I started my night out with nine cigarettes. The FINAL nine. After that, I quit.
On my way down to Arnie's, I stopped off at Walgreens and picked up my starter kit of Nicorette gum. This gum, if you can call it that, come in three flavors: Ass, mint ass and orange ass. I opted for mint ass. This is not ordinary gum. You don't chew it as much as you soften it with your teeth and hold it between your cheek and gum. So, instead of smoking, you just make everyone think you've switched to Skoal.
Fortunately, Cairde Na Gael was playing down at Arnie's. The only people from the usual group was Kelly, Gene & Heather. For old time's sake, I gave one of my cigarettes to Kelly (sorry, Chad). I had a few drinks, but didn't divulge the fact that yesterday was my birthday, not even for a free drink. I think I've reached the age that a birthday isn't such a big frickin' deal. I just had my drinks, listened to the band play, and went home.
The only really weird thing about tonight was the drunk guy (When you drink directly from a pitcher, you've got problems) who was recruiting me to back him up in case he got into a fight. Which is just what you need in such a situation, a pacifist. The best I could do is negotiate, and I'm not even good at that. When I was tabbing out, he gave me a dirty look and called me a pussy.
I said my goodbyes after I smoked my next-to-last cigarette. The final one was enjoyed on the way home, in private. I rolled down the windows, cranked the stereo and smoked my last one down to the filter. The song was "This Year's Girl" by Elvis Costello. I was going the speed limit, half-buzzed from the alcohol, and I savored my last breath of tobacco. I was afraid that, when the time came, I wouldn't have that "last cigarette buzz", but I did. Thank God.
From this moment forward, my whitening toothpaste and the Fabreeze in my car stand a fighting chance. I now have three days of withdrawal ahead of me, aided only by the aforementioned mint ass gum-like wax. In three weeks time, I will have coughed up most of the residue from my lungs, one tar-filled loogie at a time. I will regain my sense of smell within a week or two, which makes me glad I no longer live two blocks from the river. I can finally enjoy the taste of Altoids without simply using them as a quick fix for the ashtray funk that is my breath.
So here I go. Goodbye yellow teeth, funky smelling clothing, labored breathing, fake coughing from non-smokers in my immediate vicinity, having to go outside every hour, and having to brush my moustache along with my teeth every night just to kill the residual smoke. I must say, though, this has the potential of sucking big time, but as far as my health is concerned, it'll be totally worth it.
The trick now is not to replace the oral fixation (no jokes, you perverts) with sweets. I've been doing so well on the diet, the last thing I need is to ruin it with chocolate, or to go all Kojak and have a lollipop in my mouth at all times. To remedy the situation, I got a big bag of pistachios, which, next to sunflower seeds, has the highest oral muscular effort to reward ratio.
Finally, for all you non-smokers out there, I don't wanna hear "I told you so". I opposed as I am to violence, the first time I hear that, I'll buy a pack of Camels and light one up just so I can stamp it out someplace sensitive on your person. You've been warned.
And now, today's pic is the last photographic evidence of my smoking habit. This is a rejected idea for an album cover for Cairde Na Gael's upcoming debut album. The cigarette and one of the pints of Guinness is mine. Wish me luck, folks!
