Somebody knows my name

One of my main goals since we moved here has been to meet someone, anyone (at this point I'm not too picky) who would be my friend. I know that sounds a little (or maybe a lot ) desperate, and it is. I really need people in my life to share with, to vent to, to get advice from, to laugh with, to think I am kind of normal. (I don't ask for much--just to force my way into someone's already settled life and make them include me). I had a lot of those friends at home, and I am lonely for them here.

Of course, making a friend takes time, and although I am willing to be patient, I know that a friendship has to start with at least knowing someone's name (followed closely by finding out where they spend their time and then stalking them until they just give in and decide to include you in their group).

So the preliminary search for a name has been on since the moving truck drove off and left me with a lot of boxes, a new life, and no friends.

My search has included church and storytime at the library (where I got not one, but 3 names), and then MOPS, where I shamelessly peddled my story of just moving here and wanting to connect with other people. Apparently my abundant charm and charisma worked (and managed to disguise any over the top desperateness or weirdness) because I walked away with 2 phone numbers, lots of names, an email, an offer to attend a Zumba class, a planned meeting at the library, and a whole group of moms who seemed more than willing to adopt me into their group (they also gave me a whole book of names and numbers, but I think they give that to everyone regardless how desperate or charming they are).

A name or phone number does not a friend make, but it is a start and considering that 3 weeks ago I was convinced I was the only 30 year old mother living here, I would say I have made significant progress. Now if we can get past the hurdle of "I am slightly neurotic" I think we'll be in good shape.