Friday Fallouts

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So, Friday I worked hard. I worked my arsed off, I even went over my normal hours and worked an hour extra against my ‘party’ will and I did all that for FREE. It had been fun, but the longest work week in history, not to mention that I had rolled off a straight run of days, no days off, spent the evening doing my lash line, going through love life issues and then raising the babies, to keep their hearts whole and their faces smiling.

It was a long week. SO long that Bev decided that instead of our long work week, we were going to set up a ‘breast feeding…adult baby’ business, where punters could come suckle Wunna/Walker breasts and have their nappies changed for the bargain price of five hundred pounds a pop. This is what our work week reduced us to. πŸ™‚ But look at Chloe Mafia, she went from the worlds biggest chav in Wakefield, to now running a million pound business and chilling in her LA mansion with her super rich husband.

‘But Bev, would i have to work bank holidays and do they get a bacon butty afterward?’ Said, the little glamour puss, to her work friend with tremendous ideas for all start up business plans.)

‘Wouldn’t we charge extra for bacon?’

‘Well, the bacon’s more for me, than the punters. All that breast feeding will make me hungry.’

I’d be the worst person ever for such a business, as i’m far too lazy for to be bothered to entertain pervs. Infact, I’m naturally charming, but not at all flirty and most people would think that I AM quite flirty, yet due to the nature of my previous occupation…i am highly aware of the dangers of giving a guy the WRONG impression. lol. In fact, being a glamour model…made it my job to give a guy the wrong impression. And with that…came DRAMA. πŸ™‚ Hurrah! Therapy for everyone!

The good thing is that i’m weirdly quite emotionally grounded to be able to handle, what i call ‘the willies.’ I’ve always said that the fantasy of ‘Chrissie Wunna’ is really different to this chick named Chrissie Wunna. I’m not different. Yet i know that people sometimes may get it twisted. I mean, GOD, i’ll wear a pair of jeans and everyone will die of utter shock and horror. Lol. (I got told that I looked like a ‘painter and decorator’ yesterday, when i wore jeans out. Lol. They wanted a quote on four walls? Hahaha.)

Anyway, all this…well It makes dating for me really difficult because i always wonder if the guy is mentally going to bed with ‘Chrissie Wunna,’ or if he’s been clever enough to strip all that away and go to bed with this chick named Chrissie…who he securely adores for lots of other reasons.

Like my guy friend Tom, from ages ago in London, used to say, that because men apparently initially see me, fancy me or whatever…they actually get a bit scared and see it as too good to be true (i have no clue how accurate his vision is, as he teachers PE and doesn’t know Cupid,) …But he believes that with me, boys have to get over the initial ‘boning’ phase with me…as it’s all ‘ooh she’s hot and i need to bone her.’ Everything’s willy led at first and not even in a nasty nasty kind of way…just in an honest, passionate way…and apparently once they’ve got that out of their system and sex or initimacy has been successfully done and dusted…they calm down a bit…and are then able to get to know me properly, for who i am and then like me in all kinds of other ways…without panic, frustration or angst.

Yet he says, because i hardly ever date and hardly ever, just sleep with boys. Men can never get out of ‘the phase.’ The initial ‘boner phase.’ Which always circles their emotions around ‘Chrissie Wunna’ rather than just seeing me for this chick named Wunna.

I feel like the girl who has everything…and the girl who’ll achieve everything that i set my heart on. Yet the one thing that i want…which is to eventually have this amazing life partner, who can i can do ‘forever’ with…i’ll never ever have.

*Get the violins out.* πŸ™‚

But yes, i’m not gonna lie about it. It upsets me. (I’m a hopeless romantic. Even my mate ‘London boy’ used to say, ‘Chrissie literally sees love in EVERYTHING.’ That was before he called me a ‘big head, fuck’ and stopped talking to me because he had more in common with a witch who killed her husband. πŸ™‚ )

Anyway…

Friday, i was shattered, but i was determined to get out and play simply because as soon as i walked out of those doors, i wouldn’t have to be back in work until Tuesday. Yes, i have the whole bank holiday off. I know!!!

I was meeting friends out, my work friends also, so i slipped into a little dress and got my party face on.

IT WAS RAMMED and because the races were on. Literally ‘couldn’t get a drink’ rammed.

But the thing about the races is the fact that town is filled with hundreds of men, dressed up in shirts and ties…which makes all boys look a hundred times more attractive, right? Now, being drunk and being skilled at making sure my friends weren’t getting bamboozled by chavs in ties…was difficult, as you can’t just plonk a tie on a chav and all of a sudden he’s ‘George Clooney.’ (Not that anyone in Ponty is that hot. πŸ™‚ )

So i made it my mission to judge all boys on their jumpers. I did a really bad job of it because i got really pissed. I should never be in charge of picking boys for people. (The other thing about town being packed with boys, is the simple fact that it makes my life more annoying. It was like being some slutty pied piper…who just had boys following her through the cobbled streets with boners.)

Once we all got situated and we hid away with my friends. Life was good again. We did yager bombs, to make ourselves feel better, danced a bit, and after some 18 yr old girl slagged me off, quite loudly, right next to me in order to look…well not 18. But i sat on my glamour pussy throne, chatted to Jenna and eyed smiled through it, with a ‘oh honey…’ I’m not really fighty and because i’m Wunna. It’s not worth my while, but most of all it’s because I’M POLITE. Bad manners in people kill me.

Anyway, drinking, drinking, drinking, a chat, more of my friends turned up…drinking, drinking, drinking…then ‘Biggies.’ I hate Biggies. More jumpers. More drinking.

And then because the place was rammed, some girl accidentally walked into me and it made me spill my drink..it sort of flew out f my hand, up into the air and all over the floor.

I THEN SLIPPED ON MY OWN SPILLAGE AND FELL ON MY ACTUAL BUM, WITH MY BACK ON THE FLOOR AND MY LEGS IN THE AIR! LOL *Cringe.* And i couldn’t get back up because my heels kept slipping. AND TO MAKE IT WORSE NO ONE EVEN HELPED ME. (Hahaha.)

I’m getting pretty sick at this, no one ever helping me thing, as i’m a pretty helpful girl. I’d do ANYTHING to make sure that the people i adore are okay. But if i’m about to get mouthed off at, shoved, punched, or even just falling everyone just watches it like a show…or snapchats it to their mates. Lol.

Afterwards, it was time to leave. You get to that point in ‘fellas’ where you just need to fuck off home. Ben and i ended up getting cheesy chips and chilli sauce..but i didn’t eat mine because i just simply couldn’t. I tried to leave them at Natwest, but he ate them anyway.

Then Jaz and her ‘almost hubby’ arrived. We all got into taxis. THEY ALL FUCKING LEFT ME ON MY OWN, to get hit on my a random guy with blood dripping down his shirt, who popped out of nowhere and liked girls from Thailand.

Then that was it…i was done with Ponty. πŸ™‚

 

 

 

 

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