I am the most sane person on Earth.

I find it interesting that when Bridget Jones rattles off the list of quirks of men with whom she will never again become romantically involved, the number one aspect is "alcoholics"... a troupe to which she obviously is a member. Call me crazy, but that's one of the very aspects of her which I find so humanizing and endearing. See, it's said that if you've ever drank/drunk alone (I'm too lazy to look up the proper verb conjugation), you're an alcoholic.

Well DUH.

If you're fortunate enough (or unfortunate, depending on your point of view. I claim fortune.) to be a singleton such as myself, and you want a drink or two or three or four or five or six in the safest place possible from where operating a motor vehicle is a complete non-issue (your own humble abode), then you drink alone. I call this being supremely smart, not alcoholic. But that's just me.

ANYHOO, I am posessed of, if not heaven-blessed with, the gift of hindsight. I remember "back in the day" when I introduced Sophie (remember her? I still miss her.) to the joys of Bridget's counterpart English movie Love, Actually. Funny thing is, at the time I hadn't watched it since I'd become her boyfriend, and when I reviewed it with her, embroiled in a functional (and mistakenly, supposedly lasting love relationship), I realized just what truly and fantastical bullshit it was, replete with unrealistic situations and snappy (but nevertheless brilliant) British humor.

Well, regardless of which side of the romantic fence on which I reside at the given moment, I never lose sight of the other perspective. So, now that I'm all Sarah Jessica Parker again (in the City of Cleveland, minus the Sex), I'm watching Bridget Jones's Diary again and withering into a total mushy-pants over it. At the same time, I can envision the perspective I'd have, given the hypothetical situation of being arm-in-arm with some lucky strumpet, and I (most mentally healthy) realize that this movie is still complete bullocks.

So, I can be all mushy-femmy-"why-can't-this-stuff-happen-to-me" despondent, yet with a self-amused smile on my face, completely cognizant of just what total bullshit it realistically is. It's a good setup. :-)

---

At times like this, continuing with one's life seems impossible... and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable. I have two choices: to give up and accept permanent state of spinsterhood and eventually be eaten by wild dogs... or not, and this time i choose not. I will not be defeated by a bad man and an American stick insect! Instead, I choose vodka. And Chaka Khan.

Or in my case: Instead, I choose Milwaukee's Beast Ice. And Paul Oakenfold.

---

P.S. The greatest piece of deeply (and personally) insulting bullshit on that DVD is the bonus feature titled "The Young and the Mateless (an expert's guide to being single)". They actually give women the following advice:

Never say that you love your cat?

Never say that you are a good cook??

Men like the words 'cute' and 'adorable'??? (well, ok. That one's true.)

Take your picture with a big dog, not a small one????

Men think it's pathetic if you're compassionate?????? (WTF?!?!)

The claim that: "I think that women who don't believe that any of those things are important, that don't think it's important to really wear the right clothes and don't have the right hair and makeup are kidding themselves."

I'm speechless. Utterly. fucking. speechless.