Please God, Prevent Me From Throwing Up On His Shoes

Ok, imagine that you’ve been in a four year relationship, where you are desperately proud of your other half, consider him to be your best friend and the only person you can talk to about what is on your mind, believe that he will be there and support you when you need it; as you have done for him in the past, when all of a sudden, he’s gone. No warning, no conversations with you, nothing… just gone. Then you realise that you are also losing your home, and before the week is done, you get diagnosed with severe depression, which explains why you’ve been feeling like a mental case for the past year. So severe, in fact, that you are classified as “a risk to yourself and others”. Additionally, you realise that you don’t have enough money to put a deposit down on a new flat, so you are probably going to end up homeless in the next few weeks, or possibly living in the office.
Things can’t get any better really, can they?
Welcome to my life, about 3 weeks ago.

That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands. I decided that there was no point mourning for a man who should have been there for me when I needed him; I needed to find someone who WOULD be there and give me the support and love that I need in times of crisis.

Luckily for me, I have some fantastic friends. That same week, I was out at a Halloween Party with my wonderful friend Prue and her colleagues. After spending a whole 24 hours deciding on my outfit (determined NOT to go as the green corseted witch AGAIN) before I decided to wear the Punkyfish dress that, until now, I was too large to wear as a dress and only wore it as a top. Break-ups are great when you’re dieting! I had decided to go as a cat, and had made my tail out of a pair of tights, as Tescos feel that Halloween is only for kids and provide NOTHING in the form of adult costumes. So, with a LOT of leg on show, and a LOT of boob on show, I left the house and tottered into town in heels far too high for anyone to walk in without looking like they have some kind of disability, before getting to the DMU, giving up and changing into my emergency flip-flops.

At this point, it starts to rain. Well, I say rain, it was more like standing in a waterfall. So we (Prue, her friend Sam and myself) dash into the nearest bar and have a pint while waiting for the rain to finish its business. At this point, I am starting to get a tad nervous. I am basically gate-crashing a party where the hosts have no idea I’m coming, I only know Prue and Sam, and I’m pretty sure no one is going to actually want me there – the looser who wasn’t invited to any parties of her own.
Anyhoo, a long time later we finally make it to the location of said party, I quickly change out of the emergency flip-flops and into the heels from hell and we make our “grand entrance”, which basically involves me desperately trying to remain upright and not impaling anyone’s feet with the stilettos.

Having had a brief look around the room there are a number of amusingly dressed people, none of whom know what to say to me - and as the best I could come up with was, “So… you came dressed as a smurf then? Well done!”, I decided to keep my gob shut. Better to not look like a complete prat.
As the night wore on though, naturally I found people I was able to talk to. The first was this poor guy trying to put contact lenses in for the first time. Despite all my experience at Vision Express doing contact lens teaches, this guy found it impossible, bless him. He was closer to gouging out his own eye than he was to putting the contacts in.
A little while later, a guy I had spotted earlier in the night had ended up sitting next to me (poor guy!) and was listening to my pathetic ramblings about the most boring and mundane stuff. I really felt quite sorry for him, but bless him, he really seemed interested. I figured he must be a fantastic listener, or a really good actor.
As the night wore on, I realised that actually, this really sweet guy actually WAS interested in what I had to say, and, judging by the laughter, seemed to think I was funny too. I know, I don’t think I’m funny either…
So, we were occasionally popping outside with Prue and Sam and a few others, when suddenly, I found myself on my own with him. Naturally, my brain has now gone into meltdown mode and is screaming “OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!!! DOOOOO SOMETHING!!!” but unfortunately my mouth, which doesn’t have a very cordial relationship with my brain, carries on doing its own thing.
All of a sudden, the hostess pops her head outside to tell us that everyone is leaving and making their way to Leicester Uni SU, spots that we are on our own and screeches “SNOG LLOYD!!! GO ON, HE’S LOVELY!!!”

I felt mortified for the poor guy, beyond sure that he does NOT want to snog me, when all of a sudden, he leans in…. and my head explodes. My brain is doing some kind of Riverdance and my stomach has dropped through the floor and I’m pretty sure my heart stopped.
When I come round I find myself (pretty drunkenly at this point) being shepherded out of the house, and I have managed to misplace Lloyd, Prue and Sam. I pause and luckily Lloyd comes out of the house and we walk down to the SU together, from which I have to get a taxi home because a) I am far more drunk than I had realised, and b) I have work the next morning, and it has gone 1 am.

Prue, Lloyd and I end up catching a taxi together and Lloyd and I get out at Narborough Road, say our goodbyes (more snogging, yay!) and I head off home, feeling very pleased with myself for not being a slut and inviting him back with me. (ellie 1 – temptation 0).
It was only when I got home and lay down that I realised how drunk I actually was – the room was spinning at about a million miles an hour and I felt certain that the next day was going to be Major Hangover Time. Strangely though, I woke up feeling just fine, with all my memory intact and feeling ecstatic to boot.

As every girl knows, the next few days are always a waiting game. So, he said he’d call. This does NOT mean that he is going to call. It means that there is a possibility that he MIGHT call. Or it means that he didn’t want to embarrass you by saying, “you’re really shit at that whole snogging thing but I don’t want to deal with an upset female of the species so I’ll say something to get you off my back”.
But he said he’d call me the next day, and call me the next day he did! At the time he said he was going to call me at. Does that EVER happen? Is there one single girl out there that can say that she wasn’t kept waiting and hoping, only to be let down at the last minute?

Naturally, though, I now have to keep my calm. Repeat after me, “Do NOT come across as a crazy person, do NOT come across as a crazy person. We can admit that we are crazy later, but right now, it’s totally NOT a good idea.” (haha, “we”, I sound like a schizophrenic now. I meant the royal “we”)

I’m guessing I managed though, as by the end of the call we’ve agreed to go on a date. A real date. Like, out and stuff. In public. And it wasn’t me that had to ask. For the first time in years! This lovely, lovely guy actually asked ME out!

What with moving house and all, I had to arrange a date for when I was all settled in and would have a lovely home to be proud of, that was all my own and had no lingering ex-crap hanging around.
So Friday the following week was settled on. I wouldn’t have to be up early for work, and would probably have sorted out all my stuff from moving and therefore be able to relax a bit more about it.

So, now it is Friday (Friday, gotta get down on Friday… err… sorry about that. DAMN YOU REBECCA BLACK!!!) and I am SHITTING MY PANTS. Lloyd has been texting or calling almost every day (except moving day) and is a complete sweetheart who really makes me smile. And also, yum! :D
Naturally though, I am running through all the worst case scenarios in my head. Like that time I had a date and ended up getting nervous and letting my mouth run away with me and telling him about the Green Poo incident. Poor bloke. Or the time I tripped over something and as I fell, grabbed the nearest thing to steady myself, and realised I’d grabbed another bloke’s arse. Or the time I went to the wrong Nandos and the poor bloke thought I’d stood him up, while I thought I’d been stood up. By the time I got to the right Nandos he was so pissed off that it was a date filled with awkward silences and angry looks. Can’t blame him though…

Please note: this was NOT all the same guy. I’d feel very sorry for him if it was. Probably tell him to give it up as a bad job.
So, my main aim for tonight is to not be dyspraxic.

Oh, shit.

Additional to the worry that my mouth will runaway with itself, or I may be clumsy and accidentally grope someone, is the outfit worry. I have literally been through every single item of clothing I own, and I am unsatisfied with all of them. They are all either too big, too small, too plain, too tarty, too summery, too frumpy or too old. I mean, how can one girl own so many clothes and be completely unable to find anything suitable to wear for a date?!? It’s just plain ridiculous. Shoes, on the other hand, I have already decided on. Comfortable heels that will be warm – the Victoriana boots. I LOBE those boots.

I love shoes.

So, between 7:00 and 7:15 tonight, Lloyd is going to pick me up, have a brief tour of the flat and then we are going for a meal somewhere. I don’t know where! I am very, very excited and very, very terrified. My brain is a massive puddle on the floor beside my desk and I can’t concentrate on work, hence writing this blog.

Roll on tonight, and keep your fingers crossed for me everyone!