“A Higher Plane of Existence” (Or “These Tacos be Loco!”)

In keeping with the theme of blogging about life and its meaning, I would like to share some things about a related topic that is very dear to me: Dorito tacos.

I don’t know about you, but when Taco Bell announced its launch of the original Dorito Taco, life suddenly seemed to make so much more sense to me. Two of my favorite things in this world, Doritos and tacos, had finally been combined for the whole world to enjoy! The only thing I questioned was why it took mankind so long to finally accomplish such culinary perfection. My mom used to make taco salad with Doritos, and I loved it, but Taco Bell took this magnificent combination and put it in a convenient fast-food package. Genius. However, a while after the initial excitement over my beloved Dorito tacos, I found that, somewhere deep within my being, there was still a vague and lingering void, some sense that there must be even more to life. Today, I found it: Cool Ranch Dorito tacos. I now feel that my life is complete.

After my enlightening Cool Ranch Dorito taco experience today (a day earlier than the “official” launch date, might I add), I feel that I am now truly “living mas,” and I was inspired to compose a poem…

Ode to Dorito Tacos

Not nachos, chalupas, nor even burritos,

Can compare to a taco that‘s forged in Dorito. 

An explosion on each of my taste receptors!

Girded in cardboard hand protector,

Whether classic nacho or cooler ranch,

Not a speck of Dorito dust will sully my hands.

You deeply move me, my beloved taco,

Like Elaine’s boyfriend, Brett, and the song “Desperado.”

You may be skeptical of words so trite,

But believe you me, it was love at first bite.

Long gone are the days when the burger was king,

All Hail the Dorito taco, who reigneth supreme!

I would like to point out that I am in no way endorsed by Taco Bell. (Although, TB, if you’re looking for a spokesperson, I’d be more than happy to be your Jared Fogle.)

Waning Melancholy

A year ago, I waxed melancholy on my blog for the first time. (See Waxing Melancholy) In that entry, I vaguely pondered the fluidity of importance and cyclical nature of humans. I also posed the question of whether my values might be different in a year from the time I composed the entry and whether I might again value the things I found important a year prior. Well, here we are, one year later. So??

I must say that many of the things that were weighing heavily on my mind a year ago still plague me today. I find it very interesting that I just so happened to go back and read that old blog entry and find that it just so happens to be a exactly a year later, and I just so happen to’ve been writing about very similar issues lately related to regrets, failure, etc. Coincidence? Perhaps.

To be candid, it’s been a heck of a year for me, full of what people often call “trials.” I just call it life. Aside from all the environmental turmoil of life, I’ve spent a lot of the last year in what might look like an identity crisis to an on-looker. Generally, I’ve been in a more philosophical mindset and have been getting back in touch with the creative aspects of my personality that felt squelched over a period of several years. For a while, I got very caught up in my “image,” trying to conform to an ideal that I thought was acceptable to and esteemed by society.  In the first several years of my early adulthood, I felt that I must put what I saw as childish things aside and become a responsible grown-up, forsaking the unconventionality and quirkiness that had characterized my childhood and adolescent years.

I grew up being called “weird.” As a child, I embraced the word. I reveled in being different from my peers. I felt special because I was my unique self. As I entered adolescence, I began to feel self-conscious to stand out from the crowd. I tried to lay low in the mainstream, but that seemed ineffective, so I did my best to blend in with various counterculture groups. After high school, I cursed my wild and free spirit and decided that I would do anything in my power to be just like regular old everybody else. I wanted to be normal and boring. It was so foreign to anything I’d ever known. My highest aspiration was to become just like one of the soccer-mom-looking ladies on the covers of those generic recipe magazines they sell at the grocery store checkout. Long gone were the days of childhood dreams of growing up to become a world-renowned scientist/first female President of the United States/game show host. I wanted a normal career, a perfect and traditional family, and a quiet little life in Suburbia. I bought khaki slacks and loafers and button-down blouses. I traded in my facial piercings, homemade belts, and off-beat purses for an understated silver necklace and wristwatch. I cooked. I cleaned. My hair, make-up, and fingernails were simple and plain. The majority of my creative expression was channeled into Martha Stewart-type home crafts or into teaching Children’s Church. I was miles away from the boisterous little girl I once was, always ready for jokes and adventure. Anymore, in social situations, I just smiled politely and proficiently engaged in all the expected and cliché small talk.  

After a while of living as a Stepford wife, I realized that I was denying my true self and that trying to live as this unrealistically “perfect” and painfully boring stereotype was killing me inside. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but it is as if I woke up one day and realized that there was so much more to life, and I was so busy worrying about being just a certain way that I WAS MISSING IT!! I was wasting an incredible amount of time worrying what other people thought about me, and I had lost focus on the pursuits that I truly enjoyed. There are SO many interesting things in this world, and having perfectly pressed creases in the sleeves of my all my blouses is NOT one of them!

I guess that’s all part of what was on my mind a year ago when I wrote the Waxing Melancholy entry. I feel that over the last couple of years, I’ve begun taking more risks, being truer to myself, and carpéing more diem. Although, not playing it safe can lead to an increased risk for failure and pain, but those are part of life, and by experiencing them, I feel more like I am living. It’s better this way.