prettysmoker

     I am eating eating eating. But I am also working out working out working out. And I am 11 days into being a non smoker. I can’t even fricken believe it. I thought it had been something like 20 days. That is what it feels like. Forever. Now that I am a non smoker I feel like I have nothing interesting to say about smoking. In general that is good. Being a Blogger about smoking, bad. I’ll be a blogger about not smoking. Hmm. That sounds interesting. Today I didn’t smoke. And today I didn’t smoke again.

The best I can do is tell the truth about this experience. The problem with that is the truth shifts. Yesterday I’m feeling sorry for the pretty girl outside starbucks smoking in her pretty casual summer dress with her pretty friend with her cool cigarettes. Today, I’m thinking how can having one cigarette hurt? The answer is it can’t. Ok maybe I’ll have one. Not today but someday in the future. That was comforting to me. I can have a cigarette in maybe a few days because the truth is I’m dying here. Not from the nicotine but the habit. I miss my habit. I miss my little cig moments by myself. Today I sat outside my front door in my beautiful apartment building. There are palm trees everywhere. It kind of reminds me of a hotel. I sat on the ground while Sadie my chiuaua laid in the beam of sun streaming through the palm leaves. I ate from a bag of blue chips. The experience wasn’t nearly as good as having a cigarette. Anyhow, don’t freak out on me. I’m not going to have the ONE cigarette. The moment I let that thought enter my mind I knew that one always leads to two. I’m onto me. I know my alter smoking ego’s games. She’s clever. But now I’m a mom again and I have to be more clever. I won’t have even one.

I am meeting friends out tonight. This will be a true test. But maybe not. I only really liked to smoke if I was drinking. And I won’t be drinking either. I’m sure I’ll be a shit load of fun. I’ll be the friend with the post smoking jiggling thighs (the kind you can see what kind of over eating has taken place) not drinking and not even looking cool with a cigarette in her hand. The married boring pregnant sober just moved from portland with no updated designer wardrobe friend. I’m surprised she even asked me to go. Maybe they want me to be designated driver.

Sooooo, how can I be fun in my so non LA state of being? First of all great makeup and outfit are a must. I do have one pair of dark denim I bought recently in portland at nordstrom rack that kind of look designer. Pray they still fit! Makeup will be a cinch since I haven’t worn any in a month or so. Fake drink a must. I’m going to order a pregtini. Martini with no alcohol. I had a thought. Maybe I’ll still be funny and witty and fun if everyone else is drunk? That’s it! If I get my friends drunk they will still think I’m funny. OK no worries then. What about all the cool people around me who are smoking. I will pretend that everyone I see got their cigarette off the ground because they are all trying to quick and they had a weak moment.

I was thinking about being a hot mom today. I am a good mom. I am a good wife, most of the time. Maybe not today when I told my husband to turn the car around and drop himself off back home. He would not being going on our hike if he didn’t get a better attitude. I’m a good friend. I’m good for the most part but I don’t want to be miss goodie two shoes. I want to be pretty when I’m pregnant. And hot in a pulled together kind of way. I’m not sinking into this pregnancy with my swollen feet up on some couch and a tub on ice cream on my chest. I would like for some guy to still notice my marathon trained ass from behind until I turn around and he sees my round stomach. Is that so much to ask? Ok. fine. I’ll settle for no water retention, no stretch marks, no excess gas, no excess weight gain, and no morning sickness! If I have to cut that list down to the bare minimum. If I put my pregnancy wishes in a prayer to God then fine, I’ll keep being gassy.        

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