Did you know that you can actually BUY ‘beer goggles’ now? Yeah! No word of a lie. Not sure why anyone would want to purchase such things, unless it was for learning purposes of how not to ‘pull a pig’ when the club clock’s tockers, tick 2.02am? I found them in a magazine yesterday, whilst i was trapped in my Mums office as she tended to being a Doctor, and i tended to sorting out my schedule for BBC3 to film and applying to be an Elf for Christmas. The beer goggles simulate drunkness intensely so you know what it feels like to be trashed, if you never have been. Look…it was a day of work, book meetings, trains, tuna and family planning clinics. All i wanted was for it to be Christmas. Please do have mercy. I thought being an elf would be funny…but it’s not anymore. Funny how that happens.

Oh and GET THIS…YESTERDAY at Manchester Piccadilly train station, Hot male models in KILTS were giving away FREE shots of Whisky. They were doing this right infront of me…those fat in all the right places, dreamy, hot, pieces of bitcherooness! UGH. I hate them! If ‘hate’ means ‘SEX.’

Infact, God must hate me. It was like MY DREAM moment. Hot male models, FREE….and whisky. Then to make it EVEN worse…they all bundled around me, with their *winky winky* on, because one of the ‘hotties’ fancied a bit of The old Wunna. (Yeah, yeah..i still got it! *Hair-toss.* It’s my preggo thighs. I hate them…but they seem to pull in the singles, who are solely led by their boners. They terrifyingly have ‘The Beyonce’ in them right now. My thighs that is. They’re off doing their ‘Puuut a riiing on it,’ without my consent.)

Anyway, he shyly muscled up to my side, as i was *pretend* reading the giant train time board and told me i was ‘beautiful’ followed by ‘do you want a shot?’ (Normal code of conduct in my world.) He then looked all dreamy, asked me out on a date and well i only treated myself to a brief glimpse of my hot, kilted, male model, with free whisky. ( I was trying not to make eye contact, simply so i didn’t end up throwing my legs in the air and *pouncing* every sexual piece of his ‘what’s under that kiltness’ and in three seconds flat.) But yeah, he dreamily smoozed in…and i had to *avoid eye contact- giggle* at him, make some poor witty comment, and turn him down with ‘I can’t, i’m pregnant.’ Ugh! What is the Good Lord doing to me!?! Like WHEN do you EVER saunter into a train station on a Thursday afternoon and see hot male models, in kilts with free fucking shots, in a perfectly sweaty glow of a light. Kill me! Slooowly!

I told Loverboy the story (who’s currently in the Lake district for one more sleep) and got an awkward… ‘Oh lovely. Yeah. Niice. I’ve just walked for 8.6 miles, and climbed a ’4 hour’ real life moutain, in order to declare my undying love for you.. and you’re flirting with models  because they have whisky. Don’t think i don’t get hit on! ’  (Yeah, by all the hot shirtless, girl- like strangers, on mountains tops?) I was on the phone to him, whilst laid upon my white sheeted bed. For some reason i found it funny…well more cute that he was doing a 1000 piece jigsaw, as we spoke. We are sooo different and i love him more than anything. Haha. I think we’re similiar in the areas that matter…like the ‘how we love’ areas. I mean how cute. I’m hunting..i mean having   to drag myself away from models, to go to book meetings, whilst contemplating whether i should buy a pair of beer goggles and he’s climbing mountains for me, whilst doing thousand piece  jigsaws in holiday homes, by lakes. Aww…

Saying that, whilst i was stuck with a magazine, in my mums office. I also found that ‘one’ is able to purchase a ‘Mini Testicles shower card,’ which incase you didn’t know…lol..is a little white ‘book mark’ of a card, that a ‘handsome’ can hang in his shower cubicle. Upon this card is a set of balls…replica, gooey, fleshy balls. They have lumps in them. Maybe pretend cancerous ones? Men are meant to feel them up, as they feel their own mid-*wash wash.* How fun! It helps them make sure their hangers are all healthy! Not really my thing. Like why would i want dinner in my shower?(Yes..this is what i waste my time doing. The rest of the time, i’m mistaking friends candles that are WRONGLY disguised as drinking cocktails, as my actual night time beverage and attempting to sip out of them, all unaware. I hate candles that don’t look like candles. Whats the point? Like honestly!!!! I tried to drink one..when drunk..months ago in London. I realized it was a candle. Did one of those drunk ‘am i bothered’ faces…and threw it across the party in disgust.  Oh how i adore me!)

I also found that you can buy a ‘Say no to smoking’ colouring book for children, which when tested on children seemed to, from what i could see, make them pretend their crayons were cigarettes? Plus, an ‘STD Roulette..’ board game. (It’s like a Twister spin board. Yet instead of saying ‘Right foot, Left hand.’ It reads: ‘Herpes, HIV, Gonorrhea, and Chlamydia.’ I used to date a boy who was nicknamed ‘Gonorrhea Wayne.’ That’s what a young, ‘need to be loved’ mind can do to you. Wait until you’re older to fall like the swans. Loverboy and I, are completely in love.. like first time teenager love. Yet the key factor to this little story, is that WE’RE NOT teens!

 When you’re young and inexperienced in this tale of true love…you are blinded by the *boom boom.* Becareful! Same goes for adults. I think most adults i’ve come across need to open up and love without fear. It seems that as people get older, they begin to fear love, due to obvious disappoint in the past. I’ve never been like this and i love that about me. I’m always fresh, chipper and foolish. Which makes me never regret my tale of boy lovers. Pete and i are a perfect match. We are the same, when it comes to this department. He’s almost like my love genius, who comforts me and makes me feel safe, whenever i’m a pathetic mess. (‘Chrissie, i will never stop loving you.’)  Aww…

Shit, i got distracted. But yeah STD Roulette is to apparently help teenagers learn about the infections one can accumulate, if they poke about in peeky holes, that they are not supposed to poke around in! I enjoy the words they’ve used to advertise the game: ‘This colourful roulette game is an excellent tool for starting a discussion about sexually transmitted infections.’ Erm…like any of us WANT to start random discussions of gonorrhea, over cocktails and steak dinners. *Itches crotch- Ooh finds a cucumber?*It then states that it comes with a ‘leaders guide.’ WTF is that!!! I lead the dirty blisters in your pants? Colourful? Oooh my Herpes is rainbow!

It turned almost 8pm and just when I thought life was over… i found a ‘Pocket Uterus,‘ which comes with a detachable Placenta. (Oh what fun? *Confused face*) Sure that’s great on a date! ‘Hey let me show you my Uterus. Wait, no need to get that exctied honey. I have it in my pocket!’ That’s one way to ‘Game over’ your sex life. Plus, a BREAST FEEDING HAND PUPPET! (Don’t ask) It was kinda like a pervy version of ‘Finger mouse.’ It felt up more than piano keys and had a massive open mouth! All of this was under a ‘Different is Beautiful‘ poster, before the phone rang, with a voice of ‘i’m done now.’ Finally, i was saved! I rushed out of that office, and into the black Mercedes home. Bliss!

I do actually think ‘different’ IS beautiful. But only when it’s not being FORCED. I see so many people try to FORCE ‘different’ in order to be noticed. That’s unattractive to me. The ‘different’ i love, is the the ‘different’ that comes from being accidentally hopelessly, different. Its adorable and something that can take you far!

I want my own condom line and i have a human i have saved in my phone under the name ‘Boy.’ Who is that? I am swollen in all the wrong places and with volumising hair products. #BeMe!

 To top it all off…. I’m living in the Uk and i get this little facebook wall post from my past, ‘ Miss you. I’m living in LA now. When you coming back!’

This would all be easier to deal with….if his body didn’t look like…

 …this!

He’s a boy i met years ago on Myspace, in LA. He drove for 2 hours straight just to see me for two minutes. (it’s the only free time i had going spare.) I spent a romantic weekend with him….but then i left, for a much worse option. UGH! (Obviously now i’m chipper and taken….with a *bump* that could frighten the life out of any sane ‘being,’ so i’m happy…..honest )

Yesterday was certainly a day to file under ‘Greatness.’ I had a book format meeting, for my little piece of life writing, that i have a coming out in the new year and well it couldn’t have gone any better. I’m far less terrified, confident and well i pretty much now know what i’m supposed to be doing.

My meeting was in Manchester. So i trained it from Doncaster, at some horrific hour in the morning. at 9.12am, i got bored so i tottered my pretty arse to Starbucks in the Frenchgate Center. Armed with a note pad and a tea…I popped out my notepad…and well this is what i wrote: (I was hiding my bump behind some ginormous blue jumper. I was Ugged up and being a total stalker. I loves it. My nipples looked like beef brugers, but felt as sore as blisters. Ouchy!)

’9.12am. I’m at Starbucks in the Frenchgate center, The cash machine outside the shop of coffeeness would only give me £20, due to it’s lack of funds, when i asked for £30. It suggested i pull out £20.40 instead (on crack much?) Then when i agreed. It laughed, said ‘No bitch’ and spat me out a £20. I can’t be arsed with ATM mind games before noon. I’m having to go through life not pissed, right now. Have a little respect. Already i’ve been controlled by a cash machine. Bad start to the morning. Is that a monkey? [There was an actual man in a monkey suit, walking by, before the shopping centre fully opened.??]

I’m now eating over priced ginger snap biscuits after finishing my greek nutty yoghurt, that made my mouth all bitty. This Starbucks is shit at 9,12am. It’s snoozefest. Mainly because i’m th eonyl being in here, with ‘so far’ 3 laptop bustling business men. One that resembles Bruce Lee and one that could be a lady?

I feel as thought i’m having a ginger snap biscuit ‘party for one.’ I wonder whether they think i look like a tranny? I hate ‘parties for one.’ Especially when they’re labelled ‘Ginger snap.’ This part of my life is filed under ‘waiting.’

I asked my gay friend last night to help me feel like a Glamour puss again, during my pregnancy. He replied with a ‘have to stopped shaving your cooch?’ I looked at him with a face of disgust and responded with a ‘I’m not that far down ROCK fucking BOTTOM. I’m wanting you to save me before i start mulling down that road of bush bar, in thongs.’ He shunned me with a look that he suggested he didn’t feel sorry for my big titted, ‘come to mama’ arse.

I’ve got back ache, a book meeting, a diamond studded, giant pearl ring on and a brokkn Black Berry. I couldn’t sleep at all last night, due to eating these random, what looked like magic Burmese green beans. As a result, i now have the runs. The faces i’m having to pull in order to disguise the fact that i have the runs, are enough to sell me off as Priory material.

I’ve decided that Starbucks is a GREAT palce to stalk people. When i was younger in LA, i’d stalk people in Barnes & Noble. When i say ‘stalk’ i did mean be really creepy and i do mean ONLY with hot guys that could be my potential ‘forever.’ Give me some respect. Tragical!

I’d venture off there every morning, in an array of hot ‘look at me’ outfits. Hotties would spy me and then accidentally on purpose edge into my eyeline in order to ‘macho’ pose for my attention.

I’d ofcourse think I was all sexy and untouchable . Then as they got closer, once their presence was sort of ‘green lighted’. 9i never FULLY ‘green light’ anyone.) I’d slowly realized, whilst they were getting THEIR manly *strut* on, towards me…that I was actually in the SELF HELP section. SELF FUCKING *not at all sexy* HELP section!!!! (In my defence. I do prmosie that i was beautifying the ’Astrology’ section…it was a time where i was meeting ‘handsome’s finding out their star sign and reading up on what i had to do in order to seduce them. Haha. Normal morning for Miss.Wunna. Anyway…they always put the Astrolgy section NEXT TO the Self help ‘i hate myself, have an eating problem, was adopted and my rude parts don’t work’ books.

Luckily i’ve ridiculously charming and can nervously joke my tragic kitty cat way, into the heart of any dear ‘handsome.’

The good thing about having boobies is that boys are stupid enough to fall for them EVERY ‘what a sucker’ time. (‘Oh no, she’s by the Self help section. Oh LOOK…are they E cups?’)

Hollywood taught me some really bad habits. I lessoned in how one can use the way they look in order to get ahead. I always had a personality, so i didn’t have to develop one. Yet i was in my early Wunna Hollywood stages, before i Vixenified. I thought if i could just learn the way of ‘woo-woo’…i’d be a hit and greedily hand scoop anything i wanted.

The tragic thing is…it actually worked.

What i learnt years, years later in 2009 once back in England after having far too much of tinsel town and needing to be who i really wanted to be for a while,. was thet that method ONLY WORKS IN HOLLYWOOD. In England, you have to use your brain & stuff…in order to gain the nations respect. I learnt this the hard way…but finally got it.

Starbuck has got busy. I’ve got to get out of here. My train leave in 15 minutes. Manchester here i come!’

That’s what i wrote during my Starbucks moment. Starbucks should display what people write during their Starbuck moments right?

Anyway, away from all that, i got on my train at 10.42am, saddled with every womens fashion magazine and gossip read available. All the way trhough my journey i was facing a grumpy obese man, with crutches. Then a gaggle of japanese ‘just moved to England and happy’ comers bundled the seats next to me and all this as i wondered why it smelt like urine and got my education in ‘The life of Katy Perry.’ (Wiggling my boobies to her first single and with the aid of Scott Mills won me Hilton shoes…this is why i love her.)

My meeting was actualyl at 1pm and at Manchester Piccadilly station. We were meant to go for food, but my *bump* just wasn’t obiding. My two lit.agents are Karen and Ellie (Helena). Two lovely, feisty northern women with ‘Umph.’ They believe in me and i like that. So again in Starbucks, as others watched on…(we all talk loudly due to our cheap northerness) we discussed my book, the format of it and the big cunning ‘take over the world ‘ plan.

The last half hour of my meeting meandered off to the subject line of ‘breastfeeding’ and Stalking Peter Andre. (‘Yes, but when she does her book signings she can’t just get her boob out and feed the baby. I say cow & gate!/ Yeah but Karen they have big clothy covers now. She can go off and use one of them. Breast is best Chrissie!’) Lol. I love them and simply because you can’t not…out of fear. I enjoy working with women. With our powers combined, we really can take over the world. Add D cups, E cups, G cups and ballsiness…nothing can stop us, bitches! Purr…*giggle*

That time again, where i let you look at what’s in my little box of ‘innage.’

.’What you up to today babe I want your body your hot my little honey pot x x’

.’Hey b, just trying to add you but your bodyguards are not letting me.. so cud u please request me b, so i can accept you into my life…lol..xxx…hope your having or have had a good day…mwah’

.’Where you from sexy?’

.’Hello my sweet Chrissie, I wish sooo much that we could be friends. I hope you answer soon to me!Lovely wishes from my heart to you!
Allways yours’

.’I just wanted to say I’m happy for you and how well your pregnancy is going, and am definitely looking forward to your book.

.’I remember awhile back in your blog you said something about you having a makeup line? If you have time, please get back to me on that, because if you have one coming out, I’ll be all over that shit!’

.’Hi chris dont know if you can remember me, i met you on the train leaving barnsley, i just wanted to ask you if you would like to come to my wedding in april next year, i would love it if you could attend hun.. Please get back to me thank you. xxx’

.’Will you sit on my face’

.’I wish u would give me a chance, u would see how much i adore u’

.’Hiya Chrissie, I can guestlist you..are you bringing anyone? X’

.’You are my idol.’

.’You are such a fake bitch.’

.’Can you send me signed stuff?’

.’Hi im a huge fan of urs i think ur amazing, my account won’t let me add u. so plzzzzzzzzz add me.’

.’Show me your cunt.’

.’Hope you dont mind me contacting you..Im looking for special guests, for a fashion show im putting for ‘The bobi-phiél memorial fund. ‘There will be press involved so its a great oppurtunity and experience all round, hope to hear back soon.’

.’Munich is very nice.. you want to come to munich? ’

.’I saw you in TGIs on Saturday. Would have tried to get a picture with you, but it looked like you were having a meal with your family. How’s life going?’

I tend to compare this years inbox, to the messages i would recieve a year or two ago. Oh how times have change. A year ago i got a lot of ‘you slag’ this, ‘you whore’ that. Then i was littered with words from our nations favourite pervs. Now, i guess people are just normal…(apart from the odd bitch or pervy here and there. But you’d got to love them really. *Cuddles all around* …and maybe a bit of spitting.)

Loving life. Total much. Purr…

Mornng my honey suckles of joy. Whilst you are reading this, i am running around aimlessly attempting not to miss trains in floozey attire and heels, with pretend ideas in my head for a big meeting in Manchester that i have with my literary agent.

I’ve got to be at Manchester Piccadilly by 1pm for my meeting over coffee and i’ve got to be good. They’re gonna show me how to format my book and all that jazz. (Wazza..i soo need that CD.)

Hopefully it’s all going well, i’ve got there on time and i’ve managed to have a bacon sarnie. I’m really excited about my book and i hope you all love it. It’s the first of manya nd well i’m keeping everything..but my crotch…crossed.

I’ve had to totter to Barnsley first to catch a train to Leeds, to then catch a  train to Manchester. But i’ll get there in time. I always flipping do!

If you’re at all wondering how i’ve managed to post this entry. I’ll tell you that i have it on timer. So i can write it the night before (because i don’t get up early enough to have time to blog) and well it publishes whenever i *wink* at it. Bottom line…i’m magic.

Love you lots. Make your dreams come true and if anyone tells you that can’t…get back in their face and politely tell them you CAN! (The key is to do it with *smiles.*) It’s charm all the way dollies. Remember that!

So i found myself infront of the telly watching that MTV ‘Teen Mom’ show again, that one that scares me off ever having children, even though i’m about to pop one out in the new year! *Surprise!* I must be a sexy sucker for punishment. I mean i vowed to never watch it again. But there i was…with my plums. (I’m craving them deeply right now.) Watching away.

I now know why i have arguments with Loverboy about the pregnancy! (Oh here comes the Wunna logic.)  It’s purely based upon me watching this show. I watch. Then I falsely believe that i am 16 and preggo. Then (and because i’m ace) i take out their ‘oh my boyfriend is gone and i’m in high school..i’m ruined’ out on HIM! Haha. I’m mentally ill. Save me. I get so into it, that i believe that i’m that high school cheerleader, that got a bit kinky behind her mums back on the bleachers. Or that redneck, weird southern chubby girl who cries because her car doesn’t work and she failed all her exams because the baby has ruined her life. I’m 29, happy, with a ‘still there for now’ great partner…and yeah i might play cheerleader for him every now and again. *Wink-pout* (Don’t bother girls. Your cheers just end up getting blocked off by sausage meat. You get to the ‘Give us a…‘ (whatever you’re about to gleefully shout) part and before you’ve finished your sentence, the lights have been switched off and your mouth is ungracefully full of boy parts. I just need to remember i’m not 16 and preggo.

Other than that, i’ve spent time with my Mother discussing my British acting school debut, my life, money and love. Then watched kittens poo in inappropriate places, whilst i eat my way through 2 packets of crips, a banana, a snickers bar, a whole pack of liquorice, a breadroll and 2 plums. That’s what i actualyl consumed within approx 2.4 minutes. Fair do’s my Snicker’s was ‘Fun-sized. But whatever…i ate the lot AND yo’ mama. I love the word ‘Fun-sized’ it’s cutsie and full of ‘ooh matron.’ I feel like i’m ‘fun-sized.’ All bimbo delicious, with an innocently clever, giggle of ‘woo-woo.’ I accidentally find myself in the most inapproprite positions. But only because ‘handsome’s can’t stop trying to mitten their ‘grubbies’ all over me. *Runs away screaming.* (What am i talking about? Penis i can handle. It’s the thing it’s attached to that scares me.)

Wazza actually claims that what i ate in two minutes…was ‘normal eating’ for him. I claim that it wasn’t and simply because i didn’t have a whole lasagne for dessert, after a Sunday roast. He also claims that he broke my blog earlier. I’ve forgiven him, as he also then fixed it. I worship those who can break things and then fully fix them. It’s a technique i am yet to master. *Cue: Bag of broken hearts.* I’ve run out of glue and patience really.

Anyway due to my bordeom i’ve decided to maybe become an elf this Christmas. I won’t beable to go out partying. I won’t beable to go shimmie to the merry sounds of gin. So why not waste my time feeling the Christmas spirit? I have actually done this job before, as a child, and found it hilarious. I made a quick couple of grand and worked for about 5 weeks in the most hideious outfit imaginable. (Loverboy will not enjoy this idea. But i’ll find it funny and that’s all that matters really.)

The good thing about being ‘Chrissie Wunna’ is that you can Tweet your mind and out of nowhere people give you what you want. Whether it be pressies, parties, love, or infact jobs at Santa’s Grottos. lol. Now I can’t decide whether i’m actually insane on this one and simply going loopy because Pete’s trolled off to the ‘lakes.’ But i am bored and will be even more ‘yawn fest’ by Crimbo. So why not throw on an elf suit…(even though i’ll be terrifying with my giant bump) and be the most sexual elf ever much. It’s so Me. It’s hilarious.

Anyway i’m fast forwarding to Crimbo. I still have bonfire night and Halloween to celebrate. I’m so super excited much because this year i will actualyl have a proper ‘handsome’ to smoochie under fireworks with and cuddle in mittens with a mouth full of….toffee apple

I’m not big on Halloween simply because it seems to be shit in England. Plus, i’m no longer one for slagging it in a club full of ‘off the tellies’ right now for a bit of spooktastic for some sane reason? I just want to be around my real friends. ( i know, who’d a thought! )

The rest of the year is going to be ACE! But right now, i must shower, tan and bendy roller up. I have a lot of work to get through tomorrow.

Loves

Life has got super hectic, as i attempt to poorly balance some sort of ‘all of a sudden’ work schedule with bambinoism. For some reason i believe that if i had a fish tank and a velvet pink bed sheet, encrusted with diamonds, life would be easier. But really i’m just trying to ‘staple punch’ the bits and pieces together, armed with a bad hair do and a cuppa tea. It’s really hard. *Lets the walls crumble in.* You can’t do anything when you don’t have the right hair for it.

So yeah…i’m under a great deal of pressure right now. *Tries to shimmie it out-but completely loses her ooh laa.*My heads all a haze, due to me fearing the once loved limelight i craved. I have the book and small opportunities arising now, that if worked the right way could plonk me in a place of glory. Yet although i’m a showman, the light of ‘lime’ is something that now terrifies me? How has this occured? I think it’s because once i entered it for my good two minutes, i had never been so judged, torn apart and emotionally egged. However, i think i just need to concetrate on the positive, and that is the free stuff you get, the smiling and waving, the money and i guess the inspiring. I like the inspiring. Infact more than i ever thought i would. (I know, i even make myself sick.)

Loverboy and i had a little falling out last night. Infact a BIG one. One where i get stressed about work and life and cleverly take it out on him. Yippeee! It takes a strong man to be with me. I weed out the faint hearted with my Wunna bullshit. (It comes with feather dusters and tickle sticks…yet still is somewhat torturous.) My hormones (the voices) wanted me to be mean to him because i thought he didn’t love me. So after a bicker, a struggle and a ‘Big Brother Nicky’ Tantrum…i called, then apologized and surrendered to the good in me. How dare i! (God i need another cuppa tea!) *Snaps fingers for an imaginary assistant.* I was awful. Really awful. A proper good time bitcheroo! ‘Hellooo pregasaurus. I see you have returned.‘

Loverboy is venturing off to the Lake District in order to find his inner peace. (Code for ‘i’ve stressed him out completely.’) I’m obviously good like that. Men love me so much, that I make them need to run for the hills…literally. (‘Chrissie, i love you. But you are hard work at times.’) He thinks that i test his love for me, every now and again. I’ve noticied that it’s only once a month..which pretty much just means hormonal. I love him. I do. yet i fear being controlled by a ‘handsome.’ Thank God he can put up with me. (‘I’ll always forgive you.’)

So whilst he’s ‘running.’ I’m getting my *work* head on during the two day little piece of absence. Y’see the pregnancy is driving me mildy insane. *Scrapes other people’s party streamers off the floor* It’s a difficult thing to attempt sober and BBc3 want to film my journey. I’M INSANE!!! MENTALLY! Is this the right thing to do? I could be the next Kerry Katona…before she got well.

 Currently, I look like a tramp or angry asian lady who sells ‘almost dead’ chickens in Soho to tourists, loudly and in chicken smoke. I’m meant to be a Glamour puss. I’ve called upon the help of my gays to aid me through this. I mean, i wanted Mikey Kardashian to ‘doll’ me up and make me feel human once more. Unfortunately, and although he loves me…he has soiled sheets that he needs to tend to. Ones that he’s apparently ‘sexed out.’ Oh those were the days! Everyone keeps telling me how much they miss me and how dull life has become without my presence at the ‘party.‘ Yet when i need a bit of lipgloss…cum stains seem to come before me!!! I’ve taught you all well!

Funny how Loverboy is off to de-stress and rejuvenate by lakes? I’m one to usually find myself moped over some neon lit bar, beating away undesirables, crying into an empty martini, whilst they play my favourite sad songs, around shirtless dancing boys, who like my leopard print heels. He’s going to climb a mountain to prove his undying love for me. Aww…nice touch. Especially since my LA Latin ex is stalking him…makes me look great. I should climb some sort of love mountain…but…well i did and now i’m preggo. *Firmly Closes legs.* I always wanted to ‘adventure’ and to feel free and to do life my way. I guess i did. But I just took it a bit too far! Whoopee! (I really need to STOP watching all those MTV ‘Teen mom’ shows. It’s putting me off having babies…even though i’m 29. I am aware that that IS the whole point to the show, yet the fact that i still believe i’m 16 is worrying. Plus, it’s a bit late now, as i have mine chilling inside me. When in doubt, get ‘House Bunny’ out. That and the ‘Fabulous’ song from High School Musical 2…are the only things that make me happy. As would a fish tank…but only if i didn’t have to clean it.

Work wise, i’m meant to be sending my actual work schedule to Ross for the BBc thing, so they can have a ponder and see what they might want to film. I haven’t managed to get a hold of it yet…so that hasn’t been done. *Hurry-hurry*

Tomorrow i have my meeting in Manchester for my book formatting thing. I’m terrified, due to the pressure. It makes me feel a bit snowed under in Autumn. But only because i so want it to work. If i could sell millions of books, and do nothing else in life…i’d be a happy Puss in stockings. Yet my life is never that easy! I’m always having to scramble over rocks and bumps ungracefully. You really can achieve anything you want to. If your struggling, then you might aswell keep it up. I mean you’ll get there in the end, if you stay focussed. I think of all the time i’ve had to struggle and thought well i can’t give up now, because it would’ve made all that time a complete dirty waste. Finally after years i’ve been given a green-ish light. I want to write and i want to be dead good at it. I’ve realized i can only do this drunk.

Other than all that, i’ve enrolled in acting school. I’ve already been to acting school in LA, yet never in England. So i’m going to have a bit of a dabble. I think i’d be alright at it. Plus, it is initially want i wanted to be in life…an actor. Therefore it’ll make me smile, if nothing else. I’m not looking for big time movie stardom. I’m happy. I just want to pull a pint at The Rovers and gossip about Emily Bishop. You have to make sure you have a go at everything, don’t you? I can’t think of anything funnier.

 The only way to be a good actor is to live. When i was in Hollywood, i hadn’t yet. Now i have utter life experience. Therefore why not? It’ll keep me busy. Keep me happy. (Did i tell you that Loverboy would like me to be a housewife so that i don’t run off with anyone else? Aaah that sweet swwet moment of possession. I might even end up in a cage like Katie Holmes? How fun. He’s got nothing to worry about. I don’t do running. I *strut* ignorantly. I think i’ve started to terrify him. I love preggo insecure me. It’s funny.)

Oh i’ve also tried to sausage in and score me a place on a Channel 4 sketch comedy show. I quite enjoy a bit of sketch comedy because i’m a  fan of sheer silliness. Especially sheer silliness for money. I’m ballsy and find my tragic self inappropriately hilarious, so i figured it’s worth a shot. I can rock and roll my pretty self to some kind of victory. I have boobs and everything. I call them my deal closers. You hear ‘No.’ I hear, ‘But have you not seen my bare boobs?’ Saying that it could all be too late. They start filming in a week.

So yeah life is good. When i blog i feel better. I mean i couldn’t get online all day yesterday and i was quite a miserable cow of ‘imaginable.’ I was ready to throw myself off a block of flats, simply for entertainment. I’m a modern day computer geek. Who can only use a computer if Wazza has told me what to do?

Although i’m feeling under pressure and bit terrified with the walls all a crumbling. (Not sure why potential ‘limelight’ is scaring me?) I’m trying my hardest to stay as sane as possible. It can work. Anything can work. I’m keeping my head down and eye on the prize. But first…the baby.

This part of my life, i’ve filed under ‘Stressed.’

I’ve staggered in this morning at 9.34am in a blue, ‘Tropical’ dress, that was far too long for it’s own good, that i had been wearing for three (or was it two) days straight, and during one of the best weekends ever. After my usual Saturday of shopping…(dresses were purchased, bacon sarnies were had)..Loverboy asked me to come over and play. (We always oblige when we properly fancy people, don’t we. Story of our tragic lives.)

For the past 2 days i’ve played ‘wife’ and bizarrely, it’s been GREAT. We’ve spent full entire days together and well it’s actually working out! ( I know, even i’m shocked, at my own wonder!) Oh and happy 6 month anniversary to us! (I’m usually good at doing the ‘wedding’ part of the ‘wife’ deal…but the marriage parts never fails to confuse me. Before you all start…no we’re not married.) Loverboy’s a clever little so & so. He eases me into his future, through trickery. Works every time. I’ve never woken up to a boy and been puzzled by the fact that they just want me and forever and because, they actually truely love me. I mean, Cupid usually toys with my heart strings with thumby games of ‘Fooled you bitch. Ha ha..not at all funny.’ Yet this time *pinches herself* it’s actually for real. I played wife and i was rather ACE at it. IN YOUR FACE! (Why am i currently wishing it was Christmas?)

I can sum my weekend up in the simpliest of words: ‘Work, Photo shoot meetings, shopping, wishing i was more tanned, steak, sex and Pete.’ Add lots of love, and being hit on by a 3 year old, who had just discovered women and you have it all. (He was sat on a highstool stool next to me at three years of age, wondering what all my ‘girl parts’ were?  We had a similar conversation to one i have had many a time in a bar, with a drunk. It was Greatness. Boys are boys, be they 3 or 33. Then he unfortunately needed to leave for being inappropriate and started crying because his sister was eating his ‘Jazzles.’ :) )

Other than all that, my blue dress from the tropics (by ’tropic’s i mean ‘New Look’)  took up most of my weekend. I’m usually quite a Goddess in long dresses, yet i don’t think i’ve tripped over anything more. I’ve never sworn at a piece of fabric in my entire LIFE, more than at this dress. When your own robe is hindering your *strut* through life, you know you’re in trouble. ‘Hello self destruction. May i be your friend? The good life won’t have me.’ Saying that the only long dresses i’ve ever worn have been wedding dresses, so maybe the *tripping* is caused by my delicious inner fear of ‘forever.’

I’m really happy right now. Infact, so happy that nothing can pick away at it. It’s solid. I’m happily complete and armed with a loving deliciousness. One that’s sooo strong that it could only possibly be formed from struggle and i fi’ve doen anything in life…it’s struggled. All the way through it…if i might add. I’ve sort of high heeled stumbled my way through Hollywood, breaking down emotionally, lost, confused and insane, under the misconception that i was happy. I struggled, mentally, emotionally, financially and physcially. But i fought with that old inner strength that everyone says i have somewhere inside me. (It pops out when i least expect it to..sort of like my Facebook chat pervs…) and funnily enough, it worked. I got through it and with trophies! (Okay, no trophies…just bruises and herpes.)

It took some time, i do admit. I mean, on March 6th 2010, my life changed and finally for the better. I finally got to *breathe* and be handed my happy ending. (Boys are currently trying to play ‘truth or dare’ with me on Facebook. Why? As if i don’t know, it’s just a trick that ends in ‘do you do webcam?’ *Yawn.*)

I sat on a large leather sofa last night, in a ginormous ruby warm living room, with my handsome’s head laid upon my lap. (He was still attached to his head.  I do mean like a loving couple, and not like ‘i eat people.’) We were watching a movie, something really simple..really normal. Yet i’d never been so happy. I’m finally getting to live a rather normal existance..that i actually ADORE..One that’s full of love, laughter and wholeness. The actually adoring something ‘normal‘ is BIG with me, as it’s never happened before. I’ve always strived for trouble and excitement. Y’know, that ever so delicious *ooze*of MORE, MORE, MORE!  I guess, Loverboy has made me appreciate the simple things in life, that i usually shunned as ‘blah.’ I shunned ’love & harmony,’ for drunk, red carpetted parties as ‘Blah.’ That’s how lost i was! Yipppeeee! Now i’m in a position where i can have both…a complete balance and well life couldn’t be any better. I’ve never felt so powerful. I’m finally ‘Chrissie Wunna.’ (And bitches, i’m still in sequins.)

But ofcourse, my pretties, all this joy and happiness couldn’t be given to me without a bit of the old ‘hate’ mail. A delicous inbox fluttered with love and the occasional bit of ‘ You utter whore.‘ So ‘Barbara Wagner’ (lovely lady..must be, with all her manners and everything) sent me this bit of adoration, under the subject heading of ‘You’re not all that, trust me:’  

‘YOU LOOK LIKE A VERY CHEAP WHORE. WHAT’S THE OLD SAYING YOU CAN’T MAKE A WHORE A HOUSEWIFE’

Like i always say, most people who fall in love and are blessed with a future bambino get a very normal ‘Congratulations.’ I get *read above.* I always think it’s some little 20 something year old girl, hiding under a blanket of  ’fake profile’ who needs to express their sheer innner beauty at me. So i calmly replied informing her that the difference between her and I, is simply the fact that ‘I’ (Ultimate Glamour Puss extra-ordinaire)  would NEVER send a girl i don’t know the above message, due to respect, decency and politeness. That’s why boys like me more and pretty much why i’m better. #dealwithitbitch (I don’t have time for all this, when there are shirtless boys willing to perfom the Macarena.)

The ‘whore’ part i’ll give her. It happens to the best of us. But the ‘Housewife’ part she can shove up her [insert anything abusive here.] Just because you can’t do ‘floozey’ better than me. Yet i can still probably play ‘Housewife’ off like a championo, (it’s all in the chest) doesn’t mean you have to get all insecure and litter my inbox with ‘blow your house down’ green eyed, irrational behaviour. The answer to your problems is BOOZE. Drink it. You will feel better, maybe even sexy? Infact, d’ya know what? (It’s a bit of a long shot…) But yeah…you might even finally feel ‘whole.’ Lord have mercy! Saying that you’re probably a miserable drunk. At least i KNOW how to shimmie to rum.

I think i’m quite lucky. If that’s the only drama i had to deal with today, then life is pretty good. I’m just tired of people guessing their version of me, building up an incorrect story of malice in their wonderfully creative head and performing their ‘knickers in a twist’ routine at me via inbox. (I’d just prefer it if it was in poetry.)

Anyway away from all that nonsense….I actually felt a bit ill this afternoon. I had to come home and take a nap, simply to recovery from my weekend. I’m not sure recovery naps are the way forward? I had to share an air mattress last night and every time Loverboy (who for ‘can’t get comfy’) moves, i seem to *roll* off my side of the air mattress, all boobies, big knickers and *shocked face.* I bet i looked delicious…with half my makeup *smeared* across my face, one eyelash on, one eyelash off…knickers fit for a tranny. It was pitch black and there i was *toppling* off an air matress, armed with my *bump* and into blue/grey chairs, whilst listening to Pete get all excited about a bit of ‘rumpy.’ Preggo, frigid Chrissie ‘Put out’ twice over the weekend…so he’s one happy chappy.

I’m literally starving. I have to gallop off and find me something to munch on. I oddly need more rest and quite possibly some noodles.

Thank F*** it’s Friday! Not that it makes any difference to my actual life, another day of debauchery, another tango of *ta-ta.* Just got off the phone to the photographer that’s gonna shoot a couple of my Book Cover ideas for me. It’s all rather technical now, as i have a tiny *bump* to hide, mid *pout-pout-ooh.* Luckily, that’s not at all a problemo due to the niffty finger work of editors. (That sounds a bit naughty.) Just the way i like it. *Bedroom eyes.*

I’m gonna be shooting a couple of my ideas…in October and also fitting in a set or two with Loverboy. But that’s just so we can have them and *swoon* over them and place them online, for others to lick. I’m quite excited because i haven’t managed to shoot in ages. So gimme, gimme, gimme. Me! Me! Meeee!

I’m glazed over with a sheer sense of happiness today. There’s something in me (oh er) that’s making my eyes smile. I’ve done all i had to do, ( and read a couple of angry emails) therefore now I may commit to be a Glamour Pussy, ladyof leisure. I meet my ‘handsome’ later on in the day. He’s at work, and taking trips to the dentist. Whilst he’s a ‘scale-polishing’ I’m sorting out my comestics line, having to think of book cover ideas, looking forward to the rest of my preggo journey and loving The Saturdays new reality show. I used to fancy Molly. But now i like Rochelle, simply because Molly’s just a bit too ‘country house-tea party’ for me. You’ll always love the one that you’re most like. The one you most relate to. Hence why people have favourite anythings. Loveroby loves me not only because i have great boobs, i’m flirty and whats the phrase? Oh yeah…a kitten of marvel. He mainly loves me (and i mean true loves me) because i’m very similiar to him.

Anyway, it was great talking to you all last night, due to the fine art of Twitter. My Favourite Tweet was from @GaryPonty, who claimed that the next time i decide to get pregnant, i should *hump* near a cocktail (i would’ve gone for a bottle of Malibu,) as it will be the only thing that acts as a form of contraception for me. (I have far too much ‘ooh laa’ for a condom. They see me and melt with glee.) Apparently, I’ll see the cocktail and remember that if i fall preggo, i will suffer the pain of ‘No booze for 9 months,’ and therefore in a moment of panic, i’ll karate chop the ‘handsome’ off me and spoon my Malibu bottle with a pure inner peace and a smile that suggested ‘forever.’ Some people will have photos of their loved ones, that will remind them of their guilt, peace or true loves. I see booze and just like Shakespeare (what am i talking about. I mean Candace Bushnell,) will turn it into a love story, whilst surrending to the sheer powers of it.

He (@GaryPonty) then said he was going to come over to my house, set himself on fire and let me watch the ‘maddness’ with toffee apples and mittens. How genius! I love members of the world, who truely know how to commit to a bit of entertainment for a kitty cat. Who needs shirtless dancing boys? (Erm…Me?) …When you have human bonfires, who let you eat toffee. [Hang on my phones ringing...it's the book cover people, for the shoot. They're quite eager to get me in. I can't actually shoot until October. Yet i seemed to have managed to get me in to have a bit of a banter tomorrow at 11am.]

I’m going through this phase where i don’t want to clean anything up and instead just want to throw it all away and buy it new, when it’s dirty. We’ve established i’m not a hoarder…i don’t like to keep lots of anything anymore. Be it boys, shoes, bags, rubbish…anything? I will either constantly *refresh* my current surrounding to keep it kicking or have ONE of something that treasure so deeply, and quite loyaly WEAR down with love until it disappears. Hurrah! (The weather is again, lovely today!)

I was reminded of a time when my LA agent friend Mike Bircumshaw, had a ginormous dinner party at a rather grand, grand, big gay table. It was surrounded by the best cooking and all sorts of important folk who had just cast Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls etc…etc…that’s all i can remember really. I was trashed and in leopard print.

I slept over because i wanted to go to The Abbey the next morning for afternoon cocktail drinking. My way of cleaning his table up, that fine Sunday morning, after seeing it littered with empty glass ware and secrets from the evening before, was to rummage for a giant grey bin bag, open it up at one end of the grand table and with one GIANT *sweep* THROW everything that was on the table INTO the bin bag and leave it outside with the trash!

Unfortunately he had personally RENTED all his dinner ware. Oops. But  he adored my for my troublesome ways! Yippee!! So not only did he let me off, but he also bought me raspberry mojitos! SCORE! It’s that old Wunna Charm. I do trouble with a smile. (The first time i met him, we swapped clothes on bar stools at The Abbey…for fun.) Fron that day on, i was his official fag hag. (I’m actually everyones fag hag. It’s not who’s fag hag you are? It’s how many gays, you…as a fag hag…have collected! Call me Queen!)

Anyway i can’t be bothered to do this now. It’s far too sunny outside for anyone to be in and it’s Friday. I need Gok Wan to dress me, because i don’t know how to look hot preggo? I can’t believe it’s already 2pm. Oh how time flies!

‘The bank of Wunna’s Knickers…kicks Barclay’s Ass’ (Quote by Mark Byron. He always finds money in my Victoria Secrets.)

Woke up this morning on an air mattress, next to a dreamy mixed raced handsome of ‘lover lover.’ (Note: I am actually talking about my darling little Loverboy. My one, my only, my forever…blah, blah,blah. Ever the romantic. I mean, i didn’t just silent movie *creep* onto an air mattress, with an *ooh* face and tucked in boobies, that had a random, shirtless mixed raced boy laid upon it. (‘SURPRISE!!!’ *Opens shirt, shimmies bare chubby chest!*) That was Wunna 2004..5…6…7..and 8. Oh and 9? I’m all terribly loved up, now that 2010 has hit me. Sooooo loved up, that i chose to actually breed with this ‘handsome’ (HURRAH) and simply because he wasn’t anything like my last 10 boyfriends, who i filed under ‘loser much.‘) I mean he still gets ‘bare chubby chest’ shaking. Yet when he squeezes them i don’t feel *heartbreak*…they just *honk.*

I actually had the best, sleep ever. It was like sleeping on a bouncy castle, yet one that was at his parents home, perfectly wedged between four walls which form the living room labelled ‘Nana Jones.’ I’m an affectionate kitten of ‘ooh,’ (I’ll force- kiss you, with my fish lips, whether you like it or not.) Therefore, waking up, in last night’s makeup, in a tank top reading ‘I *heart* Me’ and being able to kiss the forehead (not that forehead we did that, and i got pregnant ) of my beautiful gent of deliciousness, makes my world complete. He’s going to be my *baby daddy.* I’m lucky to have picked a hot hero…(even i’m shocked!!) I mean, i usually pick far shitter men. Men than don’t deserve a bit of The old Wunna. Cupid could have swung me a complete waste of time. Yet he didn’t, proving that good things happen to good people and that’s no matter what. Those who are rooted with evil, yet try their hardest to smear  a buttery *good* on top of it…always fail. The way they suffer is by having to watch ‘the good’ move forward  in life, to a better platform. When ‘the bad’ think they’re getting ahead, they really never are. *Yawn.* They’re just jogging on the spot…pointlessly and due to bitterness.

So i’ve totally decided that I love air matresses after spagetti bolognese and sparkling  water. Infact i remember the last thing i saw before my eyes decided to quit living through Wednesday Sept 1st, 2010, was Dom Jolly, getting pissed up on Moonshine, with a bucked toothed red neck, by an open fire, playing some kind of crap D.I.Y banjo. No wonder i woke up happy! My eyes are actually sore from sleeping in my contact lenses, but fuck it…i’ve woken up with a lot sorer parts, so i’ll take sore eyes on a Thursday anyday! How nice is the weather today! I mean, heelllo Indian Summer! (The last time i woke up on an air mattress by the way, was when i was dating some annoying alcoholic New Jersey marine, in LA. He yelled in his sleep and muttered about plant pots. Although he was great at gift buying. He unfortunately was lacking in the department of ‘truth telling.’ Bless his navy socks…or whatever they were? Yeah..telling me you had a wife would have been good!!)

Loverboy was feeling all on top of this world this morning, therefore commited to cooking me breakfast. I’m a Glamour Puss…but i’m quite partial to a fry up. Strange things happen to me during a fry up intake! I think at 10.05am this morning, over bacon, i decided i was going to go to law school and be an Attorney. (I know right? How Elle Woods.) But i really did. Then within 4 minutes, i changed it to ‘beautician.’ Yet after deciding that they didn’t get paid enough in Ponty, (and probably because beauticians in Ponty make you look like Pat Butcher) i went back to wanting to be a lawyer. I think it’s because i have a *bump.* I feel fat, therefore i consider work options (purely out of boredom) where having a *bump* wouldn’t matter. The fact that i’d only be a lawyer simply to wear power suit outfits and beable to *strut*…is disturbing. I can’t be arsed with saving the day or infact people who fall down holes and want to claim compensation. Plus, i had bacon to finish eating, before finding my ‘handsome’ a new home. ( I think he got one! *Fingers crossed.*) I enjoy that i couldn’t see under my eyelashes, mid-fry up eating. It depicted what was wrong with society today. Who needs sight, when you have these boobs and bacon.

Other than all that, i’ve been enrolling myself in acting schools, pointing up and down my body and telling people they ‘love this shit.’ Haha. I’ve been calling myself a M.I.L.F and i’ve not only felt 100% COMPLETELY in love today, but also along with giving my gays that really great, mildy rubbish *gets you into all kinds of trouble* Wunna advice..i’ve gone off garlic because it keeps giving me a headache. Garlic’s meant to prevent you from kissing undesirables. ‘Oh sorry we can’t make out, i’ve just had garlic.’ But no. Instead, God’s decided to make me eat garlic and then make my head hurt. I need my head. How the hell am i supposed to *Hair-toss?*

Talked to Mikey Kardashian again today and  began disucssing how much we adore the Crazy Bear hotel group. Have you seen their hotel? It’s like the Ultimate Chrissie Wunna, Glamour Puss pool of lushness. I’m taking Loverboy there, so we can pretend we’re Kings and Queens of ghetto fabulousness and i can guzzle champers from brash buckets, whilst shouting ‘Guurl, you bedda check yo’ text. Mmmkay!’  It’s quite pricey, but worth the memory. Mikey stayed there. He showed me his online bank statement. Nothing humours me more than his banking details of ‘this is what i’ve spazzed my money on.’ Know that  the best thing about staying at the Crazy Bear hotel, is the fact that it will read ‘Crazy bear hot’ on your statement…followed by the price it cost you to have that moment. It makes it look like you spent your money on erotic animal porn kingdoms and maybe donkies. I’d spend my money on a donkey. But only if i could call it ‘Susan.’

Anyway, before i start thinking i’m funny and going on a tragic trail of evil….I reminded my glam gay Mikey, that he had exquisite taste. We have the exact same taste in the things that matter in life…like lip gloss and genitals. Then i reminded him to use his great taste for evil and simply because it’s funny. Without a single *pause* for thought. He immediately replied with a ‘…like killing anacondas, bleaching them and making bags? I *heart* my new Jimmy Choo.’ Followed by a glorious picture of it. I LOVE my Fairy Gay Fathers! Gimme! Gimme!

On a more moral note, i did learn a brief lesson today, from Mr.John.Wattis. The Father of my dear dear Loverboy. I get on with the Wattis family really well and probably because i *heart* their baby son very deeply.

Whilst by a bread bin and sat on kitchen bar stools, he reminded dear Peter (after he was going on about how he wanted to spaz his money on modern day luxuries like 3D tellies..) that all that truely matters in life is the relationships you have and keep. Love and happiness. He reminded us that we could live in a hovel, but we’d be the happiest couple this world had ever seen, simply because we had each other and we weren’t STUPID enough to fall for the trap that makes the foolish believe that they are better because they have a better car, a better house, a bigger salary or even fame. ‘You could have every gadget in the world, and still feel completely empty .’

I’ve always thought that about those fighting for fame, (i was one of them in my early to mid-twenties..) were those who needed to feel loved or to fill a void. Which is really different to wanting to make your mark on this world, inspire others selflessly and be happy. Those who are happy doing their craft will do it anyway and without a NEED for fame. (Now, i’m not judging. I’ve been there. I’ve commited to a great deal of jobs before and not out of love, yet simply out of ‘wanting to be famous.’  I’m just reminding you lovely folk about what truely matters, in order to get ahead.)

For example, i wrote my blog for years and years, without expecting ANYTHING to come from it. I wrote it everyday for years and never took a ‘shortcut,’ simply because i loved doing it and well i continue to do so, even to this day. I accidentally sort of dedicated so much time, sweat and love to my blog (5 years) and without even realizing. It’s the ‘without even realizing’ that matters. I was therefore gifted with a book deal by the gods of ‘ooh laa.’ I couldn’t be happier. Love came out of love. Wacky concept, right? [Pour yourself an icey gin here.]

Since moving back to Yorkshire and finding Pete.. my true love..and when i say ‘true,’ i mean it from the very bottom of my heart. Like when i was a little girl and i dreamt of being with a boy…that boy was him. I kinda just took an emotional detour. Oopsie. I guess that’s what Chrissie Wunna does! Now that i feel truely loved and like i have an actual purpose. I’m surrounded by two perfect families, friends, a true love, an upcoming baby and a fairytale magic that’s seemed to whirl around my life. I haven’t at all craved fame and why? Because i finally (at 29) feel whole. I’m concentrating on my story and not anyone elses.

Things that are meant to come to you, will just come to you. Both Loverboy and I’s parents started out with not much and ended up with what i would call  great financial success. They worked hard over the years and got to a point where money was no longer a worry and their children would never have to go without. (I’ve noticed that today’s young try and live beyond their means.)

 The good thing about our parents is that they never teach us to be rich or famous or infact anything of that sort. They teach us to love and quite wisely because they know it is the only thing that can make ANY human a complete and utter success. (It took me 29 years to truely realize this.)

At the end of the day…i’m a Glamour Puss and well luxury is something that i can’t pass off too easily. You have to slowly pluck my body from hugging any piece of dirty luxury that  i can get my grubby asian hands on. So for right now, lets be superficial and enjoy the pictures of the Crazy Bear Hotel much!!!  LOVES IT!!!

I think i’m on ‘Sex Lessons’ again on Fiver tonight at 10pm.

Bikini weather much! It’s hot, sunny and so delicious that i could reach for a virgin umbrella drink and begin a conga line of merriment. Conga lines are shit sober though, aren’t they? I watched one happen in Antix, around me one drunken night…and yeah, even though it was led by gays…it still lacked a certain bit of class. HAHA. (You’ll never see me in a conga line, if i’m not at the front. The thought of attaching myself to another sweaty, drunk being, makes me want to gip. If i’m leading the way, i can stop at anytime and just have a sit down. The rest of the line will simply follow suit, because no-one wants to be the awkward, conga line left overs. It’s a hilarious moment of 3 people still attached, pretending to have the ‘best time ever,’ yet simply so they don’t look retarded.

Within seconds of not being able to pull the ‘joy’ off anymore, one of them will sort of try & stop…(but still do the legs) and then the others will come to a clumsy, ‘iffy’ pause of ‘erm..we look stupid and the song’s completely over’…only to attempt to style it out and immediately head towards the bar for a tropical VK. That awkward moment of ‘fun to drift off’ mirrors my life. It always ends in a drink…which always ends in beer goggles. (As if! I’m not that easy a pull. Give me diamonds. This is Wunna 2010.)

Anyway glorious day. It truely, no joke is ‘sort of’ bikini weather of *wink-wink.* I spent my afternoon with my ‘other half’ sipping white grape and kiwi juice at the Beverly Arms in Ackworth. My little boy of ‘lover lover ‘is all *down* today because he thinks i don’t love him. I need to remember to handle him with kitten gloves. I often forget that people don’t have the same sort of *umph* that i have. Add a really rubbish sense of humour,where my jokes are more evil than funny…and you have *sad faces* all around. Maybe even brusies or STI  infections?

After juice, sun shine, pink jogging bottoms (oh shut up, i have to wear them for the elasticated waist, you swines) we ventured off into the Yorkshire sunshine to hunt him a home. For some reason Loverboy’s being extremely picky about where he wants to live? I’m not sure why? But probably because it’s not his ideal. He wants me in it with him and well i’m just not yet ready. (Yet only because he initially tried to *rush* me into it, without asking me nicely. If i feel forced, or pressured into big changes, i’ll just do the opposite to prove a point. I’m good like that. All nice and childish. It’s not the change that scares me. My life changes minute to minute. I’ve lived and learnt all over thsi delicious land. It’s the *force*that i despise…i’ll do things when I WANT to do them and not when you MAKE me.

Saying all that…i do want you to know that we are in fairytale mode and perfectly lovey dovey, right now. It’s sooo lovely and romantic. He’s definitely foolish enough to love me forever. Therefore, i feel lucky to have such a wonderful man! He’s so adorable, i could die. But i won’t… so there…you can stop the cheering. (Little  boys are currently asking me what bra i’m wearing? *Yawn* I don’t wear bras i wear nipple tassles. Unfortunately right now, it looks like i put baby sized beef burgers on the ends of my jubblies. It seems my nipples are widening, due to my pregoness. Niice! I thought this would be a problem at first, however, now i believe i can pretty much make anything ‘work.’ People love nipples. People love burgers. It’s like a two for one…with milk! #Bestdealever!)

Other than all that, i’ve been asked to record the middle part, the chorus part, the hook, for a producer with a dance track. I’m going to do it because i think it sounds fun. Plus, if it all goes wrong, i don’t have to take full responsibility for it. Yippeee! My book meeting in Manchester has also been postponed until next week..giving me more time to work on it all ( i sort of need the CD that Wazza has…yet Wazza’s in Amsterdam watching peep shows) and i have another interview with the BBC about them following my ‘journey of preggoness.’

You’d think that i’d be all ‘omg yes yes yes’ to my journey of preggoness being filmed right? But for some reason, my *bump* and I are already very close and well we’re considering the option very carefully, before we decide to leap into ‘attention whore’ mode. My upcoming bambino is the most important thing to me. Is it something that i want to keep private between my Loverboy and our families? Or is it a journey that we film in order to remember a time i will never have again?  Tough decision? (But knowing me i’ll go for the ‘on the telly‘ option. ) Hurrah, bring out the banners!

It’s still daylight and sunny therefore i must continue to enjoy life. I’m happy, healthy and excited about everything. I have my Hollywood Glamour puss hair in…a *wink*…and a whole lot of love to give. I asked Pete today when the moment he ‘fell in love with me’ was? He answered with an ‘i’ve had lots of those moments.’ Smooooth mover. (God, i’m really craving ready salted crisps with a raw green chilli.) I can’t believe i once dated a guy who’s only posession was an air mattress.