Plastic Sugery: The Recovery and the opinion

If you ever think you’re getting too much sleep and want to try a few days of insomnia, by all means, get rhinoplasty.
My nose felt like it’d been filled in with cement so I had to sleep upright with ice on my face breathing through my mouth, doped up on Vicodin making me horribly nauseous. Between my cottonmouth and aching back, I thought about war heroes, cancer survivors, and burn victims. All of the unsolicited pain, surgery, and misery they endure and here I was, Shallon the Vain, doing it to herself. Ashamed and bruised, I stayed cloistered in the house for days until my mom convinced me to step into the light of day.

Living in the OC, a nose job was child’s play compared to the siliconed and Botoxed trophy wives. And while people won’t gape at someone in a wheelchair, they have no problem hollering at someone who has had elective surgery “Look, honey! That girl got a nose job! Come on, crowd around everyone, don’t be shy! Let’s all point and gawk!”

After a week of freakdom, the doctor took off the cast and I got my first view of my brand new, crazy expensive nose: GORGEOUS! Perfect and straight, it was exactly what I had envisioned! He also pulled out the splints (quarter-sized pieces of plastic) which wasn’t so much fun. I couldn’t wear sunglasses for at least 2 months and even now, a year later, they still irritate my face.

In the weeks and months that followed, my nose would hurt when I was tired or exercised too much, and I had to learn to laugh without wrinkling my nose.

Best of all, my breathing improved dramatically! Gone were the unsexy strips and billions of Kleenex wadded up by the bed.

So was it all worth it? Absolutely! I feel completely satisfied with my face and my decision. And while the rhinoplasty was expensive, this baby is payin’ for itself in gin & tonics; I’ve noticed a serious spike in my attention from boys but I think it has more to do with my boosted self-esteem than a new facial feature.

Everyone dreams of going away to college and reinventing themselves; I for one was going to leave behind my dorky orange pants and rainbow shoe laces (I swear to God) and emerge as a sexy, skinny vixen taking the campus by storm, like Nicole Richie only with a hotter boyfriend. And man, would a new pair of tits have made that easier! But adjusting to life in a dorm, pledging a sorority, and juggling classes was difficult enough without having the added burden of two foreign objects on my chest. So I settled for a new wardrobe and some blonde highlights and seduced the boys the old fashioned way: alcohol! Kidding, kidding.

I could see why a lot of peeps would want to do it before college, but asking for plastic surgery as a graduation gift is a bit strange. I guess since surgery is super expensive using those checks from Great Aunt Whoever-With-All-The-Cats could be a good down payment for some simple procedures.

However, who are the parents letting their kids get boob jobs and lipo for graduation? I mean a car, fine. I can understand getting a car. A car is useful, practical even. But mom and dad: you can’t drive a pair of boobs to a Simple Plan concert in Santa Barbara. And saying, “C’mon you guys! Hop onto my liposucked thighs and we’ll go to Jack in the Box!” doesn’t have quite the same ring. Doesn’t it seem a little squicky that Daddy is buying his little precious a shiny new pair of breasts? She’s going to show them off, to many, many people. Especially when intoxicated at frat parties. She might even say things like, “Woo hoo! Girls gone wild!” or “Look at my titties!” Is that something he wants to encourage? Apparently, it is.

Obviously, no one knows what you looked like before you got to college and you can pull a Lindsay Lohan and act like you’ve had those babies all along.
“Oh these? My perfect perky bosoms? I guess I’m just a late bloomer!” But the girls who did invest in a pair of silicone jumblies senior year usually ended up blabbing some drunken dorm night and were forever known as “Julie- that girl with the fake boobs” or “Kristen? Oh, the chick with the boob job, right?”

But don’t expect a new nose or a new bra to be the key to collegiate success. Your self confidence (and wallet) would be better served getting a personal trainer to stave off the freshman fifteen.

Some people are going way past the normal boobs/nose/lipo procedures and getting some really freaky bizarre surgery.

How bizarre, you say? How about Vagina tightening? Tightening what you ask?! Yes, that’s right I said VAGINA TIGHTENING! Ok sure, if you’ve squeezed out 13 or 14 kids, maybe I can see the benefit of this. But if you’re under 30 and not a porn star or baby machine, this is a definite no-go. Evidently, a British documentary pegged this surgery as one of the hot new things, along with calf implants. Calf implants! I don’t know a single girl who looks at a guy’s calves. Not one. We like arms, eyes, a warm smile, and a quick wit. In all my years as a Gamma Phi, I never heard a girl say, “Oooo Shallon, did you checkout his calves? Rarrrr! I mean, yeah he’s a total jerk and yesterday he called me fat but those lower legs!” Sure, if you have nice beefy legs that’s great, good for you. But to go out and pay money for them? It makes you wonder how society learned to find breast implants acceptable. I’ve found that the men who go for this type of surgery are the kind with mirrors on their ceiling and a van with “Sin Bin” airbrushed on the side. Maybe the Calf Kings and Boob Babes of the world should set up a dating service and stick to their own kind.

Another horrible idea is the butt implant. A retard cousin of the calf implant, booty boosters will take you from a Paris Hilton to a Jennifer Lopez, to the tune of $8,000. But these pricey accessories ain’t for sittin’ on, oh no! They can burst, rupture or, even better, shift around! But wait! The fun doesn’t stop there kids: if your doctor makes one false move and cuts your siattic nerve, you lose the use of that leg! Yeppers, that flat fanny of yours is only going to get flatter with a lifetime in a wheelchair. What fun.

The bottom line (pardon the pun) is that if people are going to either reject or accept you based on your butt/calves/tits or otherwise, that’s a big red flag that they are dorks anyway. If someone wants to be that shallow, I hear Paris Hilton is single.