Kay Hanley

I am almost through my second day without a cigarette and it is not a pretty sight. I came to the decision to commit to this undertaking whilst hiding from my husband and children in the backyard of our home, unbathed after several wretched days of sleeping upright on the couch, suffering from fever and coughing to the point of vomiting, barely able to take a normal breath because of the pain of pneumonia yet crouched over in the cold night air desperately inhaling nicotine into my frail, rattling lungs. Self loathing has never been my bag, but there I was.

I love smoking, I really do. On the other hand, I am a joie de vivre kind of person and while I am not against the warm embrace of life enhancers that are bad for me, the smoking thing just isn’t making me happy the way it used to, y’know? In fact, it’s starting to seriously bum me out.

Oddly enough, I really blossomed as a smoker out here in Los Angeles because it’s a great way to occupy the incalculable, stultifying hours that one spends ripping their hair out while sitting in traffic all day. I can smoke like, 7 cigarettes driving home to Studio City from a Friday meeting in Santa Monica and only lean on my horn and threaten other drivers 2 or 3 times. If I didn’t smoke, I am quite sure that blood would have been spilled on several of those occasions instead. Also, it’s such a defiant statement about me being super punk rock and not following the stupid rules of the SoCal health nazi establishment. I can tell that this gives me instant respect among my potential clients as I excuse myself from a deal making/breaking lunch meeting to go make a “phone call” and come back smelling like Keith Richards. Cool, no? I can see the aspiration in the eyes of the other children in Zoemay’s 3rd grade class even as they scold her about her poor mother who will surely die bleeding from every orifice - any second now - according to the LA school district’s mandated “no fun” curriculum which is taught with great dramatic flair by their teacher. As a brief aside, why does that kid always rat me out?? I guess I should halt my plans to build that meth lab in the guest bedroom… Whatever, I will have to adjust. I will obtain cred and avoid violence by other means.

Yeah, I know I’m doing the right thing and you’re so proud of me and chin up you can get through it and go get the patch/chantix/a shaman because that will really help and you know how I feel because you just quit last year and it’s so great and I’ll live so much longer for the children blah blah blah so just shut the fuck up, okay? BECAUSE I AM REALLY REALLY TENSE RIGHT NOW AND I MAY DO SOMETHING RASH WITH LITTLE PROVOCATION. Please, just leave it out. I am holding a glass of really good scotch with white knuckles. That will be quite enough.

Alright Then,

Kay

Ok, I’m mostly better aside from a few lingering aches and pains. Man, having pneumonia totally sucked.

I am back in Los Angeles with my cherished family & friends. I also went back to work this week, which meant going to lots of meetings, drinking 100 cups of coffee and eating the excellent fresh food that Los Angeles is famous for. Wait, is LA famous for that? LA is famous for a lot of things including being the #1 place on Earth where people go to meetings, %27 of which seem to be attended by me and Michelle.

I was layed up for the Grammys so I never made it out, but some of my favorite people were in town for the occasion. At the top of the list? My longtime attorney Elliot Groffman and his wife Hillary. To illustrate just how deep the connection is, their children named the family dog Cleo in 1995. In any event, they managed to do the impossible, which was to snag a coveted lunch reservation at Mozza. Michael and I got to be their dates and we were treated to incredible food combined with the loveliest company we could ever ask for.

the groffmans always get a table.

I have only had rare occasion to mention this until now, but I have an unbelievably cool group of friends in LA. Last weekend, when I was feeling better, Greg & Amiira Behrendt hosted a pizza party playdate to welcome me home. The pizza party playdate is like a normal playdate except for it’s at night, all the dads come and there’s wine. It felt great to catch up with everyone and watch the kids run around.

hometown throwdown

nina & ivy

wee princesses

my boyfriend jackson petty!

On an entirely different subject: Facebook, Facebook. Why have you become the bain of my existence? Why have you turned even my most moderate and intelligent acquaintences into vampiric, popularity seeking, invitation whoring spam machines? I don’t want a virtual drink. I don’t want to write on a fun wall. I don’t have time to play scrabble with you, although that one sounds at least a little bit fun. I definitely don’t want a hug, a kiss, a poofight, to confirm that I’m hot, an orgasm, join the Oregon Trail (6 requests!), good karma or a superpoke. And since I turn down the majority of friend requests from people that I don’t know, these are presumably from my actual friends although I haven’t gone through the 100 or so pending requests to confirm this.

The reason I bring it up is because there is one delightful side of Facebook. Sometimes you really do reconnect with people you might not otherwise. Case in point: The exceptional Melissa, whom I know through my friend Nina, is an American living in Paris. She contacted me through Facebook and now I know that she too, has a blog. It’s called Guaranteed Personality, which makes me like it automatically, but clever title aside, it is a top-quality read. Funny, sarcastic, smart, insightful. Check out my new favorite smarty pants, Mademoiselle Cuckoo.

xok

Yesterday I awoke at 2am with stabbing pain in my left chest and shoulder blade. By the time the family woke up I couldn’t take a more than a tiny breath because of the pain. Even though I have had a fever on and off since Jan 26 and a debilitating cough since Saturday, I smartly assessed that these were gas pains (which i’ve had once in my life, btw) and that the pain would go away if I like, farted or something.

Michael was all “I don’t think so.” and took me to Urgent Care in Studio City as soon as they opened. The doctor listened to my sad little lungs and then ordered an X-Ray. Guess what? Bacterial pneumonia in both lungs. WHOA! Now I really don’t feel so good. I am still crossing my fingers to be better by tomorrow night for the only Grammy party that I wanted to go to, but I’m not holding my breath. I mean, I am holding my breath because breathing is not unlike having a dull butter knife shoved repeatedly into my heart, lungs and shoulders but I’m not holding my breath that I’ll be better so I can party.

Poor Michael. He actually thought he was going to get his life back. What a fucking nightmare.

xok

photo by my brilliant sister-in-law justine ungaro