I have crusty eyes

The Sandman needs to chill out when he comes to my house. Seriously.
We went to the boyfriend's house last night to celebrate his grandmother's 75th birthday, which was slightly dampened by the fact that the baby was still kind of, “Eh…” and the boyfriend's dog was just diagnosed with fleas. Ick. His aunt and uncle stopped by, who are nice enough, but…alright, how can anyone, in this day and age, still think that it is acceptable to smoke cigarettes in a room where a baby is present? I was somewhat offended and hoped that someone would say something since they're not my direct relatives and I didn't want to cause a rift on the grandmother's birthday. But nobody seemed to notice. It was only a few cigarettes, but still…YOUR bad habit, not MINE. Leave me and my son out of it.
That whole thing got me to thinking about smoking. I'll admit that I smoked quite heavily from the time that I was 15 until I was 22. I had a hard time quitting and I still sometimes find myself craving a smoke. So perhaps my current stance against smoking, which is at times a tad militant, is a little hypocritical. I try to be understanding to people who want to quit but can't, and even people who like it too much to quit. I guess I'm being selfish when I conclude that it would be easier for me to adjust to a lifetime without cigarettes if everyone else would quit smoking as well.
Another thing that has bothered me about smoking and its status as a signal of rebellion: punks who smoke. I can't tell you how many times I have seen punks standing around with anti-globalization, anti-corporation, anti-Republican patchs blazing on their backpacks and then they take a nice, long drag off a Camel or a Marlboro. Hello? Have you heard of soft money? Just by buying that pack you're going against everything you supposedly stand for. GET A FUCKING CLUE!
Anyway, I have crap to attend to. Enough bitching.

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