Lime Dip

Nostalgic by nature and almost crippled by the sense that I am missing out on something even as the things are happening around me - I pause to consider the idea of writing a novel. Ok, maybe a short story? A poem? Ditty?

So, I am driving to the Dairy Queen on Burnet RD confident that they will have
the Cherry Dip vanilla cone I so desperately need. A late night excursion to the East side the night before had proved fruitless and I ended up throwing the inferior chocolate dipped come onto the ground in utter dissapointment and despair. Now, driving, I am lost in revelry and almost drift disasterously into another car on 183. As the driver turns to look at me with that known expression of horror, confusion and anger I am struck by how lost in this I am, how ardent the quest for Cherry dip has become and I have to wonder: where did this all come from and what's really going on here anyway?

It isn't the Cherry Dip, it's the feeling of being home, being at rest and being really really ok. There's a small ice cream stand near my home town called JJ's. They have all the dip flavors including Lime. Hmmm... how I loved the lime dip. I had it a few times as a child - before Friday Night Skating at the nearby rink (now a flea market I think) or after Seahawk's games I had watched my brother skate in. But, I loved it increasingly more as I got older and started making that familiar drive along 3A alone in my own car rather than with my parents or someone else's parents. I started looking forward to JJ's as an essential elemnt of this ritual of coming home - the "way-better-than-the-actual-thing" precursor to being home.

What if I was to come home and there WAS no more Lime Dip? What if there was no more JJ's? How would that affect the whole delicate internal balance of nostalgia sand ritualistic homesickness that has become such an intricate aprt of my ennui? That's when I thought that this was topic deserving of a novel. Or maybe a short story? Poem? Ditty? Blog...

So there I was, thinking I was happy and that everything was ok. No drama, just good, solid and okay. THEN... the mood hits. What is the deal with this? Yes, I'm PM and by now I should expect this fit of irrationality right around... NOW - but man, sometimes it's a doosy. I'm feeling completely at the mercy of my whimsical brain chemistry, whirling like a maelstrom of cacophonous circus music and then pop. Back to normal again. I love being a woman. Yah. Rock.

So yah, depression is a drag - but some days it really feels like the texture of your life - the ups and downs of existence - nothing too dramatic. Other days it feels like a wall that separates you from all that is normal, happy and good (yah Katy, and those are synonyms). It is like a blunt, inarticulate bouncer to "Club Normal" where everyone's dancing to Avril Lavigne and drinking Tuaca shots and you're stuck outside trying to reason with this force of negativity that won't let you enjoy the Tuaca because the Tuaca is stupid and a waste of time and there is man's search for meaning to be considered and how dare you. What good reason can I tell him that I just want to dance and drink the Tuaca. No Tuaca for you! You can never "just enjoy the Tuaca" - not without irony you can't! And then there's poor Avril Lavigne... who represents every stupid poser girl who made me cry in junior high (sounds like a lyric...) Anyway, this analogy is getting a little zany but you get the idea. Sometimes I just want the Tuaca.

Other times I feel like singing that song "that ain't no way to treat a lady, no way to treat your baby, your woman, your friend" to myself. Mostly because I'm crazy - but also maybe because we should all give ourselves a break once in a while and just be nice to us.

NON SEQUITOR ALERT - Do you ever wish you knew a few key phrases in Vietnamese - like when you get a manicure and there's this frenetic conversation going on all around you and you always, somewhere in your mind anyway, imagine it's about you, although certainly it isn't (or I guess it could be 0- but smart bets are on not?). I saw a lady yesterday talking loudly on her cell phone the whole time she was getting her nails and feet done. Isn't that wrong or something? Isn't there a rule somewhere that says you have to sit there in silence and suffer. Isn't suffering beauty? Or is it? Am I over-thinking this - do you see what I'm saying?

It's like, just drink the Tuaca, get the manicure without feeling awkward and smiling the entire time. Stop struggling in vain to find the correct speed at which to speak so as not to be insensitive to the fact that English is a second language but also so as not to condescend (after all, do I speak Vietnamese?). Why not just paint them at home? Oh, that's right because I'm "treating myself".

Why not just have the hair ripped out of your face with scalding hot wax so that the men in your life (and on the street and whatever) won't think you're ugly and will accept you as the beautiful and therefore worthwhile woman that you want to be, despite the incongruities with your feminist leanings and strong self image. Oh wait - I already ripped those hairs out of my face with tweezers during my lunch hour - besides I want to relax you know - cuz I'm doing this for me. I am. Really.

Oh, and Matrix II sucked.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Yah, ok. The thing is I woke up this morning really tired and grumpy with a head-ache and a neck-ache and I really didn't want to earn my keep in the world today. I did go to work though, of course. So here we are. 5 more hours to go and I really wish I could say I was inspired about living today but sadly, this is not the case.

I went to See the "Bob Schneider Show" at Antone's on Tuesday night with my best gal pals and we danced, drank and shook it for a few hours. That was fun. There was one man who we theorized was either on Viagra or X or both. He was about 60 and he was getting his groove on and had his hands all over these very young (like 18 yrs old, X on the hand, barely having tits young) girls who were dancing in the front row, innocuously trying to make the band members look at them - and then here's this guy. Anyway, it was sort of inspiring/ skeezy/ sad/ stupid - so much like life.

The very next morning at 7:30am I was sitting sipping coffee into my aching head and listening to our CEO talk about the company and then listening to everyone else talk about how great they are and then management congratulating everyone for being so great. I was staring at the stamp on my hand and wondering if anyone would notice if I left. As in didn't ever come back? I don't think they would. I think they would notice but mind? Hmmm... probably not so much. Yep, I'm pretty sure they'd survive : ).

How does one incorporate "the rock" into "the lifestyle". Or, is "the rock" "the lifestyle"? Or is "the lifestyle" "the rock"? Ya see, most of my favorite rock stars are clean and sleep past 6:30am so my life, as a fan, could be considered disparate. An impass has been reached perhaps. What are the odds that any of this matters at all?

When someone asks you how you are doing for a living nowadays, do you talk about selling heroin to 15 year olds? Do you point out that it is cheaper than crack and the kids like it better? Do you operate under the belief that you are in a movie about funny ironic people or are you trying to communicate with another human being or are those things mutually exclusive?


Seriously though, this guy I used to kinda know (how's that for non-committal?) named Schmitty came in last night and the above was his response to the innocuous "So, what are you doing for work lately, Schmitty?". He then asked me weightily if our mutual friend Susan was "still alive". What kind of a way to ask a question is that? She was when I talked to her this morning you freak. What's wrong with you? Who are you, Job? Name your afflictions, brother man - since when is your life so bleak? Sigh... can you stand to be uncool, untortured, just ok for a second - can you run that risk for a moment? Ooh, the violent sting of mediocrity. Nothing happens, welcome to life.


This is my first post and should I be writing as if people are reading it? People who don't know me? Hmmmm.... well, ok, here are some very miscellaneous things about me:

I mourn the passing of pudding pops. Seriously - it makes me sad. I miss them. I lament their loss. There was so much texture - I liked the fruit ones too. So low fat, so unique - Bill Cosby liked them - what else do you need?

I have a bad habit of saying people's names really loudly when I see them and then saying nothing else. Especially local celebrities or people I don't know very well (those 2 things are not actually distinct normally). This is weird and scary for everyone (just ask Bob Schneider - he once recoiled from me like a slug in salt). I felt very cool at that moment. Yeppers, like I said - not so good.

I have an overt fondness for vanilla dipped cones at Dairy Queen (cherry is my favorite). I like the granulated dip stuff that tastes like kool aid mix when you've licked the spoon and put it back in. Fine crystally goodness. I like fighting the melting battle too. Small happy victory.

I love the micro thin top layer of an ice cream cake. Sacred.

I use "punk rock" as an adjective often and underacheive as a pastime.

Yep. You bet.
Katy

First post. Truly historic.