quitting

We all have heard just how hard it is to quit smoking. But each item you can smoke has its own unique level of difficulty when it comes to the matter of quitting. The two examples most prevalent in my life, weed and cigarettes, seem to be on opposite sides of the board. With cigarettes, sure they're gross as all hell and yet in some unnameable way still desirable. They make your chest feel tight and your throat raspy and any subtle cough habitual. Yet I still crave them. They're amazing post-sex and a little too much post bowl. They invented dualism, I think. We want to quit them forever-- once and for all, but just can't seem to pass by the Tobacco Connection if we got more than five bucks in our pockets. And then there's the herb. Makes you cough, however unlike the cigarettes the weed cough happens immediately and not so frequently later on. This one I had no desire to quit for the longest time. Sure, its much more expensive than regular tobacco and its illegal, but since when did that deter anyone from doing anything? Its a luxurious and Utopious feeling being blazed. It helps you sleep, overeat, and saY "OH WELL," and "WHATEVER" a lot more. Alas, I need to find some way to keep the wonderful qualities I inhale while keeping my pipe empty and my bank account fuller. We talked of contracts. One between my lover and I, my bestie and I; and my fellow Scorpio has already penned one with her parents with financial aid for a new vehicle and her college education hanging in the balance. We all need to quit, be it for money, safety, education, transportation, or just to clear out our smoky domes. No more can we push our quit date back even a single day. Last evening, we sat down at 11:08pm with roughly $30-$40 worth of greens. Determined to get rid of it, we decided we'd kill it all last night so that none of us had any left for the morning which would hinder our progress by yet one more day. There were three of us to start. After four bowls, we had to call in the reserves. We were dragging our feet through the whole thing. So, I placed a call to my Californian buddies. All the whili thinking baout how, a year ago, we would have rejoiced at having any excuse to burn so many bowls in a given evening. Now, it seemed, our interest in general was waning. Once our help arrived, there were five. So we went our for a quick smoke (on a cig) and rearranged our seats on the bed and began again. The supply in the bags dwindled and dwindled, after our sixth bowl, I think we forgot how very close we were to being done. Just done. After realizing just how cached the bowl in my hand was, I reached blindly into the baggie I was working from to feel...NADA! It was gone! ALL GONE! We quietly congratulated ourselves and one another. There was a sense of relief in the air which couldn't have been suffocated even by the copious amounts of smoke and haze. Scorpio was the first to bail out and get to bed, then the Californians. I immediately ripped my bedsheets aside and nestled into what had suddenly become the most comfortable bed in history. I went under almost as soon as I had laid my head upon my massive stack of pillows. Unless I was dreaming, I believe I may have even turned down a sexual romp. Which is just more proof how necessary this quitting is. One should never turn down legitimate, fabulous, love-laced sex...even if they are insanely high. So now, the money I would normally be throwing into the tobacco company's arms or stimulating my local dealer's economies will be split between my savings account and tanning beds. I want a freckle for every bowl I WOULD HAVE smoked littering my cheeks. Granted, a month from now, I will waste two entire bags with roughly the same people in one day...Hey, I got start somewhere.

last night

So last night as a few friends (as well as my lover) and I shared conversation and cigarettes, I was informed by my husband-to-be that one of my best attributes is my ability to make people uncomfortable really quickly. Thanks, honey. A little taken aback at first, I sprung to thought. And came to one realization about myself. I do that. It's true. And as much as I hate to admit any one's mental dominance over me, he's totally right. My friend said it with a thick coating of sugar "You're just blunt. You say exactly what you're thinking." Better, but still doesn't sound like a trait anyone on this planet would be trying to develop.
I really shouldn't have been taken aback in that I am one of the most "out-there" (personality wise) persons I know. That being said, I suppose the only reason this new fun fact about my tendencies caught me off guard is that I never really do think before I speak. Like ever. And I hadn't noticed before. I spent a few following minutes trying to decide if I felt like it was vice or virtue. And I couldn't.
I couldn't completely hate the fact, being completely aware that 2 of my closest friends have no filter either. The skinny brunette (we have matching friendship tattoos)is about as crass and dry and bitter as it comes. She's tiny, but get her worked up and she packs a punch!!!!! And the buxom blonde, really, has about as much a radar for sensitive feelings as pornography has censorship(Please note, it's just a metaphor. She hates porn.). She as a being is extremely sensitive. Still a spitfire, yet exudes a certain degree of innocence and propriety in the sound of her voice and personal appearance. As is the brunette. She cries at the slightest pull of the heart strings, and still we share the "blurt" attribute. Come to think of it, MOST of my friends demonstrate their own unique brands of impropriety. And that's completely what I LOVE about them. No games. No bullshit. They say what they mean, and also in return, mean what they say. And isn't that the most basic request for all relationships, platonic or otherwise???? To be real?
Exactly. I'd deciphered my own puzzle. I LIKE that I'm that way and I identify and bond with others on that note. So really, I find it to be virtuous. It feels good recognize good within myself. Also, I reinforced my recently discovered feelings on plasticity. I'm put off by it and gravitate to the real, no matter how raw it ends up being. Hmmmm.

today

In the middle of my fourth hour of my work day, I can't help but think about how much I miss them. Sure, he's only miles away making sandwiches for the good people of Idaho, and she's less than seven minutes away undoubtedly shrieking for god knows what reason. But still, I miss them. It's not that I'm lonely. Being out of work for months as I'd been prior to February, I relish the time to myself and with the public. But still.
Maybe it's that I want to do. For them. Anything and everything they desire. He wants to change the world with a computer company armoured and powered by ethics and innovation. She, on the other hand just wants to be mobile. But what about for me? What is my plan for myself?
I grew up think I wanted to be a hairstylist and master the beauty industry with my skill and passion. But after a retrospectively short stint submerged in the business, I quickly learned that my head and my heart were in two very different places and the market of hair and skin and beauty and perfection and bitches was not for me. That is definitely not say that I am not a Bitch. I sure am. But in a two-edged sword kind of way. One side is a sleek, smooth, so-sharp-you-don't-feel-it-open-you-up razor. The flip, however, is a jagged, serrated, dulling edge I reflexively lash about.
Which perhaps provides the reason I wasn't cut out for such an industry after all. It takes patience. Patience to get through school (which, in itself, was a whole new and separate level of Hell), patience to find a job in one of the worst markets (for businesses providing an unnecessary service) since the Great Depression, patience to serve the ever-intelligent and demanding customer base which would have composed my group of "regulars". It's the "regulars" you need as reliable sources of income, those whose return patterns mirror the most precise intervals. But here's the thing: the more stylists I spent time with on or off the salon service floor, I discovered hated their clients. Hated them. They had a horror story for every one of them. And still, to the client's face laughed their fake laughs and smiled their fake smiles and handed out their fake compliments while they put fake color in their (only sometimes) fake hair.
Again, parts of me are fake. I color my hair and tan in a bed and get acrylic pasted on my nails just as much as then next girl. But one thing I cannot fake is pleasure where there is none. I can keep my cool for a relatively long period of time before I explode wrath all over everything within a hundred mile radius, but as far as faking things, I'm just not good at it. So there you have it. I can't be fake to people who are annoying the fuck out of me. Props to anyone who can. As I've always thought to myself, (sure, it'd be much cooler had I actually said it to someone, but I haven't...yet) a clown can rock a better painted on smile than any human I've come across.
Aside fromt hat fact, the entire salon experience, from the viewpoint of the professional (which according to the state of Idaho, I am) has been pretty uncomfortable. Women in numbers in a small building with chemical fumes lingering in the air is just not a good idea. You'd think the fumes would at least aid the situation, elevating the girls to such a degree they'd take on a cool, chill stooper and soft, monotone voices but, no. I think it intensifies bitch rage.
But enough, that is no longer a part of my life or career. I forwent another hair gig in my employment search for something I have always found to be a pleasureable topic. Sex. And no, I'm not a hooker, whore, slut, escort, or even a stripper. I work in an adult toy store, which has solved one of my main problems with the beauty industry: feigning pleasure where there is none. With vibrators and anal beads linign the walls with the choice of every clitoral stimulating gel and lube to help me along...no need to fake it.
No, but in all seriousness, I of course don't use the merchandise for self-pleasure. But there is a degree of joy that comes with knowing EXACTLY what my patrons are going to do once they leave the store. They all leave happy, and I don't have to push them to do or buy anything they don't want when they come in. Plus, I adore the conversational factor of it. It's like a sanctuary for everything taboo and forbidden by societal standards. Just where I want to be. I also work all alone during my shifts. Nobody to compete with, nobody to get my goat, just me. And the customers. And the hilariously dirty and sometimes unacceptable phone calls I get.
So, my first two hiccups in career decision have been solved. I've surrounded myself with pleasure and eliminated the "speak to please" problem. But how can I make this MINE?