again that he was the only one; The one and only for me. 

It was not long after this that I suppose I awoke from it all. In the knowledge that it was just a weird dream, almost nightmarish in its approach that I was unable to wake from. In my half-sleep-slumber I was forced to live up to the reality of my subconscious thoughts. Although in reality it was a Monday morning and Mr Warehouse was in no mood to be hearing of my fantastical dreams, no matter how scarily thought provoking or poignant. I suppose I will save that for another day ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Fifty Shades Finished ...

Evening, 

Sitting in the cinema, work colleagues surrounding me I felt emotional as the last few scenes played out on the big screen. This was a massive part of my life. It had been here for so long. I had read the books, Imagined my Christian and I his Ana. I had witnessed the terrible first movie and how, hooked and in need of a giggle I continued onto the Box Office for the second and third instalment. But now it was over. The end of an era and time maybe to say goodbye once and for all. 

Back in 2012, admits a gut-wrenchingly messy break-up with Mr. Workaholic I took complete solace in reading the trilogy of books by E. L James; 'Fifty Shades of Grey', 'Fifty Shades Darker' and 'Fifty Shades Freed'. It seems like so long ago I struggle to remember what it was like reading them, although I know already a part of me is hesitant to return to such a dark place in my past. Those books shaped my being, gave me structure and when everything else failed helped me realise that there was life after heart-break, even if it was sleazy and smutty. 

After being gifted 'Fifty Shades of Grey by Miss Tweedle-Dee I began reading a matter of weeks after Mr. Workaholic left what was to be our family home one day. I was hooked. It was my escape and at every given opportunity I would dive straight back into it. I couldn't put it down. On the Bus. On the Train. In the Weight Watchers Class. At work and At home. Like the rest of the nation, I was enraptured by Christian and his Red Room of Pain! Written as part of an original Twilight fan fiction I soon completely immersed myself in the world of Mr. Christian Grey and Miss Anastasia Steele. When I wasn't found drinking away my sorrows with friends of a weekend back home in Dunstable and Luton, or at sneaking out of work on a break to call Mr. Woof just to get him off, I would be found with my head in those books; escaping in any way I could from my own reality. 

As things got easier with my break-up with Mr. Workaholic, I soon rekindled a somewhat telephonic and long-distance relationship with Mr. Woof, (to which he has now earned his name) and in a round about way, gave me back some power and control I had since lost. In past blog posts I have written about how control and domination has been something of interest for me since I was a teenager, with rough play and borderline BDSM being a sticking point in many of my previous relationships. When E. L. James hit the big time with the trilogy of clit-flicks Fifty Shade of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed, I was left wanting more. So when the films were announced to be released in cinemas I like many a red-blooded women was screaming in pleasure and joy at seeing Willies on the size on iMAX screens. Since then however, some idiot decided to turn the whole thing into a shoddily thrown together movie of the first book whereby we learnt that the cast hate each other, the director and the author hate each other and how much tits, bums and fannies get airtime in films that were made for women who like cock. 

Anyway that was Media Student me popping out to say hello, One minute whilst I beat her back into her fluffy-handcuffs. 

I suppose in a way the concept of BDSM had always been in the back of my mind, a taboo idea reserved only for a trusting relationship of which I found myself without. But I always liked the thought of being in control and in charge. I tried it once. Once! 

Cast your minds back everyone to my post entitled "A Midsummer Night's Disaster!" in which I truly thought that this would be a good time to implement my inner dominatrix. Suffice to say that attempting kinky sex with a drunk man whom you do not know the name of and have brought home for the night is not a good idea at all. My excuse was that I was a lost little soul who had just found out the love of her life was not reciprocating the feeling. I think we all know the ending to that story so I shall not relive it again. Looking back now it was a step too far and one which was taken in hast with the prospect of getting over my first and possibly only true love, at least that is what I thought at the time, unbeknownst to me that I would meet the quirky Mr. Cheese, The flash-in-the-pan that was Mr. Coffee and oh-so lovable Mr. Warehouse not to mention some of the other odd-balls I dated. 

Needless to say that I was happy with the (NSA) No Strings Attached heated phone-calls I received in the dead of the night from Mr. Woof. Some of them were when he was stoned. Some of them were when he was drunk. Some of them were even when he was at work himself. When I talk about it like that it seems as though he was using me to the highest of advantages; abusing the trust and vulnerability of an old friend. But I was as much to blame in that as Mr. Woof was. I wanted and needed attention. I craved it. I was lacking from all areas of life and was bruised by recent events, so I did what any normal girl would in that scenario and go back to what was familiar and comforting to me and that was Mr. Woof. Yes we had an odd relationship from the moments we would sneak off to a quiet corridor in school or the after school stolen sessions on the meadow fooling around in the sun. I was always his secret and now I didn't mind that so much as I wasn't ready for commitment but still needed that yearning attention and to get back some sort of control on my life. Even to this day I don't think that Mr. Woof really knew the power he had over me and how he made everything seem better in those stormy, cloudy days. I needed a little something I could dip into as and when I wanted. My honey pot of self-discovery and self-obsession. A confidence boost that extended far further than sexual gratification. Ahh yes, it was "A Dogs Life" after all. 

And as I left that cinema seat, another film over and done with, I felt sad for the ending of something that had brought me such fun, laughter and naughtiness over the last six or so years. And all for seeing a crumby movie about bondage. 


'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Still Got It!

Evening, 

So following last week's incident with the house fire I was adamant to get back to some sort of normality before the final  few days before the Christmas rush hit. By this time of the year I wanted to be settled with everything bought and ideally wrapped, sacks and bags ready to go with a plan for the big day on where we were spending it and who with, not to mention to be spending our first morning waking up in our new home for the festive period and maybe even hosting some people over the holidays. But alas, here I was trying to juggle visits from the Landlord in between going to work, calling insurance companies and that's without even making a start on the wrapping or the ninety-odd Christmas Card I have to write this year. But with it all nearly over and done with, insurance settled and the necessities done away with I can finally start to enjoy what I can of this time of year. 

This week was the Christmas party at work and whilst I don't normally talk much about my colleagues and what my day-to-day life is at work or what we do socially I suppose I best touch on my time during what is supposed to be the one night of the year you can really let your hair down. Some people get amorous, Some people get mildly flirty. Some people cop-off with one another. Some have a bust up. The Christmas Party at work has always evoked many a good tale on the Monday morning and alas there was none to tell, and even if there was I wouldn't spill. Saturday morning I woke however with a pounding headache and a serious need to re-hydrate. On asking what time I came home I replied to Mr. Warehouse that I thought it must have been maybe two or half-two in the morning only for him to explain it can't have been since he was up until quarter-to-three in the early hours of Saturday and I was still not back, meaning I must have been out to the lights came.on. Proud to say I still got it. 

Now I have been to many a Christmas Party and works night out, maybe too many to count and certainly too many to remember. There were some of my first encounters of a night on the tiles with work colleagues was probably back in College when it would start on a Thursday lunch time with a hour-long liquid lunch down the pub and then on through Thursday Night, Friday Night, Saturday Night and Sunday night, only to roll up to college on a Monday still drunk or at the very least hangin' out our tree. 

Work life soon progressed after College where I went into my first proper full time job working for a IT and technology company in Northampton. Nights out were sophisticated and started with maybe a brief glass of Rose at lunch down the local Harvester and then home for a quick change before picking everyone up en route to town. Setting our roots down in a cocktail bar one of my colleagues husband's owned (I know, friends in all the right places) we would sip away until the club's beckoned. The night would usually end with Mr. Workaholic coming to collect me or sharing a cab home. Nights out rarely involved Mr. Warehouse in Northampton, we would normally head out of a weekend with his Sister who seemed to know every bouncer in Dunstable and as a result would queue jump and get the best protection, but this was hardly work.  

After moving back home to the 'Shire, and it was then that the work's night out on the razz dried up. Mainly I put this down to just not being able to find a job or company I wanted to work for. There was always a reasoning for the role not working out. Roles were boring. Roles were too stressful. The commute was too far. The public transport was a pain in the arse every day to and from the office. Life was just very unstable, as it had been for the last few years really. That was until I walked through the doors of my last company I worked for. 

Being introduced to more or less everyone that worked there, less than eight-weeks later there I was on a night out. And getting pissed every four-weeks on pay day seemed like a tradition of sorts. It was on this night out, all those many moons ago that Mr. Warehouse and I met. Crushing on me since I joined I had recently split from Mr. Cheese and I think as a ploy to get me to come out some of the guys in the office arranged a night out, to take my mind off it. Betting with the store-man that I would / wouldn't be late I arrived at the designated time, only to be met by a red-haired Mr. CWG and a smartly dressed gentleman in a lilac pinstriped shirt. "Oooh a sales rep" I thought to myself, assuming he would be at least in some money and therefore a good catch in terms of conversation, ethics and morals - Not just a fuck-boy like the rest on Tinder! As more and more faces turned up we headed to a club to dance the night away, but not before some of the girls from the office collared me to ask if I was interested in Mr. CWG or Mr. Warehouse. I played it coy but had no idea that both of them were vying for my attention like some sort of horny peacocks. 

After that night out a girl from the office messaged me and asked if she could pass my number onto Mr. Warehouse and I suppose the rest is history they say. Although when Mr. Warehouse explained that he was not a sales rep and indeed did work in the Warehouse I refused to believe him, until Monday morning came and I met a rather awkward and shy man in the Canteen. From then onwards there was a night at the dogs, quickly followed by someones birthday party, followed by another works night out for one reason or another and then there was the Annual Christmas Party, only to be followed a few months later with an all expenses paid awards ceremony, again drinks included. It was amazing. Like living my college years all over again. Friends soon turned to what I would class as a close knit family and will be forever looked upon as one of the most enjoyable periods of my life. But then things began to change and our little family went out less and less. I was starting to dislike my desk and whilst the people really did keep me from walking on many an occasion I knew it would not be long until the end. 

This time round with my not-so-new-anymore job I feel it is more of a sophisticated affair. Everyone is over the age of twenty-five so have done the whole falling off the curb and bundling into a kebab shop at 2am. Work life nights out now include going on dinner dates, pre-drinks putting the world to rights and talking shite, heading to cocktail bars and paying over the odds for a glass of wine when you could have bought the whole bottle at the shop round the corner. Life is much more mature, but don't get me wrong oh how I do wish I could have a messy night out again with my old colleagues, or maybe with my new ones. A good old sticky night club floor, someone to bum menthol's off in the beer garden and a mediocre argument about how I can walk home as I live so close to town and not needing a cab. Maybe this is something I should initiate. A proper dirty night out! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Happiest Place on Earth ...

Heyy, 

So finally the weekend was upon us and it was that time of the month again where I get to see my besties! This time it would be a change of scenery from the one-bedroom council flat and instead was the homely comforts of the in-laws. Well future in-laws anyway! Oh you never heard? Well allow me to explain. Back in late summer when Mr Warehouse and I was getting ready to go on holiday to Tenerife, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her boyfriend were doing some planning of their own. 

I knew Miss Tweedle-Dee from across the road directly from my house and we made friends initially in Lower School where she was a bitch and threw sand in my face. The two-some soon became a three-some when Miss Tweedle-Dee started started as a new girl in our Middle School moving from London somewhere. Almost instantly we were inseparable, spending every time outside of the classroom with each other either out playing or hanging around each others houses. Of course we would argue as would any group of girls, there were a few falling out over boys and other friends trying to make a move into our triplet but we always somehow made our way through. As we spent our time lazying away our weekends and summer holidays I always thought we would be friends forever and even in our old age we would still be giggling and laughing like we did when we were in school. But as the years passed we grew older and our groups of friends started to change but even with us being split by separate High Schools and Miss Tweedle-Dumb moving away, it still didn't stop us from hanging out. As we got into the thickness of our teenage life our priorities started to change and whilst I enjoyed going out and drinking in the local parks with boys and hanging out with groups of people much older than myself and my school friends, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee preferred to go to house-parties and drink in local parks around where their "posh" friends lived. 

Soon after we lost contact altogether as our lives separately progressed. No falling out. No arguments. Just drifted. I finished my GCSE's as did Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee and we all headed to a different sixth form or college and lived out maybe some of our best days yet. After I moved to college in my second year of higher education the Tweedles and their "posh" friends went to university and after falling in love with Mr. Workaholic and getting life a little more stable I reached out and made contact with them to go for a drink, maybe the first one we had together, legally. In the few weeks that followed Mr. Workaholic and I visited them in halls and this is when I first met my besties future husband to be. He seemed shy and very reserved for a Uni-student, nothing like the loud, brash and ladish guy I met on my weekend binges. Someone focused, head-down and knew what they wanted and where they wanted to be. "Someone just like my Mr. Workaholic" I said to Miss Tweedle-Dumb as I waited in the car park for Mr. Workaholic to come and pick me up. 

"I am so pleased we have both found happiness and hopefully we can be apart of each others lives forever - Haha maybe even a double wedding!" I jested with her as I waved goodbye. Unbeknownst to me that within twenty-four hours it would all change for the following evening my dreams of a life with Mr. Workaholic were shattered into tiny fragments of painful glass as he ended our relationship. The first people I messaged was the Tweedles. They didn't believe me. They thought it was just one big sick joke. I wished it was. My life was over as I knew it and the man I thought I was going to marry betrayed my trust by snuffing it out without a chance of trying to make it work again. Packing my bags I stayed at my dad's that night but Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee were there though out it all. The pain, the hurt, the emotional roller-coaster. And even when I went back to Mr. Workaholic (in which I never told them about but I am almost certain they knew) they still stood by my side and never scolded me for going back to what was familiar, just support and cuddles and boozy nights out getting paralytic drunk in order to forget. 

As the years passed Miss Tweedle-Dumb dropped out of Uni and Miss Tweedle-Dee barely started but after landing good jobs together life was finally settled. Miss Tweedle-Dumb would visit her boyfriend on different weekend when she could and even when he graduated with flying colours and moved back down to his hometown of Basingstoke, Miss Tweedle-Dumb would still visit regularly. But after being together all of about four or five years, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her Bae decided to make the move and get their own place in the summer of last year. Only a one-bed, ground floor council flat but it was more than most people get offered when only a couple and it was certainly plenty for them. Building their lives together and watching them grow together they began to travel, as any young couple would visiting all the romantic tourist hot-spots across Europe and even farther afield including Paris, Rome, Las Vegas and more. Each time back home, Miss Tweedle-Dee and myself would prepare to see if he popped the question then?! But it never came. I was expecting it to never come and for them to just be that couple that are not engaged nor married but maybe have a child or two. Until a fortnight ago ... 

After being let down for a job offer in Europe, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her Boyfriend took the opportunity to book a once in a lifetime trip to Disneyland Florida, The Happiest Place on Earth. And that it certainly was for as my dearest friend looked up in awe of the Disney princess castle, the midnight sky alight with fireworks and stars she turned back to the love of her life only to be greeted by a one singular knee and a shiny silver ring. Shocked and stunned (as were we all guys!) I was so overwhelmed with happiness when I got a picture the following morning I cried tears of happiness. I was so unimaginably joyful for her. Whilst close friends and family asked me how I felt, almost in a sarcastic way expecting my to selfishly want it to be me that got engaged at Disneyland Florida, I replied that I was genuinely over the moon for her. And whilst at first I begrudged her for going to the place where dreams come true in the first place because I wanted to go, I was thrilled at the prospect of a wedding I actually had a close relationship to the Bride! 

This weekend, I expected anyway, was going to be filled with wedding magazines, bridal boutiques and visiting venues. But it wasn't. It was normal. As if it never happened. Maybe its shock I don't know and maybe I was a little over-excited but I thought that something was going to be different to be about Miss Tweedle-Dumb now she was engaged. But there isn't. She isn't. Miss Tweedle-Dumb is the same girl I have grown up with. Silly, Girlie, Voluptuous and full of life. As life has gotten harder with jobs, families and the additional expenses that go with it all, us three have been there for each other as misfitting triplets. Some of us have lost friends and even close family members along the way as some people will come and some will go but for you to find someone so special that you want to spend the rest of your life with them and dedicate your whole being to them then they have to be pretty special. No matter what happens in the future, I will forever be the structure that my friend need as they are for me. Even if it is on the Hen 'Do in Magaluf ... 

 'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

BF4L

Heyy, 

So it would appear that yet again it is Easter and after weeks of planning and looking forward to visiting Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her other half, I picked Miss Tweedle-Dee up after finishing work of Thursday evening, ready for the tedious drive down. Truth be told I actually don't mind driving down to Hampshire to visit, in fact I quite enjoy the drive. Getting there late we all milled around Miss Tweedle-Dumb's flat until the earlier hours, gossipping about friends, family and strangely current affairs. It was not normal that the subjects of news articles were topic of conversation, but it seemed to happen a lot this weekend and I liked it. 

Friday morning Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I awoke and planned out a nice day to a local working farm. Arriving on site with sun shining and Sunnies on I was really enjoying my time with the girls. Ever since Miss Tweedle-Dumb had moved down to Basingstoke last Summer I had been worried she would miss home too much or that Miss Tweedle-Dee and I wouldn't see her as much, and whilst the latter is true, I think we treasure our time together much, much more than we ever used to. For the weeks in between our monthly visits I imagine we all look forward to them as much as the next. 

I know myself just how destructive living with someone can be, well at least for me it was destructive with Mr. Workaholic. So I can understand why she was nervous about moving in with her boyfriend of more years than I can muster, especially seeing me go through the messy break-up and everything else that went with separating whilst still being responsible for a property. It can be so easy to look at someones situation close to you or that you know of sometimes and compare it to your own, even if there are very little commonalities. I worried when Miss Tweedle-Dumb moved away that she would feel isolated, cut off and abandoned in a fresh new area where she knew very little people, most of them her other-half's family. But I am glad that it seems to have all worked out and safe to say that despite the odd bicker here and there, she is flourishing in her new home. 

I suppose in a way though Miss Tweedle-Dumb and my situations were and are very different, even now. I lived with Mr. Workaholic when I was in my late teens and early-20's. I was still learning about myself and dealing with situations most twenty-somethings don't have to contend with. We were both very young and naive and whilst I tried to make it work, for one reason or another it was not meant to be, but I can see now why. Could I really have raised children with a man that thought it was OK to eat nothing but for Chicken flaming dinosaurs and pasta for breakfast, lunch and dinner? And whilst we had some good times, Mr. Workaholic and I, it was a case of too much, too soon. It would have never lasted and I am thoroughly glad of all the experiences and people I have met since him and his god awful man-gina habit! 

Walking around the farm on Good Friday, enjoying the extra time off we had together, we saw the regular inhabitants including sheep, baby lambs, cows and pigs, not to mention a donkey with a massive dick and his two bitches in the fields next to him. I never understood why we have never done anything like this before, It seems almost like a right of passage in friendships - Day trips to Zoo's go hand in hand with shopping and cinema outings. But I was glad to be doing something else outside the box with the girls other than the usual shopping and spending money which usually happens when I visit Miss Tweedle-Dumb down South. Obviously after seeing all the sights and sounds of the farm (Including the super hot farmer who was so enthusiastic about the sheep he farmed I would totally let him "ram" me) we headed into town, where I spent waaay more that I should on stuff I probably could have done without including a six-pound lipstick that looks no different to my normal lip colour and an eye-shadow for over fifteen-quid that gives me a mediocre coverage to look like a glitter ball. Also included in my haul were flip flops I did not need for a further four months, cake I did not need to eat and more cheese for my expanding fridge collection of nibbles. 

Nevertheless after my weekend with my friends I was looking forward to going back home to my pooch and boyfriend. I always seem to miss them much more after being away, even if only for a few days. I do however miss my bezzies. but until next month, I will just have to count down the days ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Size Does Matter!

Hello one and all, 

Standing in front of my wardrobe I looked back at myself. I was fat. I mean saying this now sounds like nothing new to me, I have always been a larger lady, even in my teens and during my school years I was always bigger than other girls, but as I graduated High School and things in my life started to take a downward turn my diet was one of the last things on my mind. Living with my Uncle and Auntie for a while was easy, as was living with my dad and even Mr. Workaholic and his Dad. Everything pretty much was cooked and dished out to me, all I had to do was eat it. I would walk most if not everywhere and totted up a good few miles everyday by simply getting to and from work, college and socialising. 

But when I moved up to Northampton in order to start my new life with Mr. Workaholic I ballooned to my biggest weight so far. At over nineteen stone and a size twenty/twenty-two I was far from happy, at least in my body. Living off of beige food groups and turkey dinosaurs was not ideal either and since Mr. Workaholic refused to eat any sort of vegetable and saw bananas as the only fruit he would stomach (What a surprise that they were also beige in colour) it was very difficult to cook for someone so fussy. Towards the end of my relationship with Mr. Workaholic's things started to get mean and nasty and I suppose if I was really honest it would have been not that long after we moved to Northampton. The name calling and lack of compliments drove me from being a confident and cocky tween to a shy and anxious girl, always worried about her weight and that one day her boyfriend would feel repulsed enough by her that he would leave. And one day he did. I mean granted he didn't leave on the basis that I was larger than when we first met but I could tell that he had not felt attracted to me in sometime, or at least that is how it felt. 

Separating from Mr. Workaholic was hellish and a time that I can rarely recall anything happening at all, but I do remember my weekly meetings at WeightWatchers and how shocked the lady was when I made yet another big loss on the scales. When I was asked what my secret was or how I had lost all the weight I joked with my fellow fat fighters that in a dark way when the love of your life just up's and leaves you with no real reason or explanation, leaving behind just a whole lot of heartache and mess to clear up it soon puts you off food. And just as I started consuming more than caffeine and water on a daily basis I was hit with another bomb shell. Mr. Workaholic was seeing someone else, and it had been less than a fortnight. Not only that but whilst I was recovering from shock in Southern Ireland with my Aunt and Uncle, Mr. Workaholic was swanning round Newcastle, jumping from bed to bed I heard. 

After my weight plummeted to nearly what I was before I met Mr. Workaholic, I started feeling better about myself. I had new love interests, a new outlook on life and I was twenty-one. The perfect mix of young and throwaway yet knowing what I was doing. The next few years I fluctuated but always stayed around the fifteen stone mark, always being able to comfortably fit into a size fourteen/sixteen. But as the years went by and I finally got my very own flat in Bedford I got into bad habits and poor diet choices, although still walking most places I would always keep the belly off a little. 

Since meeting Mr. Warehouse though and especially over the last year since we moved in together I have only felt and seen my size increase. I can now only dream of fitting into a size eighteen let alone a size fourteen or sixteen. I am now so unhappy with my weight that I honestly need to start doing something about it. My clothes don't fit properly and I have a wardrobe full of lovely jumpers, jeans and tops that I just look like a sack of potatoes in. My arms are too fat and my belly is protruding more than my tits at present. Although I joke about it with friends and family, it starts to become a real concern when the arms of your office chair start to get tighter and tighter. 

So after I get paid on Wednesday (Thank fuck, it seems like an age since I last got paid) I will be hitting the classes hard. Sod Gyms and their expensive memberships, I am going to start getting into classes and swimming. FitSteps, Zumba, Clubbercise and Aquarobics; I'm trying them all! Healthy eating too, I have started thinking even before I go shopping now what sort of food will be better for me and for my darling Mr. Warehouse. More Veg, more moving and less beige. Before I know it I will be looking better than I ever have before and feel much more happier that I don't have to shop only in the plus size range. Besides, I can't be looking like a blob on the beach with Mr. Warehouse in August can I ... ?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Never Look Back, It Distracts You From Now!

Hiya!

So last week I spoke of my news that as of the beginning of March 2016, I will be sharing my little abode with my darling Mr. Warehouse and soon after his little doggy will be joining also which in a sense I suppose that makes me an adoptive doggy mom!? Not entirely sure how that works but I am sure we will figure it out. Over the coming weeks I am sure you will be hearing about all the wonderful plans and preparations that need to be made in order to keep the whole process as smooth and as hassle-free as possible, but I wont lie - I am worried. 

In some ways Mr. Warehouse and I are already sharing my ground-floor, town centre flat, just I have only given him a a set of three drawers and allowed him to buy a toothbrush and leave it in the same pot as mine. It is not that I oppose the whole rig-moral of him moving in, if anything I suppose I am glad that we are taking the leap now whilst we have little responsibility other than to our jobs and a ball of golden fluff and fur. I know that he is moving in with me and unlike the last time I allowed myself to live with someone, I know categorically I can afford this flat on my own, yes a stretch, but I can manage. So if for any reason things never worked out between Mr. Warehouse and myself I know that he would just move out and back in with his mom. 

I also need to keep reminding myself, as I did last week that it will not end the same way as it did before. Yes, I loved Mr. Workaholic very, very much, sometimes I wonder if it was too much. We were young, so very young. I didn't know what I was doing let alone him?! We both were not ready to settle down so fast and having a two-bed mid-terraced in suburbia, running a normal office job and harbouring a growing collection of Wedding magazines was not healthy for anyone, especially someone who was barely out of their teens. I thought at at the grand old age of 20 I was ready to settle down, not start a family so to speak but to start building the bricks to the foundations of my future with someone whom I had never loved like this before. 

I suppose this time of year will always throw-up something. The last Valentines Day we shared. That holiday in Cyprus. And the following weeks when the fire that once burned so brightly in both of us slowly burned out. Maybe one day I will have the courage to speak about it without welling up as I am now, stopping every sentence of so as I type to remember the good and the bad times, recalling every last moment in a technicolour of blissful euphoria and agonising heartache. 

But this is a happy post - So onwards and upwards. 

On the run-up to, ideally before Mr. Warehouse and the dog move in, I think I would like to get new bedroom furniture and soft furnishings; However this all costs money and with Dublin just around the corner (This time in a fortnight I will be writing to you from Darling Dublin), and so we are both scrapping and scrimping on every bit of pennies we can find! And so a matching set of bedroom wants and needs include two chest of drawers, wardrobes and bedside tables accompanied with a princess canopy better than the one I presently have and twinkle lights to match will make it the envy of all my friends and followers. Maybe too girlie for Mr. Warehouse's tastes, but the bedroom in my eyes is never meant for looking around at all the pretty things - If you know what I mean!? The lounge and dining room will be more manly than the bedroom as that is where Mr. Warehouse's Xbox Console and sub-woofer-bass speakers will live, all in the hope that I, or should I now say we, will have a couple of good house parties this year. Well, BBQ's at least anyway. Which brings me round then to the garden. I will for summer want to grow some more veggies and herbs as well as maybe tarting it all up a little with some new garden furnishings, table, chairs and heck, even some bunting and LED lights! 

Ahh yes. I can go over board sometimes. T-minus ... five-weeks!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Getting On Like A Warehouse On Fire!

Afternoon All, 

So after my tooth being amputated from my moist face cave, otherwise known as my mouth, I have been eating soft foods. Although I must be honest, after last weekends mind-blowing-ly gorgeous tasting Mulled Cider I couldn't resist trying to make some at home on my own! And to much success. Although now all the crappy still Cornwall Cider I had spare is fast running out and so is the jar of spices that go along with it! This week however especially the weekend has been pretty humdrum and with all my friends off playing with their respective partners I decided to spend a relaxing one with Mr. Warehouse and indulge in a little spring clean of my flat. Everything was and has been normal until this afternoon ... 

Sitting at my desk sorting out the holiday boards for the new holiday/tax year that is beginning in March, I was suddenly then interrupted by the warehouse ruffian who then proceeded to tell everyone that there was a fire in the warehouse and we should all get out of the building. Since there was no fire alarm and no office Fire Marshall was coming round I thought that it may have been an over elaborate joke. Ignoring his warning I answered an incoming call and proceeded to chat away to one of my engineers. That was until I was asked to put down the phone and get out of the building by another colleague. Hanging up I knew this was not a drill. Something deadly had happened and we all had to escape the building as quickly as possible. 

Braving the chilly weather and cold winds I turned to look at the back of the warehouse where the fire would have started. Wisps of greying smoke billowed out from the shutters and it didn't take much to see the orange flames licking the machines and the insides of the building like a kid with a melting ice-lolly. Concerned I looked at the time. Three-Forty-Five. I was worried that most of the staff were now congregating in the small car park and yet I could not yet see my Mr. Warehouse. It was his home-time at half-three so he may well have gone home. But then again what happens if he was still in the building?! 'Where was he' I thought, anxiously to myself. As I quickly scrabbled out a text and sent it I waited impatiently for a reply from Mr. Warehouse. 

It was a strange feeling though. Standing there alone in the car park was not an issue. I was surrounded not only by colleagues, but also friends and somewhat family, maybe even future family?! But as I nattered around with the other ladies in the office and lads in the warehouse I soon realised that there was one thing missing. A very important person in my life. As I watched Mr. Warehouse's supervisor walk out of the goods yard with an Italian swag on and the mouth of a sailor I worried even more-so. Just as I was about to go up and ask someone where Mr. Warehouse was, My phone bleeped. 

"Yes, Why? x" it read from the M.I.A Mr. Warehouse. 'Uh, thank goodness' I thought, forcing another reply through my slowly freezing fingers. Explaining that the warehouse was in a blaze and we had all been evacuated I wasn't surprised minutes later to hear my phone ringing. Answering I calmed his little sole by explaining that I was OK and that we were all waiting for the fire department to arrive. 
"Right I will see you in a second then!" Mr. Warehouse said, panicked. He then hung up and as I wondered what he meant, soon enough he was at the end of the road, coming back to check that not only was I OK but also whether he could blag a day off tomorrow. To be fair to him I was going to do the same, maybe throw in a few coughs and splutters to sound convincing but to no avail. I do indeed have work tomorrow as does Mr. Warehouse and co. 

But it made me think about how much I really do care and love him. Maybe not in the same way as Mr. Workaholic, but about as close to that kinda thing as I think I will ever get. I worried about him more in those few moments than I think I have ever done so in a long time, if at all. It made me think again about all the crazy dreams I have had in the past few months - A secret affair in New York with Evan Peters (As depicted in 'Hello New Boobs') or maybe the one where I made out with my new work colleague and then accused Mr. Warehouse of having an affair with a prostitute and a gay man at a beach-hut party or how about even that dream where I am boxing up all my old things in Dadda Workaholic's house and having a good old natter with Mr. Workaholic himself. Very strange dreams. But all pointing to one interesting point of contact for all when investigating further in my dream books and manuals was that they all pointed towards feelings of tackling issues that have been bothering my mind for a while. Even my masseuse added after a session that I was far too tense in my upper body, although not Mr. Masseuse I may add - Oof never again!  

And so it seems that I. No - We, needed to have a conversation. Theoretically it was going to happen sooner or later. In fact I think some of our work colleagues probably knew it before I did. But the thing is that last time it happened I was with Mr. Workaholic. Whilst I may have dreamt of 'boxing things away' and 'moving on' I am certainly terrified of moving on fully, only because I know how it might well end. Quite frankly I think one heart break is enough for an entire generation let alone a lifetime and never want to go through it again but on the flip-side it would make life for Mr. Warehouse and I that much easier. I have to keep reminding myself that whereas last time my entire relationship went up in a fireball to rival the Atom Bomb, I was only 20-years-old and was still a baby in comparison to my life now. I am more grown up than I was and in a way have become stronger and better within myself. I don't rely on anyone and certainly with this situation know that if it did all go tits-up, I would be able to handle going back to a-life-before-Mr.-Warehouse easier than if we moved out somewhere new. So I suppose the only question is ... 

When are you moving in Mr. Warehouse?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Adieu France!

Bonjour, 

Ahh and to think that this time last week I was probably enjoying a wonderful meal with Mr. Warehouse in a quiet little restaurant in Lyon, watching the sun slip behind the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière and becoming in great anticipation for our last night of holiday passion. Sipping on French wine probably grown a few miles from where we were staying in the Rhone Valleys I soaked up some of the hottest days I have ever experienced, and I have been to the Nevada Desert. 

Nevertheless the journey home was not as bad as our arrival (whereby I spent nearly four-hours in the airport trying to work out how to use my money card which ultimately lead me to frantically calling the UK offices in London to speak with someone who could verify that I was who I was. Duhh, do they not know who I am?!). Almost immediately after finishing dinner we headed back to the hotel and started to pack to go home the following morning, there bore the beginnings of an argument that this time was definitely an argument. The main sticking point of the argument was the weight. Now I am imagining that anyone who has ever gone on holiday, whether it to be Dublin or Dubrovnik have experienced this before. The dreaded weight problem! The scales (which were provided by Mr. Warehouse I believe for when I went to Las Vegas earlier in the year) were showing us to be weighing in at around twenty-kilos which was what we were limited to in terms of airline restrictions. and So after several hours of fighting, we ended said argument, but not before I had taken all my clothes, shoes and anything else I could carry out of the hold luggage leaving just Mr. Warehouse's clothes and medication in there. Both exhausted from heat, arguing, packing and a French food-coma of meats and cheeses we hit the sack and for the first time in what seemed like forever, we set our alarms for the early wake-up call. 

Waking the following morning I could tell I had not had the best sleep in the world but was up and ready for the day ahead. I wanted my home. My bed. My duvet. Albeit on the contrary when I arrived home I realised that my bed in my tiny apartment was much smaller than the fluffy white island Mr. Warehouse and I had become accustomed too. The wonderful thing about mine and Mr. Warehouse's bed on holiday was that it was so big that I could starfish the night away, one of my many love's in the bedtime routine, without infringing on Mr. Warehouse's personal bed space. If I was nice and fancied a bit of intimacy I could always reverse backside out into Mr. Warehouse and create a criss-cross with only our bottoms touching. Sometimes I would live life on the edge, hanging off the end of the bed like a tree Panther dozing in the afternoon shade of a palm leaf or two. But all this was safe in the knowledge that if I ever got scared or wanted to snuggle, all I had to do was reach out to him through the heavenly sheets of cotton. 

Indeed once I had prised myself from the memory foam mattress I knew I should get myself ready before Mr. Warehouse moans yet again that I take too long to get ready and that I shouldn't be wearing all that make-up, I look beautiful without it. (Ahhh, Smush, Smush, Smush!) Getting myself ready I took an occasional peak through to Mr. Warehouse in the bedroom. Hurrying myself along I pecked a sleeping boyfriend just before 9am to head out to the market in order to find a Pain Au Chocolat and Croissant as we had yet to have one this holiday. I know and we were in France!? Scowling the markets by the riverbanks near the hotel I could not find any. Pacing down every street and looking in every delicatessen, patisserie and boulangerie I found nothing. Then one last ditch attempt at a busy cafe which was overrun with business men, espresso and financial newspapers. There was one left. And so sacrificing my love for food I bought the last one from the waiter at the bar and ran back to the hotel with it still warm in my hands. Mr. Warehouse woke as soon as I let myself in. He was still tired but appreciative for the breakfast pastry, even though he never said thank you. 

Grabbing our things together we made our way to the airport and after discovering the hold luggage was well within weight restrictions (coming in at just over 16kg). Happily as we trotted up to the security we ended up nearly having yet another argument over the fact I had lost several items from my hand luggage because Mr. Warehouse said I should put them there to keep the weight of the hold luggage down. But I couldn't stay mad at my Mr. Warehouse if I tried. It was only Chocolate spread anyway. I could buy that back home, I suppose ... But that's not the point here! Finally after scrapping together enough loose change to buy a baguette and a bottle of water, playing a long tedious game of Eye-Spy, the wait for the air-plane gates to be announced was soon upon us and we were nearly on our way home. 

Sitting on the plane ready to taxi down the run way I looked lovingly at Mr. Warehouse and how nervous he was at the point of take off. Hmm. I had enjoyed living with him for these past few days, I thought to myself as I applied the primer to my already heated skin. Indeed the holiday in general had not been the nightmare I'd envisaged and to be fair whilst I had been cranky on holiday (mainly down to the soaring 36-degree-temperatures) since being back, things have been great! Sex is better than ever I think in my whole life - Yes, even better than Mr. Workaholic! We cuddle and kiss much more. I appreciate him and his company alot more now than I think I did before. In a way, so far at least, I think this holiday has brought us together even more than we were already. Hmmm, Maybe is this the first holiday with a boyfriend that has not ended in a tearful break-up and move in location?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Everybody Has A Time ...

Evening All, 

Someone once told me when I was much younger that the phone seldom brings good news when past nine at night. And oh how right they are. 

After a long week at work I was ready to settle down with Mr. Warehouse, chill out with a drink or two over dinner and discuss our busy weekend to come. What with my Daddies big 5-0 party on Saturday evening I was looking forward to getting glammed up and seeing some familiar faces again. Getting my nails done and having a hair-cut I was excited to spend my weekend with loved ones. But as I snuggled into my boyfriends chest, man-boob and all, I could hear my phone vibrating on the side. Flicking on the light, my ringtone kicked in for another repetition I raced to the kitchen to pick it up. It was my Dad. I answered thinking it was something about the party. It wasn't. As I walked back to my bedroom of my small, dark flat I perched myself on the edge of the bed. Feeling hot all of a sudden and with prickles beginning in my eyes I listened carefully to what I was being told. 

My grandfather has not been well for a long time. Ever since I was small I can remember him bribing me or my Brother to get him tit-bits from the kitchen or fetch him something from around the bungalow he shared with my Grandmother. I never remember him being the active type to walk around the garden let alone run after his grandchildren. But as I got older he seemed to take more of a back burner in my life-story, forever there but always playing the part of a extra rather than a starring role. I still loved him, but I suppose a older child, and being the only girl in the family, I don't think he really knew what to do with me. Becoming a teenager I was always rebelling and whilst he was there to stick his ore in a few times I knew that the majority of the time he probably knew best. After retiring and not keeping as active as he was working as a refuse collector for the local council back home he grew larger than he ever had. A mixture of nothing to do and a constantly well stocked cupboard made his weight balloon and over the next few years his weight would fluctuate between looking like a Christmas Turkey and looking like a Turkey whom had got a lucky escape from the December oven. Always being clinically termed "morbidly obese" it never seemed to bother him and I suppose as his family it never really bothered us. Until that was he reached a point of no return. 

With the lack of exercise my Grandfather's legs started to become sore. in time they became infected and had to be dressed and redressed several times a day. At one point us as a family were left wondering that if the infection got any worse that it may lead to amputation. Whilst on crutches the Doctors still encouraged my Granddad to walk, even if it was to the kitchen or to the top of my grandparents highly maintained garden. But he failed to listen. On the odd occasion he could be found in the kitchen standing up or sitting on a stool peeling vegetables for dinner or preparing something yummy for lunch, but more often than not he would be in front of the Telly or on the computer. After progressively getting worse over the next few years he was in and out of hospital with heart problems and even referred to the UK's leading heart hospital in Harefield, just outside of London. Worried we all might loose him I made sure I put in the effort to see him and the family when I could. After a triple heart bypass surgery to fix the dodgy ticker I thought that this would be it and he would not only be back to his old self but be more conscience about what he puts in his mouth and how much more moving he should be doing. But alas, as yet again this fell on deaf ears. 

Last year Granddad had a fall as he was getting in and out the shower. Breaking his leg clean, his Femur was too broken to stand on and so more crutches and a brace was used. Taking its toll on Grandpop's heart he was rushed into hospital again after being allowed home, but after dying on the operating table and having lost more than six-pints of blood, we were lucky as a family to still have him alive. You could say he was a fighter, but if you could fight off death, you could fight off the fat attacking your organs. But even after all of that there was no change in his spirit and after much consideration he was put into a local care home so that the adequate care could be given. And there he has stayed for the past few months.

I try to visit as much as I can and do when I have time but with life as busy as it usually is you could sometimes go weeks forgetting to even call or text. With the lack of "get-up-and-go" Granddad became sneaky, asking family members to smuggle in sweet treats like nuts, seeds, berries and crisps. When he approached me I stood my ground and whilst it was one of the hardest things to do I knew I was doing him good. But ever since that moment My Granddad whom I love and care for dearly has been stand off-ish and is quite frankly rude in some circumstance, leading me several times to put him firmly in his place. The family agreed that for too long we have been soft and that now, more than ever, we needed to take a tough love approach to Granddad and his behaviour. That was until he was rushed into hospital on Friday evening suffering from too much fluid in his lungs and with his heart not strong enough to pump it out I listened intently to what my father told me next. 

"Your Grandfather is going to die. It could be weeks, it could be months, it may even be years - But he is dying" My Dad said out loud. My heart nearly stopped. As I croaked out past the growing frog in my throat I took in and accepted fully what I had already known for months, if not years. "He is dying" I thought. "He is actually, really dying and there is nothing I can do to stop this?!" Hanging up the phone I sat bewildered for a moment. Somehow I had always known this would be the result of over eating and under moving but to finally hear it from the source of a Doctor, passed through the ears of a family to the granddaughter was hard to take in. I am only twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four and never have I ever experienced a death this close. Rising from the bed I went to make a cup of tea, sweet with lots of sugar, a proper little, china tea-cup and all. Coming back to bed I climbed in next to Mr. Warehouse and thought about what was next. With the words solidifying in my head I was left with more questions than answers. "Do we just wait? Wait until another nightly call comes along to inform us that we are no longer with Granddad?" I wondered. 

"Is this really the next chapter in my life? The next thing to go wrong?" mixed round my head with questions about why Mr. Warehouse was here - Was he next in what was seeming to be a long list of boyfriends that only turned up to help me through a difficult point in my life. Mr. Ginge was there when my parents divorced and when I was chucked out by my hateful mother. Mr. Workaholic was there throughout the years of torment form my mother and the separation from my baby brother. Mr. Coffee, Mr. Sick and Mr. Woof were their to fill the gaping hole that Mr. Workaholic had left when we separated. Mr. Cheese was their when I moved into my first ever flat and when I changed careers from stressful credit control to where I am today. Is this the tale of Mr. Warehouse? I hope not! I was starting to really like this one?! The good egg I thought. Maybe "The One"?  I don't want to loose him, but at the same time I have some slight issues with relying on people to be there for me. What with my Grandfather being in hospital all I wanted to do was be enveloped by my boyfriends and his protecting arms, telling me that fairy-tales of how it would be all OK. Equally though I wanted to push him as far away as the moon favouring myself and my own company in comparison to leaning emotionally on yet another boy who would break my heart. 

"Why do people have to get old?!" I sobbed into my cooling tea-cup, feeling very much like a child whom had just found their goldfish belly up. "Why does this have to happen now?" I sniffled for now I am in the knowledge that my Grandpop's will never see me get married. He will never hold his great grandchildren in his arms. He will never come round and throw himself into my sofa in a house I have just bought. No, he will never see those things. Not only am I feeling angry and bitter that he has let this happen to himself, selfishly not only letting our family down but more disappointingly, letting himself down. We have always been a big family and with weight being a constant issue for us all, I think it is safe to say that this has given us a gentle nudge to do something about it before it gets to the stage whereby we are all too old and frail to stop it from killing us. 

After speaking to Mr. Warehouse and Miss Tweedle-Dumb well into the small hours of Saturday morning I soon feel asleep holding my tea-cup, now empty. Upon waking everything seemed normal, until Mr. Warehouse mentioned the night before and suddenly it all came flooding horrendously back to me. Gathering myself together, Mr. Warehouse and I packed for our weekend away back home in Luton and with plans to see my Granddad on Sunday I was hoping for some fun to brighten my mood. And Saturday night certainly did not disappoint! Squaddies dressed in offencive camp outfits, high-heeled tumbles and even the odd boogie on the dance-floor it was a definite winner in terms of pick-me-up's. With all the old faces from my childhood I found myself getting wasted with the best of them, and even had a cheeky "Special Cigarette" with my Dad's best friend from Somerset. 

But as I write to you now, eyes heavy with the call of my bed, I am only thinking of one person. Whether it be in two weeks or in two months, I can almost guarantee that by the time Christmas arrives, there will be one less Santa in my world. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx