Dirty Tale

Several years ago - while trying to shed a few extra unwanted pounds, I opted to go for a diet that had worked for me once before. The Cabbage Soup Diet. Which primarily consists of a homemade soup concocted with water and cabbage.
Saturday was fine. Sunday was fine. Monday was a work day and despite severe stomach pains, was also, basically fine.
Mid-day, I had my free period- and missing one of my best girlfriends that had moved away to LA on me, I decided to go out to my car in the massive parking lot to have a smoke and a chat. And to divert the attention I was focusing on my belly pangs.
Midway through my cigarette and chat, I felt my stomach do some flip-flops. I figured the gas was setting in. I did my best to maintain focus on the conversation. Suddenly, in a burst of rumbly outburst, and while discussing my girlfriends near tragic car accident- I suffered through my own sort of tragic car accident.
I shit my pants.
At first I didn't know it. At first I just assumed that whatever was happening down there would just require a quick exit and a visit to the ladies. After a tiny investigation, via a glance down at my barely khaki, almost white pants.... So not the case.
I interuppted my girlfriend with the news- and suddenly her tragic incident took the back seat to my suddenly urgent predicament.
There was a lot of repeat questions between her and I...
Me: I shit my pants?
She: You shit your pants?
Me: Did I really shit my pants just now?
She: Did you really just shit your pants?
Me: What am I going to do? I have to go back into work!
She: What ARE you going to do?
Me: Do I need to go or what?
She: You DO need to go... call me later and tell me what happens.
And so I did what any other person would do... I wrapped a sweatshirt around my waist and went into the the closest entrance and knocked casually on the first occupied classroom door I could find. A woman approached and apprehensively opened it a crack and I then realized what I was about to have to say to this woman I didn't know.
Me: Look, I am a teacher here... and I just shit my pants, and I have to go. You really need to help me out and tell someone I need a sub. Here is my phone number in case you can't get ahold of anyone. I am leaving the building.. um... NOW.
And off I ran. I couldn't afford to look back.
Feeling completely disgusted, I got back into the safe confines of my car and called my very best gay guy friend- who I knew would help me laugh and sympathize my way through my car ride home.
Upon hearing my story- he declared a state of emergency- after laughing hysterically, of course, and then also called off work so we could nurse me back to a normal emotional state together.
After throwing out the clothes, showering, and demanding I eat some fiber- things started to feel much better.

Within hours, after getting through the larger part of a twelve pack, we actually went out dancing. Never mind that it was a Monday. To me it was a pant's shitting day and I really needed to get some other notch in my belt in order to take the heaviness out of the fact that my most recent noteworthy event was crapping myself at work.

Somehow- because I work with a fat mouth- this story came out at my NEW teaching job. Just last week. Lots of teaching professionals laughing at me. At my story- about the day I pooed my pants. I quickly turned the tables and asked my colleagues if any such thing had ever happened to them. Shockingly- while guffawing uncontrollably at MY story- nary a soul raised their own hand to admit such a dirty tale.

And I call bullshit. I call a good old fashion shit-your-pants-bullshit- because it HAS. It of course has happened to SOMEONE else besides me.

Quitting. Again.

SO. I guess you could say quitting smoking is going really well. Since I am up at at 4:30 in the morning and have been for at least TWO hours. I want a cigarette so bad right now that if there was a half one in my garbage can you can bet I would be digging. I would dump that trash bag upside down in my kitchen, find the butt, light it and enjoy it while sitting atop the mound of garbage on the floor. So yeah, quitting smoking is going fabulously.

I keep trying to "think positive", but seriously, it's harder than it sounds. The arguments in my head are reminiscent of the back talk I used to give my mother.

Me: Just HAVE one already!

Me: No! I really need to quit.

Me: WHAT IS THE BIG DEAL? Hello? Hel-LOOOO? Who cares?

Me: Loser

Me: I HATE YOU. I am so leaving this house and marching over to the gas station and buying some RIGHT now. Becuase there is NOTHING on TV and I have already eaten dinner. So I am BORED. And I need a cigarette.

Me: This blows.

Yep. That is how mature and intellectual my thoughts have been today. Not feeling the pride so much right now. See a stop smoking commercial on TV? Flip it off. Watch my husband watch TV? Glare. Look down at my idle hands? Feel rage. Stand up. Sigh. Walk out. To... nowhere to go walk back INTO the living room. Sit back down.

This is going to be a long week.

Are You Old Enough to Quit?

I just climbed out of bed to... smoke. I am completely disgusted with myself. And while I have been seriously thinking lately about calling it a day with the Marlboros, I have been seriously thinking about it for years. So if you are my mother or my close relative, don't get all excited.
I did quit when I was pregnant. And then on my way home from "the procudure" and before we picked up the McDonalds, I asked my husband to pull over so I could buy a pack. I considered it a "consolation prize". I mean- in retrospect, trading in a child for an addiction that will lead to my untimely death is not exactly a prize. However in the moment it is what I told myself.
I tried quitting again at the beginning of the summer. But starting Weight Watchers and quitting smoking seemed to be putting me over the "addictions to stop" edge. And plus my strategy this time was some very horrible cigarettes called Quest and each and every one tasted like bleach. And I wanted to be weaned not pukey. So I gave them away to the only person who would take them, the garbage man.
I was reminded while in bed tonight- contemplating my need for nicotine, and wrestling with desire, about a scene I witnessed at a Jewel in Chicago. There was a young guy, maybe 20. He stood in the long line at the very separate cigarette and customer service counter ( and you don't want to find yourself in that line in Chicago- it's LONG ). I was behind him. He jumped back and forth on his feet, creating mounting anxiety for everyone around him. Finally, his turn came and he asked for Nicorette, the quitting smoking gum. The cashier - a very pompous little guy- asked for ID. They guy said loudly, " I don't HAVE ID, I don't want cigarettes, I want the GUM." Little guy, " Well, sorry, I need ID". Anxiety guy, " Seriously? You are not going to sell me gum to QUIT? I have been waiting here for like thirty minutes, and I am dying, and you are not going to let me buy the GUM?"
I have to admit, the guy had a point. One would have to presume that to be stupid enough to start and then smart enough to quit could not all possibly happen in the time frame of your teens. You don't try that hard to quit unless you are like... OLDER.
Just when the anxious guy was about to go ape, I stopped him and told him if he gave me the cash, I would be happy to buy the gum on his behalf. So that is what I did. Not only was it completely FUN to watch the little guy try to think of a way to NOT let me do this and outsmart his basic need for control, but I ordered my own cigarettes along with a fifty dollar pack of Nicorette.
The flustered look on the cashiers face was priceless.
I think he mumbled something about calling the cops, but I had a sneaking suspicion that the CPD would not find it a priority.
At any rate. Time to focus on the quitting again. I heard the patch was good.