Diary of a Nicotine Addict: The Beginning

Lit cigarette in ashtray

I became addicted to nicotine by having  just a few cigarettes.  Seriously!

I blame it on the fact that both my parents were chain smokers. You could say that I started smoking as a fetus, then spent my childhood surrounded by a dense cloud of second-hand smoke.  I was an addict waiting to happen. If I could go back to that day I bummed some cigarettes from my boyfriend, and not do it

But I did do it. So here I am whining to y’all, because my husband and kids are sick of my love/hate relationship with nicotine, and I’m beginning the process of quitting.

If you are a normal person and have never been addicted to tobacco, or anything else for that matter, you may find my diary posts educational – who knows?  If you are also in my position (need to quit smoking), or you recently quit, please come along for the ride! I have the feeling it will be interesting either way…

Tuesday, May 10th
Dear Diary,
I am contemplating quitting cigarettes soon. I am even thinking of setting my “Quit Date” for May 20th. That would be giving myself a huge birthday present. Do I want to be miserable on my birthday? Of course not. Like I said – I am contemplating right now. the Mayo Clinic has a cool health website that has an on-line quit smoking program. Contemplating a Quit Date is the first step in the program.

All-righty then! I am done with my first assignment.  Cool.

Restaurant Review: Chelas

Chelas Logo

A new restaurant opened just down the hill from my mom’s house in Laguna Niguel. Sis and I have waited for them to open since August. We saw a sign on the vacant space last summer saying “Coming Soon! Chelas Mexican Grill” Yum! We love Mexican food.

When we walked in the door a heavenly aroma enveloped us. Our first impression was a mixture of “this is a fast food place!” and “OMG, it smells incredible!” Chelas menu is posted on the wall and you place your order at the counter. The interior walls are painted a light drab, and the vinyl flooring is black. They have chairs and tables available, and you can order food to go.

This was not what we expected.

The menu was far different from the Mexican restaurants we usually went to. No Enchiladas, Chili Rellaños, Soups, or Salads listed. What was on the menu seemed weird to me. I never had a taco made with shredded cabbage instead of lettuce. Their burritos also had cabbage. My sister wanted a Chimichanga and I wanted a Chili Rellaño, so we felt disappointed. We settled for a ‘La Gringa Taco’ – recommended by Edward, who waited on us. I also ordered a Quesadilla and sis ordered a Chili Verde Burrito.

While waiting for our order, we were a captive audience for Chelas lively background music. It was as jarring as it was unconventional. The volume was too much to suit me – no surprises there. If asked to describe the genre, I would say it was ‘Mexican Polka’. The tempo was crazy fast and the lyrics were in Spanish. I’m embarrassed to admit that I caught myself bobbing my head and dancing my shoulders along with it at times.

So why am I giving Chelas ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ (4 hearts out of 5)?

The food is that yummy. Period.

I think we will order it to go next time. Unless of course we’re in one of our Mexican Polka moods.

Greyhound University

Greyhound Things I Learned on a Bus

I didn’t know it at the time, but I lived a sheltered life. Although we were  not one of those perfect TV families, my parents held traditional roles and values. Dad left every morning for the office. He mowed the lawn and  went golfing with his buddies on the weekend.

Mom took care of  the house and did the usual stuff mom’s do in between hollering at her kids. She made casseroles and roasts. She baked. She sewed like a professional and created dresses using Simplicity patterns and imagination. What I wouldn’t give for some haute couture now!

Pardon me for veering off subject…

My best friend & cousin, Margaret Sue, also was living in a similar state of shelteredness*. This could have been because our dad’s were raised by the same parents, or because the suburbs in the 50’s & 60’s promoted this. Regardless – we were as naive and clueless as 10-year old girls could be. Unfortunately, we were 14.

Maggie and I begged her mom to let us take a trip to Oklahoma to visit Maggie’s sister (my cousin) Kathleen. She was married and living close to the military base where her husband was stationed. A road trip would be so cool! We could buy tickets with our babysitting money and hang out with adults who were not our parents.

After swearing and promising to all that is Holy, listening to many words of wisdom and caution, we were allowed to buy tickets. Yippee!! Altus Oklahoma, here we come. In addition to our own suitcases, we stuffed a small travel case with SweetTart’s,  Smartee’s, M & M’s, licorice, PayDay’s, candy corn, Pixie Stix, and a box of Little Debbie’s. For emergencies.

The trip from St. Louis to Tulsa is estimated to take 11 hours. Our bus departed the depot at 11:00 PM. 15-minutes down the road we were pummeled by a thunderstorm.  I sat in the first row behind the driver, so I could watch the storm from the large front windshield.  I could not see the road 5 feet in front of the bus. I did notice the speedometer needle pointing to 80 mph.  Things learned on a bus #1: Bus drivers must have radar or excellent night vision.

Rolla, MO.  We stopped long enough to pick up a new passenger. This woman was all dressed up and wearing enough make-up for 5 women. She was possibly the skinniest person we had ever seen. Mag and I suspected she got a bit tipsy at whatever party she came from. Or maybe she wobbled because her shoes had the highest spiked heels we’d ever seen. Things got interesting 20 minutes later when Miss Party, who did not have a ticket or the money to buy one, tried to negotiate (loudly) with the bus driver.  The driver, after informing her that he did not allow junkie whores on his bus, left her at the side of the road.  Things learned on a bus #2: Do not attempt to hitchhike on a bus.

When things quieted down, Mag and I decided to separate so we could stretch out across a row of seats and get some sleep. It was a good plan.

Fort Leonard Wood. A new passenger boards. This time it’s a young guy in fatigues, straight from the Army’s Boot Camp. Mag and I gave each other a look that said “what a HUNK!” He had a bottle of something wrapped in a paper bag that he pulled from his duffel bag and drank from. He offered Mag and I some – we blushed and declined.

Just as I nodded off, something woke me. Soldier boy had moved over to my row of seats and sat next to me. I was flattered. And scared out of my mind. When his hand somehow made it over to my thigh, I lifted it and put it back in his lap, saying nothing. I tried to be lady-like about it, but I must have been too subtle. 3 minutes later my thigh once again had company. I excused myself and moved back to Maggie’s row. Obviously he failed to notice that I was jail-bait and as my Grandma put it, “a late bloomer”. Things Learned on a bus #3: Soldiers do not have night vision.

Springfield, MO. Breakfast stop. Mag and I stumbled off the bus like zombies, into what must have been a “greasy spoon”. There was a buffet set up for us Greyhound people who had to be back on the bus in 45 minutes. I think I took some of each item offered. My body cried out for sugarless nourishment. I also desperately needed coffee, but I did not drink it back then.

One of the buffet attendants was either a psychotic lecher, or just “not right”. As Mag and I went through the line he blatantly stared at us. Through his coke bottle bottom lenses, his eyes were grotesquely magnified, making his stare even more disturbing. We ate as fast as we could and were back on the bus with 25 minutes to spare. To this day I remember that guy and shudder. Things learned on a bus #4: Pack your own food and leave the bus as little as possible.

We arrived in Altus, OK without further incident late that afternoon. We were gritty with road dust and sleep deprived. And very happy to be there.

11 hours on a bus is more than enough. The strangest part about our return trip? I can’t remember a thing about it. Not one.

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* taken from The Words That Should Exist Dictionary