Earlier this evening I was busily talking with a few of my friends about some very deep, serious, personal-introspectiony topics. All sorts of things have come up: dating, dealing with disease & death, more dating, emotional barriers, resurfacing childhood memories, dating, and so on and so forth. But then I was struck with the most profound thought of the evening…

    Flood is a funny word. It’s spelled with an elongated O sound, and yet it’s pronounced ‘fluhd’. Why is that? We should be pronouncing it with the long o, like Flooood. (Or as my friend Andrew says, ‘Flöd’.) Where did this ‘Fluhd’ business come from? I say we should end the confusion once and for all and start a Flöd revolution! No more ‘fluhd’ silliness, it’s time for flooood! It’s more accurate, and it’s much funnier that way. And we could all use a good therapeutic laugh when dealing with floods, couldn’t we? 🙂

    Anyway. Ech hem. 🙂 All of that introspection-speak is now behind me, as it’s 2:30 on a Sunday morning and – big surprise – no one else is on AIM. In yet another unwitting move away from life in the outside world, I now find myself loathing weekends. During the week I happily occupy my time distracting those friends of mine who are at work. I chatter away at them (in most cases whether they like it or not…) about who knows what, and generally enjoy myself. But on the weekends, people are out doing their free weekend things, and I have no one to talk to. This particular Saturday I accidentally slept the whole day. (Whoops.) I don’t know what caused it, but I slept from 3am until 6:30pm. Now I am wide awake, sleep nowhere in sight, and alas, no fellow nightowls are to be seen. Apparently Saturday is a day for partying, as is Saturday night.

    I need to come up with a plan. Thankfully next weekend will be occupied – entertainment and companionship has already been arranged. But what about the next weekend? And the next? And the one after that? Well, I have half a plan. I’ve purchased a few books, rounded up a few more from around the house, and I’m going to do some reading. I’m attempting to relearn Italian, I’ve graduated to the next level in my therapeutic massage studies, and I’ll be rereading Machiavelli’s ‘The Prince.’ Despite the fact that my memory isn’t worth a hill of beans in this crazy world (now where have I heard that before…), I’m going to attempt to cram some more information into it anyway. If the new stuff sticks, great, if it doesn’t, then at least I’ll feel as if I’ve done something worthwhile with my time.

    But sitting in bed reading all these big books can get a bit lonely. Maybe if I don’t sleep all day tomorrow I’ll attempt to get out and do something. Or not, we’ll see. Maybe my friend Brian will work his way online and I can finagle some more information out of him about how I can keep myself from being doomed at dating. You see, that was my other profound thought for the evening – I think I’m doomed when it comes to dating. Brian confirmed something I’d been afraid of for a while: on the first few dates, apparently it’s deadly for a woman to mention anyone of the male persuasion, otherwise the guy I’m dating could feel threatened or insignificant or something like that. Well, when the friends-anecdotes start cropping up in conversation, I’m eternally doomed, because almost all of my friends are men. Heck, even all of my siblings are male! Being surrounded by so much testosterone and boy-stuff all the time makes it especially difficult when friend-anecdotes coincide with topics such as cars, traveling, shopping, embarrassing moments, partying, and so on and so forth. Practically everything I do has some connection to some guy somewhere. I’ve got a snowball’s chance in Casablanca (oh, that’s where I’d heard it before…) of ever making it through a date without mentioning another man.

    So what’s a girl to do? Perhaps I should start making up more female friends to complement the less than a handful I have right now. (That regularly upsets my guy friends, that I don’t have many girl friends to fix them up with. Apparently they easily forget that hey, I’m a girl! Hehe) I should start a collection of imaginary female friends. I can pretend that they’re with me wherever I go, that way I can develop a whole new crop of funny date-appropriate anecdotes. Like that one time when I went downtown with Lola, ah, that trip was so great! We started running down the Mall singing Monty Python songs, and suddenly more and more people decided to join and sing along. Soon we were leading a whole parade of Python fans straight to the Capitol! Ahhh, good times, good times…

    Never mind, I suck at this. What girl named Lola would help lead a parade whilst singing “I’m a Lumberjack and I’m okay!”? Like that would be believeable… Besides, I like my guy friends, the whole herd of ’em. They’re great fun and provide an endless array of funny guy stories. They’re perfect when you need consoling, nobody’s better when you need a good laugh, and they like most of the same things I do. I just seem to understand men more than women, despite the fact I’m a woman myself (really I am, I like perfume and pink stuff and everything.) So what’s a girl-surrounded-by-guys supposed to do? Lie on dates and make up fake female friends? Or do you think men can take it when the lady they’re on a date with happens to prefer hanging around with guys?

    Wait, maybe that last statement answered my question… Maybe I should start making up fake friends. Eesh, this is going to take a notebook and some serious charts to keep this straight! I think I’m going to need some help. Care to post a few suggestions? You know I’d appreciate it, as will any of my future dates. 🙂