Bridget Jones is ruining my life

first and foremost it's ruining my writing style, because not only am writing like Helen Fielding, am also thinking in these wierd, staccattoed sentences. so stupid.

so - have been having slight troubles relating to males lately. Under normal circumstances i'd just think at night, act the next day, and accept whatever comes. Except now circle of friends has changed slightly. at work i'm now surrounded by three people:

B-Gay male youth worker. My age exactly. is having boy troubles of his own, therefore the conversation comes up quite a bit. He says he's never had a boyfriend, but really, the gay world is so blaze about everything, it's just not the same. when i say i haven't had a boyfriend for a year that also means i haven't done anything, bar an odd kiss here or there. he's dating, kissing, groping and more as part of his regular weekend routine. i can't keep up with his stories for all the men he refers to.

J- female youth worker, one year younger than me, recently broke up with her boyfriend of years and years and is now in a wonderful rebound relationship. love her to death, but she is truly rubbing in my 13 month problem... like literally rubbing; got my hand last week, exclaimed 'feel this!' and rubbed by hand up against her cheek which felt as smooth as a baby's bottom. 'that's what 3 hours of sex will do for you.' even more miserable now as my own skin has become horrific for the first time in my entire life.

S- female youth worker and mother. happily married with 2 kids. she's decided to live her life vicariously through ours and is pro J's rebound relationship and has been trying desperately to get me to 'go out and have a good old shag' (she's english). have explained to her till i'm blue in the face that i'm not like that.

so even if i go into work thinking i'm not going to discuss my love life (or lack thereof), it inevitably is just hanging around in the air, awaiting one of us to start talking about.

S has totally done my head in with her books lately. she read this book entitled 'Chasing Harry Winston' by the same author of the devil wears prada. (note; some serious editing problems in that text). nevertheless, she briefly explained about the three girls in the book; the gorgeous one that has a new guy every day (B), the solid and stable one in a relationship who has suddenly broken up (J) and the one who will only shag (her word) a guy if she's 'in love' with him so her friends dare her to shag a guy from each continent. at this point they all turned to me. i am not fucking random men from antarctica. my workmates are insane.

so i read the book. got up to the part where my character finally has her first random shag and it's great. i sent an sms at 1am to B, J and S: HEY GUYS. I KNOW IT'S LATE BUT I THINK I DO HAVE TO HAVE RANDOM SEX. I JUST READ THE PART WHERE EMMY HAS SEX WITH GEORGE IN THE SPA, AND I DON'T KNOW WHY I HAVE SO MANY GODDAM RULES. IT'S NOW YOUR JOBS TO FIND ME A GUY - I'M SO OVER TEA!

(perhaps should insert here that i started a tea drinking obsession - every time thought about single doom and it's related domedness drank a cup of tea. S and J had an intervention with me a couple of months ago when, at 9.35am, i was onto my third cup)

One week later i finished the book and we were having coffee at Gloria Jeans (not STARFUCKS where they yell at you for buying their cups and refilling them! diks...) and i quietly admitted that i'd thought about it, and my conclusion was that random sex was not for me. they jumped up, S high fived J and yelled 'i told you it'd take her a week to go back on it!' 'Damn, a week today too, i thought it'd take longer! good guess!' what the fuck, they were literally making bets on me.