I'm no stranger to surgery. I'd like to say it's because I'm married to Dr. Oz and every day on the way to meet him for lunch at the hospital I stop off and spend all his money.
But no, I've had surgery for real reasons. None of which included a lawsuit and a huge cash settlement but that's probably just poor planning on my part.
Frankly, I'd hate to die on an operating table because they say when you leave your body you can look down and see the doctors working on you. I bet that's not what they're doing. They're probably going through your pockets.
During my last surgery, right before I went under, I remember the doctor holding a scalpel, the florescent lights and the smell of burning flesh. NIGHTMARE.
Do you know how bad you look in florescent lights?
In the operating room they make you count back from 100 when they give you the anesthesia. They make you think you're going to be awake for a really long time. Meanwhile you go 100, 99. Out! Why don't they just make you count backwards from 2?
When I woke up I drifted into consciousness and heard the loudspeaker crackle alive.
"Code Blue on the fir... (muffled voice) Gina, is that a 1 or a 7? A 7, realllly? Code Blue... (muffled voice) Gina, that's blue, right? Not purple?"
"(muffled voice) There is no Code Purple."
"(muffled voice) There isn't? Maybe I'm thinking of blue and red make purple. Like the blood mixed with the blue, you know?"
"This is Gina, ignore all previous announcements except this one: CODE BLUE ON THE SEVENTH FLOOR."
Then a nurse came in and said "I'm going to have to attach you to a drip." And I'm thinking, wouldn't I heal a lot faster if they hooked me up to a cool person? She gave me my pain meds and I cheeked the pills and saved them for later because double dosage later always trumps single dosage now.
Have you ever dropped a pill on the floor and then picked it up and taken it anyway? And someone will inevitably say, "Ooooh, that was on the floor." How do we know those pills weren't on the floor before they got in the bottle? There's probably a guy over at Squibb sitting on the floor going, 18, 19, 20.
I know you're supposed to take all the medicine a doctor gives you but it's better to have extra medication lying around. Once I ran out of sugar and had to put Cherry Nyquil on my Cream of' Wheat. Because I'm a genius.
A study says married men don't need as strong an anesthetic as married women. For women they give them intravenous Valium and for men they make them listen to a tape of their wives asking them to take out the garbage.
End of chat.
Showing posts with label JB. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JB. Show all posts
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Not That It's Any Of Your Business But
People ask me if I forgot to have kids. And I always answer, yes, I was too busy.
I had laundry.
I have many reasons for not having kids. First of all, they run too fast; it's almost impossible to trip them. Plus they're too short to dance with and you can't borrow anything from them, they have no cash. What's the point?
They're also too loud. I had one next to me on a plane once and it emitted such a piercing scream we lost cabin pressure. It made me miss the smokers. At least a cigarette goes out in 3 minutes. In the bible Jesus says "Suffer the little children." I think he knew what he was talking about.
People always tell me, "You're a woman, you're supposed to have kids." Well, I always thought I was supposed to have a Rolls Royce but you won't see that at my house either.
And based on my personality this is probably the kid I would have had:
I had laundry.
I have many reasons for not having kids. First of all, they run too fast; it's almost impossible to trip them. Plus they're too short to dance with and you can't borrow anything from them, they have no cash. What's the point?
They're also too loud. I had one next to me on a plane once and it emitted such a piercing scream we lost cabin pressure. It made me miss the smokers. At least a cigarette goes out in 3 minutes. In the bible Jesus says "Suffer the little children." I think he knew what he was talking about.
People always tell me, "You're a woman, you're supposed to have kids." Well, I always thought I was supposed to have a Rolls Royce but you won't see that at my house either.
And based on my personality this is probably the kid I would have had:
lolbaby.com
Did I ever seriously think about having kids? Getting pregnant: throwing up every morning and putting on 60 extra pounds, every woman's secret fantasy. Hearing the pitter patter of little feet running around my apartment, destroying everything I worked my whole life to get. Yeah, no.
Plus I would never voluntarily want to go into anything called Labor. Why don't they call it something I would want to go into? "Suzy, your contractions have started and any minute now you'll be going into... shopping."
And who are these women who want to be awake during childbirth? I don't even want to be awake during the conception. When you go to the dentist and he pulls out your teeth, you're not awake, so why would you be awake when they pull this giant baby out of you? And believe me, your mouth is a lot bigger. I’ve measured.
People with kids always want to know if they can bring them along when they visit single peoples' homes. Sure. Why not? And bring other things we don't have, like a plague of locusts or some fresh manure. Oh, and dip your kid in oil before you come, I hear that's good for wood furniture.
I don't think I'd be a very good parent. I was baby sitting this kid once and he said, "I'm going to drink a gallon of Sunny D without breathing" and I said, "Cool." And I'd be too protective. I can just see the day my kid came to me and pleaded, "Please Mom, let me go to school." And I'd reply, "You have plenty of time. You're only 24."
I like to date guys who already have kids. Then if they're screwed up I can say, "Not my fault, they came this way."
And to those women out there who have 6 or 7 kids and have never heard the words The Ozone Is Killing Us All, you need to close up shop. I was talking to this really drunk woman at a party and she said she had 8 kids. I asked her if she'd ever considered birth control and she said, "You know, it's really hard to get those little pills up in there."
Having a baby can lead to heart failure, pulmonary edema and a ruptured uterus. Forget teaching young girls about birth control, just tell them that.
End of chat.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Baby You Can Drive My Car - Part Two
I found a description of the difference between men's cars and women's cars. Men keep their cars spotless and their homes a mess. Women keep their homes spotless and their cars a mess.
I keep them both spotless but I'm a known liar.
I've noticed that a guy will cry if his car gets hit by another car. A woman will cry if she has to tell a guy that his car was hit by another car. That she was driving.
I really don't like any man driving my car.
I don't care what they claim but they have no idea where they're going. My ex-boyfriend and I took a trip to Palm Springs, in the desert. I fell asleep for 10 minutes. When I woke up there was snow everywhere. I said, "Where are we?" and he said "I think we're almost in Palm Springs." And I said, "Well, why don't we pull over here and ask this Canadian Mountie exactly where we are?"
When he's driving, it's always "We'll take a right at the light then turn left at the exit." When I'm driving it's “Get in the southbound lane and go west at that intersection." Like I'm Davy Crockett and there's a sundial in the car.
Moses wandered in the desert with the Jews for 40 years. I'm guessing that was supposed to be a 10 day trip. And Moses' wife probably spent the whole time saying, "Moses, don't be a schmuck, stop and ask Achmed where we are."
I have an elderly neighbor who I drive around so he can do his errands. He's 89 years old and reads every road sign out loud. FOOD GAS LODGING, 65 MILES PER HOUR, 280 MILES TO CALIFORNIA, which would scare me because he'd distracted me so much I'd crossed over into Arizona.
I'm still amazed they sent men to the moon with a car. What did they want to prove? That they couldn't ask for directions on two planets?
Los Angeles is a big city, 10 million people, and every one of them has a car aimed at you. The only time I was hit by a car I was standing in the bedroom. Of my apartment. On the second floor.
Everywhere you go you have to valet your car and depending on where you go, it can be very expensive. I once valeted at the new Wolfgang Puck restaurant and then couldn't make rent.
I hate to give them money to park a car. Maybe if they changed my oil I wouldn't mind so much. Of course if I go out with a guy and he won't valet, I think he's an asshole.
Another thing that drives me crazy about Los Angeles driving is when the stoplights go out and they send in police officers to direct traffic. Instead of, you know, catching killers. The cops start talking to you through your window. They’ll make 2 circles in the air and then point to the left and I’m thinking I got a 10 yard penalty and am offsides.
I understand why minivans put TV screens in the backseats for kids. Nothing is more boring than taking a long trip and having nothing to do but listen to the radio or CD's. Last year I started doing books on tape. Only once by accident I rented a dirty one and had to pull over and get a motel.
Which was embarrassing because I was alone.
End of chat.
I keep them both spotless but I'm a known liar.
I've noticed that a guy will cry if his car gets hit by another car. A woman will cry if she has to tell a guy that his car was hit by another car. That she was driving.
I really don't like any man driving my car.
I don't care what they claim but they have no idea where they're going. My ex-boyfriend and I took a trip to Palm Springs, in the desert. I fell asleep for 10 minutes. When I woke up there was snow everywhere. I said, "Where are we?" and he said "I think we're almost in Palm Springs." And I said, "Well, why don't we pull over here and ask this Canadian Mountie exactly where we are?"
When he's driving, it's always "We'll take a right at the light then turn left at the exit." When I'm driving it's “Get in the southbound lane and go west at that intersection." Like I'm Davy Crockett and there's a sundial in the car.
Moses wandered in the desert with the Jews for 40 years. I'm guessing that was supposed to be a 10 day trip. And Moses' wife probably spent the whole time saying, "Moses, don't be a schmuck, stop and ask Achmed where we are."
I have an elderly neighbor who I drive around so he can do his errands. He's 89 years old and reads every road sign out loud. FOOD GAS LODGING, 65 MILES PER HOUR, 280 MILES TO CALIFORNIA, which would scare me because he'd distracted me so much I'd crossed over into Arizona.
I'm still amazed they sent men to the moon with a car. What did they want to prove? That they couldn't ask for directions on two planets?
Los Angeles is a big city, 10 million people, and every one of them has a car aimed at you. The only time I was hit by a car I was standing in the bedroom. Of my apartment. On the second floor.
Everywhere you go you have to valet your car and depending on where you go, it can be very expensive. I once valeted at the new Wolfgang Puck restaurant and then couldn't make rent.
I hate to give them money to park a car. Maybe if they changed my oil I wouldn't mind so much. Of course if I go out with a guy and he won't valet, I think he's an asshole.
Another thing that drives me crazy about Los Angeles driving is when the stoplights go out and they send in police officers to direct traffic. Instead of, you know, catching killers. The cops start talking to you through your window. They’ll make 2 circles in the air and then point to the left and I’m thinking I got a 10 yard penalty and am offsides.
I understand why minivans put TV screens in the backseats for kids. Nothing is more boring than taking a long trip and having nothing to do but listen to the radio or CD's. Last year I started doing books on tape. Only once by accident I rented a dirty one and had to pull over and get a motel.
Which was embarrassing because I was alone.
End of chat.
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Baby You Can Drive My Car
No one walks in Los Angeles. You drive 45 minutes, buy a carton of milk, drive 45 minutes back. If I drive anywhere for 45 minutes, I feel like I should spend the weekend.
That's what I liked about New York. You didn't need a car because everything was a block away. The store was a block away, the bank was a block away, my apartment was a block away from where I lived.
That's what I liked about New York. You didn't need a car because everything was a block away. The store was a block away, the bank was a block away, my apartment was a block away from where I lived.
My first car, a Ford Festiva. Née October 1990-Died April 2000 I spend so much time on freeways. A week ago I took the 101 to the 110 to the 405 to the 134 back to the 101. I never did get back home. I don't know why they even erect houses on streets out here. They should just build them along the freeways.
And it takes forever to get to a good car crash. Two hours to go one and a half miles. And when you get there, what do you see? Nothing. If it takes me two hours to go one and a half miles, I want to see a head suspended in mid‑air. Show me a pancreas flopping on the pavement.
I'm one of those women who will drive weeks with my car making a pinging sound. I'll even offer to drive people places just so I can ask them what they think the pinging sound is.
This is a bad plan because I've come close to believing:
1. It was the engine grinding up kittens
2. It's the noise you hear right before a plane crashes
3. I should look into purchasing a bicycle
When you take your car to a mechanic they ask you to describe the noise. I always sound like a beatboxer saying aho ho ho, ssst ho sssta ringa, dinging, ring. Then I have to say, "My car has ho-hos and ring-dings."
When my mechanic fixed the pinging sound he managed to throw out this random fact, "You need new shoe boots for your front axle." I don't know why he thought I was gullible enough to believe that a front axle could wear shoes and boots at the same time.
Men.
Regulating the car heater is a task best left to NASA. Why do they only have two temperature settings, flame broiled and microwave? You're either hot or you've exploded. I can never get it right. I turn it on and five minutes later I think, "Gee, I must be in the wrong lane because we're orbiting the sun now."
Don't ever make the mistake of going food shopping and then put all your groceries on the floor if you have the heat coming out of the floor vents. By the time I got home I had cooked an entire roast beef medium‑rare. Twenty more minutes and the baked potatoes would have been done. If you're on a long distance trip you could use the car as a crock pot.
And some cars have the dome light on the ceiling in back of you. Who designed this, Cirque de Soleil? And that blinding light, what's in there, a 9 watt bulb? Why doesn't the car just come equipped with candles?
Before I traded in my Festiva I was at Nordstrom's and a woman sold me a cream that was supposed to reduce the visible signs of aging. It didn't do a thing for my face but the car looked brand new.
End of chat.
And it takes forever to get to a good car crash. Two hours to go one and a half miles. And when you get there, what do you see? Nothing. If it takes me two hours to go one and a half miles, I want to see a head suspended in mid‑air. Show me a pancreas flopping on the pavement.
I'm one of those women who will drive weeks with my car making a pinging sound. I'll even offer to drive people places just so I can ask them what they think the pinging sound is.
This is a bad plan because I've come close to believing:
1. It was the engine grinding up kittens
2. It's the noise you hear right before a plane crashes
3. I should look into purchasing a bicycle
When you take your car to a mechanic they ask you to describe the noise. I always sound like a beatboxer saying aho ho ho, ssst ho sssta ringa, dinging, ring. Then I have to say, "My car has ho-hos and ring-dings."
When my mechanic fixed the pinging sound he managed to throw out this random fact, "You need new shoe boots for your front axle." I don't know why he thought I was gullible enough to believe that a front axle could wear shoes and boots at the same time.
Men.
Regulating the car heater is a task best left to NASA. Why do they only have two temperature settings, flame broiled and microwave? You're either hot or you've exploded. I can never get it right. I turn it on and five minutes later I think, "Gee, I must be in the wrong lane because we're orbiting the sun now."
Don't ever make the mistake of going food shopping and then put all your groceries on the floor if you have the heat coming out of the floor vents. By the time I got home I had cooked an entire roast beef medium‑rare. Twenty more minutes and the baked potatoes would have been done. If you're on a long distance trip you could use the car as a crock pot.
And some cars have the dome light on the ceiling in back of you. Who designed this, Cirque de Soleil? And that blinding light, what's in there, a 9 watt bulb? Why doesn't the car just come equipped with candles?
Before I traded in my Festiva I was at Nordstrom's and a woman sold me a cream that was supposed to reduce the visible signs of aging. It didn't do a thing for my face but the car looked brand new.
End of chat.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Adventures In Man Land 4
I've been engaged three times. The first time I had my heart set on a white strapless gown. By the second engagement, I decided on an off-white dress. By the third time I just bought something I could return.
My first fiance was young and in the Army.
The Salvation Army.
He was so immature that on April Fool's Day he put polygrip in my diaphragm. I walked around all day sounding like a plunger.
One day he shaved his head.
"Why did you do that?"
"I'm trying to make my head look bigger."
"I wish you'd shave another part of your anatomy."
My second fiance gave me a big diamond ring, only there was no diamond. I had to keep telling people it dropped out and he kept telling people I lost it. He should have just put polygrip in it.
My third attempt at matrimony was creepy. He was 20 years older than me. He took me to meet his parents and I said, "Wow, this is a lovely cemetery."
He got mad at me because I kept putting our mortgage on a credit card. Finally I said to him, "That's not so bad. Our mortgage is $900.00 but our monthly minimum payment is only $76.50.
"If you had been alive in the 18th century you would have had to go to Debtor's prison." He said.
"Really? If they had that today I'd be on death row."
I don't think people should get a license for marriage. I think they should get Viagra, a gym membership, hair plugs and a warranty for parts and labor.
They do it so much better in the animal kingdom. The bald eagle mates and remains faithful for life. But I'll bet if he had some hair he'd be out screwing around.
End of chat.
My first fiance was young and in the Army.
The Salvation Army.
He was so immature that on April Fool's Day he put polygrip in my diaphragm. I walked around all day sounding like a plunger.
One day he shaved his head.
"Why did you do that?"
"I'm trying to make my head look bigger."
"I wish you'd shave another part of your anatomy."
My second fiance gave me a big diamond ring, only there was no diamond. I had to keep telling people it dropped out and he kept telling people I lost it. He should have just put polygrip in it.
My third attempt at matrimony was creepy. He was 20 years older than me. He took me to meet his parents and I said, "Wow, this is a lovely cemetery."
He got mad at me because I kept putting our mortgage on a credit card. Finally I said to him, "That's not so bad. Our mortgage is $900.00 but our monthly minimum payment is only $76.50.
"If you had been alive in the 18th century you would have had to go to Debtor's prison." He said.
"Really? If they had that today I'd be on death row."
I don't think people should get a license for marriage. I think they should get Viagra, a gym membership, hair plugs and a warranty for parts and labor.
They do it so much better in the animal kingdom. The bald eagle mates and remains faithful for life. But I'll bet if he had some hair he'd be out screwing around.
End of chat.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Adventures In Man Land 3
After reading the comments section yesterday, I see a lot of us have the same problem when a man is driving a car. In my case, when he's driving, it's always, "We'll take a right at the light, we'll go left at the exit and take a U turn off the interstate." When I’m driving he'll say, "Get in the southbound lane, go west at that intersection and go north and south off the interstate." Like I'm Davy Crockett and there's a sundial in the car.
I hate driving with him. He reads every road sign out loud. Food, Gas, Lodging, 65 mph, 280 miles to Cleveland, which would scare me because we'd be in California at the time.
And another thing,why do men watch so much sports on TV? Is it because they can't read? Doctors claim men don't need as much anesthesia as women before surgery. For women, they just give them intravenous Valium and for men, they just turn on a TV.
Why are men such babies when they're sick? The guy next door got a head cold and he said to me, "I think my arm is going to fall off. I blew my nose and it was all wobbly and stuff."
Breaking up with a man is such a pain in the ass. I broke up with one guy and he said, "You know what your problem is? You have penis envy." And I said, "You're right, but not for yours".
I dumped another guy and said, "I just want to be your friend; I don't want to sleep with you anymore."And he said, "What's the definition of 'a friend' to you?" And I replied, "A friend is someone who will do anything for you." And he said, "Then lend me $500 and help me move next week. " And I said, "I think I could still fuck you."
End of chat.
I hate driving with him. He reads every road sign out loud. Food, Gas, Lodging, 65 mph, 280 miles to Cleveland, which would scare me because we'd be in California at the time.
And another thing,why do men watch so much sports on TV? Is it because they can't read? Doctors claim men don't need as much anesthesia as women before surgery. For women, they just give them intravenous Valium and for men, they just turn on a TV.
Why are men such babies when they're sick? The guy next door got a head cold and he said to me, "I think my arm is going to fall off. I blew my nose and it was all wobbly and stuff."
Breaking up with a man is such a pain in the ass. I broke up with one guy and he said, "You know what your problem is? You have penis envy." And I said, "You're right, but not for yours".
I dumped another guy and said, "I just want to be your friend; I don't want to sleep with you anymore."And he said, "What's the definition of 'a friend' to you?" And I replied, "A friend is someone who will do anything for you." And he said, "Then lend me $500 and help me move next week. " And I said, "I think I could still fuck you."
End of chat.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Adventures In Man Land
The symbol for love is an arrow through the heart. You know a teenage girl in the 17th century came up with that design. And as she aged she probably thought about changing it and then realized, "No, that's about right."
I've had trouble with men from the moment I started dating. My first real boyfriend got hit by a truck. My second boyfriend had a heart attack at 32. My third boyfriend called me up one day and said, “You know, I think you’re a jinx”. And I said, “How do you figure?” But then the phone went dead because you’re only allowed those ten minute calls from prison.
The first thing I look for in a man is a man who cooks, because I don’t cook. I’ll eat out, I’ll take out, I’ll put out but I ain't cooking. When I get my dream house, I’m not even going to build a kitchen. I’m going to have them put a KFC in on the ground floor.
Did you ever notice how when you ask a man a question, they're afraid to answer? That's because they're convinced there's a right and a wrong answer and they want to be right. They always want to be right. But what they don't understand is no matter what they say, it's always going to be wrong because they're the guy.
Did you ever go out with a really horrible guy, a real asshole, and pray he would never call you? And then when he never calls you’re like, I cannot believe that jerk never called me again. Then when he finally does call we say we have to wash our hair. Recently I ran into my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. He shared with me that they had just returned from rehab and I was so upset. This guy had never taken me anywhere.
I once dated identical twins. Well, not EXACTLY identical. Twins is such a weird concept. One is born and then the other one shoots out right behind him. Basically one comes faster, which is how I could always tell them apart.
End of chat.
I've had trouble with men from the moment I started dating. My first real boyfriend got hit by a truck. My second boyfriend had a heart attack at 32. My third boyfriend called me up one day and said, “You know, I think you’re a jinx”. And I said, “How do you figure?” But then the phone went dead because you’re only allowed those ten minute calls from prison.
The first thing I look for in a man is a man who cooks, because I don’t cook. I’ll eat out, I’ll take out, I’ll put out but I ain't cooking. When I get my dream house, I’m not even going to build a kitchen. I’m going to have them put a KFC in on the ground floor.
Did you ever notice how when you ask a man a question, they're afraid to answer? That's because they're convinced there's a right and a wrong answer and they want to be right. They always want to be right. But what they don't understand is no matter what they say, it's always going to be wrong because they're the guy.
Did you ever go out with a really horrible guy, a real asshole, and pray he would never call you? And then when he never calls you’re like, I cannot believe that jerk never called me again. Then when he finally does call we say we have to wash our hair. Recently I ran into my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. He shared with me that they had just returned from rehab and I was so upset. This guy had never taken me anywhere.
I once dated identical twins. Well, not EXACTLY identical. Twins is such a weird concept. One is born and then the other one shoots out right behind him. Basically one comes faster, which is how I could always tell them apart.
End of chat.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Plastic Surgery For Dummies
There are two kinds of New Yorkers who move to Los Angeles. One is dreaded and hates L.A. because there’s no winter/smoking/people who read. Then there’s me. I loved it because there were hot cars, hot homes, and most importantly, hot people everywhere. Not to mention my building had a pool and a view of the Hollywood sign. I know there are gorgeous people who live in other parts of the world but it couldn’t possibly compare to the pulchritude this town spits out like olive pits from a dirty martini. And Los Angeles was littered with car dealers to the stars, realtors to the stars and plastic surgeons for the rest of us. This is where Hot comes to die and the Mother Ship had called me home.
Even though no one in L.A. has actually had plastic surgery, is ever going to have it or would ever admit it if they did happen to have it while accidentally sleepwalking into downtown Beverly Hills for a three p.m. appointment, there sure are a lot of people ahead of me when I go for my Botox shots to my plastic surgeon’s office. I admit to having it because I love it and will be having it to the end of my life. As a matter of fact, I’ve booked my doctor for my embalming or autopsy, whichever comes first. I’m going to exit this world looking glorious, especially since I’m surely not going to feel that terrific.
I just don’t understood women who say they would never have plastic surgery. I’m pretty sure Janet Reno does not spend all her free time returning Jude Law’s calls or texting Colin Farrell. I once heard Cindy Crawford interviewed and she said that if she felt she needed it, she would have it. Cindy Crawford, not Broderick Crawford.
I wasn’t obsessed with my looks until a week after I moved to Los Angeles and was walking down the street with my mother. We ran into an old family friend who hadn’t seen us in many years. The friend looked at us and said, “Wow, you two could pass for sisters,” and I thought, ‘Man, how bad do I look?’
So I bought a jar of face cream that claimed to reduce the visible signs of aging and I tried it. It didn’t do much for my face but I used it on my 1998 Toyota and now it looks like a 2001. I knew then that the only thing that really reduces the visible signs of aging is death. And an upper and lower blepharoplasty.
When I had the eye job I told my friend Metia and she replied “You’re kidding, you can’t even tell.” Well, if you could tell, it wouldn’t be called an eye job; it would be called a lawsuit, now wouldn’t it?
Then I wanted my nose to tip up so I had a piece of my ear put in right above my nostrils. The manager of my Hollywood Hills apartment complex asked me if I could hear through my nose. So apparently there are some people here who don’t read. Restylane? Captique? Mesotherapy? Sculptra? Had it, had it, had it, need it.
A lot of people are afraid of surgery and I can understand that. When I had my eye-lift, the last thing I remember before I went under anesthesia was the doctor holding a scalpel, the fluorescent lights and the smell of burning flesh. I was mortified. Do you know how bad you look in fluorescent lights? The nurse asked me to count backwards from 100, giving me the illusion that I was going to be awake for a really long time. Meanwhile, no one makes it past 98. Why don’t they just make you count backwards from 2?
The truth is that I’d rather have plastic surgery than go to the gym with all the mutants oozing toxins out of their pores. If I see toxins coming out of any part of my body, bring me a margarita and check me into the Chateau Marmont.
Because my friends all know I’ve had plastic surgery, they ask me if they need it. Yes. Even if they don’t think they need it now, yes, they need it now. And for those of you stalwarts who think you don’t need anything done ever or are too afraid or too cheap I can only say this: When your rear grazes your ankles and you’re carrying your breasts around in a little red wagon and your husband is sleeping with the baby sitter, don’t come crying to me. Just remember that King Solomon had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines and I’m sure he has male descendants out there somewhere. And I’m sure the hot ones ended up in Los Angeles. End of chat.
Even though no one in L.A. has actually had plastic surgery, is ever going to have it or would ever admit it if they did happen to have it while accidentally sleepwalking into downtown Beverly Hills for a three p.m. appointment, there sure are a lot of people ahead of me when I go for my Botox shots to my plastic surgeon’s office. I admit to having it because I love it and will be having it to the end of my life. As a matter of fact, I’ve booked my doctor for my embalming or autopsy, whichever comes first. I’m going to exit this world looking glorious, especially since I’m surely not going to feel that terrific.
I just don’t understood women who say they would never have plastic surgery. I’m pretty sure Janet Reno does not spend all her free time returning Jude Law’s calls or texting Colin Farrell. I once heard Cindy Crawford interviewed and she said that if she felt she needed it, she would have it. Cindy Crawford, not Broderick Crawford.
I wasn’t obsessed with my looks until a week after I moved to Los Angeles and was walking down the street with my mother. We ran into an old family friend who hadn’t seen us in many years. The friend looked at us and said, “Wow, you two could pass for sisters,” and I thought, ‘Man, how bad do I look?’
So I bought a jar of face cream that claimed to reduce the visible signs of aging and I tried it. It didn’t do much for my face but I used it on my 1998 Toyota and now it looks like a 2001. I knew then that the only thing that really reduces the visible signs of aging is death. And an upper and lower blepharoplasty.
When I had the eye job I told my friend Metia and she replied “You’re kidding, you can’t even tell.” Well, if you could tell, it wouldn’t be called an eye job; it would be called a lawsuit, now wouldn’t it?
Then I wanted my nose to tip up so I had a piece of my ear put in right above my nostrils. The manager of my Hollywood Hills apartment complex asked me if I could hear through my nose. So apparently there are some people here who don’t read. Restylane? Captique? Mesotherapy? Sculptra? Had it, had it, had it, need it.
A lot of people are afraid of surgery and I can understand that. When I had my eye-lift, the last thing I remember before I went under anesthesia was the doctor holding a scalpel, the fluorescent lights and the smell of burning flesh. I was mortified. Do you know how bad you look in fluorescent lights? The nurse asked me to count backwards from 100, giving me the illusion that I was going to be awake for a really long time. Meanwhile, no one makes it past 98. Why don’t they just make you count backwards from 2?
The truth is that I’d rather have plastic surgery than go to the gym with all the mutants oozing toxins out of their pores. If I see toxins coming out of any part of my body, bring me a margarita and check me into the Chateau Marmont.
Because my friends all know I’ve had plastic surgery, they ask me if they need it. Yes. Even if they don’t think they need it now, yes, they need it now. And for those of you stalwarts who think you don’t need anything done ever or are too afraid or too cheap I can only say this: When your rear grazes your ankles and you’re carrying your breasts around in a little red wagon and your husband is sleeping with the baby sitter, don’t come crying to me. Just remember that King Solomon had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines and I’m sure he has male descendants out there somewhere. And I’m sure the hot ones ended up in Los Angeles. End of chat.
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