Beverly Hills, 9021...Whoa!

Dear Mr Plastic Surgeon Genius (who is obviously mistakingly reading my blog but is super generous and philanthropic),

I need a tummy tuck. Badly. Like almost as badly as that annoying Gosselin lady after she popped out like a bajillion kids. Or that crazy Octo-Mom bitch who obviously has issues and probably has excess stomach skin hanging to her knees by now (we all know they only look good thanx to Spanx and trick photography, right? RIGHT?!?).

You probably didn’t accidentally stumble across my other blog: http://flabninja.blogspot.com/ so I can’t expect you to know that I lost 185 pounds. Stop laughing, I am serious. I know, impressive and gross all at the same time. The funny thing about gastric bypass is that all you are focused on is losing weight. Not so much on what will happen when your flat ass deflates like a Macy’s day float on Black Friday.

I don’t have any money to pay for the surgery and I have shitty insurance but I am a really good hugger and I will post really nice things on this poorly made and virtually unknown blog for free.

How can you pass up that offer, right?

In case those aren’t good enough reasons to perform this totally necessary (if not completely vain) surgery, let me give you some other super awesome reasons as to why you should donate your time:

1) I will clean your house for like….ever. Everyday. Even the corners. And that would be way cheaper than paying your housekeeper, although I am sure Esmeralda will be very upset and her 70-jillion kids will starve and will all stand outside your house screaming obscenities at me in Spanish. I figure at the rate of minimum wage, I should be paid off in the year 2025. No biggie.

2) If house cleaning isn’t your deal, I am really good kisser. And when I get drunk I kiss EVERYONE. So I can repay you in kisses. Don’t worry about my husband, I am sure he will be in if it means him not listening to me whine about my “jowls of a dog” or begging him for $5000 anymore.

3) I am funny and I like to make up songs about my dog based on current pop music. I know this doesn’t seem like a worthwhile detail, but I could provide free entertainment to your clientele while they sit in the waiting room anticipating their collegin injections or breast implants or whatever it is that you do, aside from giving away free tummy tucks. I know some of them won’t be able to laugh because of all the Botox, but I assure you they will think I am funny.

4) I am nice. Most of the time. When people are watching mostly, but still…nice. And you would look super nice for doing something really nice for a nice person. The universe will surely repay you in good Karma. And your wife will give you blow jobs. I mean, she didn’t say she would, but I can only assume that is what wives of fancy plastic surgeons do to keep a fancy plastic surgeon husband around.

5) I will go all Kirstie Alley on the the web and video tape myself strutting around the house in a bikini with index cards that say “Body by Dr. (insert name here)”. Again, free advertising yo!

6) Because I am begging you. Please fix me. Please make me feel pretty again. Please take away this constant reminder of the abuse I have put my body through so I can, in turn, stop abusing myself. Did I say please?

7) As a last resort, I will leave you alone. After the tummy tuck, of course. I’m a stalker, but I’m not stupid. You fix me, I stop standing outside of your house with my hand in my pants. Deal?

So, in conclusion, these are all very valid and super awesome reasons for you to give me a free tummy tuck. Consider yourself welcomed. It’s the least I can do since you are giving me a $5000 makeover. I will await the call from your receptionist to set up our appointment. Thursdays work for me.

Love and Tummy Tucks,
Lisa

Two years and 190 pounds ago....

Time flies when you're becoming less fat, I guess.  Saturday will mark two years since my gastric bypass surgery.  It hardly seems possible that two years ago I was 317 pounds and waiting for my life to start.  It's been so crazy that I can hardly wrap my head around it.

So, how did I get this fabulously fit (yet flabby) body?  I mean, aside from surgically altering my entire physiology and putting my nutritional absorption abilities at risk?  Well, I run and do yoga.  A lot.  And not always because I want to.  As a matter of fact, I would much rather be sitting at home drinking wine, eating Cheetos and watching the Investigation Discovery channel plotting the untraceable death of my enemies. 

I mean running is dangerous, and not because I could wear out my knees, give myself heart failure, or fall on my face ruining my money maker either.  I watch all the crime shows.  I see it all the time.

“Mother of three abducted while on morning run.  No suspects have been found.  Her body was found in a bush near her house, with strangulation marks from her sneaker laces around her neck and an empty Mountain Dew bottle shoved in her vagina.”

 It happens.  Just ask Dateline.  Running mothers are a target, for real.  And I don’t even like Mountain Dew.

But I run and risk my life for the sake of a tighter ass, and the ability to wear my Victoria’s Secret push up sports bra.  I mean, it’s black and hot pink and makes me look like a buxom woman, rather than the B cup wonder I have become.

The past two years have been a roller coaster.  And I love rollercoasters because I think of:

A)    The fact that I can now lower the “safety” bar down without my stomach preventing it from clicking into place so I don’t go through a loop-de-loop and plunge to my death

 And

B)     I love anything that I am afraid of.  The adrenaline and the “I did it” moment that comes at the end is better than an orgasm.  Well, unless the orgasm is followed up with diamonds.  Then I take the actual orgasm over the rush, duh.

But this rollercoaster has had lots of unexpected turns and twists.  Some days the line to the coaster is short, you get to ride more than once, and when the secret camera snaps a picture of you to buy for a gazillion dollars at the end of the ride, you look like a goddess with the wind sweeping through your hair, rather than a stroke victim stuck in a vacuum tube.

Some days, there are nothing but road blocks.  Some days, you wait in line for hours, hoping you don’t fart after eating too many jalapeno nacho burritos because there is a hot guy standing behind you. 

Some days, the fucking coaster cars get stuck half way up the first really steep hill and you sit there like a moron, getting a neck cramp, while the hairy, bald guy with a wonky eye and no teeth fixes it, all the while smelling like the worlds biggest pot plant.  When the ride gets moving, you get motion sickness and vertigo and throw up the chili dog, cheese fries and chocolate shake you ate just before deciding that the rollercoaster was a good idea…..

And you throw up, both on yourself and onto the hot guy you spent two hours flirting with while in line.  Yeah, some days are just like that.

But in the end, I am embracing the choices I have made.  I am embracing my new life, the ability to run, the pride I see on my children’s faces, and the road blocks that will never stop me.