Stephanie Street

I always thought I was in the minority being a smoker. Smoking has been demonized, and as such, the theory goes, people start quitting. This has certainly been the rule among my peers. I was one of the last real smokers standing among my friends. That’s right, I hung in there til the bitter end. I persevered through the death rattle. But now that I’ve decided enough is enough, one thing has become abundantly clear. My GOD, a lot of people in New York smoke. And it seems I’ve developed a sixth sense for spotting smokers in the 2 days I’ve been off cigarettes.

Bam, smoker against the wall next to the statue outside my office building. Hey, smoker walking down the sidewalk, no jacket or tie cause it’s so damn nice out. Oh jeez, smoker sitting on a park bench. This last one particularly killed me. How lovely it is to smoke a cigarette in a situation like that. Completely relaxed, at peace, breathing in carcinogenic pollutants.

Anyway, I’ve found myself, when I’m walking past or behind someone with a cigarette, taking big, deep breaths, on the offchance that I can get even a small whiff of that delicious fragrance. Is that cheating? Nope, I don’t think so at all. Taking a drag of a cigarette, yes, that would be cheating, but not this. And you would think it would make me want a cigarette more. But it actually satiates my appetite for that moment. I get one deep smoky breath, my lungs are full, my body satisfied. That is, until I sit back down at my desk and think to myself, “damn, I really wish I were outside smoking a cigarette.”

Aaahhhh, addiction.

Hours: 45

Pieces of Nicorette: 10

Pen caps chewed to the point of destruction: 2

I quit smoking yesterday. I tried to do this a few months ago, and failed miserably in something like 3 days, in part thanks to a presidential primary-induced drunken stupor. But this time I’m serious. Why yesterday? Well, I was smoking my second-to-last cigarette in my pack on a break from work yesterday. About 4 drags in, I actually broke the filter. Now, this occurence is not completely uncommon when, say, you are very very drunk. But in the middle of the day, without any particular overwhelming emotion causing such a forceful *flick* of the cigarette, this is close to unheard of. 

The filter was hanging by a…thread?…and I spent the next 30 seconds or so trying to hold the filter up to the cigarette so that I could get some smoke to pull through. Alas, it was not to be. Then, I kind of had one of those out-of-body experiences. I saw myself from the outside, sucking on this broken cigarette, and I decided, “that’s it. This is ridiculous. This is my last pack of cigarettes.”

So on my way home, I smoked my very last cigarette and picked up a month’s(?) supply of Nicorette. And I have to say, I felt GREAT walking out of Rite Aid. I’m gonna do it!

My first hurdle was dinner. OBVIOUSLY, the day I decide to quit smoking, Brittany wants to go to the supremely gluttonous fondue place near my apartment. Obviously. So we stuff ourselves full of chocolate, and as I walk back to my apartment, I would do just about anything (short of giving a rim job in an alley) for a cigarette. But no, I restrained, and what awaited me at home was the fresh mint shell and the slight burning sensation of my new friend, Nicorette.

I think Nicorette and I will get along just fine. But probably not as well as me and Joe Camel did. Joe Camel was rad.

Hours since last cigarette: 22

Pieces of Nicorette since last cigarette: 4

Cravings since last cigarette: How many minutes have I been awake in those 22 hours?

Stay tuned for more commentary on my journey to becoming a NON-SMOKER. It will most likely become much more frustrated, anxious, and full of whatever other withdrawal symptoms decide to pop up. My misery is your entertainment.

A journal by any other name is just a journal. In my almost month-long absence from this blog, I’ve taken some time to figure out whether or not I want to continue in the direction I’m going with it. With the Yankees sucking (except for last night. Darrell Rasner. Who’d've thought?), the primary campaign excruciatingly redundant, and me in desperate need of new music and finding none to my liking as of late, well, I’m all out of things to talk about I guess. That and it seems that my biting wit has disappeared somewhere. I intend to find it, snatch it back, maybe smack it around a little while for leaving me without saying goodbye. (I kid, I would never hit anything. That, and I never had any biting wit to begin with.)

I recently tossed around an idea with Jesse to start writing about my dating exploits. But there are all sorts of problems with that. The main one being that it would most certainly turn into a big experiment in oversharing. Which I have been prone to in the past, and I don’t want to make the same mistakes in the future. Writing about other people in a public space like this is tricky, and writing about someone who I could potentially at some point begin a…relationship?…with is really a recipe for disaster. Or at least embarassement. Or awkwardness. “Oh yea, I have a blog, read it! Oh wait, you’re on it already…” Yikes.

Along with my recent lack of topic material (although, I SWEAR, that Kittens Ablaze post is coming. I SWEAR.), I’ve come to an existential blog crisis. Why am I doing it? For my enjoyment? For my friends’ enjoyment? For the enjoyment of random strangers? Hoping to get discovered? After all, a friend of mine told me last night that Sirius just interviewed him for his blog. And it wasn’t even a really popular blog. Just a blog.

And that’s what this is. Just a blog. This is certainly not the first time I’ve come to or written about this “should I stop?” moment. I don’t WANT to stop…I guess this is a crisis of confidence. From what little I know of the blogosphere, I just don’t know if I can keep up with it all. Sometimes, like right now, I don’t feel funny, self-depricating, mean, angry, prolific, important, or interesting enough to be a mouthpiece that people actually want to pay attention to. Sure my family and friends are interested (love you guys), but who the hell else is going to care? Or like it? Oooook, this is definitely turning into an oversharing bit, so I’m gonna wind it down…

But I still wonder…is this just a stupid journal? Yea, probably. But I like my stupid journal. And I hope you do too.