It’s late on a Tuesday night and I’m in my apartment surfing for porn: more specifically – breasts. At first I Googled “pretty breasts,” and mostly got pictures of Scarlett Johanson, girls in tank tops, and many many websites of Sarah Palin photoshopped topless.

I’m researching – because I’m getting an involuntary boob job – the big “C.” I had a mastectomy because lefty was trying to kill me.

I’ll be fine.

My Doctor, who I love – her name is “Tiffany” – which I really feel is unfortunate name for a world class plastic surgeon. Tiffany is a cheerleader/waitress/stripper name. She is pretty, academic pretty – 40’s, no make up with, cornflower blue eyes, wire rimmed glasses and always always a great dress with heels and a stylishly tailored doctor’s coat.

So Tiff is reconstructing me. It’s a bizarre process that involves tissue and muscle expanders that I am learning about as we go.

Here’s something I didn’t really digest from all the literature I didn’t read – part of the process of making a boob from no boob would involve getting my breast inflated (which isn’t nearly as much fun as it sounds), on a weekly basis. What happens is Tiffany taps into my temporary expanda-breast with a pile driver sized needle – and then squeezes in a hundred cc’s or so of blue solution with this thing that is like a cross between a syringe and a super soaker squirt gun – and my boob gets bigger – like filling a water balloon. (Trippy – right? And kind of cool – if it weren’t a body part.)

She can find the needleport because of a magnet in my breast – I found this out when Tiffany pulled out a little device which I totally recognized, “is that a studfinder?” She said, “yup,” and turned around and ran the device along the wall until we found the best spot to hang a picture frame.

And here’s another thing I didn’t really get about my build a boob project; that in order to stretch everything out to accommodate a perfectly reasonable C sized implant, appliance boob would have to be inflated to an inconceivable 600cc’s – the size of a baby’s head, and I would have to sport this massive lone hooter, riding high and wide – complete with pokey edges and seams – like a football in a skin bra, – for 2 ½ months before she could cut out the Tupperware torture device and replace it with a regular, soft, squishy, implant.

Now, my breasts have always been unenthusiastic B’s – which is fine – that’s why God invented Victoria’s Secret push up bras – but now in the presence of her unnaturally high and incredibly round sister – righty – looked sort of dejected, pendulous – Porn Boob and Sad Banana.

So – if I ever wanted to have prayer of them looking like they could live in the same bra – implant in righty.

This is when she suggested I might pick out a pair. “I just want them to look alike,” I said. Apparently boobs are like snowflakes, all unique and special in their very own way. Tiffany had a binder in the office I could look through, but suggested I might want to do a little researching on my own, bring her my preferences. She says she puts them up on the OR wall and it makes her quite popular.

Okay, – I had promised my friend Sarah Zankou chicken lunch for driving me to my appointment that day. Now we had a project – porn! So we strategically triangulated our position – the Doctor’s office – newsstands likely to have porn, and chicken. Figuring two breasts in hand were worth a stack in a stand we hit the Zankou on Sepulveda Blvd and headed over to Centerfold International Newstand on Fairfax. I got a Hustler, 2 Playboy’s, and a Busty Beauties and Jugs because it came as a Big Boobs 3 pack for $8.99. The bonus magazine sandwiched in the middle? Over 40. From December 2010.

The $42 magazines were a bust – no good just plain frontal nudity – the women were bent into all sorts of weird shapes with hot pink dildos or penises or other women’s faces in the shot.

So I, of course, had to resort to the net – and was frustrated in finding only the lame selection of Scarlett Johansons, girls in tank tops, and fake Sarah Palins. Until I figured out – there is something called “Google Safe Search” – and you can take it off – then let me tell you – it’s a whole new world out there. Now when I Google “pretty breasts” I get thousands of sites and blogs with options to view “big tits, firm tits, perky tits, smaller tits, teen tits, outdoor tits, secretary tits, pierced nipples, larger nipples, pointy nipples, puffy nipples, big light colored areolas; with dildos and paint guns, appliances, fruits, gourds, pasta, sports gear, automotive tools, and farm equipment.

Women, – naked in bedrooms, in dorm rooms, basements and attics, in houses, on rooftops, in foreign countries, – at the beach, on haystacks, by koi ponds, perched on rocks, in poppyfields, and wooded glens, and my favorite: in a clock shop; mostly looking angry, surprised, or Russian.

There is an entire website of just “bent over schoolgirl uniforms”! And lot’s of guys leave reviews and critiques – like one by fantassdick182 who said quote “of Kaylee’s ‘undercarriage,’ I mean the pussy and anus area, I haven’t seen anything that flawless since a butterball turkey, too cute to put into words.” But at least you tried fantasdick182, at least you tried.

It’s “a whole new world” of tits that’s bizarre, gross, hilarious, disgusting and sometimes pretty hot.

I have this great new drinking buddy. She’s a pretty blonde, black nerd glasses type chick who is completely coincidentally a surgical oncologist. She friggin’ loves her job. She prefers working on Gastroenterologic cancers – gut cancers – the more complicated, undefinable, and incurable, the better. We were sitting at the bar at Delanceys eating fancy pizza and working our way through all the beers on tap, there are 23, when she tells me that before she was wrist deep in a spaghetti of small intestine she did a plastic surgery rotation and never wanted to do it again – it freaked her out that they would sometimes do 5-6 elective cosmetic boob jobs in a day, strapping woman after woman – their arms straight out in a tee shape, inserting implants then raising them upright – a crucifix in the OR and everyone would step back and cock their heads – then look from the breasts – to the pictures, to the breasts, then they would lay the woman back down and repeat the process until they felt they had achieved the desired results – great tits – these great porn quality tits – that I will soon have, even if I did have to get cancer to get them.

Cancer – fucking worst word in the English language. It’s always unhinged me – even before my diagnosis, and made me do stupid OCD things, like: I never drive on Santa Monica Blvd between 14th and 20th so I don’t have to pass the John Wayne Cancer Center. I don’t eat any yogurt if it has that stupid pink ribbon on the lid. It makes me think of how I absolutely won’t watch Beaches or the ending of Fried Green Tomatoes – Mary Louise Parker wasting away in that bed leaving Mary Stuart Masterson to raise her one armed kid.

I think of being 15 up in my best friend’s pink bedroom late at night, her desk lamp on, her little radio playing “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay” while we are both pretending to sleep the night they carried her mother out, dead, bundled up like a baby in a black and rainbow afghan. After years of breast cancer and months in a hospital bed in what used to be their dining room – I hadn’t even recognized her that afternoon. Her mouth gaping open, her eyes vacant.

Suzy’s bedroom, her Chessie Railroad System kitten poster thumb tacked on her pink wall and “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.

So – after a few cocktails and several dedicated hours of searching, by the wee hours of Wednesday morning – I had found and printed out pictures of 12 pairs of really “pretty breasts.” My ideal pair are rounded up from the bottom – but not porn globey on top, well, maybe a little porny.

I trust Tiffany will be able to build them. If you want to weigh in on my new sweater puppies I put the pictures up on my blog – CancerCation. I’m also taking suggestions – so let me know if you need some help undoing that Safesearch.