And because I am not a heathen I will NOT be naked in the hot springs...

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...

And actually, all I know is that I'm not making out with him tonight...

So. Last night was a shit show. And by it was a shit show I really mean I was a shit show. Kinda. Well, actually, you tell me if I was a shit show. 

Last night this boy who I kinda have an innocent thing for gave me a ride to our team reunion party. You see, we were on the same marathon training team and last night we had a reunion party. Being a potluck party, we contributed booze, naturally. And I guess this boy who I have an innocent thing for needs a name: Steven. 

Anyway, at the potluck party, I exchanged pleasantries and small talk with my teammates. Caught up and laughed at each other's jokes. And discussed future marathon plans. I'm not always the best in proper social situations so I do what any responsible, mature, proper 30 year professional freak would do: I get drunk. And, I'm pretty sure I'm one of two people at the potluck party who is drunk. I say this to only emphasize how much I do stick out. Or maybe I totally don't stink out at all and it is in my head. Oh, wait. One of the girls there asked if I was stoned. Nope. Just drunk, lady. But thanks for checking. 

A few hours later the party shuts down. Steven and I say our goodbyes and leave. It's 9:30pm.   

What to do, what to do. I have this thing for him. I'm still trying to figure out if he is into me. I have no clue. I mean, maybe he is. He did text and ask me to go to the party with him. But maybe he just wants to be friends. I suppose I do keep pushing the friend vibe out there with him. How do I put the friend vibe out there, you may be asking. Well, whenever I text him I ",friend" it. Just to give you an example --> "So, what are doing tonight, friend?" See. Friend vibe. So why would I do that if I'm kinda into him. Not sure. Probably because I don't want to be vulnerable. Or don't want to be rejected. Or maybe I'm testing him. Who knows why I do over half the shit I do? I sure don't. To make matters even worse, I was talking to him about Cory last night. And Steven started asking questions about me and Cory. I know, total train wreck. Elementary dating 101 - don't talk about another guy to the guy you are kinda sorta maybe into. 

But I suppose that's the thing. I'm kinda maybe sorta into Steven. I mean, I guess I was way more into him a few weeks ago. But then we stopped hanging out. And it's out of sight, out of mind, right? And. Plus. He flaked on me during game 5 of the World Series. 

Anyway, back to the issue at hand. Potluck party over. I suggest we meet my friends at a bar near my apartment. He likes the idea.  And now I'm starting to maybe think that we might make out later tonight. Gotta figure this out now. We discuss drinking & driving responsibilities. Clearly. I'm drunk. He's telling me that he will only have a beer or two and take off. I casually mention how he can always leave his car behind and to cab it home. I could even pick him up in the morning to retrieve his car. But really I'm thinking: fuck; just get drunk and crash at my place; and while you are at it, make out with me already. 

We get to the bar and my near & dear friends Matty and Chrissy are there. They are engaged. Pretty much the most awesome couple EVER. Assholes. Thanks for reminding me of my miserable 30 nothing single being. So the four of us hang out. And I continue to get more drunk. Steven continues to drink responsibly. Within the hour the more of my circle arrives. The delinquent lawyer circle that is. Cliff and Jessica who are dating and Ben all come together. 

Cliff and I use to be super good friends. But not so much anymore. I'm sure he is talking shit on me. You know, because the world revolves around me. And Cliff spends all his time talking shit on me. He really has nothing better to do. Shut up, already Ugly Dress. You are so full of yourself sometimes.   

Steven is drinking responsibly, I'm sauced, more of my friends arrive. I get more sauced. Cliff is now in a deep conversation with Steven. Shit. Now I gotta put on my best drunk face and be charming with Cliff. Sometime during this deep conversation between my ex-BFF or something and my current makeout target, Kevin joins us. Now Kevin is my ex from law school. He is also one of my closest friends. In fact, he is sitting on my couch right now as we are watching Dazed & Confused. But let's not live in the present. Let's continue living in past. 

Steven and I are talking and giggling and all of a sudden, I freeze. I can no longer hold a conversation with him anymore. Just completely paralyzed. So, he takes the moment to get us another round. Not that I even need another drink. But who am I to say no to him? 

Now the group as a whole moves into a college football conversation.  And this conversation reminds me that earlier I perhaps indirectly insulted Steven's home state, which is my current residing state, when a California team beat this Pacific Northwest college football team. And. Damn. Now I'm in deep thought about how I may have insulted Steven earlier in the night when I was just trying to be funny. So, of course, not following the conversation, I loudly slur "Califormiya is betteeer than [state X]." The conversation falls silent. Chrissy just looks at me. And I'm sure everyone at the table is just thinking "what. the. fuck. ugly.dress." Including me. Not sure what just happened. I was just compelled to stick to my guns. What guns? Again who knows? Not me. Anyway. Jessica raises her glass and toasts to the great state X. I don't toast. I'm sticking to these mythical guns. 

Few minutes later Steven says his goodbyes to the crowd. Hugs me goodbye. And leaves. I advise him he shouldn't drive. Because of course he should make out with my drunk rude paranoid narcissist being. But he assures me that he can drive. And that he will text me when he gets home. And he does. He texts me "home" with a stupid fucking emoticon. I hate emoticons. But. I forgive Steven for using it. It's the least I can do after not toasting to his great home state.

One by one my friends leave. And at some point I realize I'm the last one at the bar. So. I stumble home on home. During the walk home, I rethink and reassess my situation with Steven. Did I blow it? Is he into me? Was he ever into me? Are we just friends? Did I talk about Cory too much? Am I overthinking the California is better the his state joke? Why am I so drunk? So many questions. And got nothing. And actually, all I know is that I'm not making out with him tonight...                    

And I’m calling off the wedding now …

About a decade ago, I worked with this handsome fellow. Let's call him Cory. I was madly infatuated with him. Hung onto every word that slipped through his lips. Got lost in his deep green eyes. And of course, I mean, OF COURSE, all his jokes were absolutely hilarious. I was twenty.

You see though, he dated the blonde haired, blue eyed, fake boobed cliche Midwest turned Southern California chicks. I am not blonde haired nor I am blue eyed. And as Shakira puts it: my breasts are small and humble so you don't confuse them with mountains. Anyway, I digress. The point is that I was mad about Cory. And Cory was not mad about me in the slightest.

Well, time passes and we drift apart. Go years without talking. Then we reconnect through AIM. Remember AIM? Yeaaaah. So, we reconnect and email sporadically for years. Finally, last year we start hanging out again. The first time we actually met up for a beer I was SO nervous that I was shaking violently when I grabbed my beer. I had to turn my back towards him to box him out from seeing my trembling beer holding hand. I know, I'm so lame. Even lamer: I spent quite a bit of time to look casual messy effortless cute. But, you know what? Casual messy effortless cute actually requires a lot of effort. Got to get the hair strands just right to shape your face. Wear the right amount of makeup, but make it look like you aren't wearing any makeup, really. Wear jeans. Skinny jeans with Toms? Or straight legs with flops? Hmm. I wonder if I should wear heels, actually. Heels do make my ass pop -- and ass popping is actually effortless if I wear heels. And dangling earrings, but no other jewelry. And. Perfume. Duh. But not too much, you know. You know that rule that if you can smell the perfume yourself then that means you are wearing too much? Damn. I totally smell the perfume on myself. I guess I gotta drive with the windows down to the bar so I air myself out. Okay, so finally I am effortlessly fake date ready to hang out with the boy I had the hots for when I was twenty who dated Hollywood wanna-bes double ds. And I am still small and humble. No wonder I shaked (shook?) so violently when I grabbed my beer. I over thought my effortless look to hysteria. But whatever. Moving on.

Oh, boy.

So, getting back to Cory. We hang out and it was great. We hang out more and it is more great. Then I move back to the great Pacific Northwest. And I leave all fantasies and daydreams and happily ever afters with Cory behind in California. However, we text from time to time. And we talk on the phone. And I still wonder if he is the one for me. And if there is even a one for me. And I spend hours over analyzing his texts. For instance, in my attempts to seek clarity in our friendship and assert a platonic relationship, which is actually for myself than for him, I text him "Despite the period of not being friends & now living in different state, you're a good/close friend, dude. I appreciate you & will totally send you an invite to my wedding." Setting personal boundaries, right? Like, this is me telling myself (and him, of course) that I am not madly into you again. I am now thirty years old. I am a sexy, confident, fabulous woman with small and humble breasts. And he responds " I totally feel the same way and if I ever do get married you will be there as well." One minute later he follows up with "Okay I'm home and I'm going to sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Okay. Seriously. What. The. Fuck.

Please note how I said I will send him an invite to my wedding. And now please contrast that with how he said that I will be there with him as well. Like, I clearly said I will invite him to my wedding. But he was clever, right? He left his response open-ended, vague, and ambiguous. Like, is he implying that I will be at the alter with him if he ever gets married? Am I supposed to be his bride to be? I have read this, and re-read this, and sought second, third, ninth opinions on this matter. Chicks and dudes. And. I have come up with no answer. Please feel free to share your thoughts on interpreting this mess for me.

I have nothing left to share about this. Except that I have imagined our wedding being an outside wedding. And it is sunny. I see grass. And white flowers. Okay. Enough of that, shut up already. It was only a text. A stupid text. And he is online dating. And I'm calling off the wedding now.

And I guess the writing was on the wall ...

Well, here is a little background on me. I moved from the Golden State of California to the Great Pacific Northwest to go to law school several years ago. I'm sure as time goes on, I will revisit some of the crazies before law school --- like the time my then boyfriend proposed to me & I ran away --- in addition to my crazies during law school --- like the time I flipped my shit in my pjs in the pouring rain outside my apartment building after I smoked a j. Yes, in time those crazies will be out, I'm sure. But for now, it's fitting & quite hilarious that my profession, attorney, has made it pretty high on this top ten list. 

http://theweek.com/article/index/251957/which-professions-have-the-most-psychopaths

And I guess the writing was on the wall.

And it starts ...

And it starts …

I over-think & over-analyze everything. And, recently I realized that I'm very self-involved because I think the world revolves around me. Obviously, I know it doesn't even though it really should. Moving on. In efforts to release my inner crazies, I've decided that I'm just going to write about them & share them with the world. Apparently, I've also decided that I'm interesting enough that someone will care to read these writings. Oh, but I am. Just you wait. Or don't. Whatever.

Domani.

And it starts.