My Life As Bridget Jones

So. I've often revered myself as the American version of Bridget Jones, the professional woman struggling with being a singleton and the antics of dating.

Saturday Night I had a complete Bridget moment.

I went to a smashing (from here on in, read this post with a British accent, love) party with a bunch of blokes I didn't even know. My chum D Money has a flat in the same building as the chap who was throwing the soire, and she was invited after meeting him in the lift. Most of the guests worked in the Cincinnati branch of a company based in Merry Old London, so lots of the people there had ace British accents.

The party was a sort of gathering for a bunch of bloody drunkards. Everyone downing shots of vodka, lots of beer and all sorts of fab drinks. No real wankers there, but I did meet one great chap while puffing on a couple fags.

His name was Ben and he was the closest thing I'd ever seen to Hugh Grant. He had these wicked blue eyes and great, thick hair. Ben dressed in that hip Euro style you see in all the mags. Lots of black clothes and a great smile (I was surprised about the nice teeth).

Ben and I went out for another smoke around 4 am, just the two of us. My buzz was wearing off, and I could tell Ben was far from blotto, so I was a bit gobsmacked when he planted a big kiss on my lips.

We went back up to the host's flat and noticed everyone had cleared out of there, so I offered to drive Ben back to his place.

And what a place he had.

The cushy diggs are on a hill overlooking the Ohio River. After I got the nickel tour, Ben showed me the door to the patio overlooking the scenic spot. I was handed a gin and tonic and Ben and I sunk into the chairs and talked about our families, our passions and our respective life histories. Every once in a while he'd lean over and kiss me. It was just smashing, I tell you, especially when the storm started rolling in and the rain was pouring down, complete with thunder and lightning bolts.

I remember thinking My gosh. I'm never going to forget this night for as long as I live. The whole time my mind was racing Am I wearing good underwear? How long was it until I shaved my legs? Do I smell too much like smoke? Oh my gosh I have to go to the bathroom. Does he really fancy me?

It was a true Bridget Jones moment, indeed.

Then we moved in to his living room to nestle in on his big, L shaped, black leather couch. Ben started playing a game of truth or dare (we both stuck to the truths) and snogged a little bit (okay, a lot) while Michael Jackson's greatest hits spun in Ben's DVD player. It turns out even British guys love to beat it.

I don't think we went to sleep until around 7 or so. My clothes stayed on, love, so I don't have anything too juicy to report. I must say though, I was ready to shed it all each time he looked into my eyes and said, complete with that sexy British accent "God, you're stunning."

Like I've said before, there's nothing better than giving or getting a compliment. They're free to give and can make a person feel amazing.

We finally settled in on sleeping around 9 I think, finally waking up around noon. I was completely knackered all day Sunday.

Ben and I exchanged cards and we made loose plans to perhaps see Jarhead. I'll keep you all posted on most of the details.

Cheers.