When I quit smoking a few years ago, I was looking for a support group, meetings like AA where we could bitch about how much we needed a cigarette while mainlining vodka just to take our minds off the (imagined?) need.

Well, the only 1 available in my area wasn’t available because they didn’t have enough people to justify meetings. After I told The Baptist Health Thingie person, whom I was asking help from, that this was indescribably ridiculous and that she should think about fucking herself, I smoked about half a pack. So, thanks.

I got on Zyban and the Nicotrol inhaler. And on a very specific quitting program whose name eludes me now. I set a quit date 17 days from the program start, used the inhaler a little, and cut back on the smoking.

I cut back gradually. Because the last time I tried to quit, I got on the Zyban, used the patch, but didn’t cut back. Not 1 bit. In fact, since I knew I would no longer be able to smoke, I wanted to get in as many cigs until the last possible moment that I could. And boy did I ever. [cough cough cough… … sorry]

Bad move.

The variable the second time was the inhaler. Awesome. Analogous. Pure, wonderful, undiluted, sweet, sweet nicotine pouring into my soul and flowing through my system like a perfectly executed main course, but without all the death-enhancing side dishes, filling me with the abiding comfort that all would be right with the world. At least for a bit.

Anyway, so I tapered off, and as the fateful day approached, I was WAY down. And thanks to the Zyban, I didn’t seem to be the least bit anxious about it being 11:30 at night and that I only had 2 cigarettes in the house.

But I needed something. I needed others’ pain. A very dear friend of mine who battles his weight had decided to return to Weight Watchers meetings because he said that was the program he was on when he lost and kept off the most weight for the longest time. We talked about it and it seemed only natural that I go with him. Cigarettes were to me as food was to him. So it was settled.

Weight Watchers meetings happen thusly:

You weigh in. If you’re still at your target weight, the meeting’s free. If you’re not, you have to fork over anywhere from 15 to 30 smackers. I didn’t of course because I’m not technically “in the program”. Then there’s the official meeting. The leader, and in our case her name was Rose Marie, asks how we did, how much weight we lost, what kind of week we had, if we had any quick questions about last week. I.e., !!!THE WHINING!!!

After !!!THE WHINING!!! would come “the sermon”, a short discussion of weight loss topics with a message, a message that invariably involved The 5 P’s: Proper Planning Prevents Poor Performance. The 5 P’s. Catchy, really, and applicable to a vast array of behavior modifications, whether it’s trying not to jam an entire German chocolate cake into your mouth at 10:30 at night, or attempting to allow you the strength and resources not to say, “Fuck it. Give me a carton of Camel Lights, like, yesterday, or I will tear your head off.”

You know, useful little mental tools to help you stay out of jail, even. Yup. That’s truly The 5 P’s. Rehabilitation. Tough love. Prophylactic promises.

After “the sermon”, Miss Rose Marie would take some questions, talk about some new, tasteless Weight Watchers products, and then dismiss us. (Not “tasteless” in that sense. Just tasteless. I came to learn that there is a renowned Weight Watchers Soup that is so bad, the Weight Watcher Indians in the mountains sing a ballad about it. And I won’t even mention the infamous fat free hot dogs that can allegedly remove all of the flavor that was already in your mouth. Hmm… They need to think about marketing them as breath mints.)

We went religiously, every Monday at 5:30 p.m. to about 6:15 p.m. Very manageable.

I remained pretty quiet most of the time. Except once. These meetings were helping me. So at the end of 1 meeting I announced that I had very much appreciated their inclusion of me in their meetings because their problems and difficulties were very much akin to my own, and that in order to thank them for their support I had brought a small bushel of my home grown tomatoes for them to take home and enjoy. It was a particularly bountiful and delicious year for “the red orbs of culinary delight”.

They suddenly became very quiet.

Let me say that at our meetings each week there would be roughly 15 to 25 folks there, some regulars and some new faces. The vast majority were women, mostly those in their 40’s and 50’s. And when I stumbled to the front to present my bounty of “the perfect fruit”, I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me. You see, tomatoes are 1 of the many things that have “0 points”, which is Weight Watchers code for “you can be up at 3 a.m. and eat as many as you want and no1 can do a fucking thing about it”. Weight Watchers assigns point values to certain foods, and depending on your weight, you’re allowed so many points a day. Foods that have 0 points is Weight Watchers heroin.

Tomatoes are also very good for you, and a lot of the time it’s hard to get fresh, good tasting “little filet mignons of the vine”.

Which is to say that total and complete anarchy and abandon broke out. And faster than you could say, “That ‘soup’ tastes like tepid water from a dog bowl mixed with grass clippings,” those ladies were tearing into those tomatoes like a pack of starved hogs. 4 killed.

Most of the time (all of the time) I kept my mouth shut, though I had from time to time so wanted to get up and get involved. 1 night the sermon was about vacations, and how we can use the 5 P’s to help us behave on them. So Miss Rose Marie asked, “What activities do you associate with vacations?” Having recently come back from “The Redneck Riviera”, and noting the immediate silence in the room, I really wanted to stand up and say, “Vacation. Hmm… Vacation. Let’s see… What activities do I associate with “vacation”: alcohol abuse, drug abuse, sexual intercourse, kind bud, drinking all day on the most beautiful beach in the world and then cramming fresh deep fried shrimp down my gullet like a brown bear during the salmon run…”

But I didn’t. And I think you’ll agree that that showed a remarkable degree of restraint. Thanks.

1 time Miss Rose Marie opened the meeting and asked us all if we’d been drinking a lot of water, which clearly is key to the Weight Watchers mentality because they say, “DRINK A LOT OF WATER!” so much. But it’s true. That’s when I wanted to say, “Oh, yes, I’ve been drinking lots and lots of water. I was very good about the drinking of my water this week. But it’s a special kind of water to which has been added hops and barely and stuff and then it goes through a distillation process…”

But I didn’t because I didn’t think they would have thought that was funny. Drinking beer, and alcohol in general, is 1 of the better ways to gain weight quickly.

Another particular meeting began straight away with !!!THE WHINING!!! 1 regular meeting attender was this horrible older woman, bitter as the day is long, angry at every1 and everything. Miss Rose Marie asked us how our week went, and Miss Bitterstein von Hatefulberg started right in: “I haven’t lost weight in 3 weeks.”

Miss Rose Marie: “Well did you use all the tools we’ve learned? Did you measure your food? Check the point values? Drink your water? Have you been eating breakfast? Breakfast is crucial.”

Miss Bitterlina Angryton: “Well I tried to but I would get busy with something else and get hungry so I’d just eat what was around. And I really don’t like water; I like condensed milk. And I’m not hungry at breakfast, I’ll skip lunch, and save up all my points for dinner. I stay within my points. Why am I not losing the weight?”

This is the point at which I wanted to stand up and yell, “Because you eat too goddam much, lady. Mystery solved. You’re saving up all your points for 1 meal. You can’t do that. You have to use your metabolism to help you burn calories. And you’re probably not even counting your points correctly at dinnertime anyway because you’re too effing lazy to read the label, get out your diary and measure shit. Jesus Effing Christ! You keep this behavior up, and you’re gonna be looking like LuLu Roman from Hee Haw in no time.”

This 1 I regret not addressing. Because I think I would’ve gotten a standing ovation.

But I think my favorite meeting was the 1 where I was planning to whisper various and sundry thoughts and musings to my dear friend. I sat right behind him at this meeting because I wanted to do a running commentary to see if I could make him laugh. He, of course, was unaware of this.

The sermon was about what to do if we’ve fallen off the wagon. Miss Rose Marie began with, “Okay, it happens to all of us. We mess up, we slip up and we give in. But it’s absolutely crucial to address the situation immediately so there’s no further backsliding. What are some ways we can address and correct the slip up to make sure it doesn’t diminish any of the progress we’ve already made?”

At which point I leaned forward and whispered very quietly in his ear, “Laxatives. And lots of ‘em. Quick and easy, you’re in, you’re out. It’s a punch&run swing-out to the tailback with plenty of room to run and loads of return.”

He’s a tough nut to crack, but I heard a quiet snort. So I waited it out. Miss Rose Marie continued, “Say you’re at a party, and you’ve forgotten about The 5 P’s, wherein 1 good way not misbehave at a party is too eat something healthy before you go. Proper Planning Prevents Poor Performance. Well, you were running late and didn’t have time to eat anything, and you go a little overboard with the bruschetta at the party.”

So I whispered, “That’s easy: grab a feather from 1 of the table arrangements and purge in the guest bathroom. Purge. Purge like you’ve never purged before. I got your 5 P’s right here, honey: Purge Purge Purge Purge Purge.”

That 1 got the slight shoulder shudder I was working towards, so it was time to go in for the kill. And I bided my time for my opportunity to strike the death blow. Miss Rose Marie? “We’ve all found ourselves at parties where we’re very hungry with few healthy, low-cal foods to eat. What kinds of foods should we be seeking out while we’re mixing with the crowd, foods that while not yielding the most ideal of results, will at least get us back to the house in a reasonably not unsuccessful fashion?”

This was my chance, and I wasn’t gonna blow it. No sir, there’s no “choke” in MY vocab. It was perfect, too, because these starving ladies at the meeting were stumped, so I had the perfect balance of time, quiet and murmur. I made my move and leaned in slowly, whispering:

“Looks like it’s back to the guest bathroom to rifle through the medicine cabinet like a rabid dope fiend with “the shakes”. We’re looking for anything, ANYTHING that will mix with the booze in our system and help us forget about food. Hell, anything to help us forget about eating, period. Fuck that: anything that will help us to forget that we’re at this lame-ass party thrown by insensitive, waifish bitches who don’t care about anything but their skinny, boney frames, who have the metabolism of Nicole Richie. Fuck them. Anything? No? Of course you haven’t found anything, idiot. You think you’re gonna find ludes in a half-bath off the fucking foyer? Christ.”

I had achieved rapid shoulder shuddering along with quick inhalations of breath. I’d flanked his left. So I decided to send in the infantry and cut off his line with my cavalry from the right while my archers took out his infantry:

“Which is why you needed to go upstairs to the master suite bathroom. RETARD!!!

“Be on the lookout for Xanax, Zoloft, and anything with codeine in it. Percecets, lortabs, vicodin? Oxycontin? Nothing? Not even a whippit? What the fuck is wrong with these people? What are they, robots? (Yes.) Uh-oh. Looks like we might have to recon to the garage and see if we can’t scare up some paint thinner and a hose.”

It worked. I decimated his archers and cut his cavalry in 2.

Unfortunately the ladies had begun to prattle on about lowfat cheese straws, lite mayonnaise and fat free hot dogs. So the effect was lost.

And that’s when I realized my calling. I should be leading these meetings! I’d greet them with cartons of cigarettes at the door when they came in, and shower them with boxes and boxes of horse laxatives* as they left. And our new 5 P’s? Pizza! Pasta! Pork-chops! Prime-rib! PUUUUUUUURGE!!!

Finally, I’ve actually got a calling in life. Cool. It has always been in my nature to help people, after all.

(Full disclosure: I'm back up to 2 packs a day.)