An acquaintance of mine recently told me, “You’re just like Bridget Jones!” I immediately killed this person, and sold their body to McDonald’s to be used in the Fish Filet sandwich. Not that I didn’t enjoy the book and movie [the original – the sequels were trash, save for Colin Firth being blindingly sexy], but I am very, very different from Ms. Bridget Jones.
Ways I Am Like Bridget Jones
• We both work in publishing
• We both smoke
• We both drink
• We are both single
• We both have wacky friends
• We both have family drama
• We both worry about weight
Ways I Am Unlike Bridget Jones
• I am a publishing intern, who wants to be a journalist. Bridget becomes a television reporter.
• Bridget keeps trying to quit smoking. I do not.
• Bridget is a functioning alcoholic. I am not [an alcoholic, although some days you could argue I don’t function either].
• Bridget hates being single, because she is in her thirties. I love being single, because I am in my twenties, and frankly have no time for a significant other, considering the fact that I go home and immediately go to bed. I have an imaginary boyfriend, like Amy Sedaris. His name is Phineas.
• Bridget’s friends are wacky and endearing. My friends, while endearing, are also debatably homicidal, which makes them slightly less endearing.
• My parents do not have affairs. They have hobbies.
• I do not whine endlessly about my weight, and use it as a conversation topic, because I would have no friends.
• I read a lot, and Bridget does not.
• I like comics. Bridget may like comics, but clearly not enough to have it mentioned in either book.
• Bridget is fictional. I, to the best of my knowledge, am not.
And so much for that. Huzzah for today, because I will be going to Forbidden Planet, mecca of all things comic. I will also be going to the Strand, but I’m not excited about that, because I need to buy a few Dean Koontz books for work, and the people at the Strand tend to make me feel hopelessly illiterate if I’m not buying, say, Jean Genet or Dostoevsky. Come to think of it, those are probably too mainstream.
I shouldn’t be ashamed. After all, there are people out there who religiously read Nevada Barr (if you do, please leave immediately. Go cry in a corner over how mind-numbingly bad a writer Ms. Barr is). But I’m an intellectual snob, despite my rampant delight over Spongebob Squarepants and fart jokes, so I only have myself to blame.
Back to work, or something like it.
Ways I Am Like Bridget Jones
• We both work in publishing
• We both smoke
• We both drink
• We are both single
• We both have wacky friends
• We both have family drama
• We both worry about weight
Ways I Am Unlike Bridget Jones
• I am a publishing intern, who wants to be a journalist. Bridget becomes a television reporter.
• Bridget keeps trying to quit smoking. I do not.
• Bridget is a functioning alcoholic. I am not [an alcoholic, although some days you could argue I don’t function either].
• Bridget hates being single, because she is in her thirties. I love being single, because I am in my twenties, and frankly have no time for a significant other, considering the fact that I go home and immediately go to bed. I have an imaginary boyfriend, like Amy Sedaris. His name is Phineas.
• Bridget’s friends are wacky and endearing. My friends, while endearing, are also debatably homicidal, which makes them slightly less endearing.
• My parents do not have affairs. They have hobbies.
• I do not whine endlessly about my weight, and use it as a conversation topic, because I would have no friends.
• I read a lot, and Bridget does not.
• I like comics. Bridget may like comics, but clearly not enough to have it mentioned in either book.
• Bridget is fictional. I, to the best of my knowledge, am not.
And so much for that. Huzzah for today, because I will be going to Forbidden Planet, mecca of all things comic. I will also be going to the Strand, but I’m not excited about that, because I need to buy a few Dean Koontz books for work, and the people at the Strand tend to make me feel hopelessly illiterate if I’m not buying, say, Jean Genet or Dostoevsky. Come to think of it, those are probably too mainstream.
I shouldn’t be ashamed. After all, there are people out there who religiously read Nevada Barr (if you do, please leave immediately. Go cry in a corner over how mind-numbingly bad a writer Ms. Barr is). But I’m an intellectual snob, despite my rampant delight over Spongebob Squarepants and fart jokes, so I only have myself to blame.
Back to work, or something like it.
