Think tanks. Yes. Think tanks. You
know what I'm talking about, yeah? A group of really smart people who sit
around a big expensive oak table and think. Usually, they think about whatever
the name of their think tank organization is. Real examples include Center for
Media and Democracy, Middle East Forum, and National Bureau of Economic
Research. Sometimes they might have a sci-fi sounding name like the Project
2049 Institute or the Millennium Project. Whatever the name is, they sit around
and just think. I think working in a think tank would be pretty awesome,
actually. I mean, I'm a nerd and I think constantly. I just might not think so
wisely sometimes. Or really most of the times. But still, I think. Descartes
would probably love this now that I think about it. But let's get to the point
shall we? After all, I do have a point and it is think tank syndrome. Think
tank syndrome is when the group of brainiacs all think the same thing without
having someone checking them on their bull shit thoughts. No one is there
saying "wait a minute, that's outrageous" or "seriously, you
think launching missiles at Cuba is REALLY a good idea?" or just simply
"no, that's stupid."
Think tank syndrome.
Now. Recently, I've noticed this
syndrome with my circle of friends. And I've taken it upon myself to be the one
woman riot against it. Silently. I'm not actually doing anything. Or really
saying anything. But still it's the thought that counts, right?
Let me explain so that I kinda
sorta maybe make sense rather than just aimlessly thought vomiting. My friends
all now drink club soda. Or seltzer water. Or tonic water. Whatever. I don't
even know the difference really. But they are all now obsessed with drinking
fizzy carbonated water. We go to a bar, and as a group we order 6 beers and 5
club sodas. Not 6 club sodas. But 5. Because I'm not drinking the kool-aid on
the club soda trend. That in itself, not so bad, I know. But now, each one's
frig is always stocked with the green and white generic market brand club soda
cans. Still not bad? Okay, sure. One of my friends, Jessica, is thinking about
having a club soda tasting birthday party. My other friend Ben started a club
soda blog. And another made a club soda keg which he will bring on our camping
trips now, apparently. I mean, I'm all about sharing hobbies and interests and
to be passionate about stuff. But, club soda?! REALLY? I mean, REALLY?
This may not seem like a big deal
to you. And really, it probably shouldn't be a big deal to me. But it is. Like,
everyone is morphing into one blob. Into one club soda drinking blob.
Like I said, think tank
syndrome.
Not convinced? My circle has
officially adopted the word "deranged." What do I mean officially
adopted? I mean my ex-BFF Cliff insisted that "we should all use the word
deranged more often. It can be used for everything. It can used to describe a
mood, a person, doing something. It's a good word," he said. This is was
an actual topic of discussion. For reals. I guess it might be true that the
word can be widely used but do we really need to announce the coming of
deranged? Oh, I forgot to mention, in the conversation it was explained that
the word "awkward" has been overused and "deranged" should now
replace it. Fuck that. And no thanks. I'm a loyalist and I'm just going to
continue on my merry fucking awkward way.
I do realize that my obsession with
my friends' beverage and vocabulary preferences is deranged. BUT I DON'T
CARE.
Thanksgiving is coming up in a few
days. And most of my circle is going camping in the freezing cold. I don't
really want to go. I'd much rather stuff my face comfortably with access to
running water, a heater, and my hair straightener. Yet I'm going. You know why?
Because I don't want to be left out. Can you pass me some of that kool-aid now,
please?
To Top it off I spent $200 on
camping crap at REI yesterday. I could have bought pair of shoes and Citizens
jeans with that money. Thanksgiving weekend could be stuffing my face, drinking
lots of wine, having straight hair, seeing the new Disney flick on the big
screen, and buying new shoes & jeans. Just not on Black Friday. Not my
style. But nope. No Thanksgiving flick for me this year. No Icee. No popcorn.
No Disney. No straight hair. No plumbing. Nope. I'm going camping. In the
freezing cold. But hey, at least my friend Ryan will bring his club soda
keg.
"Ugly Dress, you are
outrageous."
Well, for reals, there's the hot
springs! And I've never been to the hot springs. That is exciting. Except for
the fact that everyone will be naked in the hot springs. Sans me. I will not be
naked. I will wear my Vegas one-piece. Yes, my Vegas one-piece. I name my
clothes. Examples include preppy brunch shirt, hippy skirt, baseball mary-jane
shoes, and my Vegas one-piece. So, what is my Vegas one-piece exactly? It's a
black tarzan cut one-piece swimsuit that has bronze studs on the left side and
over the shoulder strap on the right. I got it specifically for my girl's dirty
thirty Vegas trip last April. It's quite sexy, in my biased opinion. Who cares
that no boys talked to me while I was at the pool. I was too busy adoring my
one-piece. That or too busy trying to hold in my margarita generated pee so I
don't have to fuss with my one-piece in the restroom. I mean, after all, I
don't pee in the pool because people who pee in the pool are heathens.
Obviously. And I am not a heathen. Obviously. And because I am not a heathen I
will NOT be naked in the hot springs...