Movie night with the girls and we unanimously decided to rent Bridget Jone’s Diary, because, well – who wouldn’t want to re-watch a classic chick flick about a foreveralone.jpg girl with huge knickers and an adorable English accent? It’s been a while since I last watched it, and as each scene reeled in, I began to correlate bits of the film with my own life – and came to the conclusion that I was JUST like Bridget Jones, minus a few pounds. Oh, I neither smoke like a chimney nor drink like a fish but I DO have a crazy mother who, just over a year ago, gave me “permission” to start dating and is now hinting at a husband and babies. Wtf? (She happens to love pickles too.)
I go through these phases – they pretty much oscillate between “I’m no good with this, I’m such a loser” to “Something needs to be changed, I have to be better and make myself more marketable” back to “Fuck this, maybe it’s just not meant to be”. I often use poetry to channel these internal conflicts, much like Bridget and her diary. Except her writing is funnier but I get points for using couplets.
I can’t say I’ve ever fantasized about my boss, but I do pull off the short miniskirt remarkably well. I also have undies with cotton candy clouded patterns that are surprisingly comfy but probably not appropriate for date nights. Not that my dates ever reach that stage where it becomes relevant – so I guess I’m a less slutty version of Bridget Jones. Nevertheless, despite numerous failures, the attempt at finding a nice, sensible boyfriend continues – AND I HAVE A LIST TOO! In addition to not forming romantic attachments with “alcoholics, workaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts”, I shall also endeavour to get myself a computer geek who’s funny, a good height, and English-speaking.
Have I mentioned I absolutely fail at cooking? I’ve never done something as bad as making BLUE SOUP but I did struggle to use a microwave at work last week – because that thing was bloody ancient! There wasn’t a numerical pad for me to punch in the time, only a “+10” button which I assumed meant “plus 10 seconds”, except the increments weren’t working. (The timer was frozen at 29 seconds and I wanted to warm my food for 2 minutes.) So, I called my friend who marched in, pushed the “start” button and marched off, before I could tell him that that wasn’t what I wanted to do! Now everyone on the team thinks I’m a dud Asian for not thinking to press Start. (Inb4made-in-China-jokes)
I know I’m pretty messed up in that I have “ridiculous” expectations (frankly I think they are quite reasonable), but these expectations are part of who I am and I’m not going to settle for anything short of a Mr Darcy: Someone who likes me just the way I am.
OH! Forgot to mention, I have this foot-in-mouth disease where I say things before they get filtered by the brain. I think it makes me more loveable, really.