You can put that "ex-" right over here in front of "smoker," theeeeenks

I quit smoking at 4:30 PM yesterday afternoon. My original quit date was June 14, roughly a month before the annual V & Co. summer outing, during which walking and needing to keep up without being overly winded will be paramount. However, I smoked the last cig in my pack yesterday and decided with a slight shoulder shrug that I might as well quit now instead of smoke another two weeks (roughly another 140 cigarettes (!!)) and just make quitting more difficult.

According to the American Lung Association, 20 minutes after I crushed my butt (ha!), my blood pressure decreased, my pulse rate dropped, and the temperature of my hands and feet increased. (I don't remember feeling warmer hands or feet, but King V has the AC turned up to 'Iceland,' so who knows.)

My current statistics:

• At 12:30 AM this morning, the carbon monoxide level in my blood dropped to normal (I don't think I knew humans had carbon monoxide in our blood) and the oxygen level in my blood increased to normal. Well rock the fuck on, body, with repairing yourself. That's pretty awesome.

• Almost two hours ago, at the 24-hour mark, my chance of a heart attack decreased. At 4:30 PM tomorrow (48 hours in), my nerve endings will start regrowing and my ability to smell and taste will be enhanced. At the same time, my urge to kill will likely have diminished. I kid. I'm actually doing surprisingly well, but you can bet I'm keeping the gritted-teeth-I-just-quit-smoking-angry-outburst excuse in my arsenal for another day or two, just in case.

Speaking of homicidal intentions, right around the time I was experiencing serious, nail-chewing, twitchy-as-a-crack-addict withdrawal last night, I texted just about everyone in my phone book and asked them for a reason why I should quit smoking. At that point, I had four hours and some minutes under my belt and wasn't going to smoke, but still needed moral support. Texting everyone kept me occupied during the scary weather forecasts about hellatious storms (including tornado touchdowns) in the area, and the fact that I had hours of nicotine-free-ness under my belt kept me from going to buy more cigarettes. Also, the threat of being shish-kebabed by lightning was a nice deterrent.

The reasons my friends (who RULE!) submitted for quitting ran the gamut. Some were silly, some serious, some heartbreaking. I thought I'd share some of them with you, especially if you're someone who wants to quit smoking or just re-quit like I did for the eighty-jillionth time.

One of the best reasons came from Vanessa: "Because you're a non-smoker." Okay, girl has a point. I first quit smoking when I was 24, between eight and 11 years after I'd initially started. (I don't know that I really could've been considered a smoker at 13, considering that a pack of cigarettes would last me the better part of two weeks. By 16, however, I was buying cigarettes more regularly and smoking at parties, etc. I also admitted to King V that I smoked. I still remember the rant he went on about Joe Camel and devious marketing schemes that had encouraged me to smoke in the first place.) After I first quit, which lasted four months, I was never able to smoke the way I had before. Cigarettes weren't as good or something. I realize now that my body had started to heal after eight years of daily abuse and she didn't want to go back to being a smoker.

I've started and stopped smoking a gerjillion times in the past 10 years, but primarily I've been a non-smoker. The longest time on official record is 15 months, but I'd be willing to bet I've surpassed that at least once.

Vanessa also sent a number of other reasons why I should quit, including the alleviation of parental disappointment and the sad truth that "a pack of cigarettes costs 15 cents more than a gallon of gas." Fuck. She's right.

The most unexpected answer came from one of my sexy gay boyfriends: "Because we might have a black president!" Um. Okay.

All the lesbians I texted said that no one wants to kiss a smoker. None of them offered to make out with me as reward for quitting, mind you. Just thought I'd point that out. A-hem.

My friend Dragonfly called me seconds after I texted and ushered forth an eerily accurate Amityville Horror voice which she used to utter, "DON'T DO IT!" It seriously scared the shit out of me. Now whenever I have the urge to smoke, I'll think about bleeding walls and haunted houses. Um ... great. (Seriously, thanks, 'Fly!)

Some responses were sweet, reminding me that I needed a healthy body in which to incubate my future spawn.

I was reminded that cigs are expensive and that I could use the money to open my Wiccan store and buy a car. (Damn you, attentive blog readers!)

Some people had lost relatives to cancer. One friend told me a male relative had routinely defecated on himself while in the throes of cancer because he couldn't make it to the bathroom in time.

Venus sent pictures of diseased lungs, black teeth, and yellow fingertips.

Another friend reminded me that my singing voice will improve (well, at least my breath quality will)...

...and yet another told me to distract myself by watching porn.

I am awesomely blessed with great friends and, hey look, 26 hours and 12 minutes of nicotine-free joy! BRING ON THE KISSES, LADIES.