Oh So Sad

Well, I've finally hit the Bridget Jones stage of life. Yep. Writing in my diary, drinking alone on the sofa, waiting for my dog to devour my lifeless body. Speaking of which, at least I have my doglet. She would never eat me. Well, maybe my face. But that's it! I'm sure of it. It's kind of funny that I made to 30 without ever really being single. Crazy. Isn't it supposed to be the other way round? Aren't you supposed to be single and crazy until you're in your 30s and then you settle down? Crap. I wish someone had told me this before. I've gone and done it all backwards. Whatever. It was kind of fun. In a sad, pathetic singleton kind of way. I rented a plethora of girly movies (Bridget Jones, Love Actually, Loser, etc) sat myself down with a bottle of wine and some snacks and off I went. Of course I had to scrap the wine plan for vodka and cranberry (because apparently I can't open a bottle of wine by myself - the lovely bottle currently sitting on top of my fridge with the corkscrew still protruding from it's very snug and cozy cork can attest to that little tidbit) but it was good nonetheless. Well, except for the fact that I only managed 2 drinks before I was overcome by the desire to go to bed. I suck. I ended up staying up until about 3:30am reading Harry Potter. Bridget would be sorely disappointed in my performance. What can I say? I'm just going to have to hone my solo drinking skills. I'm still stuck in that outdated, judgemental frame of mind that says drinking alone is too sad for words and I'd be better off dragging my sorry ass down to the phoenix. No, wait. I've just had an update from my inner judge who has ruled that that also is unacceptable. Anyone having seen the phoenix would probably be forced to agree. The good news is that this evening I will be enjoying the company of actual people. I'll keep you posted (get it? posted? so punny) on how it all turns out.

Kisses,
me.