You Only Thought You Were Funny

You wouldn't steal a car would you?

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sun, 22 Feb 2009 12:32:00 +0000

Frustrated with a lack of money and hearing the same songs on my MP3 player eight hours a day, five days a week, I went to Yahoo! Answers in search for a safe way to download some free music.

The short answer: No.

When we first got MP3 players, a coworker suggested Limewire and Bear Share, which excited me because at this time I knew NOTHING about these sites and inadvertently downloaded, along with the music, viruses to our home computer AND my MP3 player. Our pawn shop desk top did have virus protection, but it did not care. Predators are aware that silly, ignorant people are always looking for a way to get free music so they attach viruses (including some that peeps out your personal info on you PC) to your favorite songs. Ah, the wide, wide, world of web!

This was a couple years ago, at least and I know better now.

Of course, keep in mind I was searching already answered questions on safely downloading music, not legally. Ever since this hideous incident, we had since bought a new computer and resorted to collecting Pepsi and Coca-Cola caps for points which we redeem for single songs over Rhapsody and Amazon. Sadly, Pepsi discontinued their point program so I may need to go back to buying CDs on eBay, as was our previous form of obtaining music before Coke began their ominous program.

But I digress. On Yahoo! Answers, the word I saw the most was ILLEGAL, ILLEGAL, ILLEGAL!!!!!!!! And unless you've been living under a rock for last several years, you should know as well as anyone that downloading music, movies, or other forms of copyrighted materials is certainly illegal unless you have permission or pay for it. These days, you can get songs for about a dollar each through the big three websites of downloads. Of course, also in these days, who has a dollar to spend on something as petty as music?

I'm sure you've seen the ads where hands reach out and steal a purse or a car and the message reads: YOU WOULDN'T STEAL A CAR WOULD YOU? Ha ha, then of course you would by no means even consider "stealing" the latest song by Metallica. Remember the huge Napster lawsuits? Remember the music "artists" going after not only Napster, but also the users of Napster? Remember the eleven year old gal who was sued for something like ten-thousand dollars for downloading songs such as the theme to Full House?

Well, even I might agree that choosing the theme song to Full House should be considered a misdemeanor. While music "artists" cry and whine that their "talents" are being trading and stolen, they are still living much better than the rest of us.

What is considered a crime? Is it what the law makers say is criminal? Take a moment to reflect on the fact that it was once illegal to be Jewish and to be simply alive. Or that it once legal to ship over Africans to do the household chores.

Or....is a crime what is considered to be unethical?

Personally I have always been undecided on this issue. This is one of those cases where one might ask: What would Jesus do? Well, He probably wouldn't bother wasting time downloading music what with spreading the Good News and performing miracles. I think Jesus would have better things to do in this age.

All cynicism aside, here's what I believe to be crimes:

To charge $19.98 for a CD that has only one good song on it (because that's what you heard on the radio 47 times yesterday!) .....that's a crime.

To charge $19.98 for a movie that MIGHT be a good movie (or not)--especially when you used to get VHS movies for around $5 if you waited long enough ..... that's a crime.

To charge $9 per person to see a movie ONCE and charge $5 for nasty popcorn that has had dozens of greasy teenage hands in it and is covered in some gelatinous goop substituted for butter ..... that's a crime.

To whine and cry about how even though you've made a skillion dollars and are not making the usual $7 billion this year due to illegal downloading .... well, that's just absurd!

I'm not saying it's right, but I'm not saying it's wrong. I work for a modest rate per hour. I clean clothes and sell my time for an hourly fee. Actors do this as well. Do we see Reese Witherspoon or Harrison Ford whining and crying about their movies being downloaded or streamed for free across the internet? No, we don't!

Since viruses are attached to everything on the Wide Wide World of Web, I guess for the time being I'll simply stick with entering in the handful of codes from my Coke caps and occasionally buying a cheap used CD over eBay. Well, at least you don't have to worry how scratched they are since it's all gonna get dumped onto the MP3 player anyhow.

The Biggest Loser: The Biggest Waste of Time

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 21:47:00 +0000

This came up at work one day:
Liz: "I hate 'The Biggest Loser'! Everybody cries because they're fat. 'Oh, my mom and I just can't lose weight'. There are families living in their cars, getting their kids ready for school in gas station restrooms. Why don't we see a reality show about them? These people are getting rich because they're fat!"

Me: "Yup. They write books, do paid interviews, write more books, go on crusades...."

Liz: "How do you get up to 400 pounds, anyway? Can't lose weight? EAT LESS!"

Me: "Can you imagine the money put into the food that causes someone to gain 400 pounds? Eating like that has got to cost a fortune! I bet a little of that could help these people living in their cars!"

OK, so maybe we're a little mean. I think it all stems from how sick we are of so-called "reality" television programs. EVERYONE has their own show, whether it's because you need to lose weight, are a drunken sex addict after Bret Michaels, you dance, sing, have a useless talent that is not beneficial to anyone, anywhere, or you're just simply a has-been celebrity who is out of work and are willing to be paid for twenty-four hour surveillance so you can make your monthly $24, 836 house payment.

What ever happened to the sitcom? Where are the Cosby's? The Bundy's? Where are the Seinfelds? Speaking of shows about nothing, if we're going to be subjected to reality tv in all hours of the day, I'd like to see one about people attempting to quit smoking. Now THAT would be entertaining. Let's try experiments; following around an agitated just-quit-smoking-person with a camera all day might be fairly prime time worthy. Sure, there might be a bit more violence and bleeping of curse words than say, The Biggest Loser, but I bet it would be great television.

They could outfit the camera man with riot gear, follow people in their nature habitats, all on different forms and methods of quitting.

Yeah, I started smoking when I was very young and I regret it every day of my life. I also gained close to forty pounds at one time. At this point I said to myself, "Whoa there! Something's gotta be done! This is outta control!" I do not understand how people can get upwards to 400 pounds without at some point saying, "Whoa! Outta control!"

I understand an addiction to food, I really do. More than you know. However, I have found that it's very easy to choose the right foods to munch on all night long. I work hard the next day and have maintained the same weight for about seven or eight years.

I'm not by any means comparing smoking to a food addiction but take into consideration that I cannot choose a healthier cigarette to smoke. A few extra minuets of exercise will not make up for smoking too much the day before.

This is why I believe a show about quitters would be great television. It would also show younger people what it's like to have emphysema, shortness of breath, and so on (though I KNEW smoking was bad when I started). Bring us your newbies, your ashmatics, your diseased. Bring us your carriers of lung ailments, your stinky clothed ones, your serial quitters. Bring us a show that could be quite funny, make us cry out of sadness and joy, and connect us with the characters!

Of course, a follow-up show would be a complete necessity. We could call this little gem:

I DO Want to be a Quitter!

or The Sucess of Quitting

Or....something clever. I'm not to great at word plays. Go crazy, readers. Name that show!

The Man With No Limbs

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 14:10:00 +0000

This video was sent to me by a friend. It's about the neatest thing I've ever seen! Only 5 min long. I'm sure you have 5 min

What's in a memoir?

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 11:43:00 +0000

First of all, I didn't realize until yesterday that most of my little photos had been replaced by tiny wrenches. I'd fix it all, but I really don't care. Life is short, you know?

Alright, the writing thing. I'd begun a sort of "what I've learned so far" type thing before my hand got all gnarly. After a good re-reading I think it's funny. That was the whole intention. I'd only wrote twenty-seven pages but maybe I became bored with it or lost motivation. Maybe the determination just isn't there.

I'd still like to finish it. I have tiny scraps of paper all over the place from the computer desk to my car with oodles of great ideas. I just hadn't got back around to it. I'll admit, I did go through a bit of depression for a month or so. A month, at least. It's hard to stay motivated and in a routine when I get down. I was even having weird, vivid dreams that just made matters worse.

For years, I've wanted to put Shawn's story on paper, but he would never agree to it. I do believe I've finally talked him into it and if that's the case, that is what I shall be writing. I never could figure out how to do it, how to put it all into words to be read. It's so much easier to listen to fragmented stories. I'm still playing around with how it will be done.

Shawn laughs at me for all of this. I explained that I have images in my head, I can see them so clearly! I can see the movie being made; I've already chosen the soundtrack! What is the point of dreaming if you do not dream big? (And I'd do it too, only if I had final say in the film being made. You have to make sure things are done right, you know.)

(Laughter) "Who would want to watch a movie about my life?" Shawn said.
"Well, why not? It's got everything! Drama, humor, sadness.... I've seen worse movies!" I replied.

I never thought of it as a memoir though. Some of it would be told by the narrator, some of it in the first person. Some would be simple observations. Of course there's always the option of turning it into a fiction and that opens the door for much exaggeration. Personally, I'd like to keep it honest and true.

"If I did this, and it got published-ha ha-people would read it. They would know these things. Would you be embarrassed or ashamed of anything here?" I asked Shawn.
"Um.....no. That was a long time ago."

Indeed it was. I'll openly admit there are plenty of things I intend to write about myself that will probably mortify my mother. But it wouldn't be worth reading if it wasn't honest. And I'm a terrible liar. Anyone would spot the false stories a mile away, especially if I told them. We've both done things that we're not proud of, things that we would hate for others to know.

But, in the end, that is who we were. It is not who we are. Perhaps if we go through with this, if I am able to put all of Shawn's stories on paper (or screen and hard drive, as it were), some can learn from our mistakes. After all, isn't that what a big part of writing a so-called memoir all about?

I'm just tired of poop

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 22:51:00 +0000

I've been a little disgruntled at work lately. The other day, I retrieved a pair of slacks with poop inside. Chunky poop, that is. It happens at least every other day. It's part of the job. Yeah, I'm a dry cleaner but I don't tell that to anyone. "I work in fashion," I say.

Since I smoke, being around all those chemicals all day probably isn't helping either. I'd like to quit smoking, but I just don't see it happening very soon. It's my one vice, but it stinks and will eventually lead to me being hooked up to an oxygen tank if I don't quit. I just wish it were easier.

Shawn will be beginning night school in about three weeks. The only time we'll see each other will be on the weekends so I need to keep this job for at least the next two to three years. The job may not be glamorous, but at least I have my nights and weekends. Plus, my doctor has prescribed an anti-depressant to aid in yet another attempt to quit smoking. I haven't quit yet, but I have had a sense of renewed I-CAN-take-another-day-of-this-job.

A co-worker noticed the famous brace on my right hand. "You're STILL having trouble with that?!" she exclaimed. Yep. It's been four months and the tendinitis in my wrist and thumb still has not healed. My doctor said it should take six weeks to heal up. Humph.

"I've accepted the fact that it will never heal as long as I am working here," I explained. "I'd like to do something else, but it's not practical right now." I explained the situation of Shawn going to school--which I am proud of and supportive. I'd work three fast food jobs if I had to just to see Shawn better himself.

"I just want to get away from the chemicals and the poop," I further explained. Laughter ensues. "I'd like to be doing something that doesn't involve poop."

Don't get me wrong. I'm very grateful for my full time job in a time when so many may not have a job tomorrow. Still, I day dream about what I could be doing instead.

To begin, I'm gonna have a ton of lonely time while Shawn is attending his classes. I've decided to start the eBay selling again, and hit it hard this time. At the very least, it will help pay for Shawn's gas to his classes which are almost forty miles away. In between, I will begin the novel again. I know I started the humorous one, yes, but it may take a slight turn to a sort of memoir. More on that later....

In an attempt to create a bit more revenue, I hope to launch my super-fantastic idea of a website to lure in advertisers and hopefully generate a bit of cash. There are probably a thousands sites like the one in my head, however, mine will actually be beneficial to visit.

So, I have a lot to pile onto my plate while Shawn attends school. As you already might know, I am quite anti-social and have no close friends to fill my lonely time. Sometimes that is a good thing. I can spend these nights trying to make money and hopefully stashing some back for a fun weekend or even quite possibly, retirement. Who knows where it will lead.

The website thing, yeah, is a pipe dream. I read about a teenager who generated $2 million just by creating a website. You know what? If she can do it, I can too. Why not? I have more experience AND a mortgage. That's motivation all on its own.

Of course, having a day job that deal with chunks of human feces ain't bad motivation either.

bleh

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 11:49:00 +0000

haven't been around because the tendonitis in my hand took a few steps back. Not healing. Was at first, now it's getting worse. I'm actually thinking of beginning a new thing, not technically a blog, but I guess a generalized web site. I'll keep you posted. I'm sure to be extra cranky when I do, because I'm gonna give the whole quit smoking thing another go. Bleh.

More Garbage on a Roll

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 22:29:00 +0000

Well, it's official. After milking my wrapping paper for the last 5 years, I have to buy some more. See, a few years ago, I waited till after Christmas and stocked up on tons of wrapping paper at super cheap prices. I haven't bought paper since. I even use it inside out to wrap birthday gifts.

After wrapping this year's Christmas gifts, I'm down to one roll with a small scrap clinging to it. I hate spending good money on stuff like this. It's even worse than toilet paper, which is also nothing more than garnage ona roll. As if I need super-soft, quitled, designer garbage, likewise I do not see a use for $20 holographic wrapping paper.

I don't understand why this stuff is so high priced. You can get spiral notebooks in August for 10 cents, yet even at clearance prices, the plainest of wrapping paper is still priced like milk. Where else are you going to get it? You're not making it at home; surely you're going to pay whatever it's priced at. And venders know this.

Yes, I am STILL complaining of the $4 milk when gas here is $1.48 a gallon. What gives? All I know right now is that I'd better be able to find some 10 cent garbage on a roll for next year within the next couple of weeks.....

Maybe we can recycle it to wipe our behinds. HA HA!!

I hate friggin' winter

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 22:24:00 +0000

I hate winter. I hate the cold. I just hate it. When I'm cold, I'm miserable, and so is everyone else around me because I make sure of that. The house is drafty and cold. My work station is right by the back door so I'm cold all day at my job. I hate the friggin' cold!

"But if you didn't have to go to work, to a job, and could just be home, wouldn't you enjoy it then?" Mom says.

Oh, of course! I mean, if I didn't have to go to a job, I could stay in bed all day under twenty-three pounds of blankets and do nothing but drink hot cocoa all day long. Duh. Sure I would enjoy that! Who wouldn't?

Don't you just love these people who are constantly hot flashing, relishing the winter weather?

My brother-in-law who is, more or less a bonefied Yankee, picks on me, calls me a wimp, often referring to over-exaggerated examples of Ohio winters: "All you Texas are the same! You'd never make it up north!! You don't have winters anything like back home where it's ninety below zero and the snow is twelve feet deep, blah, blah, blah....."

Yes, but I am quite used to one-hundred and ten degree heat, so twenty degrees IS torturous to me. I don't exactly take fun in the fact that I cannot feel my toes or the ends of my fingers. You're right, I wouldn't make it up north. I'd probably curl up and die in the twelve feet of snow because I wouldn't know any better. And you know why? Because I grew up in Texas, you moron, where we occasionally have short-sleeved Christmases and don't always have to look like the younger brother from A Christmas Story ("I can't put my arms down!") just to walk three blocks.

Call me a wimp. Call me a wussy. I don't care.

Sigh. It's only December and already I miss the precious sunlight. I hate friggin' winter!

Take my wife....

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 13:50:00 +0000

I got a comment from "JD" that said:
"Blog for us, please"

Well, JD I hate to say it but I really have to lay off this computer for a while. Due to my job--which is low paying blue collar boredom, I have somehow managed to rip the tendon that connects my wrist to my thumb. Quite painful, indeed. And according to my doctor, "It's due to overuse, not an injury so it's not covered by workman's comp. And it IS because of what you're doing all day."

So now what? Am I supposed to get a diff job? "Any job you get using your hands, and you'll experience this," the doc says. Great. Fantastic. I have no skills, little education, and little money. All we have around here is blue collar and Wal-Mart. And I think we all know how much I hate people...

I had begun the book, JD. It begins on what I've leanred so far, starting with the utmost importance of finding that golden seat in the lunch room on the first day of kindergarten. I think it's OK, but you know how that goes. I'll re-read and re-write a page 34 times before I consider it any good.

If this tendon thing keeps up, I may invest some of my time into researching some of these folks who make so much money from their blog they're able to stay home and do nothing but eat Cheetos and watch YouTube videos all day. Now sounds like a promising career.

Thanks, faithful readers, and stay tuned. I have hundreds of ideas swimming in my gray matter next to the weird dream about toilets that look like barcoloungers. I just type a bit more slowly these days. And who knows? Maybe I'll move this blog, totally revamp it and sit happily in my desk chair with an economy sized bag of Cheetos.

I think that's good for us all.

sights & smells

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 22:26:00 +0000

i have tendonitis in thumb and wrist--hard to type so just deal with it. Not in pain now as long as i hold my thumb just right. So, keeping this short.

Shawn wears a knee brace and these things tend to get kind of rank pretty quickly. I used to periodically wash it in sink but stopped--figured he was quite capable of doing himself. He is, of course--he just doesn't.

So shawn was commenting on the odor emitting from his brace. I swear I actually saw stink lines coming out of it. He saw me spraying my own brace with girly scents and asked me to buy him some spray deoderant for his brace. (because he's a man who refuses to actually clean anything)

"What sort of smell do you want?" I asked.
"something manly" he says.
"You want me to pick your smell?! I would never ask you to pick my smell!" I said. How unfair is that? How do you pick a smell for somebody else? I knew it had to be cheap because he would rarely or never use it. And he was quite clear about not wanting to smell musty or like a cheap teenager. Colonge was out of the question because I knew he'd never use that. I have to sometimes remind him to place underarm deoderant on, for crying out loud.

"At least I got you off the Brute," I sighed.
"What? It's a manly scent!" Shawn says. "BRUTE! It says: MAN."
"It says, 'I stink'" Shawn has never shopped for himself. His mother bought him Brute, so he wore Brute. Here's a tip for you men out there: Brute stinks. And yes, it's OK to shop for your own underpants rather than trading mom for wife to do it.

"Just wash it!" i say after this repeating conversation about the funky brace.
"I will this weekend," he says and this weekend comes and goes, followed by two months until I am asked to purchase an item that is completely unnecessary.

Finances are tight so I poured some fabric softener and water into a spray bottle. I asked shawn: "Did you want a smell of your own, or just something to cover up the funk on your brace?"
"Just for the brace," he says.
"Ok, I put a bottle of fab softener on the counter. It doesn't smell manly, but it smells clean."
"OK," shawn says, "I'll use some tonight."

that was five days ago and the brace is beginning to walk around on its own. I have to sleep with one eye open for fear that the thing will attack me in my sleep.

Sigh.

Headlines Part Two Hard Sell

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 11:45:00 +0000

Millk and Gas Usually Go Hand in Hand

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sun, 30 Nov 2008 13:08:00 +0000

Is gas going down in other parts of the country? Here, the gas has gone down to $1.69 though it can vary up to twenty cents depending on the gas station and the part of town. Still, a long way from tipping the scales at close to $4.00

I understand stuff in the stores are still high priced because a fuel charge was already added to those things. Yes, I get that. The stuff had already been driven here, driven there. But you can't tell me that milk--which is deliviered DAILY--is still having fuel charges added into the overall price. I talked to a truck driver friend (no, he doesn't deliver milk) of mine and he said his boss has dropped their fuel surcharge.

So why am I still paying $4.00 for a gallon of milk? Way back when gas aveaged $1.80 per gallon for several years, milk was also very close to that price.

Are stores thinking we are so used to paying this price that it's OK to continue charging it? I ask you, what happened when gas begins to go up again? Will a fuel charge be added on top of the already hefty four dollar price tag?

Milk is only one example. Don't take my word for it. Check out the prices on fresh meat and bread next time you go shopping and DEMAND to know why all these things are still priced for four dollar gas!

What WAS I thinking?

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 13:48:00 +0000

Little by little, I've been going over old posts to see if there's anything useable for the possible insertion of a page in a book.
Short answer: Uh, no. There's very little here.

This morning I made a serious effort to get through my organized posts in the drop down menus, beginning with "All About Me". I made it through the entire menu and all I have to say is: Yuck. What's really sad is that at time I wrote this mess I thought it was good. Most of it has nothing to do with anything, is not funny, and is very poorly written. Granted there are some neat pictures and comic strips lodged between Boring and Huh? but most is completely un-useable. So to my readers:

I apologize.

After I finish sorting through the drop down menus, I've yet to still go through a year's worth of unorganized posts. I am certainly afraid of what I might uncover there. Please be advised that the twenty-eight pages I've written so far are actually fresh and well written. Well, it's fresh anyway, "new", as it were. I think most of it is funny. I've reread most of it three times and it seems pretty good.

Wonder if I'll reread it again in four years and mutter, "Yuck!" under my breath? I should take a class or something.

HEADLINES Part One

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 23:32:00 +0000

Careful what you say, you might just make it into my novel

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 22:54:00 +0000

I had been so caught up in my own little universe, I had not even realized I had comments posted here. Man, you people must be really bored! HA HA

Hey deadpoolite--nice to see you again. Hadn't spoken to any of my old regular fellow bloggers in quite some time. So nice to see a familiar face without making a trip to the dreaded Wal-Mart.

Yeah, well...Been coming back to the blog to search my old posts to see if there's anything useable there for the book. Um....some of it not so much. In the early days of blogging, it would seem I made no attempt to be coherent or funny. I thought I could do many copy and pastes to at least creat a chapter or...something.... As it turns out, my old writing was so bad I did an entire rewrite from scratch!

If I ever finish the darn thing (page twenty-nine, here I come!!) I"ll let you guys know. I'll post little previews here every now and then. Should I ever become published, all two of my readers shall be the first to know. HA HA

PREVIEW OF THE INTRODUCTION

As a child, I loved to draw and write. Even if I wasn’t very good at it, I would create little “books” out of notebook paper, stapled together and complete with illustrations. I was going to be an artist, I told myself. Of course at one point in my young life, I also vowed to become a ballerina. No one told me then that short girls do not become professional dancers, so I had no reason to believe otherwise. I was determined to be a ballerina-princess. (I added the "princess" later)
Naturally, the wish to become a dancer only lasted for about a minuet. Later, in life I wanted to become a rock star, only minus the cocaine habit. In the end, I decided that I was simply in a rush to begin adulthood. I moved out at seventeen, after receiving my high school diploma, thank you very much. I moved in with my boyfriend of three years and we married three years later. I was twenty for those of you with fuzzy math skills.
Shawn (the husband) was twenty-two when we married. I had begun a--ha ha--prosperous career in blue collar and Shawn had done the same.
Still, I kept writing. As an adult I had found the notebooks I had filled with teenage angst. A whole pile of them. I browsed through them. Whole pages, front and back, in tiny writing were nothing more than the words of a seriously messed up teenage girl filled with anger, depression, and self loathing.
I decided it wasn’t worth keeping. I bagged them up and carried them to the Dumpster behind our house. I considered the hours and hours I put into writing those pages. Then I considered that those long hours and hours were merely a waste and wasn’t me anymore. Hasn’t been for a long, long time. I had a sense of pride as I trotted (yes, trotted) away from the Dumpster. The old me was in the trash. I had little to remind anyone of the old me unless you count the thousands of photos my mother hoards in her albums.
I still think I was too short to pull off the Grunge Look. My generation was told that we could be whatever we wanted. They were wrong. My fingers are much too short to be a concert pianist. My feet are too ugly (thanks, Dad) for me to become a foot model. But anyone can be a writer. Anyone. In the age of YouTube and blogging, everyone can have their very own fifteen minuets of fame, even is all it amounts to is a prospective employer viewing some embarrassing footage of you on the internet that your college roommate posted, unbeknownst to you.
So why not me? I’ll probably write hundreds of pages, only to lose it all in a horrible Pepsi Virus the keyboard has contracted, cry for days until I try to give it another go. Then I’ll spend two years trying to get published until I give up and offer my book for free in a downloadable form and continue on in the wonderful world of blue collar.
But I’ll never know if I don’t at least try. If you’re reading this, I only hope it is in the form of a real book and not a bunch of papers stapled together. Please don’t laugh at my illustrations.

This is the most popular I have ever been....

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 12:58:00 +0000

I keep getting "friends" on Blog Catalog and various other blogging sites. I honestly think it's because people are picking me at random--not even reading anything that's here--in hopes that someone will come and read their blog too.
Well, good luck with that.

I'm not blogging any more because the novelty has long worn off. It's because very clear that I won't ever make any money off of this and so I've decided to go the old fashion route--the hard way, if you will. For the first time in years, I've been writing again. I've been working hard on short stories and articles, revising my early blog posts, which were not funny at all, and just sort of trying to mesh it all together.

Why not? I mean, some of the most ridiculous junk gets turned into a book out there. So why not my ridiculous junk? I realize it may be much harder since I haven't made a name for myself, but I figure there's no harm in trying.

Yet. Of course down the road I may become a complete blubbering idiot over why I've sent a manuscript to 3,749 publishers and none of them wants it. Though that remains to be seen. Is this what God wants me to right now? I dunno. The world is so noisy, is become hard to hear Him. I do know one thing, if writing is not what God wants me to do, then He'll let me know.

I haven't quit smoking yet. I think the laser thing might work for some, but not for me. I went to a free group hynosis thing a few weeks ago and it didn't do didly for me. I've quit on the quitting for a while because I get so depressed over it. Maybe everyone is right in telling me that my quitting smoking is all in God's time. I just assumed that God wanted me to quit smoking as soon as possible.

Maybe he wants to be a smoker at this moment in time so he make an example out of me later. I do hope that's what it is and not me just faultering and falling over my own feet over and over.

I would like give a shout out to everyone who voted for Obama, and every person responsible for counting the votes in those little boxes. I'd advise everyone to stock up on canned goods and ammo.

No, I'm not prejudice, by any means. I could care less is Obama's skin was polka-dotted. What bothers me most is that many voted for him simply because he's black, not even researching his views or policies. Personally, I think it's about time we had a black president. Just not Obama.

Obama wants to create a Citizen's Militia because he believes our military isn't good enough.

Hmm. Isn't that kind of how Hitler started out?

PART NINE Please Talk to Your Kids About Smoking

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 13:08:00 +0000

You may think that your kids are smart enough not to try it. You may think that because you yourself do not smoke, that your kids won't have access to it. You may think that there's enough information on smoking that it will deter your child from smoking.

You are wrong.

I grew up with smoking parents. I watched them try to quit, try to quit, and try to quit some more. I had seen the pictures of blackened lungs in my health class text book. I even sat by my mom's hospital bed for two weeks as she lay there dying from pneumonia. She didn't die, but she was not healing because of what smoking had done to her. She left the hospital with a scarred lung.

I was smart. I got good grades and I had good common sense. I could figure out problems and rationalize. And yet, I made the decision to smoke. I had to work at it at first. I taught my lungs to get used to the smoke & poison I inhaled. I hid it all very well.

A year later, my parents confronted me and I was already hooked.

You need to talk to your kids about smoking as early as they can understand what you are saying to them. Do whatever it takes. Show them YouTube videos of victims of throat cancer, lung cancer, stroke. Have them meet with someone like me. Have a smoker explain to them that yes, I'd have a toe cut off if it meant waking up tomorrow as though I never smoked.

Even if you and your kid are distant--bridge the gap. Have a trusted aunt, uncle, cousin speak with them instead.

It's hard to imagine you'd ever get lung cancer from smoking at the age of fifteen. That's so far away when you are fifteen years old. And when experimenting with those first few cigarettes, it's hard to imagine why anyone gets hooked--why it seems enjoyable.

The truth is that's not enjoyable. The only enjoyment a smoker gets from smoking is relieving the withdrawal pangs. And every cigarette leads to the next.

Relate it to heroin. A teen might wonder secretly what all the fuss is about. Ask your teen if he or she would wonder the same about heroin. Would you wonder what it tastes like? What it feels like going into your vein? Would you try heroin just to see what the fuss is about?

Most would balk at this. The thought of volunteering to stick a sharp needle into a vein is gruesome. But only hundreds die yearly from heroin. Hundreds of thousands die yearly in the United States alone from smoking related causes.

It does not make you appear older or cool. It did at one time--be honest with your teen--but now it is the strong burly man who resits the temptation to "try it" and it is the pretty gal who is sexy because her teeth are white and she smells nice.

Ask your teen to think about it with a rational mind first. Look at smokers in real life, in public (not on TV or movies). Do the smokers appear as though they are having a better time than anyone else? Does their cough make them appear sexy or brave? Get up close and notice the smell. Ask for the time and notice their breath.

Do whatever it takes. If you do find out that your kid is smoking, find out where he or she is getting the cigarettes, beat them, lock them in their room. WHATEVER IT TAKES!

Every kid is different. You will know best how to speak with your children. If you do not know how to speak to them, drop them off at a cancer center or get a trusted relative/friend to beat the sense into them. There are piles of books out there instructing you on how to keep your kid from smoking. Why aren't you reading them?

The biggest problem with smoking is that even today it isn't always thought of a deadly drug. Your kid knows one cigarette won't kill him. And he can't possibly imagine 30,000 cigarettes down the road. Remember that one cigarette may not kill you--but one taste of heroin probably wouldn't kill you either.

We smokers are junkies. Addicted to a drug that is the most addictive, the fastest acting, and the hardest to get off of. Do you want your kid to be a future junkie?

Just because we smokers are not vagrants squatting in dilapidated houses does not make us any less a junkie. Just because we maintain jobs and mortgages doesn't mean that our minds are not fixed on smoking. Just because we are not sick today does not mean smoking will not eventually kill us.

Keep your kid from becoming a future junkie.

My parents assumed that I knew better. Think about that.

PART EIGHT Fight the Good Fight?

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 12:49:00 +0000

Last Saturday we drove all the way to south Austin and I paid a lady $300 to touch a pencil-sized wand to certain pressure points in my face and hands. It was slightly warm to the touch and I had to wear protective glasses to shield my eyes from the laser thing.

At the beginning of the process I sorta wanted a cigarette. By the end, I didn't want one at all. For the next several hours, I had that I Wanna Smoke feeling just a tiny bit but not nearly what I am used to. We had a stressful event, resolved it, and I sat down. I craved a cig badly. Physically, the craving was there. Mentally, the craving was there. I waited for it to pass.

It did not pass. I decided to sneak into the bathroom and had a smoke. Later, around midnight, the neighbor's dog barked for an hour. I couldn't sleep. I waited for the dog to go hoarse or something. She did not. Even though, physically I really did want a cig, I had one anyway.

The next day, I woke up feeling pretty OK. I cleaned the living room for about 3 hours. I had a craving like you wouldn't believe. I kept myself busy and snapped at Shawn pretty harshly a couple times. They say the craving should pass in 2-3 minuets. I kept cleaning. After the three hours of cleaning, I gave in.

Shawn found me outside, sympathy in his eyes. Ms. Frier called me that night and I told her I didn't understand the difference in how I felt that day compared to Saturday. I wanted to do the laser thing again and she said she'd be happy to.

I smoked all week. Most days, only about a half pack--which is something considering I'd been smoking almost 3 packs daily. But of course as any smoker knows, by Friday I was up again. I smoked a whole pack of cigs on Friday.

On Saturday, we made the trip once more and Ms. Frier did the laser thing at no charge. I was once again, psyched up. I decided that cleaning wasn't the best way to take my mind off of wanting a smoke. I needed to busy my hands and my mind. I had bought a $30 video game for our Portable Playstation. Ech. Another $30 we didn't really have. If it would help me quit smoking, so be it, I thought.

Six hours later, I had awoken from a nap--craving a smoke like I'd never even had the laser therapy at all.

We hadn't been smoking in the house all week. Correction--I hadn't been smoking in the house. Shawn has been while I was at work. I sat outside and smoked. Of course it tasted awful and I just didn't care at the moment. "So are we going back next weekend?" Shawn asked, half joking.

"No," I murmured. "I guess I'm gonna smoke the rest of my life till I get lung cancer. I dunno."

Disappointed in myself....that would be an understatement. I ask that you don't judge me unless you tried to quit smoking or if you couldn't resist that cake while on a diet. Of course I judge myself more harshly than anyone alive.

Anger, disappointment, depression, weakness--all these things I feel. The words do not even begin to describe it.

Why not just stop? All you have to do is not smoke.
Sounds easy, doesn't it?

I could write ooddles on all of this, really. I could write a page on what is going on in my head. But I just don't care right now. I know this experience does not mean I will not try to quit again, but I am greatly discouraged.

And my hair stinks.

PART SEVEN In the Meantime I Suffer a Great Irony!

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 19:50:00 +0000

I originally decided to take up smoking because I thought it might make me thin--therefore beautiful. How ironic that for many years I have convinced myself that I could never be beautiful as a smoker.

I don't suffer with the self esteem issues that I had in high school or shortly after. I no longer obsess over it--those days are long past. Though I do think about it. Who out there wouldn't love to have a body worthy of displaying in a bathing suit? I could do it--sure. All it takes is the right exercises aimed in the right places. It seems I am always exhausted after work. I do not have the energy I should. I should be a healthy 2o-something.

Healthy is sexy to me. I know I'll have more energy when I quit smoking. I'll be able to do those exercises. I'll feel more confident, not because I'll have the energy to gain the body I've always wanted, but because I'll no longer be ashamed of myself. No smoker is proud of being a smoker. I will walk straighter because I will be able to hold my head up without coughing.

I have more acne now that I did in high school. And yes, I do believe that smoking plays a roll in that. Nicotine affects the hormones; hormones affect breakouts. I am more fortunate than some in that I do not have severe acne, but even a little can make a person feel as though they look bad. When you look bad, you feel bad about yourself.

I am also fortunate in having found a husband who is physically attracted to the Challenged in Height with a Big Behind Club. But all this does not make me fell better about myself. It is true, cancer patients are often treated to make overs and genuine human hair wigs, because when you feel like you look good on the outside, you feel better on the inside.

I'd love to at least once, go to Schilterbaun, a massive water park in our state. I haven't worn a bathing suit since I was 10 years old and that is what has prevented me from going.

No, I cannot feel good about myself when I am ashamed of who I am. I cannot have confidence when I know I reek of stale smoke. I know I will never be the person I want to be, or the girl God intended me to be as long as I have a burning stick of smoke between my fingers.

COMING SOON....

How to talk to your kids; it wasn't that long ago that I was one

A brief education in cigarettes

PART SIX Why Do We Fall?

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 21:37:00 +0000

I'd had it. God doesn't want me to smoke, right? Why does He then create miracles for some, but not for others? Mom called and asked how it was going. I cried to my mom as I had not in a long time.

She knew was I was going through all too well. I didn't have to describe my devastation, my disappointment in myself, my feeling of weakness. I felt a little better after speaking with Mom, though.

I told Shawn I felt as though God wasn't hearing my prayers. "Maybe God wanted you to fail," he said gently.
"Why would God want me to fail?" I sobbed.
"Because He knew you would pick yourself up and try again and be stronger the next time."

I thought on this for a couple of days. No parent takes pleasure from seeing their child fail. But a father knows if his young child is going fail outright, but does not say anything. When the child falls, the father will lift up the child and say, "Now, try again. Take another step."

In this respect, the child's legs will be a little stronger, his knees a little more stable. Balance will soon be established. Soon, the father will watch his child walking tall and he will be proud.

God knew I wasn't strong enough this time. Or that I was using the wrong method. God had heard my prayers and had known how badly I wanted to quit smoking. But instead of saying, "No. This isn't the right way to go about it," He let me practice and He let me fall. Yes, in a couple of days God picked me up. He even placed a twenty dollar bill on the ground for Shawn to find.

Shawn bought flowers & left them in my car on his lunch break. When I got home, another batch of flowers greeted me from inside the fridge. I was reminded that while, yes I had failed to quit yet another time, I had a wonderful husband who loved me in spite of my addiction. A man who cares enough for me to surprise me not once, but twice!

A Chain of Events
A week before my attempted quit, someone had suggested the Allan Carr book. While I was reading the book, I was thrilled to be reading it. I explored it further and discovered that Carr has a four hour web cast for $149 Seemed a bit greedy for someone who "genuinely" wanted to cure the world of smoking. But I brushed it off. I thought if the book might work for me, Shawn would have to try it. But he HATES to read in the same way that I hate math.

So began the search for the book on CD. It didn't exist as it turned out. I did an eBay search and found a woman with the book and 2 CDs that amounted to a personal consultation with Carr. She stated in her auction that a friend had given her the book, but that she didn't need it because she had quit using cold laser therapy.

I emailed the seller and probed further into this "laser" stuff. It seemed scary, whatever it was. Rita, as it were, told me she didn't want to quit smoking. She was a heavy smoker but had to quit for health reasons. She smoked all the way up to the front door of the clinic and walked out, never having smoked again. That was a year and a half ago. Her husband followed a month after and he quit as well.

Well, this deserved further investigation! I had bid on the book and CDs but had forgotten them and lost by a lousy 50 cents. That night, the night I would have my last cigarette on the Carr method, I searched for laser therapy. Over the course of the week, I spent as much time as possible speaking with folks on forums, reading every grain of information on laser therapy I could get my hands on.

Out of the twenty or so people I had spoken with, only three said it had not worked. I found out that laser therapy had been used in Europe for over twenty years and had only gained a slight popularity in America over the last five years. The FDA was running many clinical trials and looking to get it approved.

In the early beginning of my searches, I came across an article from a news station in Austin, Texas. It stated that this woman, Val Frier had tried everything to quit smoking. She quit smoking by using laser therapy. She was so impressed that she trained to become a certified laser technician and opened her own clinic. I skimmed the article and ignored the address and phone number at the bottom of the page.

I began to search for someone who did this closer to home and repeatedly came up with nothing. With almost every search, no matter what I typed in the search box of my browser, that article kept coming up. I decided to re-read it and I phoned Ms. Frier.

I was actually stunned, yet facinated by her humanity. A couple weeks prior, I had been somewhat looking into hypnosis. I phoned two near Austin who both seemed almost as though I were wasting their time. I was very put off by it. Ms. Frier seemed passionate, caring and willing to answer my every question. She almost seemed to want me to quit smoking as badly as I want it myself.

I spoke to Shawn & made an appointment. I've decided I will re-read Carr's book to reinforce how badly I want this. I don't know if Carr's method is best for everyone, but a lot of what he writes makes a lot of sense and gets you so pumped to want to quit. And that can't be bad to pair with any method.

I must admit I am a bit nervous, but also excited. Many have told me that afterward, they feel as though they need to do something with their hands--like something is almost missing. Perhaps I'll learn to knit.....

NEXT Part Seven....The results of my Laser Therapy

PART FIVE I'd Had a Revelation

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 20:13:00 +0000

Upon entering my quest to quit, I began to search for online for support groups. Our city does not have any. There are 76 Weight Watchers meetings at any given time. There are about as many Alcoholics Annonymous meetings and so on. But do we have any for quitting a drug that is harder to quit than heroin?

The closest city that has a support group is an hour's drive if there is no traffic whatsoever. Add 30 minuets if you actually plan to make it into the city.

So I came across several, my favorite being Quitnet.com At most times of the day there were hundreds of people on this site discussing quit tips, asking questions, offering encouragement. I quickly got addicted to the site. One user suggested that I read Allan Carr's The Easy Way to Quit Smoking.

Seemed like a silly name for a book but what did I have to lose? The book's cover decribes Carr as a 5-pack a day smoker. This was back in the early eighties when you could still smoke everywhere. Turns out, he averaged 3 packs a day--5 on a bad day. Still, you think if this guy can quit, anyone can quit.

Carr actually states in the book that he quit via hypnosis. How quaint. But I'll get onto that later. To start, I absorbed the words written in that book. I read daily. I believed it. It's not all health shock and reason why you need to quit. It's a form of brainwashing. You read the words written there--and you believe them. The books tells you don't need cigarettes--and you believe that.

I started out wondering how in the world a book would help me quit smoking, let alone make it "easy and enjoyable"! Yes, enjoyable! Carr states that it is ridiculously easy AND enjoyable to quit smoking.

He also prohibits using Nicotine Replacement Therapies such as The Patch, The Gum, etc. because you'd only be fueling the need for nicotine. You don't need bubble gum, hard candies or coffee straws in your mouth, blah, blah, blah.

But I believed it. What's more, I believed in it. I believed it in my heart. I wa sso excited to quit smoking. All who know me wer excited for me. "I have no doubt in my mind that you're going to do it!" my loving husband said to me. Even my mom really thought I would do it.

I had my last smoke at 10pm. I awoke at 4:30am to the whining alarm clock and felt around in the dark for my cigarettes. Oh yeah. I went to the bathroom and couldn't wrap my head around anything. I had a difficult time getting my contact lenses in my eyes. I said my mantras over and over as I dressed:

I'm a non-smoker!
I'm not giving up anything!
I won't miss it!

On my way out of the bathroom, I stared at the counter. What was I forgetting? I had my brushed my teeth, wrapped my hair in a bun and yes, I do remember shutting off the clock so it didn't wake Shawn.

What was it?! I had my pants on. I hooked my bra.... Oh yeah. Oh well. I'm a non-smoker!!!!!

For most of the time after as I fed the pets and did my morning routine I fidgeted, always looking for something, thinking I had forgotten something. What was I forgetting? I sat at the computer and the feeling was nagging at me, eating away at my absolute being. I repeated my mantras. I felt as though I wanted to rip a glop of hair out. That might help.

Screw this! I'm getting some gum! I thought as I rushed to the kitchen for some nicotine gum.

I left a message on a forum on my support group. I could barely type the words, "what a crock" and "Carr quit with hypnosis!" and such things as "this isn't EASY or ENJOYABLE".

Driving in the dark, I cranked up some rock music and thrashed like a head banger straight out of the 80's. I cried all the way to work. At 6am, upon arriving at work I chewed bubble gum; another piece of nicotine gum at 6:30am.

That feeling. It's hard to describe. It's at the pit of your stomach and at the center of your brain, throbbing and gnawing at every thought. Things that come naturally, like moving your arm, require thought. I tried to breathe deeply, repeated my mantras.

I pulled my laundry from the adjacent laundrymat and smelled a smell I haven't picked up on in a long time. I had washed our clothes using soap and detergent in an electrical washing machine--just as anyone does these days. But the scent from the dryer...To describe it to a non-smoker I would have to say it was a combination of a stale litter box and an ashtray that had not been emptied in years.

Do I smell like that? I wanted to cry at the thought.

At 7am I gave in.

I went to the 7-11 next door and bought a pack. I went behind our building and sat on the ground and bawled like a little girl as I smoked. I was so sure. I believed every page in that book! I just knew in my heart I could do it and that, yes it would be easier this time.

I felt defeated. Broken. Helpless against the addiction that nicotine holds to me. "Nothing but a junkie..." I muttered. My shoulders shook I was crying so hard. I cried like that with every cigarette I smoked that day. I stare at this little stick between my fingers and curse at it & the smoke rising from its tip. "I don't want this! I don't want to be smoking this! I don't want to be a smoker!"

I felt as though God Himself had forgotten me....

NEXT: Part Six Why Do We Fall?

PART FOUR Mom's Demise

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 10:08:00 +0000

I had come to the point of just hating it. I hate the smell. I hate that all too familiar burning in my throat with every puff. I hate the taste. I hate that I want it. I hate that I think I need it.

I want to quit. I've tried so many times before.... The Patch, The Gum, The Lozenge....

I even tried Chantix. I spent $180 (plus my doctor's fee) and was sick as a dog for two weeks. I thought, "If it's gonna make me this sick, I'll just smoke." There's rational thinking for ya. Don't get me wrong--Chantix works very well for many people with a 40% success rate. It just didn't work for me.

Even Mom tried it a year and a half ago. On January 9th, 2007 (coincidentally, Shawn's birthday) both my parents had decided to quit. Dad had a couple rough weeks and Mom stayed diligent on Chantix. She still smoked while on the Chantix, but much, much less. She said she really didn't want to smoke.

Dad used a combination of the nicotine lozenge and the nicotine gum & quit successfully. Smoking was banned inside their house & we all worried that we reeked of cigarettes. It didn't bother them. To Dad, it was just a scent. Not a good smell, or a bad smell....just a smell.

To Mom, the smell stunk so bad! This is more common for someone who's quit.

Then, in April I got a phone call that Dad was in the emergency room with a horrible headache. Man, what a night.

After running some tests, the doctor came back and said Dad had an aneurysm. We bawled & cried. Later, the doctor came back and said Dad had a tumor. We bawled & cried. (My grandmother died from a brain tumor the size of pin head--it brought back terrible memories for us all)

Finally, the doctor came back a third time and said there was a tumor on the outside of Dad's grain but it regarded further investigating. No one in the emergency room apparently had seen anything like it.

Through all this, we gathered in the parking lot and smoked a lot of cigarettes. Mom practically begged us for one.

"If no one gives me one I'm gonna drive to the store to some anyway! And I'm such a mess I could get in a wreck , but I don't care right now!"

Or something to that effect. My sister & I had watched our mom care for her mother for almost a year. We saw the pain in Mom's eyes as she watched her own mother die a little more each day. For her to imagine going through this with her husband would be unbearable. And quitting smoking at a time like this was unbearable.

I handed Mom a cigarette and a lighter. "Thank you," she managed through her sobbing.

We all knew she would be in her truck within five minuets if someone had not done it. And we all worried she would end up in a massive wreck. I don't think any of us could have handled that on top of everything.

I didn't contribute to her starting smoking again--she would have done it anyway. Anyone one of us would have handed her one to keep her from driving. She was doing so well, too. We'd never seen Mom be able to go without cigarettes and do so well! It was almost as depressing as learning that Dad had some rare growth in his brain. She would only be killing herself slowly.

But then, who were we to judge? Me, Shawn, my sister Sheila--and Bob who is married to Sheila and is also Shawn's brother. We were all smoking. Puffing like it would relieve the stress, relieve the hurt.

It never does.

Over the week, Dad went back to his doctor a few times, I think. His doctor had finally thrown out her medical books and the Internet and finally came across what was in Dad's brain:

Non-Aneurysmal Sub-Arachnoid Hemorrhage (I think--I lost the paper I had scrawled it on so long ago)

Only 100 cases have been diagnosed worldwide. "You could search the Internet for hours and hours and not find one article on it," she told Dad.

So I did. The Internet is loaded with information. Hours and hours and many more hours later, I came across one article that mentioned this anomaly. The page mentioned it in one sentence.

OK, now I believed the doctor. She even asked Dad if she could write about him in a medical journal.

Dad had a growth in the elastic lining of his brain, so to speak. In the fluid like material that cushions our brain against the skull, was a sort of tumor. It wasn't dangerous, really and wasn't expected to change shape, grow in size or anything like that. I didn't understand a lot of what was told to me.

I knew this: Dad wasn't going to die from cancer. He would live normally--quite normally in fact--and his only health risk was that his changes of a stroke were ten times that of a healthy person.

Basically that meant, change of diet, less stress and don't do any of that lifting that requires heavy grunting until that vein in your forehead pops.

So yeah, we felt good about it. When you consider all the other possibilities, this was a good thing. And it was even better that Dad had quit smoking.

He has not had a cigarette since January 8th, 2007. After attempting to quit multiple times, he's finally kicked it. It doesn't bother him, he doesn't crave it. He can sit around us while we smoke and it doesn't bother him at all.

Mom is still smoking, outside of course. All in good time, I suppose. All in good time.

Dad has dropped the gum, but is now hooked on the nicotine lozenge. We laugh about it, though. At least you're not smoking! we say. He's trying to get off the lozenge. A friend of Mom's has been hooked on the gum for three years or better!

We don't hassle them. It's still nicotine, a drug--sure. But it's not chemicals, tar and carcinogens being inhaled into the lungs on an hourly basis.

And that's a damn fine start.

PART THREE More Shock Treatment (Doesn't Make You Quit)

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 12:05:00 +0000

As I've said before, shock treatment won't make me stop smoking. If it worked, then every junkie in the world would look at the guy next to him and say, "Is that what I look like? Man, I gotta quit this drug! That's it, I'm done!"

As a smoker, I've had a lot of issues hit close to home, so to speak. My immune system is not as strong as that of a non-smoker. Would you smoke your first cigarette if you thought it might give you AIDS?

Extreme? Yes, but in a sense, that's what smoking does to you. It lowers the strength of your immune system, your God-given ability to fight infection. The many bouts I've had with bronchitis, pneumonia, etc have not deterred me from smoking. Even when it happens to others cloe to me, it's not a solution to quitting.

My mother watched her father have a heart attack, right before her eyes. She was twelve years old. He died instantly--a result of smoking heavily for many, many years. This did not deter her from starting smoking. I suppose it could have been worse. I mean, in the 70's cocaine was all the rage. What if Mom had chosen cocaine instead?

The effects, in my opinion, would have been the same except they would have take less time to materialize.

About seven or eight years ago, Mom was diagnosed with emphysema. Shawn & I were married by now and puffing away ourselves. At this time I had been smoking at least five years, more and more each day.

When Mom called and gave me the news, I cried. The doctors told Mom if she didn't quit smoking, she'd have ten years left. I never knew for sure if they meant 10 years of quality life, or just 10 years. Either way, I have had no desire to look up emphysema till now. And I do it not to scare myself, or to realize it is a death sentence, but to affect those out there who may be wanting to try cigarettes for the first time.....

In a nutshell, emphysema affects the breathing. It is a progressive, destructive disease that changes the shape of functions in the lung. It affects the lungs' immunity but is not necessarily a death sentence if treatments are provided and smoking is stopped.

Text book stuff: Emphysema is the fourth leading cause of death in the United States. It is a chronic, progressive disease that affects the quality of life at least as much as the length of life

When I was fifteen, maybe close to the time I had starting experimenting with cigarettes, Mom was in the hospital for two weeks with pneumonia. I was scared. When I was very young, I loved The Muppets and was saddened when I heard Jim Henson had died from pneumonia.

That was the gist of my knowledge of pneumonia--even though I'd had it myself as a child when I was 6 years old--was that people could die from it.

I can very plainly, to this day remember the horrible sound Mom made when she coughed. Like an engine being egged on to start, but the engine is filled with trash. A nurse would hold a little cup under Mom's mouth as she coughed, prodding her to cough up something, anything. Eventually a small mass of the greenest glop you'd ever seen would come sputtering out & the nurse would go running off to a lab.

I remember sleeping in a chair with my head on the side of Mom's bed. Sleeping? Well, sort of. Nobody ever really sleeps in a hospital unless heavily sedated! The nurses would offer me sodas--the kinder ones anyway. I remember one nurse who looked exactly like Kathy Bates. Mom and me had recently seen that movie where Kathy Bates kidnaps the author and breaks his legs. Every time the Kathy Bates nurse left the room, Mom would hiss through her chapped lips, "Kathy Bates!!" and we'd laugh. Well, I'd laugh. Mom would cough and wheeze.

The Kathy Bates nurse was something else. She was, I dunno, angry at the world, I guess. She was mean and obviously couldn't express one ounce of compassion to anyone. We were just hoping she wouldn't smash a hammer across a patient's legs!

Mom did get better and went right back to smoking. Not that she wanted to. That is how powerful the drug is.

After all this, I still smoked. How could I have been such a blatant fool?

PART TWO Shock Treatment

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 20:19:00 +0000

Smoker's Lung

Healthy Lung

Shock treatment doesn't work. You could show me all the photos in the world of a smoker's lungs, all the videos you want of people dying from lung disease (pick one) or introduce me to all the folks that have ever been hooked up to an oxygen tank only to be able breathe.

This doesn't work on smokers. A junkie hangs out with other junkies. He sees what the other look like: skinny, deprived, pathetic. The junkie doesn't care because all he can think about is his next fix.

I also don't believe that shock campaigns work on the non-smokers. I saw the same commercials as a teenager. I think everyone's favorite was the man who cracked an egg over a frying pan and stated, "This is your brain on drugs".

Of course ask anyone from the eighties who took that to heart and didn't try pot, pills, acid or cocaine. I never tried those things, but I did try a cigarette.

After the tobacco companies were sued by what seemed like an endless amount of class action lawsuits by people who'd contracted lung cancer, throat cancer, emphysema....well the list goes on. Anyway, the government ordered Phillip Morris, maker of Marlboro and other such "fine" products to begin splattering anti-smoking all over the TV. What we got were commercials with young people running all over town with black body bags and this:

THE SUNNY SIDE OF TRUTH I apologize--I'll work on getting another vid. This was the Truth ad where people danced and sang with dancing & singing cartoon characters about not smoking. Laughable, unnessary, and ineffective.

Is any of this really going to help keep anyone from smoking? It didn't for me. Many big wigs in the tobacco industry stated, under oath, that they believed tobacco is not addictive.

Really? Then why did I slowly go from 2 cigarettes a day to three packs (60 cigarettes)? And why can't I stop? I do not need it to survive. It does not benefit me or my body in any way. To say that tobacco or nicotine is not addictive is to say that heroin is safe.

If that were the case, why then is tobacco legal in our country--or pretty much any country I think of.

Put simply, too many people are making too much money from it. Even after the old timers repeatedly tried to quit, after many quit smoking successfully, there's a new smoker born every day. Even our government is making money from taxes on cigarettes. Think of, even doctors have bonified job security if there are smokers around.

The drug companies create nicotine replacement therapies, the government charges tax on those items, taxes on many early funeral items....

I'm not blaming our government, nor even the tobacco farmers, or the Phillip Morris Companies of this world. I had all the information, all the shock treatment and I made a personal decision to begin smoking.

And I've been hating myself for it for twelve years.

Why did I start smoking then, if I had all the information? I think it was a combination of things:

1. It is legal to purchase and use the drug in public.

2. I had at the time, four smokers living in my home--it was ridiculously easy to obtain & hide the smell.

3. I had not thought of it as a "real" drug.

Really, this is true. These days I will go as far as to say that smoking is WORSE than heroin, much worse indeed. When I was fifteen, I would never have dreamed of snorting a power into my nose or sticking a needle into my arm. Ever! Those are the scary drugs, the kind that turn people into pathetic monsters who would steal from their own mothers!

I'd not yet heard of smoking being compared to heroin.

Sure, I can drive while under the influence of smoking--it certainly doesn't make me high or take me out of my head, but the effects take that much longer to be felt. The effects of the drug on the physical body are invisible for a very long time in a smoker's life.

When the effects are finally felt, you are lain in a hospital bed and made as comfortable as possible; a preparation for the inevitable. We regard heroin as a scary drug because it might not take 30 years, certainly not 50 years, for the junkie to be found dead on a sidewalk. That might sound a little extreme, but tell me: What's the difference?

And do not take for granted that smokers are not in torment because they are considered as bad a heroin junkie. We are as bad. We are junkies because we cannot stop. In today's American society, smoking has been banned in many public places. A non-smoker wouldn't dare allow a cigarette to be lit inside their home and rightly so, the cigarette machines have long since been removed from the hospitals (remember those?)

Every time a smoker cannot be allowed to smoke, the only thing in our heads is, "How soon will I be able to smoke?" Most of the time, it is the ONLY thing we can think about and we envy non-smokers for they do not suffer this torture.

Allen Carr describes in his book The Easy Way to Quit Smoking that we are often able to easily deal with these non-smoking situations, so why it that we cannot simply put down the cigarettes and walk away forever? That question is answered simply: IT IS AN ADDICTIVE DRUG

I hate being a smoker. I hate it. I stink; everything I own stinks. I have chest pains at the age of 27. My heart flutters. I feel sick when I think that I've spent $20,000 on smoking--that's almost half the cost of our mortgage!

Because I smoke, I'm always stressed, never fully relaxed. My fingers and teeth are yellow; my tongue is brown. My insurance premium is higher than that of a non-smoker. I have almost completely lost my sense of taste and smell at the age of 27. I have a short endurance level. I lose my breath easily--much more quickly than any healthy 27 year old should. I heal slowly, get sicker more often and stay sick longer.

And when I cannot have a smoke, I panic.

How does that NOT make me a junkie?

For a change of pace: PART ONE An Introduction To Why I Began Smoking

noreply@blogger.com (whatagem) — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 12:23:00 +0000

I haven't been posting as of lately. What's the point? I'm not making any money on this. I decided if I was going to write I wanted to at least try to make money off of it. Not that money is my only reward out of writing; I have yet to receive any money from writing! It started with the idea of a book. And sure, getting published would probably be near impossible and it's so ridiculously competitive.... Still, I have to try. I'll never know if I could be a published author if I do not even try.

So, I'm gonna use this space (for now, anyway) to explain why I made the choice to smoke, what it's done to me personally, why I'm quitting and how I am quitting.

Yes, there is a TON of information out there on smoking. There are thousands & thousands of ads, personally accounts, medical information, YouTube videos, recordings, speeches.... The list goes on and on.

So why read mine? Well, you don't have to read it; no one is forcing you. I suppose it's really for me. I don't know how this will work because sitting in front of the computer is one of my triggers. I chain smoke when in front of the computer so if I disappear for days (or weeks) at a time don't dispair. And if I never some back around to it--it means I've lost interest. HA HA

I KNEW IT WAS BAD FOR ME

My mom was 12 years old when she watched her father have a heart attack in their kitchen. He was a smoker & died instantly. She said the last thing she heard from his mouth was a gurgling noise. There was no trip to the hospital.

When Mom took up smoking, her mother cried. Her mother could not believe she had started smoking after witnessing with her own eyes what had happened with her father. Mom thought it was "cool" and she said she liked it.

Dad probably started smoking when he joined the Navy, though I'm not totally clear on that. Vietnam....yeah, everyone was smoking then.

In 1996, I was 15 years old. I had all the possible information one could get on smoking. I had two parents who'd desperately tried to quit many times. I even once sat at the living room window and watched my dad literally pick up a push mower and send it hurtling across the lawn.

This is how the need for a fix can affect a smoker. He shortly went back to smoking after pitching the mower across the lawn. Mom was only seconds behind or had already been smoking in secret.

At 15, I was invincible. The age of 35 seemed a lifetime away. Fifty, seemed even more elderly to me. My parents didn't get me & I didn't get them. There was a huge generation gap. We fought constantly. I was rebellious, lonely, depressed. I was in my third year of yet another school--not because we moved around, but because I kept getting into trouble. Mom thought changing of a school, removing me from bad influences would help. Boy was she wrong.

Bad influences exist even if you are home schooled (we even tried that too) This school was a good school, but I hated it. I didn't fit in at all. It seemed I was one out of four kids in the entire high school that listened to rock music. I had a "grunge" thing going on and I looked like I might appear on Sesame Street along with three other kids in my class and Grover would ask, "Which of these do not belong?"

That was me. I did OK in my school work--when I wanted to, when it interested me. Algebra didn't hold my interest, nor the make up of mitosis. There were people I talked to, but no close friends. I didn't hang out with anyone. I chatted with a few people in class. That was it.

Months earlier, my sister Sheila married Bob. Bob had a little brother, Shawn. When we met, it was like in the movies. We instantly liked each other. He was bad. He had long hair, played a bass guitar, smoked cigarettes, and was tall and lanky.

We "dated" for four months even though I was not technically allowed to date & he had no car. He broke it off because of family issues--long boring story there.

I was heart broken. Shawn was the closest friend I'd ever had. My first kiss. My first boyfriend. Sometime within the next six months I became insanely jealous of the popular girls at school--not because they were cheerleaders or anything like that. I wanted to look like them. I wanted what they had. Happiness, friends, a great body, a pretty face.

I decided that if I had a cigarette in my mouth, I wouldn't be shoving food in there all the time. I was five feet tall and probably weighed between 110 & 120 pounds. I had chubby spots like at my gut or my thighs, but I wasn't fat. Even today I look at photos and wonder how I could have saw myself as fat!

Sheila and Bob had moved in with my parents & myself. I stole my first cigarette from one of their packs--afraid Mom might notice if I'd gotten in her own pack. I got inside my closet and lit my first cigarette.

It burned my throat and my lungs immediately rejected this poison I was offering them. Smoke sputtered out of my mouth and I coughed to expelled the rest. Another drag, and the same thing.

I HAD TO LEARN TO SMOKE

I had to teach my lungs how to handle the smoke. I had to learn how to smoke. Today, of course I think it's got to be the most idiotic thing I could've ever done. I never dreamed I would continue to smoke for the next twelve years. It never occurred to me, not for a second that I couldn't have just one or two cigarettes.

That's the problem. No one decides to smoke for the rest of their life. I never decided to work my way up to three packs day. I didn't decide I was going to smoke for twelve stinking years.

That's why it took only one. I don't know if I was hooked on my first cigarette. The thought that I could have another--that's what hooked me. The thought that I could never end up like Mom--that's what hooked me.

The thing is, it tasted awful! It made my head swim & I felt a bit dizzy. This is what we smokers refer to as a "Nicotine Buzz". But you can get the same effect from holding your breathe because it is nothing more than suffocation--a lack of oxygen to the lungs and brain.

It didn't make me feel good but I felt good because I was going to be skinny. Looking back, I would have no smarter if I had lit a crack pipe because I had never seen a fat crack addict. I had, of course, seen fat smokers. Where was the logic?

There was no logic. I did not put one rational thought into that one cigarette. If I had, I would not be smoking as I write this. If I had thought logically about smoking, I would have weighed the pros and cons of smoking and would have realized there is not one single advantage to smoking. As a teenager you might think I would've at least deduced that I didn't even get high off of smoking.

Not literally, but figuratively I did get a high from it. More of a rush, really. Everyone at my school saw me for who they thought I was--smoking would only exemplify that image, I thought. I would become skinny because smoking is an appetite suppressant, a stimulant....

I eat more today than I've eaten in my entire life. I weigh 112 pounds and I am somewhat fit. The more I smoke, the more tired I feel; so much for a stimulant! The funny thing is, shortly after high school I gained about 40 pounds. That's a lot of weight on a small five foot tall frame! I got fat! So much for the appetite suppressant!

All it took was that one cigarette because I thought I was in control. I would never have dreamed of sticking myself with a needle filled with heroin. And yet the yearly deaths from heroin does not even begin to compare to deaths caused by smoking.

Slowly, I smoked more than one. Within a year I still didn't realize I was hooked. I didn't want to stop because I thought I liked it. It was the drug, the addiction, the craving for more that made me believe I enjoying it.

Like a heroin addict, I got no satisfaction from tasting the drug, only the "enjoyment" of quelling the craving.

It took a full year before my parents confronted me. They couldn't smell it on me when they themselves smelled of cigarettes. I hid my tools well. And by this time Shawn and I were back together. Mom supposed that any extra stink on me might've been coming from Shawn since he smoked himself. (Not that Mom was ever OK with Shawn's smoking, but she knew I would've seen Shawn whether she liked it or not. She picked her battles)

At sixteen, I couldn't stop because I didn't want to stop. That was simply the illusion of the drug. Does a heroin junkie want to stop? No, he only wants more of the drug. When he gets more, he only wants more and more.....