A.k.a. How to be the Mipa version of Bridget Jones
Wednesday, 3 October 2018
Weight: no clue, alcohol units: 4 (decent, but it’s still early), cigarettes: 0 (cause I quit 2 years ago), calories: ??? (who still counts those?!), boyfriends: 0 (probably a good thing, Man would get very upset), partner: 1, dog: 1/2 (is in serious coma so can only count as half alive)
Food consumed today:
- Cheese, lots of it - 2 Mimosa’s (count as food as contain fresh orange juice) - 4 home-made SF severely burnt cookies (can’t waste food if there are children starving in Africa right?)
Time: noon
Location: couch, where I have been firmly planted for the past four hours
Outfit: Harry Potter PJ’s, and rocking ‘m
Dear diary, *
When I heard I wouldn’t be celebrating my birthday with Man, I got terribly upset. I have never cared for birthdays, have even been called ”the Grinch of birthdays” (by myself, but it counts) but somehow 30 feels different…. It feels like a true milestone, the start of a phase called Adulting. And to not be celebrating it with my favourite person in the whole world is outright sad. In all fairness, we did just spend the most amazing weekend in a little paradise eco lodge in the tropical Queensland bush where we divided our time between massages, hiking, drinking champagne, getting matching tattoos and reading books in the lush garden with kookaburras in the background. Terrible life really. But duty called and Man had to go back to base, and I flew back to Canberra where I am now having a pity party which looks like this:
I have given myself permission for a one-day Pity Party a la Bridget Jones. This, as one would expect, results in me wearing granny panties, not showering, eating grated cheese straight from the bag, watching romantic movies and snottering all over the place whilst getting a bit more drunk by the hour until I falsely sing ”Aaaaaall by myseeeelf”. Though the ‘’singing’’ probably sounds more like a whale in mating season who got run over by a truck.
When I am tired of the singing and tipsy enough to want to spend money on things I don’t need, but sober enough to at least choose ‘useful things’, I get online and Amazon the sh*t of this pity party. One order of five self-help books later I make a note to self: ”pity party-me should not have access to a credit card”.
But let’s get back to the best anti-hero of all times: miss Bridget. She is such a great role-model (okay, maybe not in terms of the smoking and drinking but those are minor details) and smart cookie; she would make an amazing Mipa! Because here’s the thing: she gives herself permission for a short and serious pity party but after that, calls her best friends (or Skypes the one far away 😉 ) because she knows she is never really alone. There are people out there who love her and care for her, and are always there when she needs them. So, I decide to do what my role-model does best and eat grated cheese straight from the bag. I mean.... call my besties to reflect on this milestone birthday.
The advice and reflections of my wise friends are an absolute downer to my pity party, as they are (mostly) wonderfully optimistic (and sometimes just painfully realistic). Here’s what they said:
''Milestone birthdays can really help us focus and have a critical look at where we are in life and whether we are happy with that. If not: fix it. If yes: champagne!'' You had me at bubbles.
''This is indeed the end of an era, but also the start of a new one, probably the best one of your life – you have your dream partner, live in the most beautiful country in the world, finally made steps towards starting your dream career, started a blog, are in a good and stable financial position, have a banging body and lots of loved ones, even if they are far away. What’s not to love?'' Living apart from you, my beloved Man, but yes, otherwise great arguments.
''Would you really want to be in your twenties again with all the body insecurities, wasting money on stupid shit and have so much to learn all the whilst thinking you are 'all-knowing?'' No, absolutely not. I have no desire to redo my twenties. And I totally did not just order a bunch of stupid shit online. My dog really does need a water fountain. And I most definitely need a plastic tongue scraper in 3 different colours.
''You’re old.'' Thanks, I love you too.
''You are about to start an amazing adventure! Sure, you may have no control over where you guys get posted next, or when Man gets deployed, or what job you will be able to get, but as you said yourself in the Fifty shades post: control is not such a great thing anyway! Past you is such a wise sage, listen to her.'' So true, friend. (This one may or may not have been me talking to myself.)
''Let life be a big adventure! As long as you can stay true to yourself, your hobbies and passions, and your partner, all will remain well.'' Great advise, you should print that shit on a tile.
''You should probably start using anti-wrinkle cream.'' Wow, thanks. But really, I started doing that when I was 26 – are you saying it’s not working?
''Well, we’re all gonna die at some point.'' Yup. Well said.
''Are you happy?'' Mostly, yes! ''Okay, so what’s the problem?'' Uhhh. Nothing I guess. Apart from the fact that I am out of mimosa’s.
''Trust me, you are right where you need to be.'' Face-planted into a bowl of ice-cream in Harry Potter PJ’s?
Happy birthday me!
Love
Me
Thursday, 4 October 2018
Weight: no clue, alcohol units: 0 (but craving an Irish coffee), cigarettes: still 0, calories: ???, girlfriends: 0 (though Man would probably be less upset), partner: 1, dog: 1
Food consumed today:
A healthy breakfast of yogurt, fruits and oats (because: Adulting, am 30 now so better act like it).
Time: noon
Location: office
Outfit: suit (again: Adulting)
Dear diary*,
I vow to from now on have Adulting Pity Party’s which include healthy pity party food like home-made humus and shit, and gin-tonics. It would really suck to get fat on top of being sad.
Also, I just turned up at work with my doggy treats/poo bag holder bag still attached to my belt. Have emotional and physical hangover. Am totally nailing my thirties already.
Love,
Me
*for those unfamiliar with Bridget Jones’ Diary I have two things to say: