I’ve got to hand it to my Mom: when it comes to meddling in my personal life, nobody does it better. For example, this weekend we’re all going to Las Vegas so Sabrina and her husband Curtis can renew their wedding vows. Of course, Mom’s real purpose for this trip is to surround me with hot guys and ply me with liquor in a town where there’s a quickie wedding chapel every three blocks and just, you know, see what happens. Every celebrity has a cause, and apparently my Mom’s cause is getting me back in a relationship by next week and married off by this summer. Meanwhile, back here in Reality Land, I’m not even ready to start dating again, let alone settle down with anybody. But in my Mom’s English-to-Mom Dictionary “I’m not ready yet,” translates into, “I’m totally ready!” Truth is, Mom wants me to get married again is so I can have another baby. But I’m lucky enough to live in an age where a woman can make that decision for herself whether she’s married or not. Now if I can just get my Mom to understand that.
A wise person once said that Joan Rivers acts inappropriately for a living. OK, so it was me who said that. But I don’t think even Joan Rivers would deny that being brutally honest about sexuality, sometimes to the point of being outrageous, has played a major role in her incredibly successful career. The problem is, not everybody gets the joke. Which is why one of my Mom’s employees is suing her for—are you sitting down?—sexual harassment. At first Mom thought the whole thing was just a big joke. Then she found out that when it comes to sexual harassment she’s legally liable not only for her own behavior, but for the behavior of all of her employees. That wiped the smile off Mom’s face faster than a truckload of Botox. Now, my Mom doesn’t have to talk about sex to be funny, but I’m not so sure that’s also the case with Tony. And when Tony opens for my Mom next week he’d better be squeaky clean on stage or else there’s going to be hell to pay– and my Mom’s going to be the one writing those big checks.
It’s time I faced a difficult truth: my Mom, Joan Rivers, has a plastic surgery problem. Thing is, people who have this problem never seem to hit bottom…and if they did they’d just ask for a butt lift. What my Mom needs is a plastic surgery intervention. I thought the distraction of coaching Cooper’s little friend Russell in the art of stand-up comedy would get Mom’s mind off this stupid idea-but no such luck. Doesn’t she know that I’m genuinely concerned for her health and safety? People have actually died during plastic surgeries…although I have to admit most of them looked pretty amazing in their coffins. Oh, dear God, what did I just say? Now Mom’s got me on the road to Crazytown…which, in this case, is right at the corner of Nip and Tuck.
It’s winter in Los Angeles, a time when every woman-of-a-certain-age’s fancy turns to…cosmetic surgery. Why not? Living here in Plastic Surgery Mecca and not having work done is like living in the Florida Panhandle and not developing a taste for gator. Besides, when they punch my card this time it’ll be face lift number ten, and you know what that means? The next one’s free! However, I have a feeling Melissa is going to try and talk me out of it. She doesn’t understand that in my business you’ve got to maintain your looks because there’s always somebody younger and hotter sneaking up on you.
Like Cooper’s ten-year-old friend Russell, who’s decided to become a stand-up comic. I told Russell I’d be happy to help him get his act together. That is until he gets good enough to steal work from me like that tramp Betty White, in which case I’ll cut his legs out from under him and leave him by the side of the road for dead. OK, I didn’t tell him that second part, but I imagine he’ll find out on his own soon enough.