SpaghettiBurrito.com big ideas for small times: So I spent my life savings on plastic surgery. Now what?

So I spent my life savings on plastic surgery. Now what?

A couple years back I had a tragic camping accident that resulted in a broken nose. Now I'll be the first to admit that as a result a bunch of cousins marrying each other, er I mean my awesome French and English pedigree, my nose did not totally rock to begin with. Mix that with a night filled with vodka, rednecks and road races in the dark and suddenly cosmetic surgery got moved way high up on the list of household necessities. The morning after when I looked in the mirror the first thing I said to myself was 'This is one shit storm of a rainy day. Time to raid the nest egg.'

So I made an appointment with the alleged best nose guy on the East Coast and promptly fell down the rabbit hole. Now if you have never consulted with the plastic surgery industry, you would probably pee yourself laughing at how cloak and dagger the process to fix your effing effed up nose or whatever is right from the outset. You practically have to sign a non-disclosure agreement to get a seat in the waiting room. Which you wouldn't think given the way boob job recipients like to scream from the rafters or poles or wherever about their particular upgrade. Apparently any modifications from the neck up are shared on a need-to-know only basis. I put on my best stealth ninja face when the nurse poked her head in and called my name.

Doctor X: So what can I do for you?

Me: Can't you tell by looking?

Doctor X: I would just like to hear it from you what your expectations are.

Me: I want an awesome looking nose and I do not want to look like Michael Jackson. That is it.

Doctor X: If you wouldn't mind signing these sixteen thousand papers in triplicate, I can get started by getting some pictures up on the screen.

And so I signed and signed and then signed some more and when I was done signing Doctor X had brought up the world's most high definition image of every inch of my face.

Me: Good god my nose looks awful. I hope I signed something saying you can give me a roofie and wheel me into surgery today.

Doctor X: Oh, it's no so bad. You just have a few angles that are off.

Now I've heard it said a lot of ways from a lot of people (my personal favorite is the chick at Mom 2.0 who was told she had a 'far away face'), but that didn't actually sound that bad. Kind of like a house that is tilting a little and needs a couple of reinforcement beams jacked up in the basement. My face was a fixer upper is all.

So long story even longer, I got it done. And paid more than I did for my first new car to get my nose and chin (which wasn't even on my radar. Thank god for AutoCAD for faces) up to angular code. I'm just waiting for the day when facial recognition software rules the world, or at least the airports and all of the security monitor watchers will say to each other 'holy crap-is that a female Borg that just walked by? She can't be human because her angles are just too effing perfect. Pull her in for questioning STAT before she boards that MF plane.

The Doc told me that post-surgery people who knew me probably wouldn't be able to put their finger on it. That they would know that something was different in a good way. But that they would probably guess it involved weight loss or hairdos. Yeah, right. That's the tweaker talking, doc I silently said to myself. But he he was right. I was more than a little disappointed after the 6th person who saw me every effing day complimented me on my new haircut. I finally started saying 'Thanks but no thanks. Dude, I got a NOSE cut. I spent like a zillion dollars and you can't even tell. One of is is an effing idiot' I even considered going to CafePress and making a tee shirt that said 'Look at my nose job isn't it awesome?' But I ran out of motivation before that idea went anywhere. Now I just announce anytime a camera is produced that I am only willing to be photographed sideways because I paid a zillion dollars for my nose and want get return on that bad boy any chance I can get. Which makes me feel good when people look at me like she just said something kind of retarded. Doesn't she know that nose jobs are supposed to be secret? Duh!

Ultimately I'm glad I got it fixed and then some, but it didn't really change anything about my life other than I don't feel that funky bump when I run my fingers up and down the sides of my nose (and that now a forest of hair grows inside of my nostrils as a result of whatever pre-surgery shaving procedure was performed on me after that tweaker put me under). At the risk of sounding ridiculously cliché it's what's on the inside that counts. Which is why I'm glad that no one has invented a computer aided design program to see whose angles are on and whose are off in one's mind, heart spirit, etc. I know, I know. I'm a idea machine and the very foundation of my manifesto is for the effing scientific community to pick up the ball and bounce it down the court where no man has gone before, but I'm going to say let's leave this one alone. Because I just know if they put that thing that makes me me and only me and no one but me up on the high def monitor, they'd need more than the standard protractor to measure those bad boys.