New Life, New Swag!

Heyy Heyy, 

Following on from last week's cheese Saga, Mr. Warehouse and I have since binned the smelly, perfumed cheese and instead bought a stronger variety and something a lot more palatable. And to think that the next shop I will be doing for our monthly food will be after our holidays. Speaking of which, with exactly a month to go today, me and Mr. Warehouse I'm nearly fit to bursting with looking forward to our first beach holiday together. After nearly three-and-a-half-years together I can hardly believe that we have never had a beach holiob. 

In preparation for such event it would only be fair that we would hit the shops for some new clobber. Now despite having a wardrobe fit to burst I still have the absolute urgency to buy holiday clothes. I have tops and skirts, and along with my myriad of kimonos, dresses and bikinis, all of them virtually worn a handful of times, all in all I know in my heart of Hearts that I really do not need any more clothes. However a unicorn pool float and a towel with pockets is still on my shopping list. Normally I don't care too much about what I look like or how I will look in photo's as there is a common understanding in the female world that we will just simply edit our way to perfection. Mr Warehouse is a boy and to put it bluntly does not understand it. Whilst I am told almost everyday that I am beautiful without all of the make-up and hair by my wonderful boyfriend, I still want to make sure I look good on holiday, and even more so when we will be spending so much time together. 

You might hazard a guess that Mr Warehouse was much more of a simple person, buying something only if he needs it and not because it's on sale. And for the most part you would be right in thinking this, as throughout the week he wears a uniform (lucky bugger) and as a result never wears normal clothes unless it is a date night or it is the weekend. However, this weekend after just been paid, both of us decided to head off to Bovingdon Market, which was originally Miss Tweedle-Dee's idea just to have a mooch around the 'designer brands'.From household goods such as knife blocks, pillows and carpets right down to the knock-off-nigel Timberland boots, Ralph Lauren T-shirts and Michael Kors handbags. You name it and Bovvy had it. And all for a fairly reasonable price. Well most of it anyway. Arriving to pick Miss Tweedle-Dee up for once I was earlier than expected. I even had to stop so someone (AKA Mr. Warehouse) could feel his face with a McDonald's breakfast, complete with extra hash brown. Nevertheless I chose the healthier life and opted for Latte with a Banana and Yogurt from home which I never actually got to eat as I was driving. As I explained to Miss Tweedle-Dee as she got into my newly MOT'd Vivienne; I am not on a diet  - I am just simply healthy eating. 

With less than four weeks to go until I am on a beach in Tenerife I certainly feel more pressure on this holiday with Mr Warehouse then I do with the girls. I don't know maybe it is the environment that I now find myself in on a daily basis. Verses my old office where I spent my days with a ragingly posh lesbian, a hackney city girl and an old man verging on retirement. Now I am in an office full of beautiful girls and women (As well as you men - You know who you are) who make an effort every day with their appearance. Applying make-up and doing their hair nice and pretty, a part of me honestly wonders why they bother. I am not single and there is no hot men to flirt with at work so what is the point. Equally I feel it is nice that we collectively all seem to make an effort maybe not necessarily for our co-workers but more-so for ourselves as women. 

I also get the feeling that life in my new(ish) office is to be constantly looking your best at face value is not the end of it. There is the Instagram's, Facebook updates and selfies to contend with. I feel like such a typical 'twenty-something-girl' by being desperate to get an invite to a fitness class or invited out for dinner or for a quiet night in with a bottle or two. It is a more sophisticated way of socialising that I am not sure I am accustomed to yet, although I am sure than in time the constant conversation about Love Island or what is at the top of my Spotify playlist will make a difference. A little part of me wonders whether I can ever go back to feeling my absolute self at work, discussing every little niggle in life and talking through all my problems with girlie work colleagues, both inside and outside of the office - But on the other hand, maybe I am not meant to be my full self at work, just the professional version of me. Maybe its just time to move on ... 

Anyhoo, arriving at the market it bought all the fun of it back when Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I would all come down with one of our parents and I would look at all the handbags and shoes, hoping that one day I can afford to buy whatever I wanted and not just what the pocket money in my purse would get me. After scouting round from top to bottom of the market, perusing all the goods that everyone had to offer and working out which places we were going to buy what from we walked away with some supposedly John Lewis plush pillows, some pretty ballerina pumps with pom-poms on them, RayBan Sunnies, some T-shirts for Mr. Warehouse holiday wardrobe and some gorgeous smelling bath-bombs for me. A successful weekend I would say ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Ready?!

Good evening, 

So a thought occurred to me this weekend. Am I ready? Looking at Mr. Warehouse on Friday evening after a few hours in the park wearing out his Niece's and Nephew's, my beloved other-half sat relaxed on the sofa with the littlest of three children, all seemingly pooped from the exertion. Difference is that only a few moments earlier I was cradling a crying baby with no clue as to why it was upset. Was it hungry? No I was trying to feed it and the milk was not being graciously received. Was it soiled? Nope checked that - Five times. Was it hot? Not sure so I took off some layers. Was it tired? I don't think so as every time I put it down it cried and screamed even more. Did it want to be held? Refer back to being laid down. Was it sad? Probably. 

To be fair I have no clue and zero experience when it comes to children. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb are both bemused and concerned with my lack of motherly instinct and general attitude towards children. The amount of times I have said to myself and others that "It'll be different when its my own" and all along I was kidding myself because now, I am actually starting to wonder if it is a false lie that other parents say when your just not ready for kids. 

I look at my own childhood, because I imagine that is where it starts. I was an only child up until I was about five and that is when my brother came along. Little as he always was to me, he was my little Bro and I was furiously protective over him, right up until the moment I was kicked out. Even to this day I find myself defending him and explaining that there must be a reason for some of his strange and sometimes hurtful actions. Growing up though, other than my brother, I never had any real hands on contact with babies or smaller children. My mother was told that after my siblings difficult birth another pregnancy could be the end of her and so it was just the two of us. 

When I was in my mid-teenage years, rocking out to My Chemical Romance and Enter Shikari, along came the first of three cousins, all in a quick succession of one another. With them all approaching their early adolescence I am sometimes put to shame with how much they know already. Sex Education is starting earlier, as is Drugs talks in Personal, Social, Health and Educational studies. At their age I though weed was some kind of plant that your grandma hated and would make you pee the bed if you picked it. I suppose it is education of a generation so as not to make the mistakes their parents may have made. 

I have very few friends that are single and ready to mingle, not that I am of course. Most of the people I know are with someone long term and either getting on the property ladder, having children or getting hitched. But I question sometimes if I am ready for all of that commitment. In fact, looking through social media, I have very few school friends that have not gone on to have children young. Now this is not a blast to young moms, and dads, ho have had their children whilst young themselves. Hey good luck to you, because my limited experience of looking after children, and within that the sparse moments I have had looking after children on my own, I question honestly how it can and is done. Only a handful of people in my friends list have a university degree, or have travelled extensively. Most of them without kids just poodle on through life, fixing up their room with new Instagram style photo-walls and tweeting about how the morning jog was just the best. 

Thinking about it life is great without kids! I am far too selfish, self-obsessed and consumed by moi to have children yet. People have said that "children will be the making of you and all your narcissism will melt away once you have babies" but I doubt it. I will have to wait and see what the future holds but right now there is a world to explore and a whole cupboard of alcohol under my sink that needs t be drunk ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Deep Joys Of Dreamboys!

Morning One and all, 

Racing out of work I had battled the Friday afternoon traffic, picked up milk and bread and even posted a couple of items before heading back home to an eager Mr. Warehouse. But oh no, it wasn't him I was buzzing round like a headless fly for, no, no. My best friends, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb were coming over. Not only that but we were heading out. Although much to my dismay not for a messy night out on the tiles. Nope, tonight was the last little dribble of my birthday surprises ... Tickets to see Dreamboys Live! Now if you don't know what or who Dreamboys are I urge you to head and check them out as I am terrible at explaining what theyre job description is. I tried to explain to my dear Nanna the other day that I was going to the theatre and after asking what acclaimed performance I was planning to watch I had to explain to her that these men barely kept any clothes on let alone bagged a Tony award. The same went for the poor shopkeeper on the way back to my flat after the show when he asked what our plans were we sheepishly answered that we had been in the company of the Dreamboys that evening and then ensued a conversation and explanation as to what the Dreamboys were.  I think by the end of the whole Charade that people just asked us so we would squirm and wonder what we should tell them we had been up to that evening. 

Nevertheless it was a wonderful evening beginning with the staple trip to the local Spoons (AKA Wetherspoons Pub) for a few bevvies and some dinner before the real show. Heading out into the cold Autumn air I pulled my coat around me, thankful that I wasn't spending a lonely night in with Jonathan Ross or Graham Norton on a Friday Night. But as we arrived closer to the venue I suddenly didn't look so out of place, dressed up in my heels and nude dress whilst my friends donned a more casual wear of Converse and Jeans which far more comfortable than what some of the other audience members were wearing. Finishing our cigarettes we sneaked in and found our seats. The venue, Bedford Corn Exchange, whilst being in the town centre was surprisingly comfortable to hold a show of this calibre and size I thought. Whilst not the biggest show on earth, the hall was packed out and as this was my first time visiting since being a very small child with my father accompanying him to a military 'do', I found the place beautiful and made me want to explore its beauty even more after the chairs, bleachers and stage were all gone. 

Awaiting the men on stage I took a look at the level of attractiveness this room possessed against myself. There were girls, mostly young, but a few not so, but almost all of them that were young and I suppose in a sense sharing the same age category of myself being late-teens and early twenties (Shhh, I can still try to get away with it!) all skinny size 10's with long hair, manicured nails and cracking dress sense. But it made me wonder how many of them actually had a man at home like I did. Sure they may be young and pretty, but they can't be the actual face of Rimmel all the time and at some point those fake eyelashes and biscuit tan have to come off. Would a guy still fancy them if they were dressed a little more normal in a pub? Maybe? (I know that in my defence when on a night out men feel or at least I feel that they are less threatened by me as I am probably more normal looking and closer to the-morning-after-result that Little Miss Twinkle-Tits over there swigging her sixth Smirnoff Ice) Would a Dreamboy give them a second look? And there you have it. The crux of the issue is that most girls think that to be with a Ken you need to be a Barbie and I suppose yes, but for how long before a Cindy or a Shelly comes into the picture. This got me thinking and yes, whilst I was about to watch an mirage of godly men on the stage in front of my very eyes, like porn, Santa and those Nigerian-Uncle emails they were all fake. 
Real men aren't like that. Real men are hairy and burp and fart ... And then laugh about it. Real men buy their girlfriends Haribo when they least expect it just because 'they were in the shop and knew that you liked them'. Real men can cry at Disney films and have absolutely no qualms attempting to squeeze into a Little Red Riding Hood Costume for Halloween. I love real men.

As the lights went down and the show began I looked to my two best friends and asked what we were all about to encounter. Curtains opened and screams filled the room as the act began to swish and turn in provocative move that would make even the Vicar blush. But as I hooted, whistled and screeched at all the scantily clad men on stage during their 'performances' I couldn't help but wonder what we were all doing here. Why had every person in that room purchased a ticket and why was the general population of those tickets bought by women? Well who else other than a few errant gay guys would want to see naked men on a pedestal of sorts, flashing their genitalia and creaming themselves up for another lucky lady, or man in some instances. I pondered across the ideas that whilst the media slams men for gawking at Page 3 (which is now sadly no longer with us due to a boring-arse feminist campaign to ban it) and now women are shunning men even holding doors open for them or having a friendly wolf-whistle in the street, it is somehow widely accepted that women are allowed freely and with little or no confrontation to go about acting the same way towards men straight out of a Diet Coke Advert. 

Now I am not trying to get everyone's back up but this seriously crossed my mind as I enjoyed the show on Friday night which believe you me, I enjoyed one hell of a lot. So much so I am thinking about going next year. But I just couldn't shake the fact that if the roles were reversed and it was hordes of men sat here with Victoria Secret-esk models on stage would it still have the lack of Media attention?! The truth is no. Why? I don't know. But what I do know is that if you are prepared to have the conversation about media portraying women in such a sexualised and revealing way then you must be prepared to say the same for the way that women can be just as animalistic and hungry when on the hunt for a man dressed and painted in the same seedy, sexual light as Page 3. 

Honestly, I don't see the problem with it. I thoroughly enjoyed the show and all that were involved with it but that was just it. It was a show. Something make-believe and pretend. The normal likes of me and you would probably never end up with a man like one of those oiled up for all female eyes to see. And besides would you really want to when you can see, barely when stripped to the nude, just how much athletics and hard work goes into a man of that build. The same with the women in the audience, crying out to be next in line for a dance. They make such an effort staying slim, constantly re-applying make-up and even considering going under the knife all for the title of Beautiful. I suppose if that night taught me anything at all (apart from some cracking sexy dance moves) that we all have our own body insecurities, both Men and Women - All of us seen in the media as unrealistic, airbrushed, new and improved versions of ourselves. Yes. We all want to be beautiful and gorgeous, but it is about perspective and learning who you are and loving who you are, inside and out. Because whilst I enjoyed the show in all its glory and splendour, I knew that I was going home that night to my very manly, very real Dreamboy. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx