prohibition

Sunday was my first day in some time without a cigarette. And that’s a long some time. I’m not sure when I started the everyday thing, but I do know that the vice progressed from a once-a-month “with a glass of wine” indulgence to a regular in-my-car and (gulp) while-at-work routine. Giving into this excess happened right around the time of Bug’s tumor and the start of a new, doomed relationship, both of which made me very anxious, something of which I wasn’t completely aware in that moment.

I didn’t come here to brag about this excellent accomplishment, which is actually quite stellar when you really think about it and stop chewing both your fingernails and the cats’. Instead, I came to gripe about just how frustrating it is to find as you age that each and every one of the things you love is now on the list of prohibited items. Like staying out until 3 am. Like breaking into Dave Grohl’s house and inviting him to be your love slave. And smoking. Have you tried cigarettes? If you haven’t, don’t. Because for the most part, they’re glorious. Smoking feels fantastic and makes you a little giddy despite your odd smell. It goes great with a summer night or a glass of Pinot Grigio or a soft taco from the Bell. Cigarettes taste good. And they feel good. And anyone who says differently is a liar, a big, fat dirty liar like those adults who tell teens that sex just isn’t any fun.

Don’t ask me why, but I stayed in, watching nearly every episode of one of those weight loss reality shows on this beautiful weekend (the humor of that fact not lost on me). And I wanted to jump through the screen every time one of the trainers showed a chunky contestant just how super! artificially-flavored, sugar free gelatin is, and how Mmmmm, it tastes just like Mom’s strawberry shortcake when you open a cup of the stuff, top it with a sassy dollop of Suave styling mousse, some crumbled Wasa bread, and ¾ of a strawberry (leaf)! Because no matter how much those reality-deprived contestants want it to be different, the food in life that tastes really, really damn good, the stuff of Pavlovian responses, is all awful for you. General Tso’s chicken. Supreme pizza. Easy Cheese right off of your finger with a 64-ounce Coca-Cola Classic. Eaten while in the tub.

Nowhere in my life is this phenomenon more pronounced than in the area of rosacea. Yeah, I said it, the condition one aims for second only to syphilis, the skin affliction that leaves me at 33 years of old age with teen acne that has me attending to Oxy commercials and putting on foundation before I exercise. Want to know what's on the list of prohibited goodies for this one? Don'tcha?

Alcohol, especially red wine, beer, bourbon, gin, vodka or champagne.
Sour cream.
Hot baths.
Cheese.
Chocolate.
Soy sauce.
Stress.
The sun. You know the one - the giant orb around which we all rotate?
Humidity.
Anxiety.
Dairy.
Indoor heat.
Heated beverages.
Marinated meats.
Spicy foods, like the beloved vindaloo.
Did I mention the beer?
And the red wine?
And the happiness?

Although there is one beautiful item that made the list, for which I will be eternally grateful:

Exercise.

Time to sit on my ass and eat some Easy Cheese. After all, no one mentioned cheese product specifically.