Under The Wagon

I'm gonna have to change Under The Wagon's subtitle...Hopefully.

I decided that after my birthday on Thursday, I would quit smoking.

I've always been adamantly anti-anti-smoking. I hate the way our government treats smokers, yet milks them for billions of dollars in "sin taxes" a year. If a governing body decides that a product is that harmful to the public, they should fucking outlaw it or stop being such a bunch of goddamn money grubbing whores. I know big tobacco lied about for years about the nature of their product (Booze manufacturers were ahead of the game. "This stuff? Oh, yeah. It's gonna fuck you and your fetus up good...Want some?), but at this point we all know it's bad. I didn't start smoking until I was legally old enough to do so, and I knew it was fucking stupid.

But I really enjoyed smoking. Oral fixation. Lighters to play with. And I don't care what anybody says...You look cool smoking. Just admit it already.

The Quit was supposed to start Friday...Presumably after I "farewell" smoked myself into oblivion at Thursday's festivities. However, I mistimed my final pack so I've slowly nursed my remaining smokes (Newport lights, which I don't even like) until this afternoon. After this...No mas.

There are some really good reasons for me to quit. My grandfather's current struggle with lung cancer, my grandmother's death last year. Increasing shortness of breath and rapid heart-rate. It'd make my mom happy (even though neither of us admits that I smoke). No more perpetual hacking cough, phlegm or bad breath (dead sexy), my clothes/apartment/hair won't smell like an ashtray...

I'd love to say that any of those are why I'm quitting. But no. It's because recently I've ran into more and more guys who won't date smokers. Some won't even have sex with them.

I'm not looking forward to quitting smoking. My teeth are already grinding. But, damn...That guy really won't fuck me if I'm a smoker?

Behold the motivating power of my vagina.


Game on.