April Winchell

Alterations

As most of you probably know by now, I've lost a lot of weight over the last few years. I don't mean a few pounds, I mean a lot. 120 pounds. That's practically Renee Zellwegger, for Christ's sake.

There's a good and a bad here. The good, of course, is being able to wear nice clothes, and to feel good in your own skin. The bad part is the skin itself, and there's a lot of it.

The human body is a wonderful thing, but it can only take so much before it says "Uncle". Basically, I stretched my suit out, and it doesn't fit anymore.

So I went to the plastic surgeon the other day, and asked him to take a look at me.

I did this because I felt I'd earned the right to. I've altered my body dramatically, without surgery or pills, but by changing my life completely. I had come as far as I could on my own.

As a former fat ass, I have endured more than my fair share of humiliation. But nothing beats having someone take photos of your nearly naked body in a doctor's office. I was sweating somuch by the time he got the camera out, the gown practically dissolved like a Listerine strip.

But the worst was yet to come.

I have always secretly believed that, given enough cash, a plastic surgeon could make your body look however you wanted to. Somewhere I got the idea that it's like a Mattel plant, and they can just switch out your head or aything else that annoys you. So imagine my horror when he said they can't do a damn thing about cellulite, and my legs were never going to get any longer.

That really made me think. Yes, they can do a few things to improve my appearance, like getting rid of the extra skin that used to house my gut, and sucking the fat out of my knees. But is that enough? Is it really worth it?

What are you fucking kidding? Of course it's worth it. What's wrong with you?

So, I'm doing it. On March 24th, I'll be laying on a table somewhere, trussed up like a Thankgiving turkey minus the stuffing.

Don't bother writing me some blistering, hyper-critical email. I beat you to it. I wrote it myself and I'm posting it here, so you can just skip sending it.

To: April
From: Some fat, bitter broad

I just want you to know how disappointed I am that you've chosen to alter your body in this barbaric fashion. God made all of us perfect, just the way we are (unless of course, we're gay or Jewish). Jesus loves your hanging skin and fat knees. In fact, the bible clearly states that him soever who chooseth the lipo shall not enter the realm of the father (Elastcles 13:12).

I also look like a Shar-Pei when I'm naked. But I prayed really hard about it, and God told me not to get a tummy tuck, because sex is dirty, and I shouldn't be naked anyway.

By the way, do you know how many women die every year undergoing cosmetic procedures? I don't either, but I bet it's a lot.

Ok, so we've gotten that out of the way. Anyone so inclined to give me shit about it can have another stack of pancakes and shut the hell up.

The point is, there are only two types of people who don't believe in plastic surgery. People who don't need it, and people who can't afford it.

I read an interview with Julianne Moore the other day, and she said that she and her super bestest pal Tea Leoni made a pact that they would never have plastic surgery. Isn't that super cute?

Boy I bet that was a tough choice, huh? Julianne Moore, with the luminous, perfect skin and gorgeous bone structure, and Tea Leoni, who bangs David Duchovny every night. Wow. What courage.

I only hope when I'm a millionaire and have my own stylists and make up artists and am one of the most beatiful women on earth, I too will have the strength to pretend not to care about getting older.

Yes, on that great day next month, when they raise the golden cannula over my gelatinous flesh, I'll be a slave to my vanity. I'll be pitifully waging a losing war against decay and antiquity. I'll be trying to solve my inner turmoil with shallow, meaningless alterations to the exterior. But I'll have something else going for me. Something powerful and freeing. Something any one of you would kill to have.

I'll have Demerol.

Before and After

I don't have too many photos uploaded from when I was really huge, because they just depress me. But it's good to look back every once in a while, to see how far you've come.

Here's a photo of me at my biggest. I'm talking with the funny and wonderful Taylor Negron at the KFI rally in April of 2002. Not a full body shot, but Holy Jesus, look at those arms. If I could have run more than a few feet, I could have played for the Packers.

Here's another lovely photo, taken at the same rally. This one almost knocked the breath out of me when I saw it the first time. This could be the worst I ever looked and felt, but on the plus side, it really shows off my chins.

This shot from July of 2003. That jacket was the first piece of clothing I was able to buy in a normal department store for many years. It was a size 12. I'm a size 8 now.

In Other News

I saw Kerri Russel at Gelson's this afternoon. This is the same Gelson's where I see Scott Speedman all the time, so apparently this is the official supermarket of the cast of Felicity.