<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaTJG1j_EI/AAAAAAAABbw/fvouW4rgqFU/s400/DSC06036.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361134191094529090" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A story that began with the coercions of my buddy and <a href="http://www.urbantulsa.com/gyrobase/Archive?searchPhrase=holly+wall&amp;">Urban Tulsa Weekly arts writer Holly Wall</a> has ended in a tragic picture of addiction.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>The woman from now on known to me as Wallrus took my kid and I to <a href="http://www.tashadoestulsa.com/2009/05/something-to-do-at-sunset-tonight.html">the 41st Street Plaza at RiverParks</a> for lunch Monday afternoon, where she was nice enough to buy us a sno cone to share.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>At least, I thought she was being nice. Now I see she's part of a top-secret underground troupe to convert us all into shaved-ice-and-syrup-slurping idiots.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaUurAC24I/AAAAAAAABb4/Xht30pmXiOc/s400/Holly.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361135935968959362" /><div><br /></div><div>Conniving punk.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>After partaking of her ingenious combination of Tiger's Blood (if you were a kid during the '90s, you know the strawberry/coconut flavor combination I'm talking about) and mango flavors and falling in love with the slushy sweetness that is sno cone all over again, I knew I had to try a cone from this spot in southtown that had caught my eye.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>All four times I'd driven through the 91st and Memorial intersection within the past few years (just because I work on the border of south Tulsa doesn't mean I have to actually <i>go</i> there) I noticed a huge line - we're talking 30-40 Okies deep - sprouting from this little white-and-blue sno cone shack called Josh's.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaSjRTTJaI/AAAAAAAABbo/vNRHhCBLVZg/s400/DSC06012.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361133541068580258" /><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaSOF1shzI/AAAAAAAABbY/vnC7kwQEnZQ/s400/DSC06014.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361133177214371634" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I know, right? In the words of <a href="http://www.newson6.com/Global/story.asp?S=7460575">one of my all-time favorite Tulsa media icons, "Hey - What's the deal?"</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Since I'd always been of the camp that proclaimed <a href="http://braums.com/">hot fudge ice cream sundae from Braum's as the cool summer treat of champions</a>, I never thought twice about stopping long enough to stand in line and see what all the fuss was about.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>That was, until the night following my passionate reunion with the sno cone that was mildly inappropriate considering the setting (a children's park - think: the old Herbal Essences commercials). </div><div><br /></div><div>All three members of my little family and I used 20 minutes of our lives - 20 minutes we'll never, ever get back - to stand in line to order a couple of wacky, technicolor sno cones from Josh's.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I mean, doesn't this kid look like he's in need of a sno cone?</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaRcTYXzaI/AAAAAAAABbQ/36osJQXPR_g/s400/DSC06023.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361132321856015778" /><div><br /></div><div>In dire need, I'd say. Anyone with a soul who sees this photo is bound to feel an ancient urge to throw sugary treats at it. I am human, too, I swear.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaQ3XtZZOI/AAAAAAAABbI/esgxMWouNWs/s400/DSC06027.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361131687362782434" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Just look at that menu board. With that many flavor options, especially Tulsa-centric ones like <a href="http://www.oru.edu/">Golden Eagle</a> and <a href="http://utulsa.edu/">Blue Hurricane</a>, my imagination was in overdrive. I needed the entire 20 minutes just to figure out what the heck I was going to do with the power to purchase just two sno selections. </div><div><br /></div><div>Plus, I had a good time chatting with the preteens behind me in line about what exactly made the sno cones from this particular stand better than any others in town. </div><div><br /></div><div>"The ice is, like, shaved better. It's finer, or something."</div><div>"They have more flavors than anyone." </div><div>"They have toppings. I always get gummi bears. They're 50 cents."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Pure gold, folks. Unmitigated preteen wisdom. </div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaQfR-5TpI/AAAAAAAABbA/0g4BlrQ1_FA/s400/DSC06032.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361131273508703890" /><div><br /></div><div>Something else about which most preteens are wise: Social media. Josh apparently knows this. That's why he's not only on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/joshssnoshack">Facebook</a>, but also <a href="http://www.myspace.com/joshssnoshack">Myspace</a> and <a href="http://twitter.com/JoshsSnoShack">Twitter</a>. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Oh, Twitter. <a href="http://twitter.com/tashadoestulsa">How I love thee</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>As for that 20 minutes that was sucked into the black abyss of time I've spent during this life waiting in lines? </div><div><br /></div><div>Refreshingly, icily, crunchily, sweetly, good-enough-that-you-wanna-watch-Nicktoons worth it.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaQEymecjI/AAAAAAAABa4/pjNfzElVhVk/s400/DSC06037.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361130818408182322" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>...even if half my Crunch cone (doused with cranberry and fruit punch syrups) will never know the satisfaction of being the object of my satisfaction. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sorry, but it's all about me. It's the addict's mindset. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Come to find out, Josh's is indie. It all started in 2005 at 71st and Garnett when some early-twenty-something kid thought it be a good idea to open a sno cone stand. Two summers ago, another shack popped up at 91st and Memorial. The lines outside the two shacks have been growing ever since.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As someone who couldn't more officially be in her mid-twenties, I was the second-oldest person in the 30-deep line at Josh's. I felt matronly. I mean, my shorts came down to my knees, and my paper-white calves illuminated the bare, pigmented, cellulite-free upper thighs of all the other girls. Also, I'm pretty sure I was the only one in line without braces.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>No matter. No amount of girlish giggling or compulsions to buy a minivan or hyper-awareness of my newly minted mom butt could keep me away from that which is Josh's Sno Shack.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SmaOuEuWhII/AAAAAAAABaw/g94DnbIk3sE/s400/DSC06035.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361129328624436354" /><div><br /></div><div>Hey, Josh? Where have you been all my life?</div></div>