Goddamn Mullets... Got a light?

Got to thinking about smoking the other day. What is it really... Life after the smoking ban, a trend Seattle jumps on the bandwagon after major cities like Los Angeles and New Motherfucking York, with Chicago rumored to be following tells me not that people are more health conscious. No... Although that may be the strong argument. What it tells me is simply this...

Smoking is officially out of style. No longer in vogue. Smoking is that thing that the jet setters are giving up. Still swilling martinis on cocktail hour, but sans cigarette. Except for the few, the proud, the drunk and the cold huddled in small groups on the sidewalk and in the alley.

I mean think about it. Smoking used to be what all the glamorous folk used to do. Cary Grant. Humphrey Bogart. Audrey Hepburn. Marlene Dietrich. Giving Hollywood audiences the bedroom eyes over a sexy dinner date. Working women busily typing away with the ashtrays in all the offices. Marlon Brando, James Dean. The rebel bad boys with the leather jackets and the cigarette perched in the corner of the mouth. Damn. My old school sense of style quivers with longing at the mere thought of it.

But who's sexy now? Is Brad Pitt smoking? Is Angelina Jolie setting down the kids and asking for a light? No. People on dates in movies and on tv... are they smoking over cocktails just before the camera cuts to the seduction at the apartment door, clothes falling off pre-sex scene? No. No one cool smokes anymore.

No. Smoking is sooo last year. Washington DC. New York. California. Connecticut. Ireland. Norway. Sweden. Maryland. Ohio. Australia. Washington State. Canada. Kentucky. Missouri. Minnesota. Nebraska. New Zealand. Scotland. Massachusetts. Spain. Italy. Finland. All in the process of passing, or already passed some kind of smoking ban. If France does it, it's officially a done deal. Pass the nicotine patches. I'm taking up knitting.

The winds of change are flowing through. Yes. Die hard smokers everywhere will still do it. But it's just not cool anymore. It's like a bad hairstyle. It's the social equivalent of having a mullet. 6 inch bangs and a spiral perm.

And honestly, do I really give a shit about what smoking does to my health? Well... this might come as a shock to some, but no. Same with eating chocolate, using microwaves, and all the exhaust that comes from cars. I like chocolate. Microwaves are easy. Driving is a hoot. And I love to smoke. I love the way the smoke curls from the end of it as you pause, mid-sentence in the middle of an intense conversation. I love kicking back outdoors with a cup of coffee in one hand and the cigarette in that "look at me I'm fabulous" pose in the other. I love the taste of cigarette flavored kisses. Smoking naked after sex. I have an overflowing ashtray to the left of my keyboard and a permanent dust residue between the capslock/Q/tab/A keys. But I gave up my spiral perm and 6 inch bangs years ago. My hair isn't feathered anymore. I haven't owned a pair of acid-wash jeans since I can't remember when. Because despite my own personal sense of style that flies in the face of certain haute couture, I couldn't fathom being a tired old fashion victim.

Granted, giving up my spiral perm didn't result in the nagging, cranky, angsty, wanna cry feeling that not smoking for 6-8 hours gives me. As much as I love smoking, sometimes it pisses me off. I hate smoking alone unless I'm doing something. Talking on the phone. Chatting online. Watching a movie where other people are smoking. I hate smoking while driving. I hate having to stop what I'm doing because the intense desire to burn one just won't leave me alone. Going outside in the rain trying to keep one lit. And the whole balance of drinking in the bar without the cigarette. The new ritual of finding someone to watch my drink because I don't want to swill it. The flier on the table that I just folded into a million tiny little folds just to keep my hands busy. I also hate other whiny smokers who can't even sit through a meal now that the smoking ban is in effect. I mean... it's not like a lot of restaurants allowed smoking anymore anyway... Why can't we just freaking eat before you jump up from the goddamn table?

Am I a non-smoker trapped in the nicotine addled psyche of a smoker? Don't think for a minute that the prospect of a 6 hour plane ride to New York without a cigarette and accommodations with non-smoking friends in Manhattan in the dead of worry didn't worry me, but hell, I was gonna go. Still gonna go. Do I still love L.A.? You bet I do. But I hate hate hate doing things that are inconvenient. Yeah, it's still convenient to smoke in my apartment, but what about when I find just that perfect place with "NON-SMOKING BUILDING" as part and parcel of the package? My apartment's cool... but it ain't perfect.

I wish I could just be a part time smoker, but that doesn't seem to work. A few days, hell, hours into it, and there I am, cranky. Angsty. Over emotional. Likely to snap. It's painful.

This isn't a big declaration of quitting, by the way. And no amount of pictures of black lungs, oxygen tanks, tracheotomies, decaying fetuses, or reports by the american lung association is gonna make me want to stop smoking. I just remember being woefully out of style in school. The pain of being hopefully out of style and looked down upon. Wanting to hide because I realized I went out of the house looking just plain awful. I see the looks. I have more non-smoking friends now than I think I ever have. Granted some of them may be drinking like fishes and doing the drugs, but hell, that's still cool. But can I smoke in their apartment? NO. I saw the rejoicing on live journal and message boards after the ban passed in Seattle. I've heard the pointed coughing, and gotten the lectures. And I've been outside the bar. With overly gregarious drunk folk, bar crowds that normally don't mix smooshing together on the sidewalk in a whiny pariah-like frenzy. Whining whining whining. Boldly standing less than 25 feet from the door. Having to leave the safety of the table to go out into the elements to be subjected to one lame sidewalk pick-up after another. And you thought INSIDE the bar was bad.

Smoking's become more trouble than it's worth, I just can't seem to give it up. I like my damn crutches, thank you very much. I still like the aesthetic. Sue me. Of course, I liked my spiral perm too. And the spiky high heels with the acid washed jeans and the oversized Guns N' Roses t-shirt. But I digress.

No. I'm not whining about the ban anymore. I'm kind of resigned to it. You can't fight the huddled masses yearning to breathe free indoors. I'm now just whining because no matter how much I've tried to deny it in the past, I'm hooked. And I hate giving up things I don't wanna. Stupid nicotine. Damn the healthy lung PR. Smokers are officially out of style.

I hate being a fashion victim.