Confessions are so much more interesting than shoptalk, don't you think? Confessions are generally secrets before they're confessions and secrets make good stories.
I'm hooked on Mad Men these days and have been streaming the series over my computer late into the nights for a couple of weeks now. It's triggered me to recall that I was once a smoker. But I didn't smoke becasue I liked it, in fact, it took me quite some time to cozy up to smoking. Cigarettes made me feel a bit a sick and I had to pace myself. I did eventually quit smoking, but not for reasons I should have quit for, like health concerns. I was in my 20's and worrying about my health was not at all on my radar. Landing a man was on my radar. Smoking tended to attract smokers and I hated the taste of kissing a smoker, it's like licking an ashtray. So I quite.
Back in the late 80's I smoked Sobraine Cocktail Cigarettes and when the budget would allow, Fantasia's. They're gorgeous. They're packaged in fancy hard shell flip-top boxes that display them all in a row, enveloped in gold foil. The cigarettes themselves are shades of vibrant color that scream look at me, and the filters are gold. The cigarettes cost way more money than I could afford; I was in nursing school at the time and I ate a lot of Ramen to be able to budget for these beautiful cigarettes. But I saw them as an important part of my Land A Man Plan. I honestly no longer recall why. It all seems crazy now.
I had my eye on a boy who had his eye on a girl whom I thought to be one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever met. She was beautiful and seemed to me so sophisticated, with olive skin and blood red lipstick. She was from some exotic country I no longer recall and the boys in my circle went ga-ga for her. I really tried to hate her, but the truth is, I liked her a lot and wanted to be just like her. She was only around for one summer and I studied her from a distance. She smoked Fantasias, which I decided to be the epitome of glamour.
I was never about sexy. I've always been, and still am, all about glamour.
On Friday nights, I'd hit the club with my girlfriends, cat-eyed and nude lipped and I'd position myself near the dance floor, cigarette box laid out on the table. I was more Pat Benatar / Joan Jett, but I tolerated Modonna because she was great dance music. I'd hold a Fantasia, unlit, in my hand and wait for a boy to offer me a light. Can you imagine? It's laughable now, embarassing actually. But it worked. It was a conversation starter. I landed a man. Three actually, but that's a whole 'nuther blog.