I thought that since my last post was very touching and poignant, it may have even drawn a tear or two...
It would be appropriate for me to do a little light-hearted blog to follow it.
Some of you may know, and some of you may not know, that I used to smoke. Now when I say smoke I mean it was probably like a pack a month, nonetheless its still a bad habit; you would think with all of the knowledge out there, and all of the risk factors I have already for cancer I wouldn't have started at all.
I blame Rita Hayworth in Gilda. Pathetic? Probably but can you blame our grandparents for smoking like chimneys when that was on the big screen?
I started when I was 18 and it wasn't a frequent habit, only a cigarette or two when I was stressed or just needed a break; I barely went through a pack a month, sometimes the pack would last me almost three. Then when I hit 21 and could legally drink outside my house...well I don't have to elaborate. In a sense it was very calming to have a cigarette with my cosmo, Jameson and ginger, or gin and tonic; I won't lie: when I was in heels and a dress I felt like goddamn Barbara Stanwyck. I talk about her a lot because she is basically the greatest actress of all time and she, along with all of those other fabulous femme fatales, looked so desirable and seductive with that damn cigarette hanging delicately between their fingers as they traced the rim of their glasses; knowing that they got this joker hook, line and sinker.
In all seriousness, though those fabulous ladies didn't help, they weren't the real reason for my smoking. It was because I was just starting to come away from that darker period in my life. I was a good kid when I was in high school: I never snuck out, I never drank...at least until I was 18 and my dad knew about it, I never got into any sort of trouble with drugs, and I was pretty good at following my curfew. However I was angry and confused, I was searching for something and thank God I didn't go the wrong way that so many other kids did in my situation but I did turn to those vices when I became eligible to buy them. Like I said before, it wasn't a frequent thing...most of the time I didn't even inhale because I was a wuss. But it was something that I didn't allow anyone to know about, I would hide it from people that I knew would give me a hard time about it and because I knew everything and knew that I wasn't really doing anything harmful I was okay with that.
It was almost thrilling to have a secret vice, to know that not everyone knew that goody-goody Lauren wasn't really so goody-goody. To a kid like me who grew up pretty conservatively, and who had an adolescence where she shut herself away, it was exciting.
Wow, I can't believe I was that pathetic...anyway:
I acknowledged that I was addicted when I started to buy more than one pack a month. I also knew that I was smoking and drinking to self-medicate, not to an extreme degree and not all the time but any sort of self medication is not recommended. I acknowledged it, and then went on the road to fixing it; eventually I stopped the self-medicating, but not the smoking...I justified it by saying that I only socially smoked when I drank. All this time, I could imagine my mother getting royally pissed at me and occasionally things would happen: I would drop my cigarette on the ground, usually in a puddle or something, after only a drag or two, or my lighter/matches would disappear the moment I wanted to use them....
Then one night, my mother got so fed up with me that she decided to reach down from heaven and teach me a lesson.
I home by myself one night and I remember it had been a really bad day. So I bought a bottle of gin, a bottle of tonic water, some lemon juice and a pack of Camel whites. I put in a Stanwyck movie, opened the window, poured myself a strong drink and lit a cigarette; I was very happy with the way the night was going to turn out. Now I had never smoked in the house before out of respect for my father, and I don't know why I decided it would be a great idea to do it now and to this day he doesn't know that I did. Though, I suppose he will now since my Aunts and other members of my family read this and are on Facebook. Sorry dad....
After about the fourth drink, second Stanwyck movie and the sixth cigarette I was feeling.....content to say the least. That was when I'm sure my mother had just about had enough of not only my sheer disrespect of my father's house, but of my disgusting habit. What I am about to tell you is rather funny, so don't drink anything for the next few minutes.
I can remember exactly what movie it was I was watching, it was Barbara Stanwyck's lesser know "Lady of Burlesque." I had just freshened up my drink and lit another cigarette, I remember thinking how awesome the movie was. Now I am slightly ashamed to admit that I had quite a bit to drink and I know how pathetic this must sound...but anything to teach a lesson. I had only taken a drag or two on my cigarette and I was sipping on my drink, I was wearing a tank top that was pretty low cut, and my absolute favourite pink bra that I had just gotten from Victoria's Secret a few weeks ago. Now I don't know if I had just become really engrossed in the movie or what, but I failed to notice that my cigarette was burning rather quickly and the ash was accumulating on the end. For those of you who have no knowledge of smoking, you're supposed to flick the ash off in an ashtray so it doesn't just fall off....
In this case I failed to remember that.
The ash had accumulated at the end, and had gotten too heavy to sustain itself on its perch so physics took over and it fell off...
Right down my goddamn shirt.
Not only did it fall down my shirt, but it somehow had wedged itself in my bra and was burning me. I spilled my drink, and on top of having the hot ember in my shirt, I DROPPED THE CIGARETTE ON MY FOOT. So not only did I have a hot tits but hot feet as well.
The burn to my foot was fine, the cigarette rolled off...but my girls were not so lucky. I had a terrible burn on my chest where the ember had settled into my bra and just decided it would hang out there. Not only that but it almost burned a hole in my new bra.
After dressing my wounds I decided that it would be best to flush the rest of my cigarettes down the toilet. I somehow knew it was my mother warning me to stop smoking. I am happy to say that I have not touched a cigarette in almost six months and plan on never, ever, EVER touching one again.
That's why you don't smoke kids, you may get set on fire.
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