It sucks to be a smoker.

Two years ago, I started smoking in order to fit in with new friends who smoked incessantly, went to the clubs, and did various other things that seemed so cool to me until I did them too and realized they sucked.

"Who starts smoking in their mid-twenties?" I get this incredulous question all the time, especially from my grandparents (who seem to have age-onset amnesia about their combined 70 years behind the filter), my mother (also a retired lung rocketeer), and my brother (worse than a non-smoker, he's a never-smoker: a most self-righteous breed).

We can ask questions ("How could you do this to yourself?") and we can point fingers ("I learned it from watching you!") but the fact remains that I am a smoker. And I'm not about to pull this one Jenga piece out of my life (at least not now), lest everything should topple. So I'm dealing with what I have.

And smoking is shit. Not because it's ruining my lungs (give it ten years), or because I'll "end up like Yul Brynner" (that's actually one of the tactics they've tried on me), or because my breath will smell (yours does too), or my teeth will turn yellow (hah! not yet!), or my clothes will smell (I have a washing machine). No! My smoking experience sucks because of the state of California -- and all of its obnoxious bourgeois "communities" populated by the type of people that "take [their] protein pills and put [their] helmet[s] on." The type of people that make you want to bring back the practice of "pants"-ing.

An example? Last week, I was walking down 4th Street in Santa Monica looking for a Citibank ATM from which to withdraw my last $100 before going into overdraft. So it was clearly a banner day for me. Naturally, I lit up a cigarette so as to experience some pleasure -- however fleeting, however illusory -- in the course of this unhappy errand.

Then I hear a voice. A nasally, whiny voice that says: "Ummmm, you can't smoke that here." I follow the voice to a fat, sweaty white guy huffing in our direction, upper lip curled and eyebrows arranged in one of those "I'm so sorry" expressions made popular by Valley Girls in the 80s.

"I can't smoke where?" I ask, exasperated. I'm on the street for Chrissake. By a Citibank.

"Umm, like, you can't smoke anywhere between 4th Street and the ocean. There's, like, a cop pulling people over so you should really be careful."

I stare at him with not a little bit of rage.

"Yeah, sorry, we're really strict here about smoking."

We? We're really strict about smoking? Is this the Royal We to which he was referring? I didn't see any "No Smoking" signs posted, but I did get some serious stink eye when I was walking down the street with a Parliament hanging out of my mouth. Fuck Santa Monica! The parking garages always smell like piss, it's way colder than West Hollywood, Third Street Promenade sucks. I really don't need to go there again. Ever.

But Santa Monica isn't alone in being petty and asinine. I'm finding more and more restrictions everywhere I go. Some restaurants won't even let you smoke outside! What's the point of eating outside if you can't smoke? Why can't we be like the Italians? They smoke everywhere and eat sensible portions of sumptuous foods and they live longer than us! Actually I'm not sure about that, but I think we can all agree that they're happier!

There is no logic to this, no clear set of rules. All I know is that when I watch a movie from the 90s, I see cigarettes in almost every scene. Lelaina smoked one when Troy skipped town after they had sex; Laura Linney smoked one after she lost the case to Dick Gere in Primal Fear; I can't think of another example right now because I want to go outside and have a cigarette, but I think you get the point.

Cigarette smokers, like the obese, live on the final frontier of discrimination. It doesn't matter to any of you (let's face it) haters out there that you're inhaling fossil fuels all day, or that your food contains carcinogens, or that you're standing right in front of the microwave while your popcorn pops like you know you're not supposed to. No -- you have decided to focus on cigarette smokers as the cause of all your problems. And that is totally your right, as Americans.

We're all very lucky to live in this country -- a country where neighbors can prevent each other from smoking in the open air. That's how free we are. And that's why the terrorists hate us so much: because they hate freedom.