Friends, Friends,... 1, 2, 3.....

The title is lifted from a song my mom sings to her pre-schoolers. If memory serves me right, the lyrics go a little something like this: "Friends, friends, 1, 2, 3... you're my friend, you're my friend, you're my friend, too..." There's more, I'm sure it ends in a ryhming couplet of some type: see/me, knee/tree, friend/hand (if anyone can name the literary device used in this last pair, you will win a very posh prize). Anyway, the reason I have chosen this title for this particular post is to wallow, ever so briefly, in my friendlessness here in Ireland.

Let me share my pain with you...

I went to two churches, one about three blocks away-- Our Lady of Victories--, and another right here on campus-- no name, it's just the Inter-Faith Centre, where most things that happen are Catholic, not inter-faith. At both masses, I was the second youngest person in the room. Masses here seem geared toward individual prayer and reflective thought, which is great if you're into that sort of contemplative junk-- which, clearly, I am not. It wasn't at all like the church I grew up in, where we ate donuts (manna) and drank coffee (made from Holy Water) and gossiped (cardinal sin) every Sunday after mass. My kind of Catholicism lets me make friends! And gives me free food! So, I didn't talk to anyone at either Irish mass, and no one talked to me, and I felt really one with God. Aces.

I've also tried to make friends in the children's play area at the park across the street. What sucks about that avenue, however, is that there isn't a helluva lot to talk about. "I see you have a kid," "Yes, I do," "It's fun, isn't it," "Yes," "I like my kid, do you like yours?" Evan really isn't old enough yet to do anything on the playground. When I put him in the swing he looked at me like I was sending him off in a flying saucer. Meeting other mommies at the playground only works if your kid is old enough and mobile enough to interact with other kids. When I hang out there with Evan, it just looks desperate.

Things might be looking up a little. When I went to aerobics tonight, a very nice girl named Sharon talked with me for awhile; she mistook me for a Canadian. I had to tell her the truth. She said whenever I fancy a coffee after, I should tell her. I tried very hard not to hug her, hold her hand, or cry in gratitude. You don't make new friends by being a clingy freak-lunatic.

My sister Angela offered a useful tip on how to make friends: have a lemonade stand. I think I'll give it a go first thing tomorrow.