Air Force One.
Dunny and I went out on an impromptu Burnley ‘do’ last night. Dave, an old friend we both knew from high school came too. Neither of us had caught up with him in a long time, and as we used to be so close, we all figured the best way to re-bond would be to go and get pissed in Burndoggs… All the other lads had shit out because they had work today - Gayarses.
We went out at about 11pm, but I made the responsible decision to drive, and not drink. I’m one of those people that can quite happily go out and not drink, but still have a good ol’ dance and have the banter till the early hours. Lastnight was no exception; we hit a few bars, ending up in Ignite, obviously.
As the night went on, even though I was having a good time, there’s only so much of Dunny’s drunken antics I can hack while completely sober i.e. the ”I’m going to kick the shit out of you” look (aka ‘Stone Face’) he gives to every poor bastard that so much as brushes past him on a dancefloor, or his general perving on middle aged mutton/lamb catastrophes… We’d met some of Dunny’s mates while we were in the first bar, one of which I totally crushed on, Loz. However, through sober and sensible eyes I soon saw that he was alright but he was not as fit as I had hyped up in my head (I hate it when that happens), and I soon diverted my attention to his HOT mate.
Steve was super-hot, I’m talking about ‘the wife would be proud’, way out of my league hot. He was 27, about 6ft4, buff but not too massive, good hair, good fashion sense, and he was in the Air Force (I think I just came in my pants). He had to have a girlfriend, and if he didn’t, he was clearly a serial killer or child molester. I didn’t care in any case. I was on the flirt 100% from the offset.
Met up with them later on in Ignite after Dunny had received a text from Loz saying “Stevo wants Jeni’s ass”… The upper hand was mine. As soon as they arrived I was on him like white on rice. He got me a drink and we stood at the bar talking for a bit. Wondering if I was maybe wasting my time, I gave him a brilliant, if not completely loose ultimatum. He had two choices; I could leave him alone and go dancing with my mates, or I could stay at the bar with him but he had to give me a kiss for it. He chose the latter.
We spent the rest of the night together, blatantly flirting, sucking face, and making ridiculous innuendos at every given opportunity. He was too fit – there had to be a catch. I decided to investigate more but ended up wishing I hadn’t…He leaves for Saudi Arabia tomorrow afternoon, and he’s going to be there for 3 years working for British Aerospace. Hahaha.
Just my fucking luck eh. The first one fucks off to Zante for 5 months, now this guy to Saudi Arabi for 3 years. What’s next?? I’ll get off with someone and then find out they’re going to visit the moon for eternity?!?! Why don’t the decent men stay in the country?!… Or at very least give me a decent time frame of which to bed them before they go. Selfish.
Still… It’s better to have lusted and lost than to never have lusted at all.
Xx
Pre-Holiday
Only 3 days to go until we jet off to Mexcio for 11 beautiful days and 10 banterful nights. That’s only 72 hours, 4320 minutes, or 259,200 seconds. Tick, tock, tick, tock… I cannot wait any longer!! It is guaranteed to be a fucking fantastic holiday at the very least, and this can be explained by three simple factors; All Inclusive… Mexico… and the Banter Brigade.
For those who are not aware, the Brigade consists of an elite selection of my friends who (rather obviously) enjoy Banter. It is admitedly, an immensely gay name to have for such a super-cool group, and we are a superbly immature bunch of individuals – explaining why we all get on so well. We enjoy frequenting Burnley and it’s infamously classy bars and clubs almost every weekend, stealing headrests out of taxis, and forcing eachother to drink shots of Wray & Nephews aka ACTUAL Poison. Good times.
During college, the two years where everyone made friendships that lasted, and had awesome holiday with their mates, I was sat in a house with my crazy controlling boyfriend. I did this for two years – probably explaining why I am the way that I am now!… So this will be my first boys holiday… I’m looking forward to the bonding, the sunbathing, and the S.E Games with the wife. I am not looking forward to the ‘Banter Boys’ activities… namely the ‘Mexican Moistening’. Sadly, this is not some form of sexual activity involving a gringo and a empty tequila bottle… It involves being bombarded with a pan-full of water while you’re lying quite contently on a sunlounger. Not cool. And if I come back with one eyebrow or a bald patch on my head, one of the boys will be coming back with one less testicle to match.
Messy.
Thursday evening : Text message received from Corbett – “Fancy Burnley tonight bud? X”
I was already dressed, made up, and straightening my hair. I had already made the decision that, even if the Banter Boys bailed on me, I’d find some ‘partial’ to tag along with for the night. I wanted to get wankered. We made a plan to meet at the pub at half 8… There were a few others who met us there for a pint, but they were all working the next day so drove home afterwards. The sambuka shots started there for me and Corbett.
The wife wasn’t on it, she was out on a ‘sex date’ but I presumed she’d be meeting up with us afterwards. I presumed this because we both share the same theory that sex shouldn’t be long and drawn out like the type most people seem to go on about… Like the one’s who say “I can go for hours”… Why the hell would I want it to last hours?? Just get it done! To clarify, it’s not like I don’t enjoy it, but sex should be like an explosion, like a big bang (so to speak), and after hours and hours it just gets sore and uncomfortable.
I somehow managed to enroll Dunny into the night which was a rarity because when we usually go out, he’s working on the doors. Tonight, however, was a Thursday… All bets were off.
Sat in Wetherspoons in Burnley, I’d approximate that me and Corbett had half a dozen shots, and 3-4 drinks in the space of an hour and a half. I remember feeling alright until the wife walked in, then as my excitement got the better of me, I seemed to have moved myself into an ‘uncontrollable drunk’.
From there the night was a blur of general abuse towards my sober Wife, some admittedly shameless flirting with all and sundry, the pulling of a practical minor (haha), chatting up some woman so that I could scab a fag off her outside Isabar, being sick on three separate occasions, and busting some fantastically large moves on a half empty dance floor. Apologies to all. And to top the night off, I also ended up getting off with Corbett, who is one of my very good mates, after having to drop him to his door due to his incapability to walk alone without dropping to the ground and falling asleep. “Fuck it, we’re both pissed”… Messy. But I’d do it all again.
23
This weekend was my Birthday Bonanza. Friday night mainly consisted of me fitting myself and my oversized, over-rowdy, and probably close to size 14 breasts into a tiny size 10 dress. Fun for the whole family. Me and the girls went out to Bury, had quite a few £1 bottles in Sol Viva, had a bit of a dance, and got ourselves a few new Facebook friend requests from some random 18 year old Bury Boys too. Good times… No pulling though… Bad times.
I was on a high the next morning, I was 23, and I didn’t feel rough at all.
I hadn’t thought about ‘him’ too much. The occasional holding of my breath when checking emails, but nothing time consuming. The flowers arrived that morning; a massive and expensive looking bouquet of lilies. The message read “Have a good day fancy pants” – what he always used to call me. It had only been a few weeks since the Break Up, a massive part of me really hoped that he would have moved on and stopped thinking about me already. This ‘gesture’ was just a massive kick in the proverbial balls to make me realise how easy it had been for me to move along and forget him, and how hard it must be for him. I had a little cry in the garden while violently smoking a Marlboro Light and then it was forgotten… On with the day.
Went into Manchester for a Primark shop, and then to the Pacific for lunch with my Mum, Pippa (Mum’s best friend, and also my Godmother) and the Wife. Pulling my phone out of my bag I find 3 missed calls from an unknown number and a voicemail. It was Matt. He said he’d used his last 3 euros to call me and that he was gutted I hadn’t answered. He wished me a Happy Birthday and said he missed me. Surprisingly to the point and concise actually… Whenever I leave a voicemail, I tend to repeat words unnecessarily or forget my train of though half way through a sentence and just babble inanely… It was really sweet of him to do that.
Saturday night was the night to unveil the Winehouse! The wig was pure genius, and I got myself Winehouse tattoos to plaster up and down my arms too. One of which was actually very nice, and I wouldn’t mind having for real… Enough of that talk though, my mother would literally throw me out of the house. There was a few of us out, from a Warrior Princess to Dog the Bounty Hunter; quite an eclectic mix of banterful costumes. Fancy dress was truly a shout and a half, and I had a brilliant Birthday weekend.
Xx
Dunny
Mr Mark James Dunn is probably one of my oldest and my best (male) friend in the entire world. You know one of those people who you can totally be yourself around, hang around with when you look like shit and not really care, and feel completely comfortable sharing every intimate detail of you life with… Well thats Dunny, for me.
I met him when I was 15. We took the occasional GCSE class together and soon found that we had a shared love for taking the piss out of teachers and doing very little work. The bond was instant, and although we didn’t immediately spend all our time together, our friendship seemed to blossom fully after I came back from Uni a few years later.
Since then we’ve always shared our ups and downs, I’ve been there for the ‘Invincible’ Mark Dunn when he’s needed to vent, or needed an impartial and sensible word or two. One thing we could always do was be honest with eachother. No need to butter up the truth etc, just brutal honest opinion… And he was a rock to me when i split up with ‘him’. Dunny gave me the best advice, and although everyone else around me was probably saying the same thing as he was, his words were always the ones that stuck with me.
Today he compared himself to a car, and me to the exhaust. I’m the thing that all the shit comes out of to keep the car running properly. I love him very much. And I hope he stays my Brother forever.
