Why did I quit smoking?

It's actually been one year. One year to the day (give or take a week) since I have given up the dreaded tobacco. For those of you who have known me for a long time, you know that this is a huge freakin' deal. I mean huge. In fact, I'm gonna put it in all caps. HUGE. Why? Because not only did I love smoking, I was one of those types that REFUSED to quit. Would get angry at the mere suggestion. Was damn near political about it. Dare I say fanatical? I dare.

For those of you who don't know me. (Which is none of you since only my friends are reading) I'll give you a little background. I used to love to smoke. (If you couldn't tell) And when I say used to, I mean still do. I just love it. It smells great, tastes great, feels great. But above all else: It's just so fucking cool.

Let's face it. We all know it's cool. Fuck what those PSA's had to say. Smoking is cool. The way you hold a cigarette so delicately in your fingers. The way you flick the ash in just the right way as your walking so that it doesn't land on your clothes. The way you flick the butt of a freshly smoked cigarette in that cool, collected manner. I personally, loved to see how far I could flick it. I would also like to apologize for my gratuitous use of the word flick.

But smoking was more than just a cancer causing, black lung inducing addiction. Oh no. Far from it. It was a ritual my friends. Ritual. A well earned break after a hard 20 minutes of work. A wonderful treat after an arduous subway ride. A signal of approval for a particularly poignant scene in a well-crafted, independent film. Not to mention, the exclamation point to a magnificent feast.

Smoking was also a great bonding ritual. A way to connect with other people. Have a smoke with your friends. Step outside with the gang and have a nice conversation with the mutually exiled. Share war stories; peace stories; and, you guessed it, smoking stories.

So Bloggerman, if you loved smoking so much, why did you quit? Well Timmy, first off, you ask way too many questions. Secondly, I can tell that my girlfriend doesn't smoke. And while I didn't quit because of this fact, I actually quit because of this very fact.

When we first started dating, I made it clear that I was a smoker. I loved smoking and I was going to keep in that way. She was cool with that. However, when you don't smoke, cigarette smoke really bothers you. Being the sensitive, caring, considerate, and handsome boyfriend that I am, I would notice that my smoking made her uncomfortable. So, I would continue to smoke, but I would keep my distance. But then a strange feeling began to come over me as we grew closer and closer as a couple. (Fellas, get your barf bags ready. Don't say I didn't warn you.) As we grew closer together, I wanted to spend more time with her. I wanted to (here it comes) spend that time with her instead of smoking.

So we decided to move in together which would also mean that the smoking would have to go. But the good news was, the move would make it a lot easier to kick the habit. A habit like smoking is so bad because it's an addiction and a habit. It's completely ingrained in every aspect of your life. And the only way, for me, to break out of it was to change my life completely. (Bold is better that all caps isn't it)

I said goodbye to the smoking buddies and the cool, hazy aura that a freshly lit cigarette creates. I said goodbye to the smoke-marinated bachelor pad. But I also got to say goodbye to the hordes of people that accosted me for cigarettes. (One incident, I swore was about to turn violent) I also said hello to nicotine gum, night sweats for about three days, and dreaming about smoking. (That was fun)

In the end, I've been able to break the habit. More or less. It's still very difficult to fight some of the cravings. I can fight the, "after-meal smoke," the, "after-train ride smoke," the, "smoking with coffee smoke," but the, "hanging out at a bar while everyone else is smoking smoke," has taken a little more work. Which, by the way, is perfectly fine. Because one cigarette every other month, is was way better than a pack a day for about 20 years. Also, I've tried to quit in the past and the downfall of my last effort was that I would beat myself up when I broke down and smoked one cigarette. ONE! What's the big deal? Don't you judge me?

So like I said I'm doing a lot better now. I'm saving more money. I feel healthier. But best of all, I don't feel like I'm a slave to the tobacco. I used to, literally, plan my life around when I could get a smoke. Now, I tend to plan my life around what I want to do. I am my own person. I am free I tell you. I honestly think that smoking was contributing to my sense of limited thinking. Now that I've broken the habit, I'm open to all kinds of possibilities.

I've always thought that smoking was like a friend. (Yeah, I'm crazy. Didn't you read the last blog?) It was very comforting and soothing. I would calm me down during stressful times. Of course, I wasn't realizing that it was actually causing a lot of those stressful times. I had to become a new person to break it. And I like this new person.

Why am I so insane?

To be honest, I have absolutely no idea. Could it be some form of chemical imbalance? Could it be my upbringing? I really couldn't tell you. But I can tell you that I've made some decisions in my life that I don't think too many people would call, "sound." The topic of this paticular blog will deal specifically with one of these decisions. You, my loyal reader can be the judge. But just this once. Who are you to judge me?

As you may recall in my inaugural blog, I mentioned that I made a somewhat abrupt depature from the life of waiting tables. What I didn't mention was the detailed thought process that went into that decision. Perhaps I could have handled things differently. Or, perhaps, I'm a little insane. Let's find out.

The story starts with the phenomenon that is known as, "The Secret." I am actually very proud to say that I was privy to, "The Secret," before Oprah got her mitts on it. (Oh yeah, I'm ahead of the curve) For those of you who don't know, the Secret (got tired of writing quotes) is the concept of the law of attraction. This states that whatever you focus on and attach emotions to, is what you will bring into your life.

So I'm thinking, "I can do that." I proceeded to focus on the idea of making my living solely from acting. It is what I've always wanted. So it occured to me that, if it's what I really wanted, I needed to invoke the laws of the universe to help me acquire it. And that's what I did.

And you know what, it was actually working on a few levels. I scored a paid acting gig. It wasn't enough to live on. Not by a long shot. But it was a nice supplemental income. Also, I scored a gig teaching drama at an after school program. Again, it wasn't a lot of money but great supplemental income. And I don't care what you say, teaching drama counts as acting income. So now I'm on a roll. The law of attraction was working in my favor. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Except my insanity.

So during this time, I'm continuing to go on auditions. But not just any auditions. E.P.A.'s. For you civilians out there, an EPA is an Equity Principal Audition. That's the type of audition where, Union actors are cast. It is also where a great majority of the paid gigs are found. And that's where the gold was for me. As well as, every single actor in New York.

The slight drawback is that I'm not a Union actor. However, Non-Union actors can get an opportunity to audition if they know a few of the tricks. One of them, is to go where the Union actors aren't willing to go. In this particular case, it was Madison, New Jersey. Not that there's anything wrong with Madison. It's just that it's really, really far from New York City.

So I trekked out to Madison, NJ in hopes of maybe being able to audition for a theatre company. (By the way, real actors spell theatre with the "re" not an gauche "er") Miraculously, I was able to get an audition time. Here was the catch: I also had to be at work about 15 minutes after my audition time. And since I was about an hour and a half away from the city, I figured I was going to be late.

So I did the responsible thing. I called up my job and told them that I was going to be running a wee bit late. Lucky for me, the General Manager picks up the phone. Because if you're going to call in late, the person you want to tell is the highest boss on the food chain. I tell her the situation and she says, "We'll talk about it when you come in." Let me write that again because I don't think you caught the enormity of this statement. "We'll TALK about it when you come in."

You see what I'm saying? Where does she get off? What was there to TALK about? I had something that I wanted to do and going in to work on time that night wasn't one of them. Where's the problem? It's a crappy job. What on earth do you expect? Quite frankly, she should have been thankful for every second that I was willing to waste away in that stinkhole. But she decided to take the stance that I was doing something, "wrong." That I needed to be, "reprimanded."

Let me tell you something else. I'm a grown ass man. What the fuck was I doing working a job that put me in a situation where I could be, "reprimanded," in the first place. I can tell you right now, I've seen and worked with many a fuck-up. I am no fuck-up. I should not be treated as such. Even when I fuck up.

So my audition went wonderfully, by the way. In fact, I did get a callback. But at the time, it's not the top subject on my mind. I'm focused on the fact that I'm standing in a train station in Madison, NJ waiting for the train that will make me about an hour and a half late for a crappy job that I don't even want. And, I was going to have to sit through some TALK.

Lastly, I was armed with the power of, The Secret. I didn't need no stinking job waiting tables. I had a paid acting gig; I had a teaching gig; I had future money that I didn't even know about. I had the power to bring into my life whatever I could have imagined. So why the fuck was I going into that place. I deserved better. My body deserved better. My soul deserved better.

I finally decided to simply drop off of their radar. I wouldn't show up. I wouldn't call. They wouldn't know if I were dead or alive. That taught 'em. There will be no, "talking," with this guy.

So I ask you: Was this an act of insanity? Maybe. Or rather, was it a leap of faith? An attempt to truly connect with what I feel is really important. I'd like to think it was that latter. A lot of times, I've found myself getting stuck in a rut. I wanted to play it safe. I had a limited idea of what I felt I could accomplish. And sometimes, when you want to break out of that rut, you have to do something drastic. Maybe that's not always the case. Maybe there are better ways to handle it. But I can tell you this, I landed on my feet then and I'll land on my feet again.

We, as humans, have a remarkable ability to adapt. I don't think we give ourselves enough credit for that. We only get one shot at this incarnation of life. We should make the most of it. We should not live our lives in fear. Anything short of absolute happiness is cheating yourself.

Call me crazy.

Why on earth am I doing this?

Well I'll tell you. My girlfriend, who I have the sex with, is always delighted by my emails. Finally, she says to me (in an email), "You should start a blog."

Now, I'm a bit old school. I've always thought that this whole blogging thing was pretty pointless. In fact, I still do to a great extent. However, one thing that I absolutely love to do is give my opinions. I mean I really love to talk about what is on my mind. It's a bit of a sickness. In fact, I suspect that my girlfriend, who I have the sex with, suggested this blogging thing as a means of stemming the tide on my cascade of opinions.

So here it is. My first blog. Great. Hooray. Welcome to the new millenium. So what exactly do I talk about now. Now that my blogiverse cherry is being popped with each word that I type. It's not like my life is actually all that interesting. My God, that's it. I will use this inaguaral blog to introduce my anonymous self.

OK, great. Who am I? What do I do? Why do I have so much free time on my hands to write emails to my girlfriend, who (well you get the idea)? For starters, I'm an actor. Not just any actor. A New York Actor to be exact.

Not that there's anything wrong with actors from other parts of the world. It's just that there's a very unique brand of self-rightousness that can only be found in New York City. Maybe it comes from the fact that it's so freaking crowded in this town. But actually, I think it has more to do with the fact that it's so freaking expensive. If you want to be an actor here, by gum you're going to have to work for it. And work hard. (That's right, I said by gum)

Basically, if you want to be an actor in this town, you've got to be insane. However, if you can somehow make it work, you have something to be incredibly proud of. Ergo, a more than normally inflated ego just might be in order.

Moving on to the next question of why I have so much free time, it's very simple. Or incredibly complicated, depending on how you look at it. I'm in what you might call a transitional period. I have a job. In fact, I have several. But none of them kick into full gear for another few weeks or so.

But wait Mr. Anonymous Virgin Blogger Man. That's incredibly vague. What are you transitioning from? What are you transitioning to? OK Timmy (if that is you're real name) I'll tell you. Like many New York Actors, I chose to make my living in the restaurant industry. It was supposed to be perfect. A fun environment where you don't actually have to be responsible. If you have an audition or a show or a movie shoot, you just call out of work. It's all very fabulous, right? Not right. In fact, it's the opposite of right. It's wrong.

First of all, they want you to show up for all of your shifts. On top of that, you have to work the entire shift. I mean where do they get off. Or, if you have a conflict, you have to find someone to cover your shift. Which, quite frankly, is humiliating. You practically have to beg. So the truth of the matter is, it's not really as much of a slacker job as one might be lead to believe.

But then there's the actually crappiness of the job itself. You are forced to run around on your feet (of all things) for anywhere from 6 to 12 hours a shift. And isn't there something just a little sadistic about employing people to serve, talk about, and be around food for an exhausting amount of hours without letting them eat. I'm sure there some philosophical German term that would describe such abuse. Either way, it's pretty goddamn cruel.

So I left that industry rather abruptly. And when I say abruptly, I mean I had a slight mental breakdown and decided that I shouldn't go to work anymore. Which, on the one hand, is incredibly liberating. But, on the other, is incredibly immature and, well, crazy.

Well I could go on and on and on. And you what? I will go on...in future blogs. I think I like this blogging thing. There is something very liberating about this whole process. Maybe it's the feeling that I have an audience with which to share my mindless ramblings. Even though there is absolutely no truth whatsoever to that delusional sensation.

For whatever reason, I am enjoying this process. Even an old school cat like myself (I'm 34 by the way) can change with the times. So for all of my imaginary readers out there. Be sure to tune in to the next exciting chapter of my personal history.