Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Mr. Shapiro's Dating Service, Exploding Plastic Boobs & Other Stuff

Yesterday, I found out that a friend of a friend had one of her plastic boobs explode (Ok, it didn't really explode, it just deflated), and now she has to spend $5,000 on a new one. "They don't come with a guarantee," said the surgeon. Now this woman is not trying to make money off her boobs. It's not like she's in porno or she's Tara Reid or something. No she was trying to get her married lover to divorce his wife so she got the boobs. (She's married w/ two young kids and is also anorexic - and 45 years old). And this soap opera is taking place in a small city in the Midwest. not in CA. But the concept of a boob suddenly deflating is pretty bizarre/funny-unless it's happening to you, of course.

My friend Cathy and I had a conversation yesterday about our past lives as "low maintenance" women. If I dated a guy who was cute, nice & smart, and he treated me well, he didn't have to drive a Rolls Royce or take me out to a $200 a meal restaurant. I mean, I wouldn't balk at the notion, but if I liked a guy, a cheeseburger and fries were fine for the first date.
Ya know, when I first moved to New York I signed up with this dating service advertised in the Voice. They set up girls with rich geezers. You know, even if I got inflatable/deflatable boobs, I don't think I'd be a very good bimbette. I dated a few of these guys and they were BORING as hell and self-absorbed. One of the guys was cross-eyed and had greasy, slicked back hair like the Jerry Lewis of old. He took me to a fancy restaurant, some performance art nonsense at The Kitchen, and finally to the Limelight. He danced like Steve Martin doing his old Happy Feet routine and lived in a swanky doorman building on the Upper West side. He spent most of the date talking about how much he missed his old girlfriend, the rich bitch who masqueraded as an artist and liked to throw things at him when she was mad. Now this guy bored me to tears, and I didn't wanna have sex with him, but it was obvious he'd take me out to nice places as long as I pretended I liked him. I guess a lot of girls would cling to a rich guy for dear life even if they despised him just for the dosh. I couldn't do it. I have to be attracted to the actual person in some way minus the money. Gawd, I'm too real for L.A. Why am I here? The Happy Feet guy and I dated twice, then called it off after a second night at the Limelight. I saw some rocker guy I wanted and he fell for some - you guessed it- anorexic model with silicone boobs.