Disclaimer: I own nothing from B. J.'s D. I just have no real life, and this is what I do in my spare time. Please don't sue.
The Diary of Bess Jones
Jan. 1 ~ Tuesday 7:35 A.M
Weight: 60 pounds (Surely NOT! 130 pounds - must pray will never reach 140 pounds - cannot be like Bridget.)
Alcohol Units: 1 (but it's so early)
Ciggis: None! (Aha! There is one thing I can overcome that Bridget cannot)
Note #1: Telephone Bridget - ask her for old single-life relics of hers. (the black book with all those old phone numbers of the sexy men who decided to drop her is a good example.)
Note #2: Never answer the phone at 1 A.M. again. - Lord knows what Sean will do next.
(Ringing of my telephone) (Fumbling for the phone)
"Em?"
"Bess?"
"Sean, what in God's name do you think you are doing? Do you have the faintest idea what time it is?"
Sean - part of my own little urban family (they don't ask me how my love life is, one up against my real family)
Sean is a movie producer's son who spends most of his time following up on calls to Tabloid, Magazine for Busybodies (and he calls himself a journalist.) He also likes to get in trouble with the Bobbies - usually spends one telephone call on me. This call usually occurs around one o'clock in the morning, during one of my many good dreams about being a member of Monty Python.
Yesterday, I was dreaming I was a witch with the ability to turn men into newts for short periods of time.
"Yes, I know, but, Bess, I need you."
"You never need me. You need a good lawyer on retainer. Call Renee. She should know a few good ones." I was three centimeters from hanging up when I heard him yell my name.
"Bess! Please, I, uh, need you."
I have to big a heart for my own good. Bullocks.
"Hmm, well, what did you do?"
"Who says I did anything?"
"Goodbye, Sean."
"No! All right! I, um, tried to bribe this Bobbie."
"You deserve prison."
"Well, I heard this station took bribes, and I was trying to prove the theory, but I got arrested instead."
It is stupid things like that, that make me want to unplug the bloody phone at night.
Perhaps I should ring Renee, however.
Renee - another member of selective urban family who spends most of her time typing things for a lawyer who pays her with "bubkis peanuts." She is also a Yank who came here three years ago and still has yet to master all of the Brit Language:
Knickers - Lifts - Tarts - Vicars - Bobbies - I don't think I need to go on.
Note #3: Surprise Mum by showing up at her annual New Year's Day feast.
If I SURPRISE her, she won't have time to set me up with some forty-year-old divorcee.
Look at what that's done to Bridget - she's practically a bloody smug married! Must take it upon myself to never allow that to happen to me.
11:35 P.M. ~ Same day
Item #1: In response to Note #1, discussed previously. Bridget got a case of the giggles.
- Perhaps something about her being happy not to be one of the dreaded singletons anymore.
- Or, perhaps it has something to do with her bloke, that Darcy creature.
Item #2: In response to Note #3 - have failed miserably. For one, Mum seemed to be expecting my surprise visit and took the liberty of introducing me to all the bachelors at the party. This included three divorcees with bushy hair, and one bald-headed bore.
Also, Mum set out a "lovely" dress on my bed. Hmm, I was not going to come down wearing a carpet. No, thank you. I came down wearing a black miniskirt and a white blouse. Mum was quite stunned. My duty was done. Then, I had another duty- the "sisterly" one. I had to meet Mark Darcy: v. v. v. bad.
"Come along, Bess. Let's see if Bridget and Mark fancy a gherkin."
Gherkins - the highlight of Mum's idea of sophistication.
I was led over to a cozy corner where my sister and her fiancé were standing; drinking something I wished I had had before coming over.
Bridget was the one to speak first, "Oh! Bess! This is Mark Darcy, a top barrister..."
I, v. rudely, even for me, said, "I know all that. I do watch the news, thank you."
Mark smirked. (Hate men that smirk - makes them look, well, snobby) "Hello. You must be Bess. I've heard a lot about you."
No, he hasn't. If he had, he would have known not to engage in conversation with me and expect me to actually be polite.
"Yes, that's right." I spied some drinks. Wanted one v. bad then, but would not risk getting my ass anywhere near "Uncle" Jeffrey.
"Bridget tells me you're a social worker."
"Yes, a counselor, really, for smug married couples who find themselves stuck in a marriage with no individual identities. Sadly, I cannot save them all. Some actually stay married."
It has long been my strong belief that when one becomes a spouse, one gives up her own individuality and ceases to be the person she used to be. Poor Bridget Jones. Soon, she will become Mrs. Darcy, of Mark & Bridget. She's giving up her former life for a lawyer. I shall see them across the hall in Kevin's office some day.
Mark did not seem too amused with my joke. Really, I counsel children of broken homes who aren't particularly taking the divorce well.
"Yes, well, I'm sure you'll never see Bridget and I..."
I stopped listening. Any man who doesn't know proper English should not be listened to. (He should have said "Bridget and me." Idiot who's going to turn my sister into a smug married."
"... Do you suppose it's time to eat, then?" the Idiot was saying. I nodded, not wanting to give away anything else, like that I think he's completely wrong for Bridget.
Now, I overhear Mummy say to some fellow, "Oh, Bess is planning to settle down eventually. All she needs is the right man."
I almost stated that I had the right man - I just wasn't getting married - ever. I would not give up my individuality for anyone, even Miguel.
Miguel Diaz- Spaniard who moved here last year- also perfect boyfriend. Although, the month I wanted to finally introduce him to my family, he is away on a business trip. He works at a bank and travels all over Europe for potential or real clients.
So, Mum continued introducing me to divorcees the rest of the party. Even if I did get married, I wouldn't marry anyone Mum introduced me to. I'm not like Bridget.
Bess Jones
The Diary of Bess Jones
Jan. 1 ~ Tuesday 7:35 A.M
Weight: 60 pounds (Surely NOT! 130 pounds - must pray will never reach 140 pounds - cannot be like Bridget.)
Alcohol Units: 1 (but it's so early)
Ciggis: None! (Aha! There is one thing I can overcome that Bridget cannot)
Note #1: Telephone Bridget - ask her for old single-life relics of hers. (the black book with all those old phone numbers of the sexy men who decided to drop her is a good example.)
Note #2: Never answer the phone at 1 A.M. again. - Lord knows what Sean will do next.
(Ringing of my telephone) (Fumbling for the phone)
"Em?"
"Bess?"
"Sean, what in God's name do you think you are doing? Do you have the faintest idea what time it is?"
Sean - part of my own little urban family (they don't ask me how my love life is, one up against my real family)
Sean is a movie producer's son who spends most of his time following up on calls to Tabloid, Magazine for Busybodies (and he calls himself a journalist.) He also likes to get in trouble with the Bobbies - usually spends one telephone call on me. This call usually occurs around one o'clock in the morning, during one of my many good dreams about being a member of Monty Python.
Yesterday, I was dreaming I was a witch with the ability to turn men into newts for short periods of time.
"Yes, I know, but, Bess, I need you."
"You never need me. You need a good lawyer on retainer. Call Renee. She should know a few good ones." I was three centimeters from hanging up when I heard him yell my name.
"Bess! Please, I, uh, need you."
I have to big a heart for my own good. Bullocks.
"Hmm, well, what did you do?"
"Who says I did anything?"
"Goodbye, Sean."
"No! All right! I, um, tried to bribe this Bobbie."
"You deserve prison."
"Well, I heard this station took bribes, and I was trying to prove the theory, but I got arrested instead."
It is stupid things like that, that make me want to unplug the bloody phone at night.
Perhaps I should ring Renee, however.
Renee - another member of selective urban family who spends most of her time typing things for a lawyer who pays her with "bubkis peanuts." She is also a Yank who came here three years ago and still has yet to master all of the Brit Language:
Knickers - Lifts - Tarts - Vicars - Bobbies - I don't think I need to go on.
Note #3: Surprise Mum by showing up at her annual New Year's Day feast.
If I SURPRISE her, she won't have time to set me up with some forty-year-old divorcee.
Look at what that's done to Bridget - she's practically a bloody smug married! Must take it upon myself to never allow that to happen to me.
11:35 P.M. ~ Same day
Item #1: In response to Note #1, discussed previously. Bridget got a case of the giggles.
- Perhaps something about her being happy not to be one of the dreaded singletons anymore.
- Or, perhaps it has something to do with her bloke, that Darcy creature.
Item #2: In response to Note #3 - have failed miserably. For one, Mum seemed to be expecting my surprise visit and took the liberty of introducing me to all the bachelors at the party. This included three divorcees with bushy hair, and one bald-headed bore.
Also, Mum set out a "lovely" dress on my bed. Hmm, I was not going to come down wearing a carpet. No, thank you. I came down wearing a black miniskirt and a white blouse. Mum was quite stunned. My duty was done. Then, I had another duty- the "sisterly" one. I had to meet Mark Darcy: v. v. v. bad.
"Come along, Bess. Let's see if Bridget and Mark fancy a gherkin."
Gherkins - the highlight of Mum's idea of sophistication.
I was led over to a cozy corner where my sister and her fiancé were standing; drinking something I wished I had had before coming over.
Bridget was the one to speak first, "Oh! Bess! This is Mark Darcy, a top barrister..."
I, v. rudely, even for me, said, "I know all that. I do watch the news, thank you."
Mark smirked. (Hate men that smirk - makes them look, well, snobby) "Hello. You must be Bess. I've heard a lot about you."
No, he hasn't. If he had, he would have known not to engage in conversation with me and expect me to actually be polite.
"Yes, that's right." I spied some drinks. Wanted one v. bad then, but would not risk getting my ass anywhere near "Uncle" Jeffrey.
"Bridget tells me you're a social worker."
"Yes, a counselor, really, for smug married couples who find themselves stuck in a marriage with no individual identities. Sadly, I cannot save them all. Some actually stay married."
It has long been my strong belief that when one becomes a spouse, one gives up her own individuality and ceases to be the person she used to be. Poor Bridget Jones. Soon, she will become Mrs. Darcy, of Mark & Bridget. She's giving up her former life for a lawyer. I shall see them across the hall in Kevin's office some day.
Mark did not seem too amused with my joke. Really, I counsel children of broken homes who aren't particularly taking the divorce well.
"Yes, well, I'm sure you'll never see Bridget and I..."
I stopped listening. Any man who doesn't know proper English should not be listened to. (He should have said "Bridget and me." Idiot who's going to turn my sister into a smug married."
"... Do you suppose it's time to eat, then?" the Idiot was saying. I nodded, not wanting to give away anything else, like that I think he's completely wrong for Bridget.
Now, I overhear Mummy say to some fellow, "Oh, Bess is planning to settle down eventually. All she needs is the right man."
I almost stated that I had the right man - I just wasn't getting married - ever. I would not give up my individuality for anyone, even Miguel.
Miguel Diaz- Spaniard who moved here last year- also perfect boyfriend. Although, the month I wanted to finally introduce him to my family, he is away on a business trip. He works at a bank and travels all over Europe for potential or real clients.
So, Mum continued introducing me to divorcees the rest of the party. Even if I did get married, I wouldn't marry anyone Mum introduced me to. I'm not like Bridget.
Bess Jones