becoming bridget jones

Nothing to make you feel like a spinster like a large Oreo Blast from Sonic and a marathon of Say Yes to the Dress on TLC. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my Saturday night.

To be fair, I ran a 5K this morning (my very first!) and have spent the last, well, every weekend since I've been home comPLETEly covered up in stuff to do and errand running and this and that and seeing and doing and being and traveling and drinking and GAWD that shit is exhausting after a while. So I felt like I deserved a night of supreme laziness and cuddling with Sadie, the resident fuzzball.

But for whatever reason, and maybe it's just because I spend the vast majority of my time in that state of total over-extended-ness, even one evening of sitting on my ass makes me feel like a lonely old maid who will one day be grazed on by alpacas when I ultimately die a sad, sad solitary death of unmarried, unpregnant horror. And the worst part of it will be that it will all happen right here in this very spot because I will still be living with my parents.

Now, I know that none of this is true and frankly my biological clock has quieted down some in the past few months, probably due to me coming to terms with not having a flying clue what direction my life's headed in and accepting that maybe marriage and babies aren't such a wise addition to the formula at this stage. But everyone I know is getting married. And having babies. And TLC wants me to do both. Right now. Tomorrow, perhaps without even knowing either one was imminent. Perhaps even while on the toilet!

So then I think I should be out on the town trying to hook me a husband, not sitting in my pajamas shoveling ice cream into my mouth and oohing and aahing over wedding gowns. I should be dancing! And drinking! And flirting and wooing and roping in Mr. Right!

But damned if it all just sounds like it takes SO MUCH ENERGY. Energy that I just don't know that I have. Can't they just come to me? Literally, to my home? Maybe equipped with a dossier on likes, dislikes, annoying habits and facial ticks? And I know what you're thinking, you're thinking the only way for it to be that easy is to do it online. But I feel like even THAT requires too much energy, albeit more on the mental energy side of things rather than the make-up, hair-do, fingernails, high-heels, uncomfortable underwear side of things.

Maybe what I'm actually saying is that I just don't care any more. And isn't that when it's always supposed to happen? When you're not looking, right?

Or did I just jinx it by talking about it? Son of a bitch.



cheers,
elizabeth