I am a smoker. And, if there were enough hours in the day I’d probably smoke a carton. I’d smoke four at a time – lighting fresh ones with butts – blowing smoke rings out of my nose. I’d blow it in the faces of innocent bystanders where am I going with this? Ok, I don’t like smoking that much. But I still like the shit out of it.
Despite how much I like smoking, it was probably the stupidest thing I ever did.
I quit one time, and the first week was on par with heroine or methadone withdrawal. I bit one of my fingers off. There were shredded napkins everywhere. My eyeball fell out. I might have thrown up blood at some point. But other than that, things went pretty well.
You don’t really realize how engrained it is in your routine until you stop doing it, and after that, you get the crabby panty syndrome, or what I call, ‘Cigarettes Tourette’s’.
It goes something like this:
CH: I don’t know what to do with my FUCK hand I need to smoke something SHIT and this straw is not working LLAMA not DICK working at all and this gum FUCK sucks and it tastes like rubber and SHIT chalk I can’t see straight and the lights are FUCK dimming.
And that’s why I quit the first time. Because somebody said to me somewhere once that this is a healthier alternative to smoking. I felt fine before I quit, and then that. Peer pressure. Again.
That’s without a doubt the worst part about being a smoker – having to listen to some obese man with a cholesterol problem lecture me on the reasons why I should quit smoking while he is chewing on a rib bone. Duly noted, sir. And now please wipe the sodium-rich barbecue sauce off your face because it’s making me look at it.
But all these ads with smoking fetuses, and some girl with cigarette butts on her tongue, and voice box guy – it’s all too much. SHUT UP I’m trying to concentrate on smoking. I get it. We all get it. I’m waving the white flag indicating that you’re right. You win. Smoking is bad.
So here I am now, staring at a box of Chantix and wondering what the shelf life is on this drug is. It’s an ugly box. A stupid box. I’m not sure when I’m going to eat them. I not sure I want to eat them. If I eat them it’s going to be like that scene in Titanic at the end when Jack is sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic:
Cigarettes, come back.
Come back, pack.
Pack, come FUCK back…
**Bonus Contest Alert **Bonus Contest Alert**Bonus Contest Alert**
If you guess correctly what kind of cigarettes I smoke, I’ll make you a free banner or some badges for your Facebook/Twitter pages. But one guess only, cheaters!
And don’t stop smoking, because quitting is bad for you.
Life is funny. It seems to always find creative ways of throwing metaphorical curveballs at your face the same day that you metaphorically got your braces installed. I’m talking about those “oh no, not now” moments – those things that happen at the most inopportune or inappropriate times, and you find yourself shaking a clenched fist at the sky.
We all have those moments. It’s part of the cosmic joke.
So I guess I’ll preface the list by saying that there’s nothing worse than that moment when…
…You’re exactly halfway into your morning commute, and you realize that the fiber bar, apple, three cups of dark roast coffee, and bowl of oatmeal with flax seed sprinkles on it is close to winning the battle. Red light.
…You drop a dime on the floor while standing in line and are suddenly unsure whether or not to embark on a recovery procedure for it. The guy behind you picks it up. You’re suddenly filled with regret.
…You’re cleaning out your fridge, and as you’re dumping the pork roast leftovers from three months ago into the garbage, you carelessly miss the hole. Not only does it smell like Satan’s armpit after a long afternoon of racquetball, but you’re out of paper towel. You wash your hands twice just to be safe.
…Somebody in the Netflix movie that you’ve never seen before that you’re watching with your Grandma says “masturbate”, and then you pretend you didn’t hear it. You think to yourself that hopefully Grandma doesn’t know what that word means. And then you think that she’s probably hoping the same thing.
…The same guy in the Netflix movie that you’ve never seen before that you’re watching with your Grandma that said “masturbate” is now humping somebody, and the chair you’re sitting in feels like it’s going to start on fire. And the channel changer is so…far…away right now. But that would only intensify the awkwardness.
…You’re a dude and you have a Freudian slip in front of another dude in public, which is unfortunate because you’re straight, but you can read his mind and he’s thinking, “I think this guy is gay” and you’re thinking back, “no I’m not you fucking dickhead. I’ll kick your ass.” and he thinks back, “Ok, maybe you’re not gay and we’ll pretend that it didn’t happen, bro.”
…You’re walking through a busy grocery store with nothing but milk and toilet paper and you’re trying to find a cool way of holding the toilet paper, like, under your arm, pretending that they are math books or something. And then you’re thinking to yourself, “It’s just toilet paper. Everybody buys toilet paper…”
…You’re walking through a busy grocery storing holding your milk and toilet paper in your ‘try to be cool about it” fashion and you notice somebody approaching you at the twelve o’ clock position not paying attention. They are walking in the English driving lane (the wrong fucking side), and then they do that awkward dance thing with you. They look at the toilet paper. They look at your face. You lose.
…You walk into the only public guy’s bathroom that you’ve ever been in that doesn’t have a urinal, and also has a woman applying her makeup in it. And you almost say out loud, “hey, get out of here, lady!” And then you pull your coat over your head and casually avoid making eye contact with the security cams on the way out.
…You’re returning a shoping cart full of empties at the store and you’re dressed down. And then you think that everybody thinks you’re a homeless person and you’re cashing in all of the bottles and cans you found in the woods. But then you think to yourself, “I’ll explain that I party a lot if anybody asks.”
…You have to explain to your blind date that something via text message has unexpectedly come up that you must attend to very urgently.
…Your blind date knows that you’re lying about having to attend to something unexpected, and the waitress is having somebody in a foreign country hold your tab while she is taking an abnormally long cigarette break.
…You fart right before somebody enters the room. They never enter this room. You optimistically use your nose as a vacuum cleaner. It’s not working.
It happens to the best of us…
Wait, does it?