Evening All,
So last week was all about getting pissed up on cheap, flat cider and celebrating life with Mr. Warehouse and his family. And after a long, drawn out and strenuous week at work the past few days have been very relaxing and much more chilled.
From Friday night right through 'til this afternoon when I finished work I have stayed at Mr. Warehouse's home he shares with his mother, although she was away this weekend so Mr. Warehouse had invited me over to spend the weekend and look after his middle-aged Golden Retriever. A part of me did not even really realise until Saturday evening that we essentially were playing 'House'. And why not? Throughout the past nine months of my relationship with this man he has spent the majority of it with me either in my flat or at his mom's. But its strange when two people are just left to their own devices in a big old empty house and nothing much to see or do.
Not going to lie I did enjoy it, but I soon found niggles that eventually if given time and the lack of space would burrow into my sole with the drive to constantly get on my tits! Like the way that Mr. Warehouse will do stuff he is not suppose to be doing even though you have asked him a trillion and one times not to. Or the way that Mr. Warehouse leaves his shit lying around. Even the way that my dearest Mr. Warehouse butters his toast before adding in a condiment like jam or spread can easily burn on my wick if I am already in a foul-arse mood.
You see the thing is that when you live by yourself, and, single ladies you know what I mean - Its not the way that someone is around you, its the fact that sometimes you just cant be your true self. You can't always frog it in boy-boxers watching 'Jeremy Kyle' eating a whole pack of Pink Wafers to yourself and realising that the itchy thing on you bottom was just a rogue Sugar Puff from earlier. Nor can you fart loudly, laugh and be outwardly proud of such an expression because you are a lady whom should not do things like that, let alone still be sniggering about it twenty-minutes later. And alas you cannot leave rubbish everywhere with the intent that one day you will pick it up. Ahh yes! The joy's of living alone.
But don't get me wrong an extra pair of hands can be useful, especially if you live on the top floor apartment with zero lifts. Carrying the shopping up stairs, taking out the rubbish and generally helping out around the place can be a huge help and beneficial to both parties in the long run. I suppose this week's post really started last week when Mr. Warehouse and I were out with my father and his girlfriend for Daddies birthday dinner and in true squaddie style my Dad just blurts out - "So when are you moving in with my Daughter!"
Gob-smacked and totally taken aback by the phrase let alone the idea I jumped in before anyone else had a chance to open their trappy little beaks and reiterated as I had done many times before that Mr. Warehouse was not moving in, not now and not any time in the foreseeable future. I enjoy my freedom. Its the only thing I really have left. I'm not single any more so instead I have my flat when I can grunge out for a whole weekend only venturing to the outside world in order to buy bread and milk. can be myself in those tiny little slanted walls of my penthouse one-bed. Don't get me wrong I have thought about it, even looking into the possibility of moving somewhere bigger in a few years time to accommodate such a growing and developing relationship. Yes. I suppose the idea in the future is a good one but right now ... Certainly not!
I mean where in my telescopic flat would his boy 'stuff' go?! The Xbox that is hardly works and even then never used yet held onto as the last claim to being a young man. The never-ending pile of dirty laundry that will inevitably be picked up by me, an ongoing sock vs. pants issue. Pointless letters, papers, payslips and rubbish strewn everywhere. Hmm, yes, not my idea of homely bliss. But then again if you asked Mr. Warehouse I am sure that he would say the same - A continuous stream of washing up, food that is slightly fluffy in the fridge and scatter cushions everywhere!
In my flat right now their is barely enough room for me and my amazing personality let alone two, and whilst I like the idea that one day I will be a big girl with my own home and garden, I have to realise that it wont come along unless I suck it up and accept sharing. After all isn't that something that our parents all taught us. Yes that pile of washing looks a chore but when two people do it together and work through some of the things that happened in their days making small talk it will be done in next to no time! I don't know, I suppose after popping over to Mr. Warehouse's Brothers (Whose Fiancée is the same age as me!) new House it made me slightly Home-Broody. I think as I sat on their sofa in the three story town house I realised if I want to one day own my own home then I will need to get a shifty on and start saving. But that is light-years away, right now I am happy being the Queen of my own (rented) Palace and I am in no mood of down-grading any time soon, especially after the last time I moved in with someone!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Single. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Single. Show all posts
Monday, 6 July 2015
Monday, 4 August 2014
The Drought!
Morning All,
So with last week melancholy nature well and truly put to rest (no pun intended) and with my addiction to boys slightly scarred by the previous few date I have been on I have officially picked myself up and am ready to start again with dating - In more ways than one!
More than six-weeks have passed since I was last laid. Six Weeks! I didn't even know such a drought could happen like this. But whilst I wonder every night laying there drifting off listening to cats killing themselves or my middle-aged neighbours (whom I am pretty sure are swingers) my thoughts turn to why I am not hanging off the end of my black iron bed-frame. I am single. Still. Now this would not be such a bad thing but I feel that in some respects I am more highly sexed than your average female and as a result when I don't get it I end up tense, achy and stressed constantly. The effects of not having regular bodily stimulation takes on a physical as well as mental toll on my gorgeous body (Ironic there you see! Aha). Like today at work. I nearly hid under my desk from all my problem emails and phone-calls but instead I took my lunch and ate Cous Cous to which everyone from the office and adjacent warehouse now thinks I am a Toff! Mental note for future - You know you need to get some when you are reaching for the Ainsley Harriott Red Pepper Couscous in the supermarket. Step away from the freeze-dried goods aisle and hit me up someone on Tinder! And yes I am still addicted ...
Now whilst being single is definitely not a problem, in fact I think I much prefer myself out of a relationship, at least one that was as stifling as the last one I encountered; I still find that my needs are not being met. You see I am unfortunately a girl whom is unable to satisfy herself. Odd as it sounds and as strange as it may be I have never taken much pleasure in twilight antics of a lone nature. I find it tedious and boring. Its not that I don't like it, its just I don't see the point if I am alone. Besides, for moi, it is so much more thrilling and exciting when it is with someone else. Especially when you have been with that person a fair amount of time and you know that they have the history and skills to bring you there but sometimes just choose to keep you just beneath the peak for pure torturous pleasure until you beg them to stop. Even when your begging it doesn't always have to end. If you have a strong partner who can keep his (or her) cool then asking for something and not getting it is almost as exhilarating sending you into a wild frenzy, just itching for that release. I also have never experienced 'The Big O' yet. Now many men have tried, but most I feel have failed in there quest to bring me that wave of heat and excitement. Disappointing as it is I know that I may be one of the many women of this wonderful planet that never ever get to feel what it is like. But then again a question I always ask my friends - How do you know? I may well have had one and never even known about it. The annoying thing about all of this is that if anyone was even close to getting me there it would have been Mr. Workaholic or Mr. Cheese both of which are slightly absent right now!
Frustrating as this all is I know that I cannot wholly become fixated on what happens between the sheets. Whilst sex is a fairly sizable part of my relationship with someone, I understand that it isn't for everyone. I need someone who I can have fun with. Something fresh and new, exciting and clean (or filthy). I want to feel giddy and woozy as well as the horn. Am I looking for Love or am I just looking for a good time? This is the question that has been battling me for several weeks now and I feel that now is the time to decide. A boyfriend is just scary and not a necessity I really can deal with right now. A relationship (of sorts) that can be loose and free within reason is something I am tempted by. It intrigues me and teases me with all the possibilities it entails. As time passes by and the longer the dry spell continues the less my 'Number' seems to matter to me. I mean, I could always lie about how many people have seen the downstairs. I remember someone telling me a rule of thumb once - Divide your 'Number' by three and then add one?! That brings me out to 3.33 recurring. How does that work?
Maybe I need to work backwards rather than forwards with this whole dating thing! Start with the sex and see if it leads anywhere good. And whilst I like the idea of a NSA (No Strings Attached) set up I know it would be unlikely to work for both parties. An NSA programme is good in theory but it can never work when you live somewhere like Bedford where men that are pleasing to the eye are scarce. Plus I think that in the long run it would make me unhappy stuck with someone who I will inevitably fall head over heels for only to realise they like the back of my head rather than the front. If I wanted just sex I would have found that weeks ago but I am not. So what the hell am I looking for? Maybe I am therefore looking for a friends with benefits thing. The two are very different as I have come to discover. Where NSA sex is very much what it says on the tin - wham bam thank you ma'am; a friends with benefits situation is much more pleasant I feel. A place whereby if left long enough and seeds planted a fruitful, loving, nurturing relationship could blossom. The thing that I probably enjoyed most about the first few months with Mr. Cheese was simply having the freedom to do as a single girl can whilst having someone to snuggle up with and go on dates to the local ice-cream parlour. I want the cuddles at night, the spooning, the curled up TV days and the giggles and play-fights that turn into lazy but mind-blowing weekend afternoon sex. Yes, that is where I want to be.
Naturally I invest too much in people. even in dates that are not dates. It was only just this last weekend I spoke to Miss Tweedle-Dumb of a few dates lined up in the coming weeks jokingly mentioning how Abbey *Insert Last Name* sounds blissfully better than the last few. And as my dear best friend looked at me oddly I secretly envisioned our entire wedding day together like something from a girlie Rom-Com! I seem to start making the omelette before I have even loaded up my egg basket never mind how much is in it. Always thinking far too much into stuff and not letting things go with the flow. As my father said to me the other day after nearly an hour of showing him how to use Tinder that I should slow down and stop hunting for something that will make itself known when it is ready. Pappa Bear explained that I should take a moment for myself and remember that although I am nearly twenty-three, my clock still has a lot of tick left in it. Throughout what he was saying I knew he was being truthful but it still didn't silence that little part of me that thinks that if I reach thirty and am not at least married then I will defiantly be eaten by Alsations by the time I reach thirty-two. He told me I should be young and free, making mistakes and cringingly laughing about them with friends over a bottle of wine or two. I think he was talking about Love, but it could well have been a moment of insanity in which I seem to indulge in - Alot!
And with this in mind I my thoughts immediately turn to a naughty little thing I did the other day. An UnDate - Basically Date that is not a Date or whereby one of the attendees does not acknowledge the alterer motives of such a meeting with said other party. Make sense? Probably not. But not too worry all will be revealed soon after my trip to Ireland but for the time being I can't spill too much, but all I can say is that I better get some oven mittens because I could quite well get burnt by this one ...
''Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx
So with last week melancholy nature well and truly put to rest (no pun intended) and with my addiction to boys slightly scarred by the previous few date I have been on I have officially picked myself up and am ready to start again with dating - In more ways than one!
More than six-weeks have passed since I was last laid. Six Weeks! I didn't even know such a drought could happen like this. But whilst I wonder every night laying there drifting off listening to cats killing themselves or my middle-aged neighbours (whom I am pretty sure are swingers) my thoughts turn to why I am not hanging off the end of my black iron bed-frame. I am single. Still. Now this would not be such a bad thing but I feel that in some respects I am more highly sexed than your average female and as a result when I don't get it I end up tense, achy and stressed constantly. The effects of not having regular bodily stimulation takes on a physical as well as mental toll on my gorgeous body (Ironic there you see! Aha). Like today at work. I nearly hid under my desk from all my problem emails and phone-calls but instead I took my lunch and ate Cous Cous to which everyone from the office and adjacent warehouse now thinks I am a Toff! Mental note for future - You know you need to get some when you are reaching for the Ainsley Harriott Red Pepper Couscous in the supermarket. Step away from the freeze-dried goods aisle and hit me up someone on Tinder! And yes I am still addicted ...
Now whilst being single is definitely not a problem, in fact I think I much prefer myself out of a relationship, at least one that was as stifling as the last one I encountered; I still find that my needs are not being met. You see I am unfortunately a girl whom is unable to satisfy herself. Odd as it sounds and as strange as it may be I have never taken much pleasure in twilight antics of a lone nature. I find it tedious and boring. Its not that I don't like it, its just I don't see the point if I am alone. Besides, for moi, it is so much more thrilling and exciting when it is with someone else. Especially when you have been with that person a fair amount of time and you know that they have the history and skills to bring you there but sometimes just choose to keep you just beneath the peak for pure torturous pleasure until you beg them to stop. Even when your begging it doesn't always have to end. If you have a strong partner who can keep his (or her) cool then asking for something and not getting it is almost as exhilarating sending you into a wild frenzy, just itching for that release. I also have never experienced 'The Big O' yet. Now many men have tried, but most I feel have failed in there quest to bring me that wave of heat and excitement. Disappointing as it is I know that I may be one of the many women of this wonderful planet that never ever get to feel what it is like. But then again a question I always ask my friends - How do you know? I may well have had one and never even known about it. The annoying thing about all of this is that if anyone was even close to getting me there it would have been Mr. Workaholic or Mr. Cheese both of which are slightly absent right now!
Frustrating as this all is I know that I cannot wholly become fixated on what happens between the sheets. Whilst sex is a fairly sizable part of my relationship with someone, I understand that it isn't for everyone. I need someone who I can have fun with. Something fresh and new, exciting and clean (or filthy). I want to feel giddy and woozy as well as the horn. Am I looking for Love or am I just looking for a good time? This is the question that has been battling me for several weeks now and I feel that now is the time to decide. A boyfriend is just scary and not a necessity I really can deal with right now. A relationship (of sorts) that can be loose and free within reason is something I am tempted by. It intrigues me and teases me with all the possibilities it entails. As time passes by and the longer the dry spell continues the less my 'Number' seems to matter to me. I mean, I could always lie about how many people have seen the downstairs. I remember someone telling me a rule of thumb once - Divide your 'Number' by three and then add one?! That brings me out to 3.33 recurring. How does that work?
Maybe I need to work backwards rather than forwards with this whole dating thing! Start with the sex and see if it leads anywhere good. And whilst I like the idea of a NSA (No Strings Attached) set up I know it would be unlikely to work for both parties. An NSA programme is good in theory but it can never work when you live somewhere like Bedford where men that are pleasing to the eye are scarce. Plus I think that in the long run it would make me unhappy stuck with someone who I will inevitably fall head over heels for only to realise they like the back of my head rather than the front. If I wanted just sex I would have found that weeks ago but I am not. So what the hell am I looking for? Maybe I am therefore looking for a friends with benefits thing. The two are very different as I have come to discover. Where NSA sex is very much what it says on the tin - wham bam thank you ma'am; a friends with benefits situation is much more pleasant I feel. A place whereby if left long enough and seeds planted a fruitful, loving, nurturing relationship could blossom. The thing that I probably enjoyed most about the first few months with Mr. Cheese was simply having the freedom to do as a single girl can whilst having someone to snuggle up with and go on dates to the local ice-cream parlour. I want the cuddles at night, the spooning, the curled up TV days and the giggles and play-fights that turn into lazy but mind-blowing weekend afternoon sex. Yes, that is where I want to be.
Naturally I invest too much in people. even in dates that are not dates. It was only just this last weekend I spoke to Miss Tweedle-Dumb of a few dates lined up in the coming weeks jokingly mentioning how Abbey *Insert Last Name* sounds blissfully better than the last few. And as my dear best friend looked at me oddly I secretly envisioned our entire wedding day together like something from a girlie Rom-Com! I seem to start making the omelette before I have even loaded up my egg basket never mind how much is in it. Always thinking far too much into stuff and not letting things go with the flow. As my father said to me the other day after nearly an hour of showing him how to use Tinder that I should slow down and stop hunting for something that will make itself known when it is ready. Pappa Bear explained that I should take a moment for myself and remember that although I am nearly twenty-three, my clock still has a lot of tick left in it. Throughout what he was saying I knew he was being truthful but it still didn't silence that little part of me that thinks that if I reach thirty and am not at least married then I will defiantly be eaten by Alsations by the time I reach thirty-two. He told me I should be young and free, making mistakes and cringingly laughing about them with friends over a bottle of wine or two. I think he was talking about Love, but it could well have been a moment of insanity in which I seem to indulge in - Alot!
And with this in mind I my thoughts immediately turn to a naughty little thing I did the other day. An UnDate - Basically Date that is not a Date or whereby one of the attendees does not acknowledge the alterer motives of such a meeting with said other party. Make sense? Probably not. But not too worry all will be revealed soon after my trip to Ireland but for the time being I can't spill too much, but all I can say is that I better get some oven mittens because I could quite well get burnt by this one ...
''Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 7 July 2014
The Vagina Crusade!
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Heyy,
I don't know quite what I expected from life as a newly singleton. Lonely nights in front of the TV. Declining invites to events for fear of loved-up couples making me barff. Rekindling a love affair with my bedsheets, penguin pyjamas and re-run's of Attenborough whilst crying into tissues thinking about the times I used to spend cuddled up to what was after having great sex which is now impossible since I don't have a boyfriend! All things and many more sad traits I expected life in Loosersville to be like. Life has almost been quite the opposite I must say and I can only see it getting better as Summer rolls on. So roll on Thursday this week and pin a notice on your board of Abbey-Awesomeness because I have a date this week!
Impromptu nights out in rainy beer gardens, tank-top etiquette and waxing were all on my unplanned and spontaneous weekend agenda. It started with Friday night whereby after finishing early from work I decided to hit up the local off-licence for a bottle of rose wine and chocolate with the plan to spend the evening hoping work colleagues would invite me to the pub whilst watching yet another chick-flick only to end Friday night in either tears or women-empowerment. Neither of those happened. Instead after getting home to my flat, ignoring the washing up and cooking dinner I was questioned by my dear old friend Miss Chocolate why I was single. It suddenly dawned on me as I sat watching my social network conversation take a-hold that I hadn't spoken to her in over a month, and in that time things between Mr. Cheese and I had gone from butterflies to breadcrumbs (and not the posh kind you find in Waitrose). I thought that an explanation was due in person and so I donned some mascara and red lippy and headed to a pub down the road for some drinks and a natter.
Several hours later and in the small hours of Saturday morning I was returning from my unanticipated pub excursion however I failed to get into bed until gone 3am. Why? I was talking to a boy. Yes. A real one. Well I hope anyway. I shall not divulge any more as I don't want to ruin anything before it is even started but he is lovely and cute and sweet and funny and clever and fun and entertaining in every way I could wish for! We have been in contact for a few weeks now but still have yet to meet in person but I am sure that when we do there will be a tale to tell! Waking up Saturday I had high hopes for tackling that monstrosity in the kitchen sink, doing some banking and maybe even the shopping. Unfortunately that was all planned with the idealism that I would not wake at three in the afternoon. Yes, I had indeed slept for nearly twelve-hours. As I peered through bleary eyes I noticed through my notifications that Miss Tweedle-Dee had tried calling. Phoning her back we arranged for a girlie sleepover that evening. Wine, Cake and snack shall all be laid on with the accompaniment of a film to pass the time. However after recent events, Hollywood drama was replaced by the real life drama's of two girls in their early twenties discussing everything from stupid boys to new boys, surrogacy, marriage and even politics at one point! After swigging down a few bottles we decided to head out for a cigarette.
Entering the blackness of my quiet street in a Bedford suburb we heard nothing but a cat meowing and maybe the distant hum of a car engine. Laughing and giggling about our up coming Summer venture to Reading Festival 2014 we puffed away on menthol's in between getting deep in conversation about who will sleep with who in our luxurious tent. The from out of no where came a blood-curdling noise. Ripping through the night air like a beast. Looking up to the window that occupied the flat beneath mine we both took turns to peer round the wild hedgerow to seek out where the ghastly noise was coming from. Miss Tweedle-Dee looked concerned and asked if maybe the noise was a man nearing the finishing line. Silence was broken as I broke into laughter. I knew that my best friend was into girls, but was it really that long since she knew what a man experiencing orgasm sounded like. Watching her face crack too we laughed uneasily as the groans, grunts and heavy breathing continued. What was that? Was he choking? Dying even? Was my neighbour dying as my best friend and I guffawed about the male climax? No. It was fine we told ourselves, returning to my flat upstairs only to hope that the elderly gentleman had not cum and died within the space of our four-minute cigarette break. Current update is that all is well and good and only just this evening as I returned from a hard day at work I saw him trundle up the stairs with his trusted bottle of White Ace and a beard to match.
Sunday morning was a welcome surprise when I entered my living room to find Miss Tweedle-Dee already awake and scrolling through her Tumblr, a usual morning ritual for her. After discussing plans for the day we decided to head into the town centre for some procrastination and bargain hunting, but not before wandering round a shit car boot on the way. Same old things sold at boot-sales isn't it; Old baby clothes and dodgy ornaments even your Nan wouldn't tolerate! After some deep and meaningful conversing over breakfast and oddly cake and ice-cream at just gone 11am we took a stroll round some shops and picked up some stuff I was looking for to spruce up my flat. I am thinking shabby chic. I suppose you could call it Sh-Abbey Chic! Sunday afternoon ended with both us girls lounging on the couch watching VegTV (AKA only the kind of TV you watch when your Hungover, Tired or just plain simple) following some serious shopping. Then came a wonderful idea to wax however I declined for fear that my double-chin, whilst not hairy in the slightest, would not only be ripped off by molten lava but that dearest Miss Tweedle-Dee would put me on YouTube for all to see and for entertaining herself greatly.
Waving goodbye to Miss Tweedle-Dee a few hours later, double-chin still fully intact, I pottered around my flat for what I had left of the weekend, chatting in between to my new found male friend! You see part of me still wonders, and I know its silly, weather I am the problem in all this? Am I the one who actually has something wrong with them? Is that why this is happening? And then I think 'No'! I am a wonderful human being who whilst only being established in 1991 has experienced more than most and has impacted on many peoples lives for the greater good! I make people weep and wheeze with laughter until they can't take no more. I bring a brightness and colourfulness to the people around like a sun to a Winter's day. I hope that one day I can be someones sunshine. There very existence and being. And whilst every day a little voice inside my head reminds me of all that is wrong with my love life, the arrogance of me speaks out louder, telling me of how beautiful I am of a person, my witty banter, my laugh and my personality that shines through, even when my confidence fails. Men of my past, you may have bruised me, but I am coming back bigger and better than before! Female empowerment level: 100!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Heyy,
I don't know quite what I expected from life as a newly singleton. Lonely nights in front of the TV. Declining invites to events for fear of loved-up couples making me barff. Rekindling a love affair with my bedsheets, penguin pyjamas and re-run's of Attenborough whilst crying into tissues thinking about the times I used to spend cuddled up to what was after having great sex which is now impossible since I don't have a boyfriend! All things and many more sad traits I expected life in Loosersville to be like. Life has almost been quite the opposite I must say and I can only see it getting better as Summer rolls on. So roll on Thursday this week and pin a notice on your board of Abbey-Awesomeness because I have a date this week!
Impromptu nights out in rainy beer gardens, tank-top etiquette and waxing were all on my unplanned and spontaneous weekend agenda. It started with Friday night whereby after finishing early from work I decided to hit up the local off-licence for a bottle of rose wine and chocolate with the plan to spend the evening hoping work colleagues would invite me to the pub whilst watching yet another chick-flick only to end Friday night in either tears or women-empowerment. Neither of those happened. Instead after getting home to my flat, ignoring the washing up and cooking dinner I was questioned by my dear old friend Miss Chocolate why I was single. It suddenly dawned on me as I sat watching my social network conversation take a-hold that I hadn't spoken to her in over a month, and in that time things between Mr. Cheese and I had gone from butterflies to breadcrumbs (and not the posh kind you find in Waitrose). I thought that an explanation was due in person and so I donned some mascara and red lippy and headed to a pub down the road for some drinks and a natter.
Several hours later and in the small hours of Saturday morning I was returning from my unanticipated pub excursion however I failed to get into bed until gone 3am. Why? I was talking to a boy. Yes. A real one. Well I hope anyway. I shall not divulge any more as I don't want to ruin anything before it is even started but he is lovely and cute and sweet and funny and clever and fun and entertaining in every way I could wish for! We have been in contact for a few weeks now but still have yet to meet in person but I am sure that when we do there will be a tale to tell! Waking up Saturday I had high hopes for tackling that monstrosity in the kitchen sink, doing some banking and maybe even the shopping. Unfortunately that was all planned with the idealism that I would not wake at three in the afternoon. Yes, I had indeed slept for nearly twelve-hours. As I peered through bleary eyes I noticed through my notifications that Miss Tweedle-Dee had tried calling. Phoning her back we arranged for a girlie sleepover that evening. Wine, Cake and snack shall all be laid on with the accompaniment of a film to pass the time. However after recent events, Hollywood drama was replaced by the real life drama's of two girls in their early twenties discussing everything from stupid boys to new boys, surrogacy, marriage and even politics at one point! After swigging down a few bottles we decided to head out for a cigarette.
Entering the blackness of my quiet street in a Bedford suburb we heard nothing but a cat meowing and maybe the distant hum of a car engine. Laughing and giggling about our up coming Summer venture to Reading Festival 2014 we puffed away on menthol's in between getting deep in conversation about who will sleep with who in our luxurious tent. The from out of no where came a blood-curdling noise. Ripping through the night air like a beast. Looking up to the window that occupied the flat beneath mine we both took turns to peer round the wild hedgerow to seek out where the ghastly noise was coming from. Miss Tweedle-Dee looked concerned and asked if maybe the noise was a man nearing the finishing line. Silence was broken as I broke into laughter. I knew that my best friend was into girls, but was it really that long since she knew what a man experiencing orgasm sounded like. Watching her face crack too we laughed uneasily as the groans, grunts and heavy breathing continued. What was that? Was he choking? Dying even? Was my neighbour dying as my best friend and I guffawed about the male climax? No. It was fine we told ourselves, returning to my flat upstairs only to hope that the elderly gentleman had not cum and died within the space of our four-minute cigarette break. Current update is that all is well and good and only just this evening as I returned from a hard day at work I saw him trundle up the stairs with his trusted bottle of White Ace and a beard to match.
Sunday morning was a welcome surprise when I entered my living room to find Miss Tweedle-Dee already awake and scrolling through her Tumblr, a usual morning ritual for her. After discussing plans for the day we decided to head into the town centre for some procrastination and bargain hunting, but not before wandering round a shit car boot on the way. Same old things sold at boot-sales isn't it; Old baby clothes and dodgy ornaments even your Nan wouldn't tolerate! After some deep and meaningful conversing over breakfast and oddly cake and ice-cream at just gone 11am we took a stroll round some shops and picked up some stuff I was looking for to spruce up my flat. I am thinking shabby chic. I suppose you could call it Sh-Abbey Chic! Sunday afternoon ended with both us girls lounging on the couch watching VegTV (AKA only the kind of TV you watch when your Hungover, Tired or just plain simple) following some serious shopping. Then came a wonderful idea to wax however I declined for fear that my double-chin, whilst not hairy in the slightest, would not only be ripped off by molten lava but that dearest Miss Tweedle-Dee would put me on YouTube for all to see and for entertaining herself greatly.
Waving goodbye to Miss Tweedle-Dee a few hours later, double-chin still fully intact, I pottered around my flat for what I had left of the weekend, chatting in between to my new found male friend! You see part of me still wonders, and I know its silly, weather I am the problem in all this? Am I the one who actually has something wrong with them? Is that why this is happening? And then I think 'No'! I am a wonderful human being who whilst only being established in 1991 has experienced more than most and has impacted on many peoples lives for the greater good! I make people weep and wheeze with laughter until they can't take no more. I bring a brightness and colourfulness to the people around like a sun to a Winter's day. I hope that one day I can be someones sunshine. There very existence and being. And whilst every day a little voice inside my head reminds me of all that is wrong with my love life, the arrogance of me speaks out louder, telling me of how beautiful I am of a person, my witty banter, my laugh and my personality that shines through, even when my confidence fails. Men of my past, you may have bruised me, but I am coming back bigger and better than before! Female empowerment level: 100!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 30 June 2014
The Rediscovery Of A Broken Fairytale ...
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Evening to you,
Throughout this journey I lost myself but in the space of a few days since last week and with a few tiny changes I am beginning to find myself again. Happy and content. Young and free. After downloading a few apps and being invited out on a work's night out I felt a little piece of me return every morning I opened my eyes. I anticipated that the work's 'do' would just be some quiet drinks down a local bar in the Town Centre, little did I know how much of an impact I could have. Even as I walked into the office this morning I was inundated with questions about who I left the bar with and what happened when I got home in the early hours of Saturday morning. Yes, everyone in the office seems to have me on their lips! But nothing happened as I was not in search of a lay that night, but simply the knowledge that I am not wholly repugnant and distasteful to all of the male population! I think I succeeded.
Deciding that that my confidence needed boosting after recent events I donned a floaty skirt and heels to join my office bod's for a night on the tiles. And boy was it! Not having been out since Halloween last year (dressed as a Little Dead Riding Hood no less) I figured that I would go easy. That was until I joined those pesky lads from the warehouse downstairs from my office! Cute but not quite my type we began the evenings debauchery by knocking back an old favourite of mine - Sambuca shots! After perching myself on a bar stool, skirt billowing over my smooth legs, the conversation progressed fast and soon the boys and I were discussing sexual habits like how to go down on a girl, porn, bedroom activities and chat-up lines. The cheesiest of lines were put upon me Friday night and in all honesty I was outwardly and outrageously flirting, but with all this male attention and after recent events of the male variety, who could blame me ...
Stairs. Something about them isn't there that is slightly foreboding. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always foreboding. And so as I stood at the bottom of a narrow, brown stairwell in the centre of The Big Smoke I wondered how I would feel coming down them in a few hours time. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted to step onto them but I just couldn't. All around me I must have looked like an idiot just stood there having a face-off with some simple steps. Part of me wanted to climb - Climb up there to a better life in the clouds from one down here. But the reality in my heart told me that what I could face could be down yet another very dark and lonely staircase. Breaking through the barrier of my bodies unwillingness to make the first steps, and pulling my thoughts together I finally made my ascend. Stomach flipping and body beginning to shake I told myself to stay calm and collected. Reaching the last step my shoe slipped off. Like a child I saw it as an omen from a fairytale, but alas there was to be no Prince Charming to make me Happily Ever After. I knew how this story ends, I had read it before. I had to be the knight in shining armour and save myself from tragedy yet again.
After speaking to the waiter I was being escorted to my table where my dinner date was already seated. Winding through tables and past massive gaping windows looking out to the city beneath me I knew in my heart that this was it. Once seated and reintroduced to my company for the evening I took charge immediately of the situation in hand for failure of being made a fool which was at this point inevitable. Not saying a word to my date and disregarding everything I ordered a bottle of the rose. A scene played out in my head that at some point this evening I would rise from the table and scream "Champagne! Champagne for everyone" and the whole restaurant would too join me in a celebration. This was to stay as a fantasy for this evening was one of a melancholy mood. Ordering from a menu I had been scanning all week not knowing if I would even attend this event I made a choice and stuck by it, something that is rare in my world. Making idle small talk we danced around the real reasons we were both in the beautiful surroundings of Covent Garden. Staring into my dates eyes, bright and shiny as they had ever been I wondered which one of us would bring up the question. It had taken a while to get that moment but soon enough it was upon us. With the staff being overtly attentive and the beating evening sun glaring down on us as glanced at our surroundings on the terraced restaurant in the West End of London, I knew it would be me to break the ice once more. Becoming agitated by the lack of urgency in the debate I started. Mr. Cheese in the dock first please!
"So ... As beautiful as a surrounding this all is and as wonderful as to the views; Why are we here?" I beckoned. Heart breaking, I knew the answer before I had even asked the question. A solemn look had replaced an otherwise forced smile and so the evening commenced. Conversation spilling we yet again trudged the same old muddy ground covered like so many times before and one that I refused to put myself through any more. I had enough of going round in circles. It wasn't fun any more. But then again was it ever fun in comparison to the happiness experienced? The lack of passion and fight and energy all lost to somewhere I could not find any more. I was with a man who had no want to carry on trying. Mr. Cheese had lied to me, promising that everything would get better and that he too like me wanted to make it work. Yet again the promise along with a piece of my heart was shattered. I couldn't believe that given the opportunity to make things better and faced with loosing me all together that my boyfriend failed to take such simple steps to make it better. Affection. That's all I wanted. Not just an increase in sex drive on his part but more of the little things. Flowers, presents, cuddles, kisses and anything lovely. I want to be kissed in the pouring rain and surprised at work with a visitor. I want to be swept off my feet and feel butterflies in my belly. I want to have a smile on my face seeing his caller ID and to know that I am the only one my boyfriend needs; Maybe not forever but just to live and feel right in the moment with him. I don't think it is something that I should have to even think about asking from someone that says they love you. But even that I am failing to believe any more.
During this past year, as most of you know, I have experienced everything a human being could ever experience. From the highest highs to the lowest lows. I was tired and exhausted. Unloved and unappreciated. I wanted to get off this ride now. I wanted to go home. As sad as it was I knew that this was the best thing for us. Things were so easy in the beginning. And then I fell. I fell before him and didn't stop until I hit the ground. Hard. I hated how I fell in love with him. His smile. His eyes. His kooky little ways. I hate how I fell for him and despite everything, he never truly fell for me. I wanted to believe anything other than what Mr. Cheese was telling me over that dinner table in London on Wednesday. Anything. I thought up scenario's of him not being happy and wanting to call Ghana off just to make things better between us. Of being gay - which wouldn't have been the first time something has happened like that. Or worst, cheating on me with someone who is much prettier and slimmer and hotter than me, which in all honesty with the way I had felt of late, would not be entirely untrue. But no, none of those things happened. It was simply the end.
And so this concludes the chapter. A tale of wrong bridges and of falling in love. A story I hoped might never end no matter how much I told myself it would. Maybe somewhere beyond Ghana we can rekindle our infatuation with each other, making sure that we spend the time to nurture what we have together. After all, we did have a love story to rival Disney. But alas, the story of Cheese and I must come to an end, at least for now ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Evening to you,
Throughout this journey I lost myself but in the space of a few days since last week and with a few tiny changes I am beginning to find myself again. Happy and content. Young and free. After downloading a few apps and being invited out on a work's night out I felt a little piece of me return every morning I opened my eyes. I anticipated that the work's 'do' would just be some quiet drinks down a local bar in the Town Centre, little did I know how much of an impact I could have. Even as I walked into the office this morning I was inundated with questions about who I left the bar with and what happened when I got home in the early hours of Saturday morning. Yes, everyone in the office seems to have me on their lips! But nothing happened as I was not in search of a lay that night, but simply the knowledge that I am not wholly repugnant and distasteful to all of the male population! I think I succeeded.
Deciding that that my confidence needed boosting after recent events I donned a floaty skirt and heels to join my office bod's for a night on the tiles. And boy was it! Not having been out since Halloween last year (dressed as a Little Dead Riding Hood no less) I figured that I would go easy. That was until I joined those pesky lads from the warehouse downstairs from my office! Cute but not quite my type we began the evenings debauchery by knocking back an old favourite of mine - Sambuca shots! After perching myself on a bar stool, skirt billowing over my smooth legs, the conversation progressed fast and soon the boys and I were discussing sexual habits like how to go down on a girl, porn, bedroom activities and chat-up lines. The cheesiest of lines were put upon me Friday night and in all honesty I was outwardly and outrageously flirting, but with all this male attention and after recent events of the male variety, who could blame me ...
---
Stairs. Something about them isn't there that is slightly foreboding. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always foreboding. And so as I stood at the bottom of a narrow, brown stairwell in the centre of The Big Smoke I wondered how I would feel coming down them in a few hours time. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted to step onto them but I just couldn't. All around me I must have looked like an idiot just stood there having a face-off with some simple steps. Part of me wanted to climb - Climb up there to a better life in the clouds from one down here. But the reality in my heart told me that what I could face could be down yet another very dark and lonely staircase. Breaking through the barrier of my bodies unwillingness to make the first steps, and pulling my thoughts together I finally made my ascend. Stomach flipping and body beginning to shake I told myself to stay calm and collected. Reaching the last step my shoe slipped off. Like a child I saw it as an omen from a fairytale, but alas there was to be no Prince Charming to make me Happily Ever After. I knew how this story ends, I had read it before. I had to be the knight in shining armour and save myself from tragedy yet again.
After speaking to the waiter I was being escorted to my table where my dinner date was already seated. Winding through tables and past massive gaping windows looking out to the city beneath me I knew in my heart that this was it. Once seated and reintroduced to my company for the evening I took charge immediately of the situation in hand for failure of being made a fool which was at this point inevitable. Not saying a word to my date and disregarding everything I ordered a bottle of the rose. A scene played out in my head that at some point this evening I would rise from the table and scream "Champagne! Champagne for everyone" and the whole restaurant would too join me in a celebration. This was to stay as a fantasy for this evening was one of a melancholy mood. Ordering from a menu I had been scanning all week not knowing if I would even attend this event I made a choice and stuck by it, something that is rare in my world. Making idle small talk we danced around the real reasons we were both in the beautiful surroundings of Covent Garden. Staring into my dates eyes, bright and shiny as they had ever been I wondered which one of us would bring up the question. It had taken a while to get that moment but soon enough it was upon us. With the staff being overtly attentive and the beating evening sun glaring down on us as glanced at our surroundings on the terraced restaurant in the West End of London, I knew it would be me to break the ice once more. Becoming agitated by the lack of urgency in the debate I started. Mr. Cheese in the dock first please!
"So ... As beautiful as a surrounding this all is and as wonderful as to the views; Why are we here?" I beckoned. Heart breaking, I knew the answer before I had even asked the question. A solemn look had replaced an otherwise forced smile and so the evening commenced. Conversation spilling we yet again trudged the same old muddy ground covered like so many times before and one that I refused to put myself through any more. I had enough of going round in circles. It wasn't fun any more. But then again was it ever fun in comparison to the happiness experienced? The lack of passion and fight and energy all lost to somewhere I could not find any more. I was with a man who had no want to carry on trying. Mr. Cheese had lied to me, promising that everything would get better and that he too like me wanted to make it work. Yet again the promise along with a piece of my heart was shattered. I couldn't believe that given the opportunity to make things better and faced with loosing me all together that my boyfriend failed to take such simple steps to make it better. Affection. That's all I wanted. Not just an increase in sex drive on his part but more of the little things. Flowers, presents, cuddles, kisses and anything lovely. I want to be kissed in the pouring rain and surprised at work with a visitor. I want to be swept off my feet and feel butterflies in my belly. I want to have a smile on my face seeing his caller ID and to know that I am the only one my boyfriend needs; Maybe not forever but just to live and feel right in the moment with him. I don't think it is something that I should have to even think about asking from someone that says they love you. But even that I am failing to believe any more.
During this past year, as most of you know, I have experienced everything a human being could ever experience. From the highest highs to the lowest lows. I was tired and exhausted. Unloved and unappreciated. I wanted to get off this ride now. I wanted to go home. As sad as it was I knew that this was the best thing for us. Things were so easy in the beginning. And then I fell. I fell before him and didn't stop until I hit the ground. Hard. I hated how I fell in love with him. His smile. His eyes. His kooky little ways. I hate how I fell for him and despite everything, he never truly fell for me. I wanted to believe anything other than what Mr. Cheese was telling me over that dinner table in London on Wednesday. Anything. I thought up scenario's of him not being happy and wanting to call Ghana off just to make things better between us. Of being gay - which wouldn't have been the first time something has happened like that. Or worst, cheating on me with someone who is much prettier and slimmer and hotter than me, which in all honesty with the way I had felt of late, would not be entirely untrue. But no, none of those things happened. It was simply the end.
And so this concludes the chapter. A tale of wrong bridges and of falling in love. A story I hoped might never end no matter how much I told myself it would. Maybe somewhere beyond Ghana we can rekindle our infatuation with each other, making sure that we spend the time to nurture what we have together. After all, we did have a love story to rival Disney. But alas, the story of Cheese and I must come to an end, at least for now ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 16 June 2014
Holding On ...
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Evening One and All,
Sat on the hard wooden chair it was crunch time. Purple walls reflected my inner emotions; a mixture of what used to be clear, colourful feelings. Now they were muddled and confused. On the one hand I could sympathise and understand fully what my best friends were doing and why they were doing it. On the other I knew better than anyone how my relationship was, how Mr. Cheese made me feel and ultimately what made it tick. The question was though - Is it still ticking?
So pending the somewhat flop of last weekend away with Mr. Cheese I have been struggling yet again with my emotions surrounding the situation I have now found myself. Sat in Miss Tweedle-Dee's lilac dining room I felt as if I was at an intervention. No, I was addicted to drugs. Neither was I addicted to alcohol. No. It was because of my poor relationship that I was here and that the only thing I was addicted to was love; Or at least the idea of it anyway. With my good-cop/bad-cop roles forming in my head I desperately tried in vain to avoid answering questions from Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. With no success I said I needed time to think about what needed to happen following the weekend that I had with Mr. Cheese and as to how I (or maybe we) were going to make things better and get them back on track. I have indeed tried not to dwell too much on the mini-break away to Bristol with my boyfriend however it is hard to see what good moments we shared when one night had ended in tears for at least one of us. I wont wholly bash the holiday entirely as that obviously wouldn't be fair, but I think what is correct to say is that for one reason or another, things are no where near as rosey as they once were only a fortnight ago. And as a result of last weeks post and a few brief chat's with both of my Tweedles I have come to the conclusion that maybe this is the 'compter de la fin'.
The thing is that even from the very beginning I knew this was going to be hard work. The fact that Mr. Cheese and I are both damaged good from previous relationships-gone-wrong, coupled with the normal everyday strains of a long distance relationship doesn't help. It is a tough one as there is so much that is good and righteous with our relationship. For starters his family are just blindingly brilliant in every way. Momma Cheese is what I one day hope to aspire too. She is kind and caring, completely ditzy and reminds me totally of myself at times. Pappa Cheese is much the same, the head of the family and always one to compliment me on how funny I always find him, despite the rest of the clan wanting to die with embarrassment. The two younger brothers are hilarious and are always on hand with some lively banter and a good story or two. The oldest brother I have not yet spent enough time with him to comment entirely on although I hoped that it would have been more. Mr. Cheese's grandparents are again funny in their own little ways and are just wonderful old people through and through. I wouldn't have a bad word to say about any of them at all, even if I tried. It is just utterly heartbreaking to know that they might not be playing centre stage in my life for much longer.
My heart is pounding as I write just thinking about the demise of The Cheese. A saga lost to what? Not enough affection? Lack of attention? Loss of passion? A deficiency in lustful convictions? But even as I sit here as I have done for the past week and wonder how or when I shall end it I know I don't want it too. I care for my boyfriend very much. I even have gone as far as to say that I love him which is a monumental thing to say to someone when you have loved and lost to the highest degree before. We have a laugh, albeit a grown-up one the majority of the time. We bounce off each other and enjoy the companionship and friendship more than anything. However, maybe that is the issue. Maybe I am only but a friend to my dear Mr. Cheese. I hope I'm not but I am clinging onto straws in order to differentiate between me and some of his other female friends. The majority of people would say sex, and yes, in all essence of the phrasing it is but love-making is never as high on Mr. Cheese's agenda as it is on mine, that is clear from the weekend recently experienced. After such a long time of wondering if it is me or not I am starting to think that it is far from my fault things are failing in the bedroom department. I have tried everything from suspenders to football shirts, corsets to flavoured condoms and even switching up the moves and gears but nothing seems to make the difference. Now I know I'm not a Victoria Secrets model but I used to feel confident within myself and my body. Somewhere along this journey I have lost that.
I love Mr. Cheese to pieces but I know that from a relationship I need it to forthcoming and fun and energetic and lively and exciting. Right now I feel unattractive, under-valued, unloved and unwanted. As soon as my boyfriend of nearly a year are alone together, he fails to respond to my gestures of love-making. He doesn't want to rip off my clothes or touch me up in all the wrong places. As a girlfriend it is my duty equal to that of my partner to initiate sex, but I constantly find myself on top and asking the question ''Do you want to have sex with me?''. Sometimes I just want to scream with frustration at the lack of sex drive he has. I don't want to ask the question but I am increasingly fighting the urge to get him to see someone specialist to see if there is anything wrong biologically that makes his sex drive so low or as a reverse why mine is so high? It is not that when Mr. Cheese and I have sex that it is bad sex. Far from it. When we do finally get to that moment in time where my boyfriend (in my head at least) finds me even mildly attractive that he wants to engage in the ultimate submission of love, it is fantastic. Fireworks, breathy sweet nothings and squeals of pleasure are all exerted with passion and heat and intimacy. Its just that for me it is not enough and when you only see each other on the weekends in between juggling friends, family, career and home-life it's hard but I still can't fathom why, even after ten-months, we are still not at it like rabbits on heat.
Maybe it's the distance? I have always said to myself I would never purposefully engage in a relationship that took me further than the neighbouring counties boarders, but falling for Mr. Cheese was not something I planned and nor did I initially want. I don't want to break it off with Mr. Cheese. I feel like we have both made such an effort to try and make it work, myself mainly. I just don't know how much longer I can keep my head above water. It's almost as if I have developed a catch-phrase for every time something goes wrong simply concluding every issue with 'it'll get better'. I'm just not sure that better is coming. Maybe I am right. Maybe when football season is over things will improve? Maybe when Mr. Cheese moves back to the 'Shire in a few weeks time it will improve? Maybe when Mr. Cheese returned from Ghana in the winter things will improve? Question is will we even last as a two-some until Mr. Cheese's African adventure in September and if we do will I exists after?
Meeting outside Farringdon Station in London on Saturday night I was dressed to the nines and ready to cheer on the England boys playing against Italy in Brazil for the World Cup 2014. Freezing I waited for Mr. Cheese to arrive so we could meet some of his friends in a local bar. Arriving I saw that look again where he almost looked proud to have me on his arm. With my legs and breast meat on show that night I thought I would pull out all the stops in the attempt of fixing the problems of the Saturday beforehand. Trying to talk to him honestly about my feelings whilst pacing round the cobbles of The Big Smoke nearly getting lost and running out of time before kick-off was not how I pictured this to be. It seemed though that Mr. Cheese is reluctant to discuss any of this with me at all. Finally we arrived outside the pub. Stopping in the street I asked him simply not to make me cry again and to only love me and keep me happy. A simple request that by the end of the weekend would yet again be left in tatters. After having his best friend stay at the flat after the game had ended we didn't have any time alone to talk in depth about the problems that were constantly present. The following morning en route to breakfast with the Cheese Family just off of London's Oxford Street I attempted again to bring it up. Failing to see the importance of such a discussion and the perils that lye with not attending to such issues I was shrugged off and only to be told that "this was not the weekend to discuss it". Feeling hurt, deflated and utterly devastated I did what I always do best and put on a brave face and smiled for the camera's as we entered the restaurant for Eggs Royale and Americano's with the family. As I sat round the table it was as if I was hiding a hideously deplorable secret. I thought to myself sharing bread with one of his brothers and laughing with his Mom that this may well be the last time I see them again. I never thought it would but I felt a physical twist in my heart and I had to take another sip of my coffee to steady myself. It hurt. It really hurt.
All these things I have to take into consideration. The family. The separation from one another. The distance. The hope that it may get better. Yet again everything is swirling round in my head like a heavy night out and trip to the local kebab shop. I hate feeling like this. I shouldn't feel like this. But I do. It seems that this has been said so many times that I'm not sure if it matters anymore? There just is no fight there from him - To fight for us, for our relationship. I hesitate to think about how any relationship involving two 22-year-old's should be like this, especially in the short time we have been dating. Its stale. Not out of date yet but definitely stale.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Evening One and All,
Sat on the hard wooden chair it was crunch time. Purple walls reflected my inner emotions; a mixture of what used to be clear, colourful feelings. Now they were muddled and confused. On the one hand I could sympathise and understand fully what my best friends were doing and why they were doing it. On the other I knew better than anyone how my relationship was, how Mr. Cheese made me feel and ultimately what made it tick. The question was though - Is it still ticking?
So pending the somewhat flop of last weekend away with Mr. Cheese I have been struggling yet again with my emotions surrounding the situation I have now found myself. Sat in Miss Tweedle-Dee's lilac dining room I felt as if I was at an intervention. No, I was addicted to drugs. Neither was I addicted to alcohol. No. It was because of my poor relationship that I was here and that the only thing I was addicted to was love; Or at least the idea of it anyway. With my good-cop/bad-cop roles forming in my head I desperately tried in vain to avoid answering questions from Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. With no success I said I needed time to think about what needed to happen following the weekend that I had with Mr. Cheese and as to how I (or maybe we) were going to make things better and get them back on track. I have indeed tried not to dwell too much on the mini-break away to Bristol with my boyfriend however it is hard to see what good moments we shared when one night had ended in tears for at least one of us. I wont wholly bash the holiday entirely as that obviously wouldn't be fair, but I think what is correct to say is that for one reason or another, things are no where near as rosey as they once were only a fortnight ago. And as a result of last weeks post and a few brief chat's with both of my Tweedles I have come to the conclusion that maybe this is the 'compter de la fin'.
The thing is that even from the very beginning I knew this was going to be hard work. The fact that Mr. Cheese and I are both damaged good from previous relationships-gone-wrong, coupled with the normal everyday strains of a long distance relationship doesn't help. It is a tough one as there is so much that is good and righteous with our relationship. For starters his family are just blindingly brilliant in every way. Momma Cheese is what I one day hope to aspire too. She is kind and caring, completely ditzy and reminds me totally of myself at times. Pappa Cheese is much the same, the head of the family and always one to compliment me on how funny I always find him, despite the rest of the clan wanting to die with embarrassment. The two younger brothers are hilarious and are always on hand with some lively banter and a good story or two. The oldest brother I have not yet spent enough time with him to comment entirely on although I hoped that it would have been more. Mr. Cheese's grandparents are again funny in their own little ways and are just wonderful old people through and through. I wouldn't have a bad word to say about any of them at all, even if I tried. It is just utterly heartbreaking to know that they might not be playing centre stage in my life for much longer.
My heart is pounding as I write just thinking about the demise of The Cheese. A saga lost to what? Not enough affection? Lack of attention? Loss of passion? A deficiency in lustful convictions? But even as I sit here as I have done for the past week and wonder how or when I shall end it I know I don't want it too. I care for my boyfriend very much. I even have gone as far as to say that I love him which is a monumental thing to say to someone when you have loved and lost to the highest degree before. We have a laugh, albeit a grown-up one the majority of the time. We bounce off each other and enjoy the companionship and friendship more than anything. However, maybe that is the issue. Maybe I am only but a friend to my dear Mr. Cheese. I hope I'm not but I am clinging onto straws in order to differentiate between me and some of his other female friends. The majority of people would say sex, and yes, in all essence of the phrasing it is but love-making is never as high on Mr. Cheese's agenda as it is on mine, that is clear from the weekend recently experienced. After such a long time of wondering if it is me or not I am starting to think that it is far from my fault things are failing in the bedroom department. I have tried everything from suspenders to football shirts, corsets to flavoured condoms and even switching up the moves and gears but nothing seems to make the difference. Now I know I'm not a Victoria Secrets model but I used to feel confident within myself and my body. Somewhere along this journey I have lost that.
I love Mr. Cheese to pieces but I know that from a relationship I need it to forthcoming and fun and energetic and lively and exciting. Right now I feel unattractive, under-valued, unloved and unwanted. As soon as my boyfriend of nearly a year are alone together, he fails to respond to my gestures of love-making. He doesn't want to rip off my clothes or touch me up in all the wrong places. As a girlfriend it is my duty equal to that of my partner to initiate sex, but I constantly find myself on top and asking the question ''Do you want to have sex with me?''. Sometimes I just want to scream with frustration at the lack of sex drive he has. I don't want to ask the question but I am increasingly fighting the urge to get him to see someone specialist to see if there is anything wrong biologically that makes his sex drive so low or as a reverse why mine is so high? It is not that when Mr. Cheese and I have sex that it is bad sex. Far from it. When we do finally get to that moment in time where my boyfriend (in my head at least) finds me even mildly attractive that he wants to engage in the ultimate submission of love, it is fantastic. Fireworks, breathy sweet nothings and squeals of pleasure are all exerted with passion and heat and intimacy. Its just that for me it is not enough and when you only see each other on the weekends in between juggling friends, family, career and home-life it's hard but I still can't fathom why, even after ten-months, we are still not at it like rabbits on heat.
Maybe it's the distance? I have always said to myself I would never purposefully engage in a relationship that took me further than the neighbouring counties boarders, but falling for Mr. Cheese was not something I planned and nor did I initially want. I don't want to break it off with Mr. Cheese. I feel like we have both made such an effort to try and make it work, myself mainly. I just don't know how much longer I can keep my head above water. It's almost as if I have developed a catch-phrase for every time something goes wrong simply concluding every issue with 'it'll get better'. I'm just not sure that better is coming. Maybe I am right. Maybe when football season is over things will improve? Maybe when Mr. Cheese moves back to the 'Shire in a few weeks time it will improve? Maybe when Mr. Cheese returned from Ghana in the winter things will improve? Question is will we even last as a two-some until Mr. Cheese's African adventure in September and if we do will I exists after?
Meeting outside Farringdon Station in London on Saturday night I was dressed to the nines and ready to cheer on the England boys playing against Italy in Brazil for the World Cup 2014. Freezing I waited for Mr. Cheese to arrive so we could meet some of his friends in a local bar. Arriving I saw that look again where he almost looked proud to have me on his arm. With my legs and breast meat on show that night I thought I would pull out all the stops in the attempt of fixing the problems of the Saturday beforehand. Trying to talk to him honestly about my feelings whilst pacing round the cobbles of The Big Smoke nearly getting lost and running out of time before kick-off was not how I pictured this to be. It seemed though that Mr. Cheese is reluctant to discuss any of this with me at all. Finally we arrived outside the pub. Stopping in the street I asked him simply not to make me cry again and to only love me and keep me happy. A simple request that by the end of the weekend would yet again be left in tatters. After having his best friend stay at the flat after the game had ended we didn't have any time alone to talk in depth about the problems that were constantly present. The following morning en route to breakfast with the Cheese Family just off of London's Oxford Street I attempted again to bring it up. Failing to see the importance of such a discussion and the perils that lye with not attending to such issues I was shrugged off and only to be told that "this was not the weekend to discuss it". Feeling hurt, deflated and utterly devastated I did what I always do best and put on a brave face and smiled for the camera's as we entered the restaurant for Eggs Royale and Americano's with the family. As I sat round the table it was as if I was hiding a hideously deplorable secret. I thought to myself sharing bread with one of his brothers and laughing with his Mom that this may well be the last time I see them again. I never thought it would but I felt a physical twist in my heart and I had to take another sip of my coffee to steady myself. It hurt. It really hurt.
All these things I have to take into consideration. The family. The separation from one another. The distance. The hope that it may get better. Yet again everything is swirling round in my head like a heavy night out and trip to the local kebab shop. I hate feeling like this. I shouldn't feel like this. But I do. It seems that this has been said so many times that I'm not sure if it matters anymore? There just is no fight there from him - To fight for us, for our relationship. I hesitate to think about how any relationship involving two 22-year-old's should be like this, especially in the short time we have been dating. Its stale. Not out of date yet but definitely stale.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 3 March 2014
How To Wrap Bread and Other Stories!
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com :) xx
Morning All,
So after looking back through the altercations of last week I realized it was slightly melancholy if I do say so myself. Thankfully things are starting to peak but not after some rough "single-girl" moments that I have had to endure this week. Nevertheless I have improved my mood and you'll never guess what did it ...
Friday evening rolled around and after regretfully turning down a night out with Miss Chocolate, Miss Tatts and some old friends I settled down into the sofa, grateful that this will be the last night sleeping on it before my mattress was due to arrive the following morning. However after watching 'Bridesmaids', a film I had been meaning to see for some while, I ended my evening crying into a lone scatter cushion wishing that I too had a man that wanted me that much. Irish accent and being a cop were obviously optional but I wouldn't turn many people down - Unless you had a face that looked like a bag of burnt Lego bricks! Finally I settled down in bed, thought the same old thoughts I always do before drifting off into a deep and warm sleep. Thankfully I didn't have one of my reoccurring nightmares in particular one's of my own wedding day. In hindsight now I don't think I have ever had a pleasant dream of my wedding. There is always something going wrong - The groom doesn't turn up, my dress is ugly, my Dad dies before he gets the chance to walk me down the aisle, my mother turns up, Mr. Workaholic burst's in confessing his undying love for me and I somehow have to get him out or even worse, I'm early. The latest was whereby I had know idea whether my groom even wanted to marry me or not. It was terrifying. And yes, I did know who the groom was. Although it wasn't all bad though as my nightmare ended in a dream-like state when I found myself being rushed down an empty street crammed full of attractive suited men. Only issue is that I was lying belly first on a hospital bed with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee pushing it down the road, wedding dress up by my tits, flashing all the boys. Seriously don't laugh. Whilst it was an entertaining end it still had me waking up in a sweat!
As morning broke on Saturday I aimed to have a productive day and maybe head out into the Town Centre for some shopping or actually tidy my little flat. None of that happened and I ended up spending the majority of the weekend wrapped up on the sofa, eating and watching crap. It dawned on me that having a boyfriend or even someone of such status is much better than being single. I was starting to hate single life right there and a part of me yearned to message Mr. Cheese. It had crossed my mind then to message Mr. Minigolf since I had not heard from him since he cancelled our date. I suppose a part of me knew that it was a lost cause as he hadn't contacted me at all but I threw caution to the wind as per usual and tapped out something generic. To my surprise within minutes I had a response but conversation quickly dried up. Getting darker outside it was clear I wasn't to be moved from my couch let alone venturing outside! As the weekend telly kicked in I watched people kissing, holding hands and even one happy couple share their engagement with the world on live TV. Aggravating as it was to Single-Me, Relationship-Me loved the idea and praised the man's bravery. Begrudgingly I made cookies to take my mind off things but that didn't help and neither was the romcom I watched later on and I was feeling crappy with a mix of junk food, lack of male attention and my lonely self seemed to make everything ten-times worse.
My mattress had been delivered earlier that afternoon and was freshly sat on my bed ready for my weary head, I couldn't help stare at it thinking that this was the epitome of Singlesville. Not wanting to I clambered into the clean, crisp sheets and snuggled down. Looking up at the stars from my roof light it felt as if for the first time this year I knew that everything in life was going to be alright. Sunday I planned to be more structured and aimed to get more done. It was not an attempt in vain and whilst everything still has not got a place in the flat, slowly but surely its getting there. Sunday evening I had been invited to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's family home for a roast and much appreciated that was. Cooking a roast for one is just so sad and lonely and the cardboard ready meals are even worse! Before dinner however was a good old chin-wag with Miss Tweedle-Dumb. I thought about talking to her about Mr. Minigolf and the fact that we had been messaging most of the afternoon but I didn't want to jinx it as I was starting to like him a little and knew how easily things could turn sour. Instead the conversation turned to our work processes again as we had discussed also on Thursday evening when we both met for dinner after work.
Before we knew it we were laughing about all the things that piss us off about guys and how Mr. Workaholic had this weird spray/spitting thing that would happen whenever he got excited. Turns out Miss Tweedle-Dumb does that too. I felt it - Eww! Digression continued into how to arrange a fridge with regards to sandwich making, fruit and vegetables and other miscellaneous items, not to mention a rundown of Miss Tweedle-Dumb's guide on how to wrap bread. Now I am well aware at this point in your reading you are probably wondering what the fuck I am on about and how my best-friend and I have very odd conversation but I'm sorry guys I can't be pillow fights and making out all the time!
Leaving Miss Tweedle-Dumb's last night was fun but after talking of our Reading Festival trip in summer I decided to listen to some Arctic Monkeys who have recently been headlined for the weekend. If you haven't heard them then where have you been the past decade, grab their album 'AM' and tick it on repeat. Mind you that's exactly what I have been doing since yesterday evening and all I can think about when hearing the melodies in my ears is how much I want to have Mr. Minigolf on my couch, straddled and begging for me to push it a little further. I cant stop it. Seriously I was on my way to work this morning and I couldn't stop thinking about it a massive smile cracking my face in half thinking about all the things we could do as sounds of guitars and other instruments swooned through the lustful air. Even now my mind is racing with bad thoughts. Hmm ...
And as the new week begins I wonder what it has in store for me and all I encompass. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to keep life interesting so maybe you'll hear some of them next week?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Morning All,
So after looking back through the altercations of last week I realized it was slightly melancholy if I do say so myself. Thankfully things are starting to peak but not after some rough "single-girl" moments that I have had to endure this week. Nevertheless I have improved my mood and you'll never guess what did it ...
Friday evening rolled around and after regretfully turning down a night out with Miss Chocolate, Miss Tatts and some old friends I settled down into the sofa, grateful that this will be the last night sleeping on it before my mattress was due to arrive the following morning. However after watching 'Bridesmaids', a film I had been meaning to see for some while, I ended my evening crying into a lone scatter cushion wishing that I too had a man that wanted me that much. Irish accent and being a cop were obviously optional but I wouldn't turn many people down - Unless you had a face that looked like a bag of burnt Lego bricks! Finally I settled down in bed, thought the same old thoughts I always do before drifting off into a deep and warm sleep. Thankfully I didn't have one of my reoccurring nightmares in particular one's of my own wedding day. In hindsight now I don't think I have ever had a pleasant dream of my wedding. There is always something going wrong - The groom doesn't turn up, my dress is ugly, my Dad dies before he gets the chance to walk me down the aisle, my mother turns up, Mr. Workaholic burst's in confessing his undying love for me and I somehow have to get him out or even worse, I'm early. The latest was whereby I had know idea whether my groom even wanted to marry me or not. It was terrifying. And yes, I did know who the groom was. Although it wasn't all bad though as my nightmare ended in a dream-like state when I found myself being rushed down an empty street crammed full of attractive suited men. Only issue is that I was lying belly first on a hospital bed with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee pushing it down the road, wedding dress up by my tits, flashing all the boys. Seriously don't laugh. Whilst it was an entertaining end it still had me waking up in a sweat!
As morning broke on Saturday I aimed to have a productive day and maybe head out into the Town Centre for some shopping or actually tidy my little flat. None of that happened and I ended up spending the majority of the weekend wrapped up on the sofa, eating and watching crap. It dawned on me that having a boyfriend or even someone of such status is much better than being single. I was starting to hate single life right there and a part of me yearned to message Mr. Cheese. It had crossed my mind then to message Mr. Minigolf since I had not heard from him since he cancelled our date. I suppose a part of me knew that it was a lost cause as he hadn't contacted me at all but I threw caution to the wind as per usual and tapped out something generic. To my surprise within minutes I had a response but conversation quickly dried up. Getting darker outside it was clear I wasn't to be moved from my couch let alone venturing outside! As the weekend telly kicked in I watched people kissing, holding hands and even one happy couple share their engagement with the world on live TV. Aggravating as it was to Single-Me, Relationship-Me loved the idea and praised the man's bravery. Begrudgingly I made cookies to take my mind off things but that didn't help and neither was the romcom I watched later on and I was feeling crappy with a mix of junk food, lack of male attention and my lonely self seemed to make everything ten-times worse.
My mattress had been delivered earlier that afternoon and was freshly sat on my bed ready for my weary head, I couldn't help stare at it thinking that this was the epitome of Singlesville. Not wanting to I clambered into the clean, crisp sheets and snuggled down. Looking up at the stars from my roof light it felt as if for the first time this year I knew that everything in life was going to be alright. Sunday I planned to be more structured and aimed to get more done. It was not an attempt in vain and whilst everything still has not got a place in the flat, slowly but surely its getting there. Sunday evening I had been invited to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's family home for a roast and much appreciated that was. Cooking a roast for one is just so sad and lonely and the cardboard ready meals are even worse! Before dinner however was a good old chin-wag with Miss Tweedle-Dumb. I thought about talking to her about Mr. Minigolf and the fact that we had been messaging most of the afternoon but I didn't want to jinx it as I was starting to like him a little and knew how easily things could turn sour. Instead the conversation turned to our work processes again as we had discussed also on Thursday evening when we both met for dinner after work.
Before we knew it we were laughing about all the things that piss us off about guys and how Mr. Workaholic had this weird spray/spitting thing that would happen whenever he got excited. Turns out Miss Tweedle-Dumb does that too. I felt it - Eww! Digression continued into how to arrange a fridge with regards to sandwich making, fruit and vegetables and other miscellaneous items, not to mention a rundown of Miss Tweedle-Dumb's guide on how to wrap bread. Now I am well aware at this point in your reading you are probably wondering what the fuck I am on about and how my best-friend and I have very odd conversation but I'm sorry guys I can't be pillow fights and making out all the time!
Leaving Miss Tweedle-Dumb's last night was fun but after talking of our Reading Festival trip in summer I decided to listen to some Arctic Monkeys who have recently been headlined for the weekend. If you haven't heard them then where have you been the past decade, grab their album 'AM' and tick it on repeat. Mind you that's exactly what I have been doing since yesterday evening and all I can think about when hearing the melodies in my ears is how much I want to have Mr. Minigolf on my couch, straddled and begging for me to push it a little further. I cant stop it. Seriously I was on my way to work this morning and I couldn't stop thinking about it a massive smile cracking my face in half thinking about all the things we could do as sounds of guitars and other instruments swooned through the lustful air. Even now my mind is racing with bad thoughts. Hmm ...
And as the new week begins I wonder what it has in store for me and all I encompass. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to keep life interesting so maybe you'll hear some of them next week?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 5 November 2013
Halloween Sparty
Morning All,
I hope you are all well and dandy. I know I am, especially after the weekend I have had! Now after last week's entry I felt again a little unstable as to what, why and how of my blossoming romance with said Mr. Cheese, although I know that when the time is right maybe things will finally be planted in the pot to grow and nurture. In the mean time though I might as well carry on living my life as a half-single twenty-something; partying, hanging out with friends and family, enjoying life and seeing whats on offer.
All week at work was a slog as usual, consisting of some very, very slow days. These however were eased by banter filled emails from my Tweedles and Mr. Cheese from their own offices across the country. Finally though Friday had arrived and as work colleagues diminished by the hours it was finally the clock hit home time. As I hitched a lift home from another work buddy I contemplated my evening ahead but most importantly what I was going to wear! Now as it has been that time of year again for most places in the world, especially the States; Halloween has been very much on my mind since me and Miss Chocolate agreed to a night out to celebrate. Dress code: Fancy dress!
So as I pottered about the flat, organising my outfit and planning my beauty schedule I couldn't help think about some of the words of wisdom have been for my first night out after things have started getting serious between me and Mr. Cheese. To be honest I have morals and whilst everyone might not agree with them they are mine and I stick by them. The phrases 'what someone doesn't know wont hurt them' and 'logically your still single so anything goes' are a frequent topic of conversation amongst my friends and I when the subject does arise and I must say that I suppose in some respect's; I agree. Whilst I have not been seeing anyone else since meeting Mr. Cheese, I suppose in a sense there is nothing stopping me from doing so, apart from the fact that I was brought me up better than that and am a very faithful, loyal and trustworthy girl. Now I am not saying that in any way it is OK to cheat as it were but the fact is that we are not in a concrete relationship means that I suppose the rules could be bent if Mr. Cheese and I wanted to bend them. I mean if the tables were turned and something happened on Mr. Cheese's side, be it a kiss or a full blown orgy, then yes of course I would be upset, but at the end of the day Mr. Cheese and I are not fully exclusive (yet) so I would really have no grounds to stand on. It would be very hypocritical to have two people playing the same game but by different rules. Regardless of all this I pushed aside my minuscule worries of round-about-infidelity to the back of my mind and donned my Little Red Riding Costume including cute pig tails, blackened Halloween eyes and wolf claw scratches I headed for the station.
Upon meeting Miss Chocolate in my hometown I realised I was possibly overdressed for the occasion. With fake blood smeared across her face and a full outfit of black topped off with a sheer white blouse I knew something had gone wrong with the school girl idea. The reason. Boobs! Apparently some people are very sadly well endowed and this means that certain items of clothing do not do up. Mainly that shirt. Unfortunately this is not the plight I have with my small to average C-Cup breasticles. Heading into the pub however the punters didn't seem to care as mouths dropped and eyes were adverted towards us. Or at least that's how it plays out in my head as I write tonight. Grabbing some drinks and necking some shots and bombs we discussed men and how much they aggravate us sometimes. As the music bounced on so did we and onto the second venue of the night.
Heading into the small, dark alternative club under the speed-way I could see Miss Chocolate would not enjoy her experience here, whilst I however felt at home and at ease with the company in there. Among the party-goers were vampires, werewolves, zombies and bloodied people although there were some very out-there costumes. After a few moments adjusting to the atmosphere I noticed a horror movie puppet, a clown (very scary), a viking and a pirate. Throughout the female population there were broken creepy dolls, brides, nurses, skeletons, maids and cheerleaders - All dead of course. As we went to the bar to get some drinks Miss Chocolate and I made our first friends of the evening, someone named after a brand of chocolate whom I had met there before and another gentleman who looked very much like an Ex of mine whose profession lied within agriculture. Well OK, he was a farmer.
As we clinked our glasses and toasted to being somewhat single, our newly acquired male friends looked on in awe as we slipped the smooth and fruity cocktail down our throats. High-fiving for a reason I cannot recall we sat and I struck upon with the farmer-doppelganger. He had come as a Zombie although I was not fully convinced he had made as much effort as myself. Mr. Zombie seemed nice enough and after he finished his own drink he bought me one. Smiling and saying a polite 'thank you' we headed back to Miss Chocolate who was perched on a stool not looking very impressed at the growing club of scary costumed people. As conversation progressed I soon realised that Mr. Zombie and I had nothing in common. And he laughed like Santa. And so for that reason, and the fact Miss Chocolate had bartered the time we would spend at venue number two, we left but not before I was awkwardly serenaded by Mr. Zombie to a song that spoke of being 'broken' and not being able to 'feel emotion'. Yes. I had to leave. And as Miss Chocolate and I scurried away I knew that although the night had only began, I certainly knew that Little Red Riding Hood's woodcutter was not nearby. Possibly in the Midlands?!
The following morning I woke in my own bed and still dressed in what I went out in. Little Red was feeling nearly dead with tiredness. Nevertheless I got up and dressed, tidied up and left for my spa day with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Stuu. We had wittingly called this occasion a Sparty! Although as myself and Miss Tweedle-Dee found out it was not very Sparty when you nearly sit on someone in the steam room for fault of it being too steamy! The only way we could identify said individual from the fixtures and fitting was the sheer fact that I thought ''Oooh, that bench has legs ... Oh wait! Oops!'' Indeed this could have quiet easily been an awful faux pas, but that was not the only calamity at our Sparty for Miss Stuu and I got alot closer than intended.
Walking into our treatment room dressed in a bikini, soft fluffy robe and slippers, Miss Stuu and I were excited to be rubbed down with aromatic oils and creams to make our skin feel silky smooth and releasing all our tensions of the world. Unfortunately or fortunately my masseuse was not called Chantelle. The two massage ladies asked us to remove our pool soaked swimwear and pop on what was handed to us in a little plastic pouch. Instantly I knew what it was. Yes, there was no mistaking it as Miss Stuu looked at me in horror we agreed that these were paper panties. removing them from the packaging we giggled and laughed at the ridiculousness of them and without hesitation I stripped off to wriggle into my new briefs. And Brief they were indeed. They barely covered my biscuit and Miss Stuu had trouble keeping hers from falling down. In between fits of laughter and a shocked paper-pantie daze I hadn't noticed that the spa girls were getting impatient outside and suddenly opened the door to our treatment room where both myself and Miss Stuu were fully naked apart from our thin underwear. After apologising and shutting the door swiftly I laughed as I hopped onto the massage bed and stuck my head in the doughnut hole while Miss Stuu sheepishly followed. Safe to say that it was very relaxing and paper pants I could get used to. Although on cringe-scale I doubt this tops the Tweedles experience whereby Miss Tweedle-Dumb fell asleep she was so relaxed ended up snoring and then farted and woke herself up all the while Miss Tweedle-Dee on the other hand died of embarrassment. Sometimes you really have to question the utter brilliance of your friends!
And so that was my weekend. Sunday was relaxing as I spent it with family visiting my Grandad in hospital whilst he recovers from major heart surgery. Thankfully he pulled through and is now on the mend. Get better soon G-Dog! As for this week nothing special is planned, except from maybe a surprise visit to London to see a certain kind of Cheese!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
I hope you are all well and dandy. I know I am, especially after the weekend I have had! Now after last week's entry I felt again a little unstable as to what, why and how of my blossoming romance with said Mr. Cheese, although I know that when the time is right maybe things will finally be planted in the pot to grow and nurture. In the mean time though I might as well carry on living my life as a half-single twenty-something; partying, hanging out with friends and family, enjoying life and seeing whats on offer.
All week at work was a slog as usual, consisting of some very, very slow days. These however were eased by banter filled emails from my Tweedles and Mr. Cheese from their own offices across the country. Finally though Friday had arrived and as work colleagues diminished by the hours it was finally the clock hit home time. As I hitched a lift home from another work buddy I contemplated my evening ahead but most importantly what I was going to wear! Now as it has been that time of year again for most places in the world, especially the States; Halloween has been very much on my mind since me and Miss Chocolate agreed to a night out to celebrate. Dress code: Fancy dress!
So as I pottered about the flat, organising my outfit and planning my beauty schedule I couldn't help think about some of the words of wisdom have been for my first night out after things have started getting serious between me and Mr. Cheese. To be honest I have morals and whilst everyone might not agree with them they are mine and I stick by them. The phrases 'what someone doesn't know wont hurt them' and 'logically your still single so anything goes' are a frequent topic of conversation amongst my friends and I when the subject does arise and I must say that I suppose in some respect's; I agree. Whilst I have not been seeing anyone else since meeting Mr. Cheese, I suppose in a sense there is nothing stopping me from doing so, apart from the fact that I was brought me up better than that and am a very faithful, loyal and trustworthy girl. Now I am not saying that in any way it is OK to cheat as it were but the fact is that we are not in a concrete relationship means that I suppose the rules could be bent if Mr. Cheese and I wanted to bend them. I mean if the tables were turned and something happened on Mr. Cheese's side, be it a kiss or a full blown orgy, then yes of course I would be upset, but at the end of the day Mr. Cheese and I are not fully exclusive (yet) so I would really have no grounds to stand on. It would be very hypocritical to have two people playing the same game but by different rules. Regardless of all this I pushed aside my minuscule worries of round-about-infidelity to the back of my mind and donned my Little Red Riding Costume including cute pig tails, blackened Halloween eyes and wolf claw scratches I headed for the station.
Upon meeting Miss Chocolate in my hometown I realised I was possibly overdressed for the occasion. With fake blood smeared across her face and a full outfit of black topped off with a sheer white blouse I knew something had gone wrong with the school girl idea. The reason. Boobs! Apparently some people are very sadly well endowed and this means that certain items of clothing do not do up. Mainly that shirt. Unfortunately this is not the plight I have with my small to average C-Cup breasticles. Heading into the pub however the punters didn't seem to care as mouths dropped and eyes were adverted towards us. Or at least that's how it plays out in my head as I write tonight. Grabbing some drinks and necking some shots and bombs we discussed men and how much they aggravate us sometimes. As the music bounced on so did we and onto the second venue of the night.
Heading into the small, dark alternative club under the speed-way I could see Miss Chocolate would not enjoy her experience here, whilst I however felt at home and at ease with the company in there. Among the party-goers were vampires, werewolves, zombies and bloodied people although there were some very out-there costumes. After a few moments adjusting to the atmosphere I noticed a horror movie puppet, a clown (very scary), a viking and a pirate. Throughout the female population there were broken creepy dolls, brides, nurses, skeletons, maids and cheerleaders - All dead of course. As we went to the bar to get some drinks Miss Chocolate and I made our first friends of the evening, someone named after a brand of chocolate whom I had met there before and another gentleman who looked very much like an Ex of mine whose profession lied within agriculture. Well OK, he was a farmer.
As we clinked our glasses and toasted to being somewhat single, our newly acquired male friends looked on in awe as we slipped the smooth and fruity cocktail down our throats. High-fiving for a reason I cannot recall we sat and I struck upon with the farmer-doppelganger. He had come as a Zombie although I was not fully convinced he had made as much effort as myself. Mr. Zombie seemed nice enough and after he finished his own drink he bought me one. Smiling and saying a polite 'thank you' we headed back to Miss Chocolate who was perched on a stool not looking very impressed at the growing club of scary costumed people. As conversation progressed I soon realised that Mr. Zombie and I had nothing in common. And he laughed like Santa. And so for that reason, and the fact Miss Chocolate had bartered the time we would spend at venue number two, we left but not before I was awkwardly serenaded by Mr. Zombie to a song that spoke of being 'broken' and not being able to 'feel emotion'. Yes. I had to leave. And as Miss Chocolate and I scurried away I knew that although the night had only began, I certainly knew that Little Red Riding Hood's woodcutter was not nearby. Possibly in the Midlands?!
The following morning I woke in my own bed and still dressed in what I went out in. Little Red was feeling nearly dead with tiredness. Nevertheless I got up and dressed, tidied up and left for my spa day with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Stuu. We had wittingly called this occasion a Sparty! Although as myself and Miss Tweedle-Dee found out it was not very Sparty when you nearly sit on someone in the steam room for fault of it being too steamy! The only way we could identify said individual from the fixtures and fitting was the sheer fact that I thought ''Oooh, that bench has legs ... Oh wait! Oops!'' Indeed this could have quiet easily been an awful faux pas, but that was not the only calamity at our Sparty for Miss Stuu and I got alot closer than intended.
Walking into our treatment room dressed in a bikini, soft fluffy robe and slippers, Miss Stuu and I were excited to be rubbed down with aromatic oils and creams to make our skin feel silky smooth and releasing all our tensions of the world. Unfortunately or fortunately my masseuse was not called Chantelle. The two massage ladies asked us to remove our pool soaked swimwear and pop on what was handed to us in a little plastic pouch. Instantly I knew what it was. Yes, there was no mistaking it as Miss Stuu looked at me in horror we agreed that these were paper panties. removing them from the packaging we giggled and laughed at the ridiculousness of them and without hesitation I stripped off to wriggle into my new briefs. And Brief they were indeed. They barely covered my biscuit and Miss Stuu had trouble keeping hers from falling down. In between fits of laughter and a shocked paper-pantie daze I hadn't noticed that the spa girls were getting impatient outside and suddenly opened the door to our treatment room where both myself and Miss Stuu were fully naked apart from our thin underwear. After apologising and shutting the door swiftly I laughed as I hopped onto the massage bed and stuck my head in the doughnut hole while Miss Stuu sheepishly followed. Safe to say that it was very relaxing and paper pants I could get used to. Although on cringe-scale I doubt this tops the Tweedles experience whereby Miss Tweedle-Dumb fell asleep she was so relaxed ended up snoring and then farted and woke herself up all the while Miss Tweedle-Dee on the other hand died of embarrassment. Sometimes you really have to question the utter brilliance of your friends!
And so that was my weekend. Sunday was relaxing as I spent it with family visiting my Grandad in hospital whilst he recovers from major heart surgery. Thankfully he pulled through and is now on the mend. Get better soon G-Dog! As for this week nothing special is planned, except from maybe a surprise visit to London to see a certain kind of Cheese!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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