Bridget.

I have decided to look at my life from the perspective of an amused viewer watching a romcom. This way I have started to put some things into perspective and have realised that really - my life is very very funny. I have completely overlooked the sheer hilarity of it for 17 years, and from henceforth I will try my best to pay more attention to it.

I am, and I'm not sure how to take this realisation, a 17 yearold, not blonde Bridget Jones. The situations I get myself into sound far too unreal for the normal world, and should really belong in some hilarious book. In 10 years time I will weigh 17 stone, be smoking 3 packs a day, have a horrific haircut and, alas, be sat at home, drinking alone with my cat(s).

Some of this has begun to take place already. Take this weekend for example. Last night I got embarrassingly sloshed with some equally single, equally middle-aged-on-the-inside, absolutely BRILLIANT people. I spent the evening in between dancing like a lunatic, pouring myself numerous glasses of rum and coke and performing some fabulous renditions of Rainin' Men, Sk8r Boi, Bob Marley, Vivaldi and Livin' On A Prayer. This in itself was laughable.

Today I am hung over, aching and have eaten three large meals. All three were bacon and egg fried in enough fat to make Ethiopia a nation of obesity. If that doesn't clog up my arteries I don't know what will. While normal teenagers are out there, getting laid, finding parties and doing whatever the "cool things" cool, normal teenagers do, the closest I got to any action in the last century is my mate taking a shower in his house this morning while I brushed my teeth and pissed in the same bathroom. Not at the same time obviously. Brushing and pissing that is, something deeply unsanitary about that.

On the note of the shower, don't you find that whenever some one is remotely naked around you your eyes automatically go to their genitals? Just me? I do it subconsciously, instinctively almost, my eyes are like magnets that just glance down there of THEIR OWN accord. This is why I cannot ever have conversations with half-naked people - its far too hard to concentrate. Its as if I'm checking that the poor person's bits are there and in tact. Because yes, in Asya's imaginary, illusory world people tend to carelessly LOSE their vaginas?

So, my friend is taking a shower, its all very civilised - I am turned away brushing my teeth, he's turned away also, facing the wall and hiding his willy. Disaster struck when, unagreed we accidentally both turned around and found ourselves facing eachother. And instantaneously, my eyes wizz to his bits. Why? - I have no idea. Unfortunately he noticed and pointed out that I kept glancing over, after which I had to explain that I wasn't doing it purposely, it always happens, and lets face it - it was staring me down.

But basic mental image - I look like a homeless moron, with toothpaste frothing at my mouth, awkwardly trying to avoid eyecontact (of a sort) with my soapy friends sexual organ - needless to say, it was funny.

Mental image two - today, I am sprawled on the sofa like a corpse, watching Bridget Jones' Diary, unsure whether to laugh or cry at the uncanny similarities between her life and mine, stuffing bacon into my face and pretending I have no work to do.

YES, I have a tendency to sit on my bed and mime to bitter, depressing songs like Bridget.

YES, I talk to myself on a daily basis, this started to get concerning when I had an out-loud debate with myself for literally about 5 minutes about whether or not I should eat the cucumber. I ate the cucumber.

YES, that pants situation Bridget has? Where she wears the comfy suckey in pants to a party, and then gets laid forgetting that she is wearing awful undergarments? Been there, done that.

The difference is, I will never get Hugh Grant nor Colin Firth within 5yards of me, while she's off getting groped by one in a lift, and made dinner by the other.

Update on everything else - mother is still mentally handicapped, soon she will need supervision to the supermarket. I am still planning to go to university, whether the plan will succeed or not, considering the low low levels of work I am producing, and the low low likelihood of me getting three A's, is for the fates to decide.

I am an alcoholic, but they say acceptance is the first step to recovery. Branching from that, I believe it is highly likely that I have brain damage due to countlessly passing out and hitting my head on various household appliances. Equally worrying is the number of girls I have got drunk and found myself kissing in the last 3 weeks. There have been more women in my mouth than Jews in Israel.Other than kissing girls, the chambers of my lovelife are like a mausoleum, with the occasional flutter of flirting and hand-holding breaking through the atmosphere of death. I do not want a boyfriend, and for the first time in my entire life I think I mean it. All I had to do was watch the deleted Bridget scene that showed her practically strapped down to the sofa with her man, being forced to watch snooker. I loathe snooker.

Plus men generally piss the pissing piss out of me.

I have a job at the Kings Hotel - fucking posh and upperclass. I spend hours serving seabass and champagne to lah-dee-dah conservatives and being yelled at by a short tempered but brilliant French chef. "Ahhh Azeeya, you veel take zee stek (steak) to table tvelve, end eef zey complenn tell zem to fuck zemselvez yesss?" Priceless.

I may go and help myself to a fourth helping of bacon. Fat bitch.