Let's talk about plastic surgery.
It wasn't until about 9th grade that I became increasingly more aware of the extra fold under my chin. Weighing in at no more than 100lbs, wet, I had a double chin. WTF?
In 12th grade, sitting among the company of my closest friends one night at our local dig...'The Village Inn', my friend Fabian, who was in a band....as every thrift store shoppin, 18 year old who listened to Pavement was...sat sipping his coffee and belting out impromptu lyrics to his new song. The song was named after me. And one of the lyrics went a little something like this:
'She always wins....with her double chins....'
And we all laughed. Funny, ha ha. By 18, it was no big secret, how I felt about my extra chin. I am the type of person who is the first to point out her insecurities. The first to point out the thing you may tell someone else in secret, because it might be insulting were you to say it out loud. I guess I have always been a bit paranoid about people talking about me behind my back, so I have always figured I'd better beat someone 'to the punch' so to speak.
Example. When I got engaged...I got a BIG OL DIAMOND. BIG. Were talkin 2 carat BLING. Whenever someone has asked to see it, I feel compelled to give them a speech about how 'yes i know its huge, and no, I'm not a spoiled bitch, and then I go on to give every last detail about how the 'ring' came to be....as if A) it's anyones business in the first place, and B) they are bound to make assumptions about me based on this big ol' rock. Yes, I care sometimes too much what other people think. And no, I am not embarrassed by my big ol rang. It's beautiful. And I am honored to wear it...as it has tremendous sentimental value to me...having come from the VERNSTER.
SOOOOOOOO. If I have a big ol double chin. I will go ahead and tell you about it, then you don't have to feel so bad for me. Orrrrrr, then you don't have to go run off and whisper in someone's ear that I have a big ol double chin. I know. Thank you very much.
I'm sure there is a name for this kind of preemptive behavior. I think it's Paranoia. Or anxiety. Or both.
Anyway. By the time I was 21, I had managed to convince the rest of my family that my obsession with my chin wasn't going away. The older I got, the more critical I became of myself, and I finally got to a point where I decided that I had to do something about it. I think the final straw was when my dear sweet grandmother shipped me a CHIN BALL my sophomore year in college. I was like, 'this is fucking bullshit'.
So the year after I graduated college, I happened to find myself in a relationship with someone who had a well known Atlanta plastic surgeon for an uncle. BRILLIANT!
I rallied money from the fam, they finally gave in...and decided to support my decision to have THE CHIN sucked out.
On September 10th, 2001 Stella's DC was removed. For good. Vacummed....O-U-T. Into a canister. I was proud. Order in the universe restored. I could go about my life with renewed confidence. While I would not personally feel comfortable with water balloons in my body, I'm all for botox and liposuction. Deal with it.
Which brings me to my latest procedure. Botox. I am totally getting botox and restylane injected into my face. Hopefully it doesn't paralyze me and I am able to say my vows on July 15th.
There is a line in between my eyebrows and other body parts are beginning to feel a gravitational pull to my face. I can't let this happen. Besides, I am not even 30 yet, and I haven't had children. If you know me, you know my face is in a constant state of furrow...the furrow accounts for so many emotions it has taken a taxing on my face that makes me look 10 years older than I am. And it's bullshit.
Now...any ideas where I can come up with $650 bucks?
