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Why Does My Life Sometimes Resemble That of Bridget Jones? Seriously?

I was regaling my friends with some awkward autograph stories last night when I realised something. Sometimes, I channel Bridget Jones. Hard core. 

My first awkward autograph story arose because I went to a talk that Yann Martel (author of Life of Pi- read it. Now!) gave at the Dublin Writer's Festival. I love Yann Martel, Life of Pi really did change my life. So after the talk, which revolved around his then new novel, Beatrice & Virgil, I dutifully purchased my copy of the book like the little literary groupie I am and stood in line to get his signature. 

As previously discussed, I like to overthink things, and I had lots of time in this line to overthink just about everything. I composed my speech for when I got my two seconds with the author of one of my all time favourite novels. It involved gushing admiration for Life of Pi, and thanks for having written such amazing prose. When I got up to him though, I promptly froze, croaked out my name, watched as he signed my book, said thank you, and ran. Well played, well played. 

My more Bridget-worthy moment occurred at another book signing, of course. This was the fateful book signing that I attended with The Writer, where I met his lacklustre girlfriend. As a result of this incredibly awkward situation, my Irish bestie and I partook in far too much of the free wine. 

The author whose book was being 'launched' was Dermot Healy, and the book was Long Time, No See. I had heard of neither author, nor novel before the launch, but The Writer had invited me, and his Dublin time was running out, so I was keen to soak up as much time with him as possible. Mr. Healy did a reading from his book, and it contained some breathtakingly beautiful language. You know that somebody is an amazing author when they can write a paragraph about a rock that makes you want to cry a little bit (to be fair to me, the rock was a symbol for something else, and I was highly emotional at the time).

But my Bridget Jones moment really came into full swing when I got to Mr. Healy to have him sign my book. I was drunk, and therefore determined to say something meaningful and intelligent about his book. I asked him to address his message to my stepdad, it seemed like a nice thing to do. I then proceeded to tell him that I thought his writing was very beautiful indeed. He looked at me quizzically- 'Really?' 'Oh yes!' says drunken I, 'I particularly loved the paragraph regarding the rock.' I said more than this, I've forgotten details. Needless to say, I looked like a bit of a drunken git. The message he inscribed for my stepdad? 'Good luck!' I am presuming he thought that the man's name I had given him was actually my boyfriend or husband, and he felt compelled to wish him luck for the future with someone as bat shit crazy as me. 

Why Bridget Jones, you ask? Book launch, too much alcohol, awkward social interactions, and work colleagues. The jackpot of Bridget Jones-esque awkwardness really. 

 B. J. Barnes

This post first appeared on The Brilliance Of B. J. Barnes, please read the originial post: here

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Why Does My Life Sometimes Resemble That of Bridget Jones? Seriously?


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