A whole bunch of readers today accidentally found themselves in Wunna land today by searching the term, ‘Yellow Rubber Glove Wanking.’ I mean, what is wrong with you all!! You dirty monkies, who oddly seem domesticated. Itr’s interesting to see how people find my sight. You could be one of my friends, a victim of my anger, a fan, a work colleague, an aquaintance, someone who just loves a blog, or a stranger who Googles ‘Yellow Rubber Glove Wanking’ to find www.chrissiewunna.com pop up joyfully on their list of suggestions…before you know it *POW* you’re here, you’re willing and there ain’t no rubber gloves in sight. The rest of you simply Googled ‘Chrissie Wunna’..which is the smart way to find me. I’ve achieved great eye shadowing this morning, so i’m happy. My eyes are overdone and draggy. Still glorious and just how I like them…which to mean ‘perfect for the nursery run.’ I need dramatic glitzy eyes and simply so I don’t feel like an Asian goblin and well I can charm my way out of trouble. All you need in life is a good set of peepers….and I don’t mean tits. I mean ‘peepers,’…eyes….windows to the soul. Not only for sight, as I am of the unfortunate bundle of beings who have to buy their own sight from Specsavers every 3 months…so I believe sight is over rated at the best of times. Some of the best Wunna decisions have been made half blind. (NOT.) You need big eyes to flutter and wink. It helps persuasive tool of ‘ooh laa’ that can get you anything you want. Eye contact, dramatic sparkle…a smile and *KAPOW.* (I can’t believe ‘Sophie the Token Asian’ on The Apprentice got ‘Fired’ yesterday. Come on ‘Team Asian.’ I loved her because she had a great tan. Keiran loved her too. But if you’re going to squeak instead of shout when you’re in an elimination room, then you’re in trouble. You have to fight you’re corner and pull out all the glitzy, ‘on the telly’ stops. It’s a show at the end of the day and a war. I’ve been in an eliminaton room many a time and well the more aggressive and clever you are…and the better telly you are…the higher the chance you have of staying in…Provided you’re good at what you do. I’d be shit at The Apprentice. But I was ace at attempting to be Paris Hiltons BBF. Stick to your strengths innit. I do like that quirky posh boy on the show though. He’s hilarious without knowing how hilarious he is. I adore him. He’s my favourite. I want him to be a STAR. The producer on PHBBF told me that I was going to be a ‘star’…i’m not one yet. Eww! Gimme! Gimme! It’s alright me ranting on about ‘Apprentice Sophie.’ I NEED to step into my feist and play the fame game aggressively.
Thank God i’m finally having my first coffee of the day. We ran out of milk this morning because none of us could be arsed to buy more. It’s rubbish in the morning when you realize that refraining from being lazy would’ve been a better plan. The hubbilicious, who looked DIVINE last night. He was all shirtless and sexy and sprawled on the sofa on top of quilts. I was impressed. He scored points. That’s what I like about him. One day he can be ‘baby boy, ‘ another day a hopeless romantic and the following day pop into the ‘sexy sexy man god’ role…It’s fun. I’m quite like that. I’m ready for my bump to squeeze his way out now. This stretch is too long and i’m too preggo now. I’m not even overdue yet. I just feel ready now. We have new beds and wardrobes a coming next week…so i have to duck tape my privates up until then or just keep my legs crossed. Then i’ll be free to go into the labour trot of fox. My body feels far too tense right now and not at all relaxed. It’s when my body eases into that euphoric state of relaxation that he’ll get his groove on and make his move out of my womb and into the world. But for now, i’m sit here blogging and laughing at the fact that people actually search ‘yellow rubber glove wanking’ on a daily basis. I once was forced to Google ‘fat eating chicken porn’ by a work colleague, who didn’t have working internet. I was like ‘Great! How am I supposed to explain that on a history search.’ But like I said, peppers get you out of everything. But only a good set of them and only when you’re working for a man. It doesn’t work on women, They just hate you for them, unless they’e completely secure. Then they’re all for it.
My chick friend is stressing out today because her boyfriend keeps pointing out chicks that he fancies. Never good. Go back to ‘Romance Camp.’ I mean, what the hell has happened to that boy’s GAME. You’re shit at the art of wooing. Girls just see it as disrespectful and men need to learn that it is. Yet the fact that they need to learn such an OBVIOUS rule is beyond me. Use your brains. Anyway, like that wasn’t bad enough, not only was he naming people he fancied (Lord know why) each girl that he was pointing out looked NOTHING LIFE my chick friend. So my chick friend’s mixed race, she’s gorgeous and caramel. Delicious and exotic. So what does this boy do…point out a ton of blond, tanned girls that he fancies. If that’s who you fancy then why are you with an exotic girl telling her you love her so madly. I simply stated that he was only doing it to make her feel insecure. It’s a method of control and manipulation and shows how insecure HE IS. I said, just point out a bunch of boys that YOU FANCY…and make sure they’re all steamy hot, look nothing like him and the key to make him feel worse is RICH! Men hate it when you tell them you fancy a rich man…yet only a boy that is poor. He even stopped pointing out celeb crushes and started just pointing out regular girls that he fancied. Why bother? Is he thick? Men can never do that to me because I’ll either go ninja and give them a lecture on respect. I’ll play them at their own game…and well i no longer have any celebrity crushes because i’ve dated every single one of my actual celebrity crushes, to now be 32 and realize that people are just people, (it actually took me a long time to learn that ) and that rich boy, poor boy, happy boy, sad boy…boys are boys, there’s good ones, bad ones and you just need to find the GREAT ones. *Helicopter nipple tassle here*
(Currently watching Towie and they’re going on about Ricky Martin..who is a being I adore. I always remember that he tried to hide the fact that he was gay from the press, because he felt it would hinder his career. To be honest Ricky…it wasn’t that much of a shock. When he finally came out he expected everyone to be in uproar. Big red flags…no long term relationships with girls and when he decided to become a father, he chose a surrogate mother to birth his child for him…that he didn’t have to sleep with. Heaven forbid, would he have to go near a vagina. I don’t blame him, mine’s a bitch and has a mind of her own. If you were Ricky Martin and NOT gay, you’d take those snake hips and you’d bonk and impregnate every single female that took your fancy one by one in sexy hotel rooms to your own sound tracks, wouldn’t you. You wouldn’t pay a lady that you didn’t have to sleep with, to have your child for you.. I love that Ricky Martin’s gay. It’s hot. We’re all a little gay.)
Thursday’s are good…always good. My mun usually texts me to ask me to ‘do lunch’ with her on Thursdays. I fancy a rest day because i’m feeling like roughage. She hasn’t text me yet, so maybe i’m not favourite child anymore. But i’m hoping that she does as I need some good old mummy time. I feel like I haven’t hung out with her in ages…and it’s only been 4 days. During my entire pregnancy, I hid away. I always do, I don’t know why? Yet when it comes to the final slog, the last part of the relay, when i’m about to pop and I have 2 weeks until the big day, I kinda fancy a bit of ‘oohing’ and ‘awwing’ at me, until of course I want it to stop. I need my mum and my hubby and my Ruby. Rubes is always there for me, which I adore. But Mum and Keiran are busy working, working, working. He’s headed off in a suit today getting ready for the security companies summer. It’s a big one. I don’t really like it when he goes into the event security phase of Summer love and simply because my home fills up with bin bags and cardboard boxes filled with boy’s stuff and I hate it. I’m trying to the whole house up and i’m not gonna be able to do that when we have giant boxes of radio mics and wires and god knows what in the kitchen. Bundles, bags and more boxes of uniforms, bomber jackets and whatnots in the living room. I’m looking at a bin bag filled with coats right now AND the delivery man has just dropped a big blue box off at my patio door. UGH! His stuff needs to go in the van or in the attic. But not around the home. It’s too cluttery and not good girly clutter, like boring boy clutter. (I can’t believe the delivery guy, made me CARRY the giant blue box myself. Hellooo 9 months pregnant much. MANNERS! Ooh, i hate bad manners.)
I’m starving now, so i’m gonna go.
Have fun, at least it’s good weather and when i say ‘good weather’ I simply mean ‘looks like it’s warm, but it’s actually freezing.’
PS, Can you believe that Keiran stated that he wanted me to have full on ‘Miss World’ hair ALL OF THE TIME, yesterday. I looked at him and said, ‘What even when i’m at home, washing dishes.’ He was not joking at all. he smirked and said, ‘YES.’ I actually love the Miss.World look, it humours me, so i’d be dying to get that hair sorted 24/7, but when preggo, you can’t be arsed. I still look FINE though. I look ‘Glamour Puss,’ for crying out loud. So, he can moan and say that he wants me to have ‘Miss World’ hair all of the time because he likes it much better that way. I want him to pull in Donald Trump like cheques ALL of the time. You don’t hear me complaining. You can’t win’em all boy.
PPS/ AS if a Miss World curly updo could disguise the fact that i have a giant 9 month preggo belly. I’d look like a Roly Poly…who’s had too many Smarties. Not very world peace and bubble baths.
‘Hi, I’m Chrissie! I enjoy long preggo waddles in the park, useless baths filled with bubbles where i can’t see my own ‘hoop-dee’ to shave it…. and world peace…when i’m not hormonal. Oh and my boobs have milk in them!’
It just doesn’t have the same ring to it.