The Man Flu

The man flu exists. Most men will compare it to Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster, but I’m living proof that the man flu is real. It’s an epidemic that has been overlooked by many. 44 presidents have seen it and done nothing about it. Military hero’s and even Chuck Norris have seen it and ignored it. The man flu: enabling millions of men since the dawn of time to be lazy.

I’m a firm believer in super powers. I say this because my bride has them. I’m guessing yours does as well. If you think she doesn’t, that’s her super power. Her super power is to make you think she doesn’t have them. Then, when you least expect it, BOOM!! Powers unleashed and now you know she has more than 1.

I have literally seen my bride change a dirty diaper with one hand, in the dark, with eyes closed, with the flu, and do it effortlessly. 30 minutes later she can get up, get sick, prep a bottle, feed the baby, get the kids up for school, get herself ready, get the kids ready, make breakfast, do this all one handed because she’s holding a baby, wash dishes, fold laundry, tell me no, criticize me for not helping, paint the walls, read the paper, and volunteer her free time all the while with the flu and a fever of 103. And that’s all done before 8:30 in the morning.

Counter that with the man flu: I’m rocking a solid 98.7 with a little cough. I promise you that I will quarantine myself. You better stay away from dad kids because he has the bubonic plague!! I’m hitting the sweat pants up right away. I’ll complete the ensemble with a long sleeve t-shirt. If you have the gull to bother me while I’m on my “death bed” you’ll be greeted with a “groggy” voice, some made up sniffles and an over reaction of Kleenex next to me. Sure, my nose is red. Why? Because it’s been rubbed raw due to those “sniffles”. I’ll lay there with the Night Time Show and my sorrows.

My bride will check on me and ask if I’m ok. She may tuck me in and even fluff my pillow. Meanwhile, I’m living it up. I say “I” but it should really be “we”. Majority of men are like this. Some miss work for days. They get hungry in the middle of the day and yet they visit their local golden arch. Heaven forbid we actually get sick. Now it’s really bad. Sleep, hydrate, sleep, crackers, sleep, “Will you check my temp” sleep, can you—–“. It’s bad. It’s really bad.

So next time we get “sick” maybe we ask this question; “What did she do when she was sick?” I can almost promise you it was more than me, or any other guy. I hear lady’s often refer to having babies be a difficult task. Yes, I can imagine the watermelon out the lime thing is difficult. I understand it though because it’s science. What is more impressive is what they do when they are sick. It truly amazes me.

Now that I’ve outed every man in America I’m sure there will be backlash. I’ve made a lot of changes in my life. Here’s another I’m going to change. Next time I feel the man flu coming on, I’m going to have to sell it much better. I think she’s onto me. Another way she proves to me she’s smarter than I.

Positive In-Law

As a society we tend to focus on the negative things. We complain about everything from work to politics. We criticize athletes and coaches instead of celebrate their success. We stand outside in -30 weather making a bad decision and gripe about our employer not “hooking us up”. We drive 10-15 mph over the speed limit and we complain about our local law enforcement literally protecting us.  Bellyaching has become a norm in our society. Someone does something good and we are immediately drawn back to what they’ve done wrong. This is not going to be one of those times. No disrespect to you or yours but my father in law is better than yours.

My father in law is the exact opposite of me. This man can fix anything with anything. Literally I’ve seen him build a functioning vehicle with nothing but duct tape and gum. (I may embellish but you get the point) Where as I have to have friends, family, and my bride fix things for me. The tools in my house are as follows : A small hammer with butterflies wrapped around the handle. You can take the claw off and inside the handle are screwdriver tips for the interchangeable screwdriver at the bottom. My idea of fixing something is calling someone to do it for me. My father in law is usually that someone.

On a Sunday afternoon in the fall and winter you can catch me in one spot and one spot only, my couch. Anyone that knows me knows that football is a big part of my life. My father in law would rather watch a race as opposed to the game. Here is another example of how we are opposite. He loves racing. It’s a big part of his life. He often talks about spending time with his wife and father at the track. From Daytona to the local speedway, the man loves it. To each their own. Personally, I don’t understand it. I’ve tried and just can’t get it. I digress though. The point is that we have opposites.

Even with the opposites and the complete different skill sets, we get along like lifelong friends. He is more of a friend or brother to me than a father in law. Neither one of us drink alcohol. So when we go “have 1” it’s to DQ for a blizzard. I know his favorite and vice versa. This time is just us hanging out. No kids, no wives, just me and my favorite father in law hanging out.

Truth be told, I generally don’t like hanging out with him. I leave with sore cheeks, a gut ache, and more often than not, a headache. From those symptoms you’d think he beats me. He does not. Those “pains” are from laughing. So while you may loathe going to your in laws, I look forward to seeing mine. He’s uncommonly supportive. He attends all my kids events. He goes to a few of my softball games. Every once in a while, he will just swing by and hand me a blizzard. We often head to Target Field with my boys, and our wives. It’s our summer tradition.

These are just small examples of how supportive he is. To give you a better idea is he time he made my family look fast. How does one make someone look fast? Excellent question. My bride, my boys and I participated in a 5k on Thanksgiving morning. Both my father in law and mother in law drove to check points in the run. They were there with video cameras and words of encouragement. He would later edit his footage and drop some Rocky music behind it. He made my 30 minute 5k look like a 5 minute masterpiece. Making something that bad, look that good is not easy work. Again, he goes the extra mile.

Eventually my kids will get married. At some point I will be a father in-law as well. I only hope I’m smart enough to follow the blue print he has given me. Not everyone can be a good father in law. I like to think I will be. I like to think he’s made a big enough impression on me that I will be. I only hope that my future son/daughter in laws like ice cream as much as we do.

More than a friend

To set this up: Phil Sorensen was killed in a texting and driving accident in July of 2012. Phil was more than just a friend to me. He was more than just a friend to lots of people. He was more than a son, brother, nephew, and uncle. Phil was incredibly special. This was never intended for anyone other than a very select group of people. I was asked to write a letter to the judge in February of last year. The letter was intended to show my relationship with Phil and how his death impacted me. This has not been “proof read” or “edited” This is exactly how I wrote it a year ago. I’m posting this for 2 reasons. I’d like to keep Phil’s memory alive. I’d also like to bring awareness to the dangers of texting and driving

To whom it may concern,
It was a Thursday morning around 7:30 am when I received a phone call from David VandenHull. I had told him he had woke me up as I didn’t have to work till late that day. The following conversation is one that I’ll never forget. He said “You haven’t heard yet, have you?” My response was simple: “No” David than informed me that Phil had been in a serious accident and the outcome was looking bleak.

I first met Phil in November of 2003. We were both salesman at Ultimate Electronics in Sioux Falls SD. I had moved to Sioux Falls from Watertown and didn’t know anyone. I was immediately drawn to Phil. A tall individual with blonde spiky hair. Seemed like a nice enough guy from first glance. I introduced myself to him and little did I know I had a best friend for life.

We were in our mid 20’s when Phil and I first meant. Needless to say, Phil and I had our fair amount of fun, and ignorance together. At the core of that was a special bond between brothers. When Phil moved to Montana is when our friendship really tightened. I had moved my family to Montana a few years earlier and had a pretty good idea what Phil was going through. He felt alone. He felt lost all the way out there without family and friends. We spent countless hours on the phone reminiscing about past times together. Phil wasn’t just a friend to me, he was my brother.

Phil had this uncanny ability to make you laugh. To make you smile. Regardless of your mood that day, Phil would turn it into an eventful day. As I sit here and type this, I struggle to keep the tears off my face. Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve cried since Phil was stolen from us. It certainly won’t be the last. To this day I think of Phil often. Sometimes I wake up at 3 or 4am with thoughts of Phil. I struggle to get back to sleep. I reach for my left wrist where my “Remember P.L.S” bracelet loosely hangs off my wrist. When I’m alone with my thoughts is when I think of him the most. Those nights when I’m awoke for whatever reason, I say my prayers. I let Phil know I’m ok. I let him know he doesn’t have to check in on me. I tell him to concentrate on his sister, who he loved dearly. I tell him to look after his niece. I tell him I love him and miss him.

That Thursday morning after getting off the phone with David, is a day that is thrusted in my memory for ever. After countless hours of phone calls and updates I made the decision to skip work and head to Sioux Falls. I didn’t make it on time to say goodbye to my brother. Something I surely regret.

I’m blessed enough to be married to a wonderful woman for the last 12 years. She use to constantly yell(in a good, healthy way of course) at me about texting, or reading on my phone while I’m driving. She hasn’t had to do that since that Thursday morning. I see constant reminders of the dangers of texting and driving. All of them remind me of my brother Phil. All of them remind me of the heartbreak countless people have had to endure since this unnecessary loss. I miss my brother. I miss my friend. I miss Phil.

When Mr. Sorenson called me tonight and asked me to do this I didn’t know where to start and finish. I’m usually pretty fluent with words. It saddens me deeply doing this. It’s yet another reminder of the loss we’ve all gone through. I want to laugh with him one more time. I want to hug him one more time. I want to see him one more time.

Before I left for Sioux Falls that morning to see my brother I sent him a series of texts. In closing I’d like to share those texts with you including dates and time. For what it’s worth, when I sent these texts it was incredibly difficult for me. This may be even harder.

July 26th 2012, 8:18 AM
“I know you won’t see this for a while but I want you to know that we are all praying for you. You are a strong person and can fight through this. We’ve known each other for a long time Phil and I’ll be praying for you brother. God bless.”

July 26th 2012, 8:44 AM
“Hang tight friend. I’m coming to see you tomorrow. My family and I will be praying for you”

July 26th, 2012, 1:46 PM
“RIP Phil. Love you brother”

July 27th, 2012, 9:39 AM
“I didn’t get a chance to see you yesterday and say goodbye. Guess this will be my final goodbye to you. I’ll always have our memories. You hold a special place in my heart. Your one of the most amazing individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling my friend. I’m proud to have known you. Thank you for being my friend for almost 10 years. We were always there for each other and I know your looking down on me now. I love you like a brother Phil. I’m so incredibly sorry this happened to you. Your life was taken far too short. But please know it wasn’t for nothing. You’ve given life to people by donating your organs. You’ve also given life by making people realize that life is too short to be making silly decisions. In my book that makes you a hero. I miss you man. We all do. Although you may be gone, you’ll never be forgotten. Love you brother. Rip friend. God bless you Phil”

I was asked to write a letter about my relationship with Phil. How his death has affected me. How do you do that? How do you word such things? No words I can type here will ever measure up to Phil the friend. Phil the brother. Phil the uncle. Phil the son. I’m a better man today for knowing Phil. I’m a better father today because of him. I’m a better husband because of him. No words can describe his impact on me. As I sit next to my sleeping wife as I fight back tears typing this, I’m reminded of something Phil said to me many years back. I can’t quote him because I don’t remember exactly word for word. He told me that he was jealous of me. He was jealous because he didn’t have a wife or kids. He didn’t admit that to a lot of people but he did to me. Phil never got that chance.

I’ve never written a letter like this before. I’m finding it more difficult the longer it goes. Tears are all but dried up. I think there is only one fitting way to end such a letter. I miss my friend. I miss my brother. I miss Phil. Although your gone, you’ll never be forgotten. I love you man

Sam Mooney

A concern

When I first started this blog, I knew at some point I was going to have to tell my story. Anyone that knows me knows I’ve  battled an alcohol issue for many years. God willing, April 25th will be 4 years sober for me. So I dance and play with gems like “Folding Women’s Laundry” and “Public Bathroom Etiquette” I have this big weight on my shoulders. At some point, I’ll have to put my story into words. When that time comes, I hope I have the support of the tens of people that read this. For now please enjoy the dribble that I send out. Follow my blog. Like my page. I’m trying public speaking with a friend. If that works out, come see us. Thank you for the support

Folding Women’s Clothing

I live in a house with the 3 most beautiful ladies on the planet. In that case, I’m incredibly lucky. My bride (I can’t disclose her age in fear of her retaliation) and my two daughters. They are 8 & 7. My oldest is 8 going on 22. My youngest is 7 going on a solid 14. They change clothes constantly. Sometimes 4 or 5 times a day. I grew up in a house with a mother and sister so I’m no stranger to the females in the house. I was however, a stranger on their laundry. This is not the case with my bride and our children.

My bride requests little of me around the house. She doesn’t make me deep sea clean. She does make me fold laundry. Not just my laundry. I fold women’s laundry. For you married men out there, if your wife asks you to clean, you clean. I’m here to tell you, the last thing you want to do is fold women’s clothing. Make the bed, clean the toilet, shampoo the carpet, do whatever you have to do to get away from folding women’s clothing.

Last week I was folding women’s laundry when I came across this red button up shirt. I looked at it and thought “What the hell is this?” It had these weird buttons on the end of the sleeves. I folded the end of the sleeves and it wasn’t right. I unfolded it, it still wasn’t right. Meanwhile, my bride is laughing the entire time. I’m struggling like I’m staring at a calculus test and she’s loving it! So I go for that damn button and you’d thought I pulled a gun on her! She yells with her arms out in there “NO!!! Don’t unbutton them!!” She proceeds to tell me if I do this, the shirt will fall apart. Least I think that’s what she said. I was so frustrated with it, I was happy to get rid of it.

As I sift through the usual guys clothes like one piece shirts, jeans with no holes in them, I run across what I thought was one of my daughters dresses. I put it on a child’s hanger and my bride starts laughing at me. This is a common theme while I am folding women’s laundry. It looked like a dress. It had plastic things inside of it by the straps. What are those for? How am I supposed to know that? After I stared at it for what seemed like an hour, my bride finally tells me it’s her tank top. I don’t understand half the things that are going with these clothes. Why are you spending $100.00 for jeans that have holes in them? If they are already ripped, why do they go on the hanger?

Routinely I am confused. I grab shirts with holes and question them and she laughs. I put the hanger in the head hole instead of the sleeves. Things go backwards and upside down. I feel like I need a 10 digit code to figure it out. It’s gotta be easier getting into Fort Knox than folding these clothes properly. On top of all that she makes me fold towels. So I said, “Sure! I’ll do anything to get away from this” I go about my business and it turns out I can’t fold laundry right either. Here’s how we fold towels in the Mooney house.

First you fold the towel in half the long way. Then you do that again. Next you fold it a quarter of the way. Once that’s done you do it again, and again. That’s 5 steps to fold 1 towel! Why can’t I just fold it like a normal person? So I figure I’ll outsmart her. Ha! You’d think after 13 years, I’d know better. i just kept doing it wrong hoping she would get disgusted and say, “Ugh! Just give it to me! I’ll do it myself!!” My bride is the most patient woman I’ve ever met. She showed me the proper way.

And so like the towels, she is slowly teaching me how to properly fold women’s laundry. What goes on hangers and what goes in drawers. Hangers have to be facing the left. Don’t touch any buttons. Make sure not to confuse my daughters clothes with my bride. Just because it looks like it could fit my daughters, doesn’t mean it’s not my brides. There are so many twists and turns with folding women’s laundry.

I guess all things considered I’m lucky. After 13 years of marriage we still laugh together. If it takes me looking like an idiot to see her smile, I’m all for it. Every once in a while, I catch a look of approval from her. I love that look. Truth be told, I look forward to folding women’s laundry. I wait for her to laugh, smile, and give me that look. Who knew it could be so rewarding? I’m guessing she does. She’s much smarter than me

Public Bathroom in Asia

A reader sent this to me. Guess we don’t have it all that bad

Public Bathroom Etiquette

Ladies are pretty well set in this department. Not sure I’ve ever heard my wife complain about not having doors on the stall when she has to go. Of course every man envisions woman’s bathrooms with a white couch, a gold chandelier, and a guy named Jeeves wearing a tuxedo to apply the hand warmer and pass out a mint as they exit. Not to mention the heated seats. I’ve always envisioned a scenario like Narnia. You open the door, and bam, Narnia!!Like I said, girls are all set here.

Guys on the other hand have to make quick decisions. We don’t have the luxury of Jeeves opening the stall door for us while he greets us with a half hearted smile and extends his arm. We have choices. Generally we have 3 choices. Let’s explore these 3 choices. Ladies; you’re welcome. You’re about to take a journey into a men’s public restroom!!

Let’s assume you are lucky enough to be the only one in there. It does happen, not often, but when it does, it’s amazing. Ok, so you go in and you can do pretty much whatever you want. Personally, I’ll take the last urinal. This way I’m generally closer to the sink. Most guys will probably tell you to take near left urinal first. This is also acceptable. By taking the far right, it allows the next guy that comes in and do the right thing by taking the far left urinal. You try to set yourself for future success. Thus, far right urinal.

You walk in and the gentleman before you decided it was Thunder Dome time and threw out all etiquette. He jumped right in the middle. Your only option here is the near left urinal. Closest to the door. You are not allowed to walk behind him to go far right. Middle urinal guy is usually self centered and maybe braggadocios. If you walk behind middle urinal guy, he may get some ideas. Best not to walk behind him and stay to the left

2 out of the 3 urinals are in use. The left and right are being used leaving the middle open. Do you just jump right in there? What happens if left and right leave and leave you as the lone middle guy? Now you’ve become option 2 guy. No one wants to be that guy. Personally, I’m willing to take that chance. If you gotta go, you gotta go.

Now you’re probably saying “What about the stall”? It’s always an option if you’re standing, never if you need to sit. Not clean, not sanitary, and not real friendly. Speaking of not real friendly, I won’t miss the Metrodome troff. Belly up to the troff boys, time to pee. Surprisingly enough, this is hard for 8 year old boys to do.

So once you’ve properly selected your urinal, you have roughly 60 seconds to burn. Best bet is to stay focused with eyes straight ahead or straight down. Never, NEVER look to your left, or right. Even if you’re lucky enough to have a partition, straight ahead, or straight down. Don’t be the “talker” either. You know the talker. Comes in, bellies up next to you and says “What’s up man?” What’s up man?!?! Really?!?! You can’t think of anything better to say?!?! Stay focus, do your business, and get out.

Sounds are another issue. I think sounds are better left for another read. We will call that “#2”

And that brings me to my conclusion. Take a quick second before you saddle up to your urinal. Think about the guy that walks in after you. If you walk in, and your just too confused, there’s always a tree outside.

Pickle forks and apples

My bride asked me what my end goal is with writing. My answer started off small with normal, level headed answers. The more I talked the larger the dream got. Sometimes I wake up at 6:00 am on a Saturday and things pop into my head. This morning and this topic was one of those times.

For those of you that don’t know, my dad wrote for years. He had a HUGE impact on me and I’m not sure he ever knew it, or knows it. My father wrote for the local paper for years. He had creative control on what he wrote, much like I do now. Difference is dad got paid and had actual, real talent. That talent was spotlighted every Saturday morning for years.

Part of having full creative control is knowing how to correctly use your filter. Knowing what the masses want to read. Take for instance my “Bathroom Etiquette” idea. That stems from from my father and an article he wrote years ago. His article was on pickle forks. I can’t tell you exactly what was said. I know the end result was someone sending dad a pickle fork in the mail.

That’s the kind of talent my father had. Touching lives one pickle fork at a time.

He did several pieces like that. Each one made me smile. But he also did powerful pieces that me cry. Thinking about them now gives me goosebumps. Brings chills down my spine as my eyes welt up. The day my first nephew was born comes to mind. The scene is much the same as you’ve seen a hundred times. The couple in the room while family and friends wait outside the door. The relationship I had with my brother at the time was more than brothers. Best friends. Dad’s angle wasn’t the anguish of mom delivering or dad being supportive. It was of a worried brother, soon to be uncle, and brother in law. He had the talent to recognize that. He had the ability to look outside the norm. To see things that normal people wouldn’t. He wrote an absolutely touching piece on that days events.

The other one that comes to mind is a very close friend of mine was over seas. He wrote my wife and I a letter about life in the desert. I remember calling my dad and sharing that letter with him. We talked a for a solid hour on this page and a half letter. The following Saturday my father rocks out a gem of an article. Sure enough that article reached my friend in the hot deserts of war. Those words on that paper brought powerful soldiers to tears. To this day my friend remembers that article and speaks of it fondly. That soldiers dad still has it. A pride of joy as he thinks of his sons sacrifice. That’s real talent.

Every Saturday for “x” amount of years my dad displayed his talents for this great city to read. As I went about my day to day business in our community I was often asked “Are you____ son?” I was always answered proudly with a firm “Yes” it was always followed with “I love his articles. Every Saturday morning I read them. Tell him I enjoy them”. This brought me great pride. To this day people ask me about my father and his great articles. That’s lasting power. That’s talent.

So I guess if she were to ask me again what my goal with writing would be today; I believe my answer would be different. I think it would be that I want to have an impact. That I want that lasting power. I want a pickle fork. I want to carry my fathers name on. More importantly I want to make him proud. I want someday for someone to ask him if I’m his son and he answers with that sense of pride that I did.

My end goal is very simple. I want to know how far the apple has fallen from the tree. I want to make the tree proud of the apple. I want to know if I have what it takes to find answers to both statements. I’d like to know if that apple has a worm in it. Only time will tell. I hope to get my pickle fork someday. If I do get that pickle fork, I know exactly what I’d do with it. I’d take it straight to the man that inspired me to write every “article” I’ve ever written. I’d thank him.

So while we all chase dreams, I lay here chasing my own. Something pops in my head and I put it into my phone. I go back to it later and write about it. I tell my wife about it. I tell my 4 kids about it. I guess you could say I’m living my dream. I get to write and share it with the tens of people that read it. That’s pretty cool. Technology has afforded me the chance to follow in my fathers footsteps. Maybe that’s my pickle fork right there

Friday Night

At 33 years old I’ve had my fair share of “wild” Friday nights. I’ve spent plenty of time at my local watering hole. I’ve don’t the dinner and movie thing countless time. In a little town in a little state there isn’t a plethora of things to do. Lots of people hit up the bars. Plenty of people have their fair share of cocktails while they play wii bowling (for the record, I used to do that a lot. A LOT) You also have the option of staying home and being a good husband and father. During the winter I do that a lot.

Tonight I was afforded the opportunity to do something different. Go to a gym with just 1 buddy. An entire gym floor to just him and I. No wives, no kids, no work, and no outside interference. 2 guys, 2 basketballs, and good company. I love my wife. I also love all my children. As much as I love them, it’s nice to “get away” if only for an hour or two. Given my history, I rarely do this.

For the record, I’m a horrible basketball player. Most of the shots I took tonight were followed by a subtle mock and a quiet laugh. But for two hours we just shot baskets and talked life. Talked about family, wives, kids, parents, ball, work, the future, and much more. It’s funny what you appreciate the older you get. At the ripe old age of 33, I appreciate nights like tonight. I appreciate a good friend and his or her company. The companionship of a friend is hard to beat.

After years of making silly mistakes, I’m happy to say that the mistake I made tonight was minor. I realized that although the company I had was great, company can’t help me from hurting physically. A little sore after shooting the ball around. Problem is, I feel like I flapped my jaw around more than I shot the ball.

And after that I sit with kids, popcorn and the “Night time show”. Makes me wonder why I visited my local watering hole in the first place. Pretty great night that literally cost me no $ at all. The older I get the more I appreciate the small things in life. Those “small” things can turn out pretty big though

 

Why Not?

August 12th 2013, I sat outside work on my 10:00 am break. I had been fighting a chest cold for several weeks. What’s the best thing to do when you’re rocking a sweet chest cold? Inhale toxins into your lungs of course!! Any sane and normal person would. Two smokes in a fifteen minute break with pneumonia like symptoms, you bet ya!! Fire up those smokes!! Finish one and light the other with the end of the first one!! WoHoo!!! Now we are smoken!!! 

As I stood there hacking up a lung, taking a drag, coughing up what looked like a smaller version of The Incredible Hulk and repeating process, it dawned on me. This is dumb. Why am I doing this? What advantage am I getting on this? So, I looked at my smoke and made the decision to quit right then and there. (Of course I finished that one…. Waste not, want not?)

So now I have the daunting task of quitting the smokes. Anyone that has done this, or tried this, no it’s no simple feat. So I broke it down to the ridiculous. Go home for lunch and don’t smoke. Finish a meal and don’t smoke. Go back to work and don’t smoke. Go to 3:00 break and don’t smoke. Go home and don’t smoke. Umpire a game and don’t smoke. You get the point. 

So as of today I’ve been smoke free for just over 5 months. What is my favorite part about officially being a non smoker?  You may say it’s waking up and not meeting that Hulk character I referred to earlier. How about being able to breathe normal? Nope, not it. Live a longer, healthier life? Try again. Saving all that $? That’s nice, but I’m married with children. A dollar saved is just another dollar I lose to my wife or kids. Ask me what my favorite part about being a non smoker and I’ll answer with this; Depends on the season. 

Its awesome standing outside when it’s -60 degrees outside with a 90 mph wind and you and your cohorts are bundle up together sucking on your cigs. You hear conversations like “It’s so damn cold” and “I wish they would build something for us” or my personal favorite “They should put heaters out here for us” So after that wage they give you and the insurance they give you, they should make your smoking experience better. Nothing like walking outside and losing your breathe due to horrific cold and then stuffing your lungs with smoke. 

That’s not even the worse season! I hated smoking in the summer. Let’s go stand next to this gigantic garbage can and smoke. Why? Well that’s the “Smokers Area” of course. Lots of pop cans get thrown in those things. Bees are attracted to the sugar. So as you’re enjoying your favorite hobby, you’re fighting off gangs of pissed off, rabid bees that want nothing more then to drive their tiny little death tails right into your flesh. No thanks. It’s pretty awesome when you go outside and you are immediately sticky and your breath gets taken away due to the heat. Have a smoke. 

Forget the healthy lungs and live longer and what nots. I’ll take the comfort of a nice air conditioner and a warm heater any day. Sure, that other stuff is a real nice bonus. Not the icing on the cake but I won’t complain. That being said, I officially consider myself an ex smoker. Ask any smoker and they’ll tell you 5 hours is an eternity, let alone 5 months. 

Now that I sit down and think about this “accomplishment” I have to admit, I’m kind of proud of it. But if I’m being honest, I want a smoke almost every day. Any ex smoker gets that. So while you may complain that it’s too hot or too cold, I welcome it because it gets me thru that day without a smoke