And every single one of them tastes like garbage.
Okay, that might be a little harsh. Can we call it an acquired taste? It's like the first time I lit up a cigarette when I was 12 or 13 and hated that fucking shit, but because I was a dipshit donkey I keep doing it. It made me look cool and grown up or something stupid like that.
To be honest, I still kinda think I look cool when I smoke, like some slick ass Hollywood bitch from the 40s, all glamorous and lazy with no fucks given about what anyone thinks. Fuck your standards, and all that.
The reality is probably much less pretty. Not that I smoke any more, but when I did, I was never wrapped in silks and satins with powder white skin and perfectly crafted curls. No, I was sitting on a stair with my hair tossed into a lazy bun - frazzled, jittery, broke as shit, probably pissed off about whatever dumb thing had driven me outside. Most likely a dude.
Dudes are an acquired taste. If I was ever in long term relationships with women I'd probably say the same thing about them, so don't get your panties in a wad there, fella.
I'm not complaining, not really. If I were a more functional, competent, and well adjusted human being, I bet none of this would even be an issue. It'd be like lighting up that smoke when you're hanging out and having fun, and then putting the pack away for the next 6 months and forgetting it even exists. Because balance or some shit.
But no sir, not me. When I'm in, I'm in it 1,000%. Ride or die. I'm chain smoking not only the pack, but the whole fucking carton, lungs be damned.
And since I'm not a well adjusted, functional adult, I act the same way in my relationships. I was the cool chick girlfriend who was understanding that guys had neeeeeeeeeeeds, ya know? Blue balls are like, totally a thing! He needs to leave me at home with the baby alone all weekend because he's gonna be really resentful if he doesn't get to be plastered with his brofusses until the sun rises. Consider it therapy because he had to change a diaper a week ago. It's not his fault I got pregnant. If he cheated, it was definitely my fault because I always knew how much he liked naked women art. If he hit me, it was my fault because I definitely should not have been upset about him forgetting my birthday or an anniversary or because he spent my entire paycheck on some very important stuff like meth.
But I digress. I was bitching about the acquired taste part. See, I didn't grow up with the ambitious desire to cry myself to sleep every night. When I was younger, I'd dump a boyfriend I'd had two days (I was like 13, don't even give me shit) if he didn't meet me by my locker exactly when he said he would. I'd dump a boy who expected me to stop hanging out with my friends to hold his hand in the courtyard and listen to him whine for 3 hours about how sad he was. We all go through it, buddy. Do something about it.
Acquired taste. I didn't always need to get my validation from others. I wouldn't say I was always confident in myself or my decisions, but I knew what I liked and what I didn't. I didn't tolerate excessive amounts of shit. Again, with the smoking comparison, it's like that first time you inhale and end up hacking up a lung, and everyone around you tells you not to worry. You'll get used to it.
So, you do. My goal in life never included getting my ass kicked by my drunk boyfriend, so I was constantly checking to make sure I was doing it right. Is it supposed to hurt? Yeah? Okay, just making sure!
Acquired taste. More like a fucking eating disorder.
kbai
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