Holy shit!
We can’t drive our SUVs and eat as much as we want and keep our homes on 72 degrees at all times … and then just expect that other countries are going to say OK,” Obama said.
“That’s not leadership. That’s not going to happen,” he added.
I’m gobsmacked. Floored. Stonked. Pole-axed. Out of synonyms for ‘fucking astonished.’ A candidate for President of the United States just told the American people he was going to force them to go hungry. So maybe the rest of the world will like us better.
WE CAN’T EAT AS MUCH AS WE WANT?
Shee-it.
May 19, 2008 — 10:33 am
Comments: 84
Behold, my last pack of cigarettes
You know why I smoked Benson & Hedges Deluxe Ultra Lights? Because that plain gold box is actually a nine-color printing job. If you disassemble the top flap, the printer’s marks are there, including the color swatches. (It’s that little coat of arms dealie: it has many tiny flecks of unique color. That, my pretend internet friends, is design chutzpah).
Yup. Artard.
I quit smoking eleven years ago Saturday (yes, yes…I meant to post on the tenth anniversary last year and I forgot, okay? I couldn’t quit with no cigarettes in the house — it would’ve made me crazy. Know what I mean? So I got down to this one pack and then quit.
My friends would have voted me Weasel Least Likely To Give up Her Goddamn Smokes While Still Possessing a Pulse. I started young, I smoked heavily and I loved the hell out of it. Plus, I hate The Man telling me what to do.
In the end, I was forced to quit because I was too addicted. I went batshit crazy if I had to go more than an hour without a smoke. But they kept clamping down on smoking until I was more or less perpetually batshit crazy for a cigarette.
Also, Uncle B quit and I knew he couldn’t stick it if I smoked around him. So you could say I quit for love. But please don’t say that because…ugh.
Observations, in no particular order:
- I got it on the first try and no cheating, because I told myself I only got one try (if you give yourself permission to cheat, you’ll cheat, m’kay?)
- Gum, patches…NONE of that helped. I didn’t want nicotine. I wanted to put a paper-wrapped cylinder of tobacco in my mouth and set fire to it.
- It didn’t hurt nearly as much as I expected, but it hurt for far, far longer. I probably went five years before I spent an entire day free of grief.
- Yes, grief. It felt like my best friend died.
- I got my sense of smell back.
- I discovered most things that smell, smell really bad
- I dropped twenty IQ points — bang — just like that.
Seriously, I went stupid after I quit smoking. I don’t read like I used to. I can’t program. I can’t concentrate any more. I can’t sit still. My nurse friend says all that nicotine was probably me self-medicating for ADD, but my nurse friend has panic attacks when she can’t get her Palm Pilot to sync, so…whatever.
As for the incredible rush of good health, I didn’t get one. Only, I was out hiking one day a few years back and I had just hauled my carcass straight up a trail that used to be a ski slope and I realized those deep, racking breaths I was taking felt good. Not like I was breathing a chunky stream of broken glass and Lysol.
So, there’s that.
Seriously? I could smoke a cigarette the size of a telephone pole right this minute.
— 8:06 am
Comments: 15