just call me Bridget 1 July 2008

in one of those painfully beautiful moments where life imitates art, this past weekend i momentarily toyed around with changing my name to Bridget (as in Bridget Jones and her diary). while working a wedding for my sister this past weekend, i was stuck in the car with a friend of Julie’s. the conversation went as follows:

“So! Are you daaaaating anyoonnnnee?”

“No. Not at the moment.” (clue: this is my contribution to the conversation)

“Awwwwww….well, then….”

and for the next ten minutes i got the “pep-talk-for-single-girls” from said friend who is married and just had her second child. “go! go, do EVERYthing that you want to do! meet everyone! travel everywhere! go dancing!…..” and so on….you get the picture.

i nearly laughed out loud for the sheer comedy of the moment. you see….over the winter i binged on romantic comedy/drama movies. i was on a serious bender. here’s a visual: me, in pajamas, tucked into my sofa surrounded by lots of pillows and wrapped up in cozy blankets with a bottomless glass of cheap red wine in my hand. ‘Bridget Jones Diary” was most definitely included in the movie mix (i won’t admit the exact number of times i watched the film, so don’t bother asking). anywho….the movie begins with Bridget beginning her 32nd year unmarried and without any prospects or boyfriends…which at the time did make me laugh aloud because my life (at the time) was a near exact mirror of the opening sequences of the film.

fast forward to my saturday pep talk, provided by a “smug married” with kids. it was obvious that my personal motivational speaker had nearly no clue about the life i HAVE lived up to the moment of that brief car ride. the thing is…over the past decade i HAVE done nearly EVERYthing i wish to have done, including a heck of a lot i didn’t know i wanted to do. i HAVE traveled enough to feel content and begin to desire to put some roots down in one place. i HAVE moved, moved, moved, moved and moved again. i HAVE gone dancing, on a few continents. the thing i haven’t done is find that “one” to continue my great adventure with…that “one” to dance with on the remaining continents…that “one” to plant a family tree with.

so, i channel my inner Bridget and continue my search for my version of “Mr. Darcy”, but i warn ya’ll ahead of time…i am NOT going to chase after him in tiger print knickers on a snowy night after he mistakenly reads my tell-all diary. my ass looks better in black lace.