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I am in BIG SHIT! So yesterday, i had zero internet connection, because the Gods of Cyberland, who are usually quite welcoming, cut me out of their ‘decent wireless connection’ life. Something happened, and i needed to blog. Ofcourse, and because i’m Chrissie Wunna, i strutted to the upstairs study, which has now been turned into a temple, to *panic* myself onto the computer and release my mind, body and spirit of the *drama* that was burdening me, ever so muchly.

I get to my computer…it fools me into believing the worlds a safer place and then gives me a dirty *middle finger* and refuses to let me vent on the world wide web! Heellllooo? I’m an attention whorey, blogging genius! I NEED my blog, in times of *panic.* I have a druggie like addiction to it. You had never seen me so wild…apart from that one time I told Harriet that i had an argument with a washing basket and stabbed a sausage. Infact, due to her being the same kind of hormonal, i sent her a text last night, informing her that i would hide sausages around her life, so that she could get anrgy and stab them. Unfortunately, she isn’t in her *angry* phase and apparently cried to a tribute to Lisa Left Eye Lopez, a couple evenings ago. Haha.)

Anyway, when i couldn’t get my own, ‘working internet’ way. And it’s all about me getting my own way. When i don’t get dealt a good hand and i deserve to, i’m usually devasted.

I *hair-tossed.* I *breathed* it out. (Breathing never fucking works. You just look like a horny chimpanzee.) Then after deliciously tantruming, i began blaming others for my beautiful faults. (My ex-husband used to say my ‘faults were what made me beautiful.’ Well he didn’t say that towards the end Plus, i’m sh0cked because my best faults didn’t really mature until AFTER the divorce? I became a LEGEND!)

Anyway, bottom line and because i’m jabbering on about nonsense, in ordet to try and avoid the fact that i’m in deep trouble. I have been left in charge of my Mother’s house during her absence to a meditation retreat, in Wales. She’s taken the rest of The Wunna’s with her and left me behind, due to me being the most responsible Wunna, which apparently means i can take care of shit. (‘Mmmkay!’ Do a little black girl, head twist here.) I’ve also been left behind because i’m hormonal.

I’d been doing really well…(10 days she’s gone for, and on Friday, THIS Friday she returns) except, (and please do note, that i hadn’t been doing really well at all. It’s been the most stressful ‘a bit longer than a week’ EVER!) The place is like a circus, and i am covered in sin, scratch marks, the adoration of Loverboy and *puzzled* faces.

Annnway…my Mummy has her favourite kitten. Remember we have 8 and yeah, i know you’re not supposed to pick favoruites, but we all do, it’s how The Wunna’s work. Favourite children, favourite kittens, favourite boys, favourite drinks. It keeps everyone on their toes. *Wink-pout.*

Anyway, Mum’s favourite kitten..which she seemed to have named ‘Lucky Boo,’ (you will see the irony in this shortly,) is now dead. UGH!!! Not only am i gutted, but ofcourse, on my watch, under my supervision, Lucky, just so happens to leap over something sharp (that my Mother would always tell my brother off for leaving on the side table) and well almost in the worst, most awful cartoon fashion ever, have things fall ontop of him and now not be alive.

I thought he was asleep and yeah in a bit of an odd position? But i’m a previously drunken Glamour Puss, i’ve woken up in odder forms, in many a land. I venture down the next morning, before my romantic day with Loverboy, in Pontefract. (He was taking me to Specsavers, to buy sight, and also buying himself a 2010-2011 diary, It makes him feel organized.

 Then we gobbled up KFC fillet burger meals, and saw Wunna fans who wiggled with me for giggly moments of joy, as i took my KFC out of the store. I was mildy popular yesterday, because i did everything HOT. I looked like an England Team cheerleader, tiny pleated shirt, little top, wiggly bum, big boobies, eyelashes and googly eyes.  I loved every moment of it…as did random male passersby, with cocky, but confident smiles, and well ofcourse my little Petey…who is pretty much now, my EVERYTHING. I’d die for this boy. God, knows how he’s done it, but i’m in love and i’ve never felt so safe. When i’m with him, i’m in this little bubble of ‘ooh.’ Different people bring out, a different side to you and he seems to bring out a dolly softness in me. It’s like we’re kids in love for the first time. He’s just gorgeous and loves me a great deal more deeply now. I can tell because he’s started getting possessive.

There was a big muscley, yellow tight topped old man,  trying his luck with the curly haired ‘Glamour Puss,’ outside W H Smiths yesterday. He was old and a bit rotten, but confidentally  smiled at me with a sense of ‘You want this, don’t you!’ I didn’t really repsond because i’m not disrespectful to Loverboy. I mean i’d HATE HATE it, if he did that to me. But i did noticed that I had never been so calmly *PUSHED* into a shop more quickly, then I had at that moment. I liked it. Loverboy loves what’s his and doesn’t like others tampering with his ‘Forever after.‘ It’s sexy!

He then spent the whole time cuddling me openly, so ‘yellow muscle guy’ could see that we were ‘in love’ and that he had ‘won,’ the WH Smiths battle of Heroes. (Technically, i won. I was loved all around. 10 points to me.  Yipeee.) Loverboy. continued to slag him off in the car. Lol. Pete’s usually quite placid, so seeing him mildy heated, is delicious. I could’ve kissed him forever, but our fillet burgers were far too distracting and we needed to rush to get back home, so his Father could take his grandmother for a new hearing aid. She told me that whenever she talks, it’s almost like her voice is on volume 10, even when she’s whispering. I have a voice like that naturally, and maybe deliberately. When i lose my hearing, i’m (what’s the word?) Oh yeah…fucked!

I’ve rambled haven’t I? What i wanted to say….Lucky Boo, my youngest kitten is no more. Playing got the better of him and well…we’re like trees, with thick roots. We choose how we want to grow. He went for the leap of faith, kinda like I would’ve done and is now resting peacefully in the heavens. I have 7 more to keep safe before Friday evening. I’m in BIG shit! I only like trouble that i canhide of balme others for. This sucks. Everythime she goes to that meditation retreat, something or someone dies! Last time, it was nearly my dad. ‘Oh hi mum, yeah. Dads hearts stopped beating and he’s in hospital. Sorry.’

This time…it’s the kitten. She never learns. Meditation retreats in Wales = Bad news. (See how i’m attempting to push the blame onto my own absent Mother.)

I’ve been poorly all day and if there’s anything I despise more than waiting, bad attitudes, haters, and tan lines…it’s being ill. Omg! I attempted to raise my delicious body of love lump out of my white cosy sheets, with a mild smile of ‘oh here’s another day,‘ this morning. I felt hazy, dizzy, and seemed to have gained a *thud-thud* of a headache. (Almost like i had a bunch of Santa’s elves using the inside of my head, as their toy workshop…which wouldn’t surprise me, as it really is quite marvellous, in the brain of good old Chrissie Wunna. I’d want to make toys in there! Raunchy ones. But still worth a Christmas list, bitches. )

Now, at this point, you’d think, I’d think there was something wrong, right? However, realize that I am a previous, late night, get it right, socialite….much! A kitty cat of cocktail drinking, and sequinned shimmie nights out on the razzamatazz, with heels and handsomes, and winks that could kill. Therefore waking up in this manner is a regular occurance. It’s normal for me. If i wake up happy, it’s because i’m still drunk.

However, and quite unfortunately THEN, i realized, i haven’t actually drank in 9 and a half weeks, due to my new *tee-total*-dom, due to my little *Glamour puss* that i have chilling inside me, making me all hormonal, exhausted and soon to be chubby. I wasn’t even hung over!! What have I become! I was actually frickin’ SICK! God, it trying to kill me off…and on a FRIDAY!!! How rude!

I tried to stand up, but my body ached so badly, it just couldn’t bare the thought of having to balance. my ego in an upright fashion. My head felt even more musty than usual and i began to feel a sense of nausea. I looked in the mirror (which is the first thing I do, every single morning. I’m vain..and so what?) Then after a *huff-puff* and a kitty cat *moan,* i decided to pathetically collapse back into my bed, after ordering someone to randomly make me a jacket potato, for no reason really, because I couldn’t for the life of me, eat it. I told them the sight of it, made me feel sick.

I felt like hell, and had to stay in bed until 4.25pm! I didn’t even feel better until THEN! Can you believe it! I was bed ridden and not even to mood music. This little *situation* i’m in, is really taking it out of me. Morning sickness sucks, because it’s the only sickness you will ever have, that will make you feel deliciously hungover, when you haven’t even had the sheer JOY of being able to get trollied, the night before.

I reached for my phone to call ‘Loverboy’ (we all need a bit of sympathy now and again. The phone call could of gone either way. ‘Nice Chrissie,’ would be all baby-like and pouty. Or ‘Evil Chrissie’ could have done the ‘YOU did this to me,’ speech on him. ) Luckily, my delicate arms, that really did need more of a tan, refused to work on *reach* mode. Therefore, being the private girl that I am, i decided to TWEET my pain to the world, via text! I told everyone i felt groggy…and well, i then fell back to sleep for 20 minutes. I HATE being ILL! When will this end?

Proving that there’s no rest for the wicked, i then get a streamed series of phonecalls and text messages from people wanting to work with me. I like these calls because they’re usually rewarding. However, when you’re sick, and comtemplating a *throw up,* simply over the smell of toast, you never really feel up to it. I heard my pink Blackberry a beeping. I heard it beckonning my attention. I heard it, i heard it a moaning…

Then when i could finally reach, i had a little read through my texts. I laid their half naked, smothered in my white cosy sheets, hugging my pretend man that i made out of one side of the quilt. I always need to do that, as i’m a Kitty cat that needs to sleep with one leg over something. Loverboy was house hunting for us. I hate house hunting, so i don’t go. It makes me feel all panicked, and pressured and terrified. He loves it, as he’s eager to make me his ‘forever.’ Well i am his ‘forever’..and if i’m truely honest, i can’t really think of a better way to sail through life. Yet house hunting, is just not my thing. Last night he looked at me, whilst kissing my hand, saying ‘How many guys do you know that can’t WAIT to actually make their girlfriend their wife?’ I replied with a ‘I know, loads of  guys that would want to marry me? ‘ He looked, smiled, told me off for being cheeky, and then told me that he literally couldn’t wait for me to be his wife. Yay! Another wedding for Wunna! I’m rolling them in…always a Bride, never bridesmaid! (Well that’s what Wazza says anyhow.)

Anyway, the good news is that my literary agent ‘Helen,’ had heard GREAT things from the publishers, who had taken the last week to read through the whole of my entire blog, in CD form, that Wazza (love him to pieces) had conjured up. We were waiting to hear what they would say and even though i kind of played it down, on the inside i was terrified. All i’ve ever wanted is to have a book out, about my life, that would maybe inspire others. Now, that dream is about to come true, which makes me realize that everything really does happen or a reason. I mean, i always thought to myself, years ago, when i was in LA, why i was writing my blog? I had no real reason? I was just writing it, for anyone who wished to read it…but mainly for my own sanity. It was just a little fun, that went to far. But if i never kept it going, then i would never have gotten this new opportunity.

Four or five years later, and when i have more than enough tales of my life to tell, i’m being told, that it will be a book, and it’ll be out by November hopefully, (Hellooo Christmas time,) and if all goes well, i’mma gonna of make myself a merry sum, simply by having written out my life…candidly…which will come in handy, with a ‘diva’ on the way.

I sort of did a *happy dance,* in my darling sick state. Yet i’m still not bringing out the banners yet. I’m never premature with my moments of ‘celebration.’ Until i see it out, on the book shelves, on Amazon, and in the hands of *glamourous*others, i shan’t be wiggling my hips to victory….just yet. But know that they are ready to get their *wiggle* ON! (Infact, say ‘ON’ like you’re American and excited…’OOWN!’ It has a better ring and sounds less like you’re at a teaparty.)

Other than all that, i’m doing quite fine. *Massive life. i still feel so ill, it’s almost unbelievable.* @Eddclay bbm’ed me during my publisher talk, that i was having in bed, mid-morning sickness, to ask if my book was going to be my version of the Bible, and out at Christmas? Haha. I love it! Know that that WILL be happening, and KNOW that he has totally ’Shot-gunned’ the role of Moses. I told him that he made a saucy choice. I mean, you don’t get hotter than a naked Moses, all helpless in the bullrushes, now do you? Is that even the right story? I’m shit at the Bible. I love @EddClay right now, because he always impresses me with his jawline and love life drama.

He got stood up the other day, by some weird loser. However, Cupid must have felt for him and in return Cupid gifted him with a better choice of boy meat. I think it was some all singing, all dancing, superior handsome of hottness? I got stood up twice, by a javelin thrower once. He made me cry and cry, in a hotel room alone, as i waited and waited for ages, secretly kinda knowing that he would never show. I thought it was because he didn’t like me? But it was actually due to a combination of ‘can’t be arseness’ and ‘not enough money to‘ really come see me. I’m glad i got out of that quickly and into an another immediate rubbish relationship with a boy. Woohoo! I felt for Edd, in his moment of pain. Being stood up makes any hottie feel like crapola, for a good 2.3 minutes, without wine. I’ve noticed that it’s never the hot ones that do the standing up either. Weird?

 I’ve had my times. I’ve date everyone. But now i’ve got ‘THE ONE!’ My past boys’ll be kicking themselves in years to come. I’ve never felt so happy and i’ve certainly never met a boy i can label as my ‘perfect match’ before. Loverboy, is ‘IT.’ He’s just ‘IT’ and the most lovingly, romantic man, any girl could ever wish for. It was fate. I never thought that when i saw him at 11, running down the school corridors, that he would be my future husband. It’s almost like the ‘big dude’ up above let me see my true love, and then let me live a horrific tale of heart-breaking regret, only to take me full circle and kindly drop me back off where my heart was to nest…over a decade later. If i had met him earlier, i wouldn’t have appreciated him the way i should of. It’s all about timing, fate and what’s meant to be. I’m in a really good place right now, and thank god for it! Jeeze! (I can breathe!)

The tragic thing about me, is that fact that i am currently watching my clip in hair extension, get caught in a fan (I prefer the term ‘wind machine’) and spin it’s ‘pet like’ way through life, like he has no-one to love. It’s messy and devastating, yet for some reason i’m not leaping to it’s rescue? Eww..I’m totally losing my touch. I mean you can tell i’m ill. I’m a Glamour Puss, I would usually NEVER let that happen, without somebody getting fired. *Wink-pout.* Save me!! God, i hope i get better! I am totally missing my mum!

I might call my leprechaun again, for a bedtime stooy. He’s like my spiritual therapist and he’s great when i’m about to go to bed. He’s like a chamomile tea, but with an Irish kick. I think my boobs are growing? This can’t be good?

So Saturday morning, the little Glamour Puss and her fair, fair (well mixed raced,) ‘Handsome’ of ‘lover lover,’ venture off to Manchester, from their little town of Pontefract, to plunge themselves into a process where they will be judged, questioned and auditioned in order to attempt to win a role on a tv show, where they could win a big prize. (It’s a process, i’m used to. But a process that terrifies Pete.)

Anyway, i hadn’t seen him in two days, due to work schedules and tiredness. When we met, it once again was like *magic.* It’s like i got to fall in love with him over a agin. He was so deliciously handsome, with that cheeky smile on his face, that i can never reisit, even at the best of times. I am in LOVE with this fellow and he gently flirted and played, like childhood sweethearts, all a giggle and a wink, whilst we trained it from Fitzwillam to Leeds, in order to make our Manchester train. (I was in my boobied peach, ‘I’m a Goddess, now bow’ dress. He was in his ‘I could be a half ethnic Ken doll‘ fitted mens shirt. His body is to DIE for and his heart is one of the most tender cushions of love, any girl could ever wish for. We’re on a  journey of marvel. He teared up last night in the car, because he always has moments where he feels insecure, or like i’m going to leave him. I’m 100% in love. It fricking takes a whole lot and THEN some to get rid of this slanted eyed floozey. Well….unless i don’t fancy you, and you were merely a toy to fill a one night void of loneliness. However, that was my past. My future is beaming with this odd white blur of pureness.)

So we got on the train to Manchest, at around noon-ish. Pete had never been on a train journey with me before, so he was all excited..which bizarrely made me all excited to. I seem to be on a train ALL of the time. It’s sort of nice to look to your left and see a smiley face next to you, that you feel safe with. (That’s instead of one that’s just staring at you, and undressing you with their eyes!)

We ugraded ourselves to first class, simply ebcause we needed coffee for free. My card wasn’t working in their system on the train, yet Loverboy’s was. I used all my cash to upgrade us to a better train status. We loved it. Free coffee, free cake, and a quick lay down, with a lamp. I love travelling with others. It makes the my journey through life merrier. I’m a people person. I’ll throw you a party popper, a cocktail, a decent pair of shoes and beckon you MY WAY, with a *wiggle.* It looks dangerous. But it never is! It’s all just *good-clean* fun, which is just the way I like it Dolls!

We get to Manchester Piccadilly, it’s now sunny but the ground is all wet because it had just got done rraining heavily. We couldnt for the life of us find the Methodist centre (which is where the audition was being held, on Oldham street.) We strutted into a newsagents, in dying hope that he would offer us guidance. Instead he asked Pete (who is half black and half white, in skin tone and not attire) whether that was the place where all the ‘Black people go?’ He said it with such innocence that all you could do was piss yourself laughing. I started to *giggle,* which made Loverboy *giggle.* After moments of him trying to poorly aid us on our way to our audition. A less loving, however less racist guy tols us we had passed it on our walk. We had, without even knowing. We walked back, hand in hand, 20 steps. It ended with me shouting, mid-point…‘THIS IS IT HERE!!!’

Funny day. Filled with orange squash, Rich tea biscuits and vending machine coffee, whilst waiting nervously in rooms, in a Methodist centre that had been rented out by a production comapny to audition us all for Channel 4. I was really excited, and well Pete was getting more and more nervous as we went along. He was properly out of his darling *comfort zone.* But to be honest…so was I! Yet i flourish in those moments of *awkward.* It makes me all strong and sassy and i begin to think that i’m pretty much there now, so i might aswell give it my all..clumsy laughter, jazz hands and everything. 9ther ewe no jazz hands. But i was doing them in my head. I promise!)

Next to the room that we were waiting in, betweeninterviews, was a hall packed with people worshipping God, very loudly to music. There was a man on the stage, microphone screaming our ‘Hail Mary’s’ at the top of his ‘Halleujah!! GOD IS WITH YOU,‘ lungs, to the loudest of calypso music. It actually sounded like ‘Samba no.4‘ on your childhood keyboard, that you would play as a ‘demo,‘ yet pretend that you were actually producing those particular sounds yourself.

I shyly peeked through the door, whilst we were waiting to do our first interview, with a lovely ’7 weeks to go’ pregnant young lady, who was to be our first heat in the ‘hoop jump’ for success. I saw, what looke dlike gorgeously buxom African ladies, wearing Virgin Mary outfits, with Baker’s (well Chef’s) hats upon their head, dancing in circles madly, in worship. It was actuaally amazing! Pete loved it, but unfortunately got a little bit too obsessed with it all. I thought he kept going to the toilet because he was nervous, when infact he kept going to the toilet because he wanted to LEARN the dance moves.

I’m not even joking. I found him and joined him, wanting to prep him on the next stage of our auditomn and ALL he couls do was literally SHOW me the actual dance steps of methosidt worship he had learnt, that went ‘back, back, forward, forward,’ with what looked like hoola girl arms.

One of the Methodist worshippers had a robe on, and had accessorized with a Louis Vuiton man satchel. i liked him. he was my favourite. I smiled at his Vuitton,a she merrily sauntered in to the elevator. Unfortunately he thought I was staring at him and begining inappropriately *winking* at me, when Pete’s back was turned and doing faces that suggested he wanted to know me in the biblical sense.

The elevator doors closed. Pete got more coffee, whilst dancing to the, NOW DRIVING ME INSAne,  music of worship. I mea there’s being enthusiaastic about God and then there’s taking it fucking too far. I just didn’t understand why they couldn’t do it quietly. I’m not a party pooper by any means. The first hour of the loudest bongos in the world, to a preacher and calypso sounds of GOD, were HILARIOUSLY GENIUS! I loved it. But three hours in, of VOLUME 10 worship…was beginning to do my head it. I think i said it out loud, as the music finally cut off by accident. I had a migrane, an empty stomach and alsorts. I needed the madness to calm the jeepers down!

The door eased open and Pete and I were called into our next round with the Senoir Producer. We actually did better than we thought we would do, on that day. We kept getting through the baby heats, by accident, by simply being ourselves. A couple of hours later, we were on our final round which was a filmed screen test. Pete excelled at it. I htought he’d be a great deal more nervous than he actually was! he aced it like a champion. I was dead proud. I mean he overcame a huge bundle of fears on that day. Loverboy, is a boy, who cares very much about what others think of him. He’s very shy. I had never seen him so confident. I smiled at him, like a proud veteran of jiggery pokery!

All in all, i think we did okay! I mean, it’s one of those things that you never know the outcome of really? So fingers crossed! Either way, we had the best time ever. Pete is was not as nervous as he made out he’d be. I noticed that he was mildy scared, but when in the room *championed* it. He was his ultimate REAL self..ann that is one of the hardest things for some ‘beings’ in this world to sometimes be.

 I was every proud. At about 4.30pm. We legged it back to machester Piccadilly, to catch the next train to Leeds. Luckily, we got there with two minutes to spare. We had to leave so fast because Petey had work in an hours time. We had neve rbeen so exhausted. Auditioning takes it out of you. The nerves tire you out. I wasn’t really nervous. I was excited. I mean, in reality, you can’t really get nervous about being yourself, can you? If they like you, they like you. If they don’t, they don’t. You can only be you and hope that they see the best in you. I love every moment of it.

We arrived in Leeds, all loved up and with noodles. He went one way i tiredly strutted the other. I shuffled my way to Platfrom 13A…to get on a  train back to Pontefract. I was pacing madly. I do this when i’m tired, or thinking, or just being mentally insane. I literally will stand on a platform and in a restless manner, pace agressively in circles, until you think i’m a complete and utter nutter. I couldn’t get through to my Mother who i had called almost 42 times. It sent me wacko.

I was exhausted and needed to put warmer clothes on. I just wanted to be home and comfy! I couldn’t WAIT for the train to hurry up and arrive. I stopped, I looked up at the *tells you what time it is* electronic train board.. only to hear someone shout ‘OMG!! THAT’S CHRISSIE OFF THE TELLY!!’

I looked to my left and who was it? Yep…what were the chances! It was Pontefracts answer to ‘Laurel and Hardy,’ yet not at all as funny….Drunk WAZZA & Drunk BONE, with beers, loud mouths and a *swagger* so lethal that you knew, there’d be some kind of circus behind them. (When the words ‘rape- tackle’ are used, as a tender form of affection for ginger strippers…you know it’s gonna be a long train journey home.)

This will have to be continued….. (It’s kinda making my crotch itch.)

 ’Bone & Wazza’

‘How you gonna waltz into my room and tell me how i’m supposed to be?’

‘Well how are you gonna inspire people, if they don’t know that you’re BETTER than them. They ALL do it…Hilton, Kardashian, Price..all of them!’

‘Are you seriously doing Arthur Fonzirelli thumbs at me, and walking around my room like you KNOW fucking everything! I’m still in bed! GO AWAY!

‘(Smiles)…i can’t believe you just called me Arthur Fonzirelli. You absolute fucking ‘pussycat’ BITCH. I’ll be like Madonna when i’m 50.

‘What? Pastey, in leotards, whilst falling to bits, in yoga crotch panties.’

‘Christina, sometimes you can be such a big whore. I’m not talking to you, until you’ve had some carbs.’ (*Flounces out of room. All gay & tragic.*)

I am having an ACE day today! I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but i feel sassy, alive and full of VA VOOM. I’m back bitches and boy does it feel delicious! I think all i needed was some alone time. I’ve been doing a lot for others recently (ugh much,) to the point where i’ve felt a bit suffocated. I’m a kitty cat that needs her SPACE and freedom. The art of the old ‘tie down’ terrifies me and makes me hit all the panic buttons at once, in a hysterical blitz of ‘Oh lord SAVE ME!’ I always think i need a super amount of time and space. However after one day of ‘all about me’...i usually feel completely uplifted and back to my normal bubbly self again.

I adore myself and if i can give you any advice that would put you on the road to Glamour Pussiness…it would be to  take one day of every week, to concentrate ON YOU. It’s essential. Whether you spend it at a spa getting  pampered, or with friends in a wine bar, drinking cocktails, or simply alone with your favourite movies. It is IMPORTANT to love every inch of who you are. It’s amazing…if you do it correctly. You’ll see that others will adore you to! (It’s sounds so simple, yet not many pussycats, manage to take a day out of the week to concentrate on themselves. We’re a lot more selfless than we think.)

Yesterday, i had that much needed ‘ME time.’ I’m a bold, brash, piece of ‘ooh.’ When i stand alone, i feel STRONG, like i can protect and love the kittens that need me & batter away the ‘eww factors’ with a single *wink wink-hip bump.* However, now I’m back and all a sizzle and I feel like i can conquer the world.

As most of you know, i have a cosmetics line (which is taking ages to make..but will be out shortly) a coming you way. I love makeup. I love the art of being ‘glammy’ But it seems to be taken so super long to just be out and for sale. I was never good at being patient when excited.  I have 62 products, which takes a rather long time to put together. I just can’t wait. I want everyone to be a little bit more ‘dragged’ up, with the Wunna cosmetics line! 

Also my pretty pieces of *shim-tastico,* I have a book coming out. It’s been a dream of mine to sort of publish an ‘as i go along’ kind of autobiography in memoir form, that will volume my life and fill the bed side tables and book shelves of delicious ‘beings’ around this entire world. It’s something i really love because not only is it a share of my experience through this little ‘life’ thing we’re ALL actually doing. (More of you need to tell your story. I love @EddClays’s blog and i love that a bunch of people found his blog the other day by Google searching the words ‘chrissie wunna- tits’) But yes, i loev the share of experience and i love tha fact that my book of life memories is [wait for it]…ALL ABOUT ME! Which as we know, The Wunna…does love!

 I can’t wait to shoot for the cover. I can’t for it to get published. I can’t wait for it to be in stores and well unlike a lot of our nation’s beautiful ‘celebrities,’ that cover every magazine in the United Kindgom on a daily..be it Miss.Price, Miss.Katona, Or Mr. Andre. I actually wrote every single word of my book…myself. (Ooh look at you.)I didn’t have a ghost writer, simply because i am terrified of ghosts and truely believe that no-one can tell YOUR story better than YOU. It doesn’t matter if you can’t read or write fluidly. It’s all just meant to be about expression! I was lucky enough to be bought a pretty decent education (that i thought i flushed down the pretty private loo, yet luckily didn’t realize it would kick in later in life) and well i know that not very many people have that opportunity. I’m not one to forget how lucky I am. (I will tell you that before i go to sleep every night, i say i prayer…but only when i’m alone and granted that’s not a lot due to my keen eye for a shirtless ‘handsome.’ My prayer however is never for Me, but for the well being of those who are less fortunate than I. I mean who’d thought, i’d be so charitable in prayer form.) I’ve been lucky in life and walked into opportunity accidentally. But it doesn’t mean, that i don’t want to be luckier and luckier and with every moment that i am alive. *Does a great big old shimmie of the tits.*

Anyway, back to m going on about how i’ve written my whole entire book by myself. and how it doesn’t take a rocket science, just a thought and the ability to pen or type it…Let me tell you, there are blogs that i have written so fucking sauced up on cocktails, that i was quite possibly *swaying* and blind whilst i wrote them. I mean I  have missed words out, spelt every little thing I could spell wrong and forgot to punctuate, whilst letting kittens wee on my laptop and making sure there was a tanned, buff  ’handsome’ warming up my sheets. That is the beauty of Chrissie Wunna. It’s raw, it’s real, it’s candid, fun and boobied. (I try not to bullshit people. But sometimes…. You’ve just kinda of got too. )

Last night and after a water fight with a bunch of chubby people. (I’m allowed to call them chubby because they are unfortunately my friends and they refer to me as *slaggamuffin* at the most inappropriate times.)  Apparently, i find it funny to fill tiny water guns, that you can buy for 99p, with MILK, and *squirt* it onto peoples tops, in the *nipple* area to make it look like they’re lactating. (I’m only jealous, because soon i will be. Therefore I want everyone to feel my pain.) We all ran around the garden, at that lovely time of day where it’s the day turning into night, under apple tree, and *squirted* milk out of our privates at each other, via the fine art of tiny neon plastic gunnage. I have never laughed so hard in my life (apart from that one time with Ryan in LA, whilst riding a giant african tortoise on pot) and for one tiny minute, i remembered i was ‘The Wunna.’

My fun always goes a bit too far though and we ended up squirting milk onto foot path passengers, who only really wanted to walk their dogs and in peace. (I live in a lovely area of Pontefract, where it’s all residential and full of happy, wealthy posh professionals…and their Mothers.) It’s sad really when i take things too far. I like to hit the lofty heights of GREATNESS, then crumble it down myself, with laughter. There were a lot of heads shook in disappointment. I gave in and watched ‘Celebrity Come Dine With Me.’ Janice Dickinson is now my new GOD!

Now, i’m not being funny or anything, but i truely did think Janice excelled with GREATNESS on ‘Come Dine With Me.’ I fucking LOVED her, I was laughing my pretty tanned arse off, in my living room, whilst craddling my kittens, and well for that moment, i didn’t think life could get any better.

It’s not that she was a delicious HOT mess, that made me worship her…because parts of seeing a grown woman all drunken strunken, with her eye makeup smudged across her face in the back of a taxi, is mildy upsetting innit! I mean, i feel for her because there is definitely that part of her in ME. I’m quite like her, all cocks and balls, and lipgloss martinis, with a hint of maneater and a tan so orange it could warn large boats away from ‘will sink the shit out of you’  icebergs.

But what i did adore about her, was the fact that she managed to go on a cooking show and MAKE IT ALL ABOUT HER. I mean she’s the only one, out of the four that i actually completely remember! I love her for that! Walk into shit and OWN that fucker! (I do apologise for all the swearing, but i feel all LA today and in LA pretty much everyone swears!)

Other than all of that jigery pokery, so far this morning, i’ve taken a shower to ‘Spice up your life.’ You should actually try it because it’s hilarious. I enjoy a bit of music when i bathe and yes i do imagine my bathign music to be all seductive and slow, with a flow that would suggest the rolling up on stockings. But no, i had that on for a good 7 second seconds, and then my laptop (which i had in the bathroom with me, as my DJ) suddenly flipped a bitch and turned it into a Spice Girl reunion. I showered to ‘Spice up your life!’ I am GREATNESS! I did all the dance moves and everything mid-lather! Have you ever, ‘Yellow manned in Timbuktu’ed’ in the shower?’ Din’t think so! Booyah!

Now, i’m going to wander off and fill my brain with the stories of Lottery winners. I’ve decided i want to win money, just to say i can, or did, or..well you know? I think if a bunch of normal people can win it a week, then I can to! We all know this ends badly. But ah well…let me do it anyway.

Happy afternoon you delicious bundles of love bunny. Just to remind you that you are reading this little blog with the wonderful members of the world, with excellent taste and an eye for a Glamour Puss.

You are not at all alone. The world is living, right here with you. We all love, we all cry, we all laugh, we all live. If i can bring people together for one delicious moment, then i feel like my job is quite merrily done.

Whether you are a teenage girl in Japan, just getting home from school, or a middle aged man from Utah, alone with no one to love? If you are a shirtless hottie in Spain, laid with an iphone on the beach, or a 2o something lady, in a taxi thinking about your falling apart relationship? Whether you’re an actor in Hollywood, at a coffee shop wishing for stardom, or a housewife in Britain wishing for better times…I’ve been all of the above…apart from a man and in Japan…:) Welcome to Wunna Land. I’m bringing you together and purely by accident. It’s amazing how it’s all kinda happened. (I mean my first blog entry ever, that i began years ago in LA, before this actual site was born, was written by someone else, on Myspace because i didn’t know what to say? ) Thankyou for reading. I don’t know why you do, or whether i deserve it. Lol. But i love it! (So don’t flipping stop.) I do totally think i deserve it. Lets not get carried away with the humility.

The current TOP FIVE countries reading my blog, THIS MONTH, so far…are:

1. USA

2. GREAT BRITAIN

3. CHINA

4. GERMANY

5. SWEDEN

Thankyou so much! You’re company is greatly appreciated!

Make your mark. Live out your dreams. Celebrate who and what you stand for. If you’re down, get HAPPY right now! Do not wallow in self pity. It’s a waste of your precious time!  Be bold. Be noticed. Care not what others think and MARCH forward. You can achieve ANYTHING. All you have to do is believe and love a confetti shower!

All my heart,

Chrissie Wunna x

Morning my lovely lumps of ‘lick lick.’ I woke up this morning feeling hazy yet tanned. Luckily, (and at 7.29am,) i was immediately gifted with a charm bracelett from ‘Pandora’ for being such a wonderful cat of kitty. It’s the best way really. As soon as i open my eyes, and sniff, just shove some kind of GIFT in my face and i’ll immediately like you, due to everything being ‘material’ girl.

I’m actually not sure why i deserved such a gift? But fuck it. It sure as hell made me like 7.29am, more than i actually normally do. 7.29am is certainly a time for do-gooders. I’m usually rolling over or screaming out in my sleep, due to a past of sinning, at that particular turn of day. It’s that odd time, where it’s not actually a happy ‘lets start our day,’ moment. However, it’s a time that suggests an ungainly, ‘because i have to,‘ wake up shuffle. I used to always try to begin my day early, but i found it tedious and boring. I enjoy short *spits* of dramatic entertainment. If i’m ever twiddling my thumbs, it’s best to back away from me, (without me knowing, if i know, you’re in doubley trouble,) as my little slanted eyes will *scan* around the room and hunt for a victim. That victim will be toyed with in any fashion that i seem fit, in order to quench my boredom. It’s awful, i know. (Lol.) But see! I can’t help but laugh! ( I was raised all kinds of wrong.)

My *Thing-a-ling* is really starting to merrily drain me a bit now. My body is going through major changes and well i can’t really talk about it too much, because i am writing a secret ‘moment to moment’ account (in book form) which will help other Kittens, who may also go through the same *thing-a-ling,’ in the present or the future! But let me tell you, i’m not finding it easy. (Haha.) I’m like Godzilla…but less fit and slimy. (Well i do get slimy, but only when Pete decides he’s going to bend me over a bath-tub, with my leg lifted into the air, followed by it being WRAPPED around his body, whilst he watches my bum, do a *jiggle* thing that he ever so dearly enjoys! This was yesterday, in the bathroom that belonged to his Mother. He can’t resist my jiggly bum and has to tendency for *pumpy,* whenever he sees it, before he shamefully mushes in his pants. He also (and most of the time) FORGETS, that i’m a Darling.. ageing SEX symbol and not an ageing GYMNAST! I must have looked like a right proper ape, trying to do a series of *pouty-sex* faces poorly, whilst groaning. God help me. All i remember him saying was ‘look at that ass,’ all excited like a kiddie. (Well not a kiddie. I don’t sleep with children. But i did moisture my right nipple in the kitchen yesterday, by a microwave.)

Annnnyway! Yeah, later he redeemed himself by sitting with me whilst we watched ITV2, (not his favourite, but i was tired of watching depressing rescue, caught on camera by police shows.) He made me a dinner of veg, potatoes and steak & ale pie, followed by performing *finger art.* Finger art is when he does ‘half a heart’ shape, with one hand, with his fingers, and i am to complete the ‘heart shape’ with onehand, with MY fingers…therefore making a ‘whole’ lovely HEART! It’s cute. I love it. (The madness doesn’t end here. Be warned!) Then he peeks through it, with one eye and tells me that he loves me. I then *peeky* through it, all excited, smiley and bimboey and tell him that i LOVE him. (Lol. This is sounding quite mentally ill.)

When i did it last night, he pissed himself laughing. He sees me as this googly, wide eyed, doll of *cutsie wootsie.* He currently finds me adorable, pure and giggly..which i am, served with an occasional side of *vixen.* I’m both. But mainly Playful, with a sense of wit. He’s gone so utterly far on this *cutsie wootsie* theory that he’s actually fooled himself into believing i’m a virgin.I’M NOT EVEN JOKING! Ask him!  I’ve never been compared to Mother Mary….with fake tits…before. (I did have to remind him that i had actually had sex before and awww…you should’ve seen the sheer *baby shock* on his face! Oh the disappointment.) He also tried to *hint* at no more public pictures of me naked, from the neck down and more pictures of me representing myself, from the neck UP! I’m shooting for my book cover shortly and well his ideas, are simply similar to the ones that say, maybe my MOTHER would come up with. *Snooze-fest.* I want deliciousness and campiness! And i always get what i want!

Other than that, i was feeling mildy *sad face* early, but only because i hate it when i’m on the phone to someone and they have bad reception. Every 2.4 minutes their voice turns all robotty and then they get cut off, whilst i’m still talking. It drives me up the wall, trying to finish a sentence during the course of 41 different calls. I got crazily frustrated and decided to put my moody boobs on. *Strut-strut-smashes something valuable.*

Luckily, a Dairylea triangle of cheese, (I’ve had 3) actually and rather oddly saved the day. It made me happy, during my time of a complete loss of appetite. I glared into my fridge and realized it was the only thing i could bare to eat! I’m all natural today..(apart from my chest)…therefore in a moment of *panic,* I needed something FAKEY, to make me feel better. The cheapness of the Dairylea turned me on a bit. I grabbed it like it was a steak dinner, and worshipped every moment that it slithered into my system. (Note: I did actualy EAT it and not put it somewhere naughty. I’ve made it all sound a bit dirty, by accident.) There’s just something about a Dairylea slice that i embarassingly enjoy. I mean it looks like cheese, it tastes (a bit) like cheese. Yet if you were to actually unravel it from it’s sexy silvery foil and take a good long look at it. There is distinctly something, so superficial about it. It’s perfectly sculpted, and not like that real crumbly shoddy kind of ‘falling apart’ cheese. It’s like a gelatine, artificial, glossy mould, of child-like fun. That’s what i love about it the most.

 Therefore whilst i imagined myself sitting on a giant disco ball over the entire world, as i waved at my subjects, in heels and lip gloss. I realized that i was lucky to simply be alive and happy. Being moody was a waste of any Queens time! I’m the  joyous Ultimate Glamour Puss and exciting things are happenning to me. My dream was to become a writer and an Icon. (Don’t laugh. ) I have the *icon* thing down. However, now the writer thing, is well on it’s WAY! (Oh, note; I watched the the American BFF show yesterday evening before i indulged in ‘Katie & Alex’ and i’ve decide i only like the Hilton BFF shows, if i’m actually ON them. When i’m not, i’m truely not bothered about watching them. LMAO. That’s terrible isn’t it. But true. I didn’t even watch the last episode of ours, because i was no longer in it. Lol. However, i AM, excited to watch Janice Dickinson on ‘Celebrity Come Dine With Me’ tonight. I enjoy her on my telly box, causing mayhem for the simple sake of entertainment.)

I’m here loving life, yet occasionally moaning for no reason due to my hormones being all unbalanced. Yet technically my life is fabulous. I love being ME! It couldn’t be any better! (Well mildy.) Now, i’ve written this, i’m back to being positive again. I’ve had my juicy vent. So weirdly i must love to entertain the world through actual written world. Yet again..i only like to write about myself! I zone-out, if it’s about someone else.

So whenever you think you have it bad, KNOW that in some part of Africa right now (and i’ve just read this in like Heat Magazine or something,) there are little African girls getting their actual boobies IRONED down, by their own dear MOTHERS, in order to make them less attractive to men. You can’t have your boobies IRONED down! I mean, heellloooo? How are they gonna get free dinners at posh restuarants, by ‘Handsomes’ when their older? I’d die without my boobs! (I’m having an ‘i miss Samuel’ moment. No-one enjoys my fakies like that boy of utter gayage. I love him. We felt each other up, sooo entirely much in the BBF house it was almost pornographic. His bestie ‘Josh’ would always see me out gay clubbing and scream ‘You’re nothing without your tits!!!’ Haha. I love Josh! Those were the days.)

Plus, if that isn’t bad enough..also KNOW that in Russia, some chicks are being kidnapped off their local high street and being stolen to be BRIDES! Eww- eww *terror!* It’s awful, if you’re commitment phobe much. You can’t just steal a bird, to be your wife and it be okay! However, it’s actually NOT against Russian law AND the Russian chickalickers actually don’t mind it.  It apparently means that their parents don’t need to pay a guy loads of money to TAKE their daughter. What an odd concept? ( Put that vodka down bitches. I mean i’ve been a drunken socialite and there’s naked shimmi-ing on top of bars to tropical, ‘in your own head’ beats for attention and then there’s letting some fat Russian dude bag you up and force marriage upon you, to save ya mum a quick penny. If you’re gonna be a drunk and least be a happy one! There’s no way in HELL, you’ll find me being stolen and perfoming horny, naked Russian hat dances, to dirty chubby vodka drinkers, with beards and boners the size of [insert anything in this space, that you find appropriate, here!]

If you’re British you don’t really have it that bad. You just think you do. Do we have it better than the Americans? I don’t know? (I mean, i regard myself as half Angleno, after having emotional grown up in Hollywood for a lovely large luscious decade.) I will tell you that Nicolas Cage just admitted to sitting at home alone and doing drugs with his cat…Therefore take what you will from that and wave any flag, be it Union, Starry-striped, Skull and boned or even Rainbow.. and do it darlings….with Pride!

I love you my pretty kitty cats! xxx

Ola and I argueing in the back of a taxi, on the telly about Carrie! (She’s left, i’m right…just incase you can’t tell the difference between ethnics. )

So i’m reading this book, which is telling me that there is a parallel version of me living right now, this second, but in MY future and i’m desperate to know what they’re doing and whether i’m surrounded by pure luxury, bubble baths and kittens. If not, i’m gonna have to rewind and change a few things around until i am…and i have grapes being served to me by shirtless Greek Gods, and butlers shining the perfect lighting on me whilst i *wink* at my boudior filled with material pieces of object.

Then there’s another book (which i regard as my saucy Bible of naughtiness) telling me that it’s important to take a moment out of life, to sit in *calm* and play with the art of ‘flashback.’ (Well i do that, all the time…accidentally…even when i don’t want it to.) It reads: ‘For all of us there is a moment that epitomises our lives- a moment when your more yourself than any other time, an instant of absolute self realisation.’ That moment is apparently when you think back in flashback form, to a moment you can remember from your past. You know how we have odd *flashback* events that we can remember from the past? Well yeah kittens…that! Try it. What do you remember?

Well my moment is ofcourse made up of loads of moments. I’ve lived this bitty life of insanity. It seems my mind shoots me everywhere and anywhere through all of my ages, decades and years. Even if i don’t want to venture there. If i *mind* back to my childhood, to my earliest memories…what i remember is being about 4 years old and sitting in the dark, of my parents lovely home in Doncaster. I was kneeling by a rolled up ‘carpet log’ of future lay down, in my mum & dads bedroom. Most children would begin to play with Barbies, i guess? I got a box of yellow Swan matches, and began striking them for no reason, other than the fact that i loved to watch a flame dance. I think, il oved bringing  light into darkness. I thought it was magical. Or maybe i just wanted to celebrate a moment…with fire. People do that! Romance is celebrated by candle light. Disney land is celebreated with fireworks. I remember feeling at peace, calm and happy. I always do, under, by or near flames. I love sparkling light.

My ‘love,’ all went a bit too far though, because then i wondered what would happen if i lit the match, watched the dancing flame, then threw it on the carpet I did this quite a lot. After i had thrown the lit match and watched it land on the log of rolled up carpet, i would wait calmly, to see what would happen, then quickly *blow* it out, before the whole room set on fire.

At four years old, i knew that i HAD to *blow* it out, in order to not cause chaos and be safe. At Twenty four, i forgot that concept and just let the whole shit (which was now my life) BURN. (And in Hollywood, after a giant emotional beat down. Yippee!)  It’s weird how to can sort of look back and see how your earliest mememories or actions mirror your adult life. ( I also had a mud pie restuarant in our garden, full of imaginary customers and a whole stressful pretend love life at 7 years of age. But that was hilarious and my little secret vice of creativity. I’m actually laughing at how, *all the way* i took the drama of it all. To my slinky little waitress walk, to my huffing and puffing at how stressful my mud pie kitchen was, due to all the pretend orders. Lol. )

 To me and for that moment…it was real! I loved playtime and the gift of being an only child…until i was 8. I played like no other…and oddly sometimes it would get a bit pretend raunchy. Lol.

The other *flashbacks* i can sort of still see from my youth, is being at my child minders home, who i LOVED ever so muchly, at about 5. I’m knelt down in her living room, by a low cupboard and the room is all a grey/blue. She asking me if i want to share my orange felt tip pen with other people, or whether i just want to keep it for myself. I’m telling her i want to save it for myself and not share it at all…and she’s telling me off for being ‘selfish.’ LMAO! I remember that clearly. She was pretty much my second Mother and boy did i need one. I don’t mean because i had a rubbish First one…because i luckily had AMAZING first one. I guess, what i’m trying to say is that i’m a girl who not only needs a whole lot of warm supervision, and guidance. But i also have a terrible need for bundles of affection and a glorious amount of GOOD  attention.

I enjoy how this morning, i was being forced to sniff my own toilet roll….(even though it was candy scented)

….and Miss.Hilton was sitting on about 20 bags of rather glamourous ‘I’m going places-in a private jet’ luggage. You can’t win’em all.

Woke up this morning to a friend who believes it’s not at all rude to shove a cylinder of toilet roll in my face, the minute i open my eyes. Was my face crying? NO! Was my face doing a poo? No! She simply (dear friend,) wanted me to smell my own bog roll and because it was delightfully scented! (OMG Chrissie! Even you’re toilet roll smells delicious. Can i keep it?’)

I did find all this pokery quite charming and cute. Therefore with a smile i gave my Queenly nod of approval and she danced around the room like i’d just given her a piece of bread. (She’s on a  diet. A low carb one. We all have a friend who’s on a low carb diet. Yet my friend, goes into my kitchen and stuffs her face with Marks & Spencers biscuits & wonders why her diet isn’t working. I actually think i saw her licking a chunk of raw meat.)

I will tell you that, yes…i am amazing and feeling deliciously GREATNESS this fine morning of Wednesday. I’m slowly catching up on my sleep, so now i’m not all grumbly and *tragic.* There is nothing better than NOT having to train down to London to wake up at 4am and place on a pair of stockings for entertainment. I feel wonderful and because i’m back to chilling and doing one of the only things i love and that (My kittens) is…this…my blog. When i’ve been away getting distracted by nonsense, my time seem to become so scheduled up that my blog, my life, my everything was getting neglected. My blog is my therapy. If i’m not venting it all out, i’m twisting it all in. Twisting inward just isn’t my thing. I’m an outward shimmie girl! If you do not express your emotions…you will become a completely miserable force of self destruction. Be it good. Be it bad. Let it out! (I do mine shirtless. You can too. *Wink-Pout-Hair toss-Wiggle.*)

In that paragraph, what i did want to tell you, was that my delightfully scented toilet roll, actually smells like rose petals and skittles, in one. (I KNOW!!!) It’s like a rosey-candy smell of yum yum and it is the most superior toilet roll in all of the land. If you’re really not using it, then you’re not really a glamour puss. I’ll let you all smell it, but i’ve given it to my low carbed friend who’s finally dandied off to her own house. I’m a great host. But i can’t deal with people who are carb free and hormonal. I’m the no diet Kitty Queen. I love my curves and can’t bare to see someone starve.

Girls..when you learn that boys love curves..you will be happy. I mean we all have those days when we look in the mirror and think we’re ugly, or chubby, or not hot enough, or simply just plain. Even to this day, i feel that way on the odd, lonely occasion ans usually when i feel that way,it’s when something has happened to me in my love life or work life. It’s more an internal pain, then external.

The trick is to just work what you’ve got and confidentally. Behappy about it and CELEBRATE IT. (I say that all the time, but only because you kinda need a reminder.)  I find beauty in everyone, be them plain, dollified, surgeried, or natural. Your personality and ‘Ooh laa’ count! It makes a GIANT difference. Sometimes very pretty people forget to develop a delicious personality, because htey are guarneteed some kind of attention for merely existing. Yet at the same time, people who do not regard themselves as beautiful or sexy, forget to *show off* their personality, due to lack of confindence and that too is just as bad. Be brave. Don’t take yourself seriously. But most of all have fun! Play with life! Keep that mind a cheeky! *Giggles.*

Now, i get a lot of flack for strutting around all glamour pussy, in diamonds, and heels, all a *pout* and a *winky.* But i’m celebrating ME and fun, and who i am. I love life and being Chrissie Wunna! I love people! But i will tell you that I really am one of the best people i know. I’m really good friends with myself. I’m confident, fun, cheeky, and loving. I’ll open my arms (and legs ) to everyone and anyone, warm heartedly…even if they’re about to screw me over. (And not the good kind.) When you enjoy you’re own company, you can spread the joy to others. People like that person because they associate them with fun, laughter and happiness. Remember that Dollies! There is nothing wrong with loving who you are and rejoicing it to the world!

I’ve actaulyl just read that previous blog i wrote about Loverboy and cringing. LMAO! God, i’m a twat at times. Yes, we have made up and we’re back in a mode i like to refer to as *cuddley-buddley.* I called him last night (I’m soft, i know, but i love him.) It really was the best thing to do, because we got straight back to how we are,which is romantic and loving and gigglyand happy. With a tiny, ‘over the phone’ eskimo nose rub. ( I do that to him quite a lot.) Followed by a cutsie screw up on my face. We glided upward back to cloud 9, where we flew down from and as he apologised.. ( I never did. Hahah. Got away with it much!)..I realised how happy i was.

I mean i’m now going to have someone to *kiss* under fireworks and eat candied apples with on Bonfire night. I’m now gonna have someone to dress up for on Halloween. (I love that i was a Sparrow last year. A fucking sparrow. *Mental case.*) But most importantly, i’m gonna have a ‘lovely’ to spend a magical Christmas with and *smoochie* under the mistletoe. We’ll celebrate the art of gift giving, stocking filling and love. Awww…. It’s my FAVOURITE TIME OF YEAR! Ugh, i wish it was Christmas NOW! (Plus, i have a Crimbo birthday bitches!)

My life is a changing so fast, along with the seasons. This year has been a year of the BIGGEST immediate changes! You will all hear about all of that jiggery pokery later. But right now, just enjoy being you and kinda being YOU, in JULY! Time is such a weird thing. It’s an illusion. It’s a structure that has been placed on this earth for us to navigate our way through life in an orderly fashion. I hate time. It makes us panic and stress and feel like we’re not doing well enough for a certain month, year, time, or age. I never wear a watch. I only wear watches (if i so wish) for decoration and honestly never for time telling.

You can have anything you want at ANY time. Age does not matter. It’s just how you decide to use your life and mind that matters. I mean i hear little boys and girls stressing because they’re never gonna make it in showbusiness because they’re now 23 and i LAUGH. It shows me how little they know about the world, life and entertainment. It’s just an excuse they use in order to massage over the fact that they might not have tried hard enough. I know plenty of people who have made it BIG and not oneof those people ever said that! They ALWAYS knew they were going to make it no matter what. I also found that they didn’t waste time thinking about their age, and put their time to better use…which was working on their craft!

I love you. Oh go on… like…Forever.

Loong day! Today was the day that Loverboy and I went on an afternoon of appartment/house hunting…a job that i find tedious, boring and draining. I actually hate it and have zero interest in such a task. I mean, i’ve lived everywhere and in about 14 different places since being 19. This isn’t such a big deal to me. Just *point* and i’ll move my shit in. Done deal.

Pete..on the other hand, treasures this moment like it’s the most preciously, exciting time of his life. He’s probably lived in approximately ONE place since moving out of his parents and regards a *move* as a BIG thing…especially one with me, as it notches other solid step with ‘The Wunna,’ that he’s managed to achieve.

Bottom line…we fought…and about 20 minutes ago i *hair tossed* & flounced out of his car, with a stern home truth, topped off with a *slam* of the door. I was also in my hot yellow jacket , which always makes me feel powerful. *Strut-strut-get out of my way.* His new thing is, dropping me back off home when i’m moody, to try and punish me. *Snooze* I’m not 5 years old. Plus, if i was…i’d love my naughty step. The bad thing is that it always backfires on him, because whenever he drops me off, all i do is walk out of his car and gallop into my home merrily. I’m happy anywhere. I enjoy my own company. You open a door and i’ll *shimmie* out of it, with a smile and a glint of *adventure* in my eye.

I’m feisty today, really feisty and this afternoon ended with him making cheap ‘heard them all before’ remarks about my life and how i don’t actually now what a normal life of reality is. ERM???? Just because i worked hard, moved to Hollywood, made a lot of money, lived my dream, struggled my way to getting on a fun show, and gave up everything for my career as a young twenty year old, doesn’t mean i don’t know what a normal life is! I came from a normal life. I worked hard for what i wanted. I worked hard for my dream…which was pretty much OUT OF Yorkshire, in Hollywood and in entertainment. I achieved my fairytale, due to ambition, love, determination and dedication. Just because another ‘being’ didn’t…doesn’t mean they have to take a jab at me to make themselves feel better. That’s the second indirect sarcastic *jab* he’s made at me recently. The first being yesterday over dinner. I’m not liking it and well i felt attacked. So what did i do…i told him a  few home truths about himself…which ‘oh dear’ he didn’t enjoy too much! I’m really angry at him right now. Therefore, i’ve opted for spending my free time with my family, friends and cyberland fans. It makes me happy, because i feel much more appreciated. If i do anything, i champion people on to celebrate who THEY are and make encourage them to chase their dreams. When some boy is giving me the ‘well it’s not like you’ve had a proper job’ speech. It irritates me.

Entertainment IS a PROPER job, if you do well at it and i’ve done well. I’m happy. He’s just pissed off because i’ve followed a dream and managed to do something that i adore.I celebrate it loudly with a cheeky gallop of ‘ooh laa.’  He never did follow his dream because (wait for it) OH LOOK…he couldn’t be arsed! He grew up around friends who didn’t care about their lives too much. I grew up around Hollywood friends with a delicious sense of drive and ambition. It rubs off on you. You’re a product of your environment.

I feel like he tried to verbally ‘have a go’ today… but couldn’t. I’m as strong as they come. You try and get me from any angle. You’ll bounce right off me, without me even having to say anything. I’m not like one of his normal chavy girfriends. If you’re gonna date Chrissie Wunna, then you’ll learn how i do life! You can either fight the force out of fear or join it. I suggest you join..and simply because i make great cocktails. (I don’t make them. I buy them.)

Anyhow, this will all be sorted by tonight or tomorrow, so i’m having a quick vent. But i’m not apolgising. He can. I don’t know what’s up with him right now? Yet that behaviour is not only unacceptable, but also ‘tired.’ Boys gets like this with me after a while. It was almost like…and dare i even say it…But yeah, it was almost like,  for one tiny moment.. he was jealous. (I don’t enjoy boys like that. Same story, different face.)

After we saw some tiny appartment in Leeds today, we actually had a really lovely time. We first went for drinks at ‘The Lounge’ which was all lush, divine and sexy. Littered with extravagant velvet rouge chairs of ultimate glamour. I only got a cranberry juice and weirdly, i’m liking being all *teetotal.* Who’d a thought?

Anyhow because they wouldn’t let us order off the Supper menu, Pete decided he wanted to leave and go to ‘Nash’s’ which is an old school fish & chip restuarant. It’s actually amazing,. I mean as soon as you wlak into that place, you feel like you’re immediately glided back int ime to another era. The place smelt delicious…asn well i’m northern. I LOVE a good old plate of the best cooked fish and chippies! It was delicious, but the venue began to smell a bit like a Grannies closet.

To my left was an old couple. Probably in their 70′s i think? They were dressed to the nines, which i actually truely love. Music from romantic olden times were playing, the place with decorated with dark wood and oozed a decades old atmosphere. There were large old fashioned cages with fake birds in them.. a swinging. (As in merrily and not as in partner swapping during sex.) Not only did i notice that the granny had a black jumper on and a bright red berret. But i also noticed that whenever she was super full she would give out a GIANTLY loud *BURP* without a care in the world…almost as if she was a pirate. I LOVED that, but unfortunately can’t help but piss myself in those situations.

I laughed out loud, whilst trying to hide behind a cuppa tea. (Not a very good thing to hide behind really.) I looked at her, after really trying hard not to and she gave me a *wink.* Which i returned with a polite *giggle.* I WANT to be her, when i’m old. I’m sit their in my red berret, burping air back into my system loudly for attention. I can’t wait! (Well, i kinda can.)

Lunch was lovely. I bought us it, because at that time Loverboy and I were being all cute and lovey dovey. It was the car journey back home where the bickering began. He wanted to go from estate agent, to estate agent, and look at as many houses as possbile that were for sale, in the nearest nicest block. I was exhausted. I still am from London and i’m in a condition where i’m getting tired really easily because e’s on a different body clockage to me.

I will have got up at 4am, worked for the morning, written for a bit and got my groove on. He will them hang out with me, but instead of granting me much needed early night, he keeps me up and working on his body clock.

The other night, we took me to Mal Maison in leeds for a groegous steak dinner. I was utterly exhausted, but still dolled up and without complaining went with him. It is such a deliciously divine place. Yet i couldn’t really enjoy it because i was so tired. That ‘too tired’ when you feel like you’re simply existing in some parcel of flesh, that seems to be functioing hazily, yet you do not know how. I couldn’t even keep my eyes open. But i did it, and i did it for him!

I had been up for 20 hours of that 24 hour day…and Loverboy (Mr.Fairytale) couldn’t be arsed to think of that due to his drinking and smoking. He wanted to carry on going out with me. But i just couldn’t. Infact, he kept rubbing in the fact that I must be ridicluously tired. THEN TAKE ME HOME!

When i did get home i just *passed out* in my sheets in a heavenly fashion. Tonight will actually be great because i will finally get to enjoy an early night, time to relax, recoup and just be me. I can’t wait! I’m excitde! especially after the day i’ve had. I’ve felt a bit *pushed* and hurried into things by him at the estate agents today. I’m have commitment phobia. Pushing and hurrying me into something terrifies me, due to past mistakes. It makes my heart beat faster and my palms sweat. (It’s not a good thing.) Boys always seem to do that to me, because they don’t want to give me time to think. If i think, they fear that i might not go through with it.

Right now, I need space and luckily tonight i will have it. Family & kittens here i come! YIPPEEE! (Aww, i do do adore my tiny kittens. I love my time alone with them. They look at me, like they seem to want something other than food, shelter and booze. That thing is love and if i can do anything, i can sure as hell give love.

Stressful day. Boy drama. Eww! The funny thing about all this, is that we actually and very ACCIDENTALLY wore matching outfits today, in bright yellow. (This isn’t the first time.) Pete enjoys matching. I prefer a miss-match…match. We got called a pair of ‘yellow chickens’ today and ridiculed by polish people. Life couldn’t be better. #saveme