Tuesday, Jun. 22, 2004 - 5:11 p.m.

10:48 p.m. Watching Briget Jone�s Diary, hypnotically twisting the hair in my right armpit and sobbing like an adolescent schoolgirl who didn�t get invited to prom has brought me to the acceptance that I�m alone. All alone. Pitifully alone in a king-size bed. Alone in a king-size bed gorgeously clad in Frette sheets but alone nonetheless. However, just like Briget, chin up chest out, I refuse to wallow in exaggerated self-indulgent pity and therefore choose not finish my list of internal and external imperfections nor my bedside flask of Grey Goose Vodka. Instead I decide to focus on things more positive and constructive like hating Hollywood, Julia Roberts, Meg Ryan (pre-disastrous face surgery)(it�s impossible to hate her now, poor thing) and TV�s Felicity for perpetuating the stereotype and congruent absurdity that love is just around the corner if we can just manage to make it to the end of the block without getting run over by a bullet train.

10:59 p.m. Hollywood has created a genre with a peculiarly unsettling talent to depress yet uplift and inspire. Chick-flicks, like Belgium chocolate or a fresh Krispy Kreme, are a self-sabotaging event that we happily consume due to the promise that Mr. Right-Now just might miraculously become Mr. Right. I call bullshit! Yet, like every other optimist, I wholeheartedly believe in the power of fate and destiny and that by turning down aisle 5 instead of aisle 6 I will knock into "him," our eyes locking, neither of us able to utter a single word, falling deeper and deeper into a love-at-first-sight trance until finally some elderly battle-ax in curlers and a faded moth-eaten housecoat rudely barges between us and unceremoniously reaches for the Vagisil.

11:03 p.m. I want to believe in Briget. I want to believe that if only I had the earnest diligence to keep a diary that I to would have Colin Firth and Hugh Grant from which to choose.

11:05 p.m. Just remembered that I do keep a diary.

11:38 p.m. Unable to sleep I decide to ponder why it is I have a natural proclivity to turn down aisle 6.

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