ME. WANT. BUTTER.

So, about ten months ago, I went under the knife. No, I didn’t get any work done on my face. Would the Mona Lisa go to a plastic surgeon? Fuck no. I joined the ranks of esteemed world figures Al Roker, Roseanne, and my dawg Randy Jackson and got weight loss surgery.

While I feel like it is my destiny to look like this,

I feel like I was kinda heading towards this destiny.

And when you look like this,

you ain’t gettin’ to this.

I was covered under Dar-Dar’s insurance (WHAT UP, OBAMA!) and I had some free time one Wednesday, so I figured, why not? *Note: because I recently turned 26, I have no more insurance as of March 31st, 2013 (what up, Obama?). I better pray to God I don’t pop a fucking staple in the near future.

Anyway, there are lots of reasons why I chose to get surgery. I got surgery so that I could become thin enough to:

*buy 5-6 boxes of ice pops at a time without getting looks like, “figures she'd buy all that sugary mess”. BITCHES, YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE. MAYBE I’M HAVING A FUCKING BACKYARD BARBECUE! In late October. The day before Hurricane Sandy. Hey, we all prepare in different ways...

*receive a piggy back ride where the “piggy” can not only support my weight, but take at least one full step forward with ease,

*at least PRETEND like its difficult for me to give one grown man or 2-3 women and children a piggy back ride (2-3 women and children...at one time),

*be able to slip my hands out of handcuffs if I'm ever kidnapped. I watch a shit ton of Dateline.

* LIMBO.

*hop a turnstile with ease should that be the route I decide to take in life,

*go to Asia and blend in. Well, I don’t know if I will ever blend in, but I’d like to go chill in Japan without people thinking that Godzilla has returned with a vengeance. Calm down, Asia. I’m not here to stomp your cities and eat your babies.

* successfully flirt my way out of a ticket. I’m not even going to get into the time I received 5 tickets in one swoop last year.

* play more than 3 rounds of hide and seek with kids before I run out of enough suitable places to hide. I’m only semi-ashamed to say that I once put a lamp shade on my head and stood in the corner of the room. A valiant effort, I’d say.

* go on Say Yes to the Dress, not Say Yes to the Dress: Big Bliss. OH MY GOSH! THERE’S NO WAY WE CAN PUT THESE HUGE MONSTERS ON TV WITH THE “REGULAR” BRIDES! THEY MIGHT GET HUNGRY IN THE FITTING ROOM AND EAT ONE OF THEM! Get outta here, Big Bliss.

* trick or treat without getting any assholish looks. Oh, I’m 5’11? And I’m still going to be that tall after losing weight? Fuck, never mind trick or treating.

*drive with one leg up on the seat. Dangerous? Sure. Adorable? Hell yes.

*squeeze into a front-load clothes dryer and have my friends take a funny picture. Girls do that “to see if they can fit” and “for a good laugh”. Bitches, stop fucking lying. THE ONLY REASON YOU CLIMBED INTO THAT APPLIANCE IS TO SHOW EVERYONE HOW SMALL YOU ARE. You know that you can fit into that fucking dryer. It’s like a bar trick; you’ve obviously done it before and you know damn well you can fold your body into such positions. We know what you’re doing, and so do you.

 

Before my operation, I had to go visit my surgeon about 100 times. This was dreadful, mainly because of the waiting room. First, have any of you ever been to a fatty doctor’s office? There are specialty fat chairs, I fuck with you not. These were like Pawnee waiting rooms. The armrests on these bitches were about 4 feet apart. They were loveseats meant for one human. Holy shit, thats the saddest song title ever. Loveseat, Party of One. You know that picture where Michael Jordan is palming that basketball while showing off his wingspan? That was me holding onto the armrests. *Note: add “get thinner than Michael Jordan” to the list above. Second, the people in this office. Oh, the people in this office. The doctors office waiting room was the same level of freak show as the the waiting room in Beetlejuice. 

Have you ever walked into a room and just KNOWN that you were the coolest person there? Be honest. It’s fucking awesome, I’m not going to lie. Those patients were the sketchiest bunch of weirdos I’ve ever seen. And ya know what? I’m allowed to say that until I can fit into the dryer. I don’t like to judge (HA) and I like to think I’m a nice person (HA) (even though I did win the superlative for “friendliest” in high school),

*shout out to Mikey VB*

but wow. All I’m saying is hand sanitizer. I also went to a WLS (weight loss surgery) support group that was recommended by my doctor. All the people in these meetings had already had their surgeries. If you have never sat in a room and listened to 20 obese people sob because they miss hot Cheetos and Mountain Dew, you are blessed. I’m assuming you’re all thinking it must be pretty sad, but you have no idea. Multiply your thoughts times 250, or times 250 Oreos which is how many Oreos one woman said she ate while watching one showing of The House Bunny. The House Bunny? Maybe I could see 250 Oreos if you’re watching a long movie like Titanic or that Brad Pitt movie where all his brothers go to war and he gets eaten by a bear at the end, but The House Bunny is 97 minutes long. Whatevs. So as these sad creatures sat there talking about how they were weak and ate a king size Snickers in their shower (I don’t know if they were actually showering while eating the Snickers, or just hiding out. I didn’t want to ask. Some things you just can NOT un-know), or how they spent their days crying over cookies, I sat back thinking they were Amanda Bynes level nuts. NO, LINDSAY. TOO SOON FOR AMANDA BYNES JOKES. It’s just too soon.

Fast forward five months and do you know where you will find me? Lying on my side in the middle of the grocery store, whimpering in front of the Frosted Flakes and Cap’n Crunch. I don’t mean metaphorically lying on the ground, I mean my sad, not-so-little-yet body was making direct contact with the tiles in Pathmark. MELT.DOWN. Let me tell you, you can learn a LOT about yourself when you’re being asked by a grocery store manager if he can call someone for you. Do any of you know what its like to pine over a pat of butter? To dream about bread crumbs? To consider holding up a McDonalds just to steal a happy meal sized french fry? I would have gladly gone to jail for that french fry, as long as I got to eat it in the squad car. The diet for WLS patients is pretty strict until you reach your goal weight. Think Gwenyth Paltrow on a “cheat day”. Imagine going to a lovely, greasy diner, ordering chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks, and only being allowed to eat the hot, wet, wilted lettuce underneath the chicken and mozz sticks. It’s inhumane. It’s like Brokedown Palace inhumane. I pretty much eat meat and protein drinks with fruit as a “treat”. WAIT. That reminds me. WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP HYPING UP FRUIT? The nutritionist I had to see before surgery constantly jazzed up fruit, trying to trick me. “Hungry for some ice cream? Freeze some apple slices! Yummm!” NO, HEIFER. NOT YUM. 1. I’m not a teething infant. Sucking on frozen fruit is not going to appease me. 2. how is that a reasonable substitute for ice cream? They are in two totally different food groups and have completely different textures and consistencies. Is your theory that anything that you can put in your mouth can taste like ice cream if you will it so? OH, GOODY. MY BRACES TASTE LIKE A STRAWBERRY SUNDAE. WHATS THAT YUMMY TASTE? AM I DRINKING A CHOCOLATE MILKSHAKE? OH NO, ITS JUST AN ENDOSCOPY TUBE GOING DOWN MY THROAT. Fuck this shit. I might be delirious with visions of carbohydrates and saturated fats, but I’m not a fucking moron.

 Like I said before, its been 10 months and I’d like to tell you the cravings have completely stopped, but I’d also like to tell you that I didn’t walk out in public today in sweat pants, slippers, and a bathing suit because I have no clean bras, but I can’t do that, either. I’ll be sure to keep you updated, but I have to run now. There’s a single egg white and a glass of water with my name on it. Fuck.