Before she was a poor, sexually harassed victim of the frat boy culture at Citibank, Debrahlee Lorenzana was just a 26 year-old shrinking violet who decided that her first boob job wasn't porny enough, so she decided that she needed to go up to Playboy proportions. Or, as she so demurely put it in the 2003 Discovery Health Channel series, Plastic Surgery New York Style, "That's what I want to be: tits on a stick." Her ultimate goal, you see, was not to be a high ranking bank executive but a "cross between Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra." This particular surgery was on top of her liposuction and tummy tuck.
Oh, did I mention that Debrahlee is a single mom with a son who will probably be slamming heroin by the time he's 15 because his mom is a shallow, self-obsessed, club-crawling gold digger? My favorite part from the series is where Debrahlee is dancing in da' club with her jouncing jugs about to fly out of her tube top. And this was before the double-D upgrade. My second is when she is with her friend in the market and she holds two melons up to her chest and giggles like a simpleton.
The video is here. Listen as Debrahlee (in that godawful nasally, New York Puerto Rican Minnie Mouse voice) explains how she figures bigger tits will help her "determined manhunt" to find "Mr. Right". Someone with the looks of George Clooney or Ben Affleck and of course, "educated and successful". (Kind of like when the whores on Craigslist mention that they prefer "generous" men.) What Debrahlee brings to the table is the promise of happiness "because I'll be looking like a little Playboy Playmate."
Just your typical struggling working mom.
Now I wasn't there in the Citibank office during Debrahlee's employ, but that's surely not going to stop me from speculating.
Let's picture Debrahlee. It's seven years after her nattering, bubble-brained appearance as a young bimbo on the make who's looking to purchase bigger torpedoes to add to her man snaring arsenal. As far as we know she still hasn't found Mr. Right. Although I would bet you a dollar to a donut that she's probably fucked a whole bunch of Mr. Hornys during the search. Debrahlee is probably just figuring out that just as a woman can smell a sex-starved desperate schlemiel from a mile away, a savvy New York yuppie can similarly sniff out a determined single mom looking for a wallet to marry. The perfect scenario for the male hit-it n' quit-it maneuver. (Plus that voice...Oh, my god, how many guys have sat through dinner listening to Debrahlee prattling on while thinking..."How much more of this crap do I have to listen to before we can head to my place for some serious fuck time?")
We're now in Citibank 2010. Debrahlee is thirty-three and the vision of a closing window is starting to get a little more vivid. In addition to the sexy outfits and the fuck me shoes, Debrahlee starts putting on the vamp just a little too much and the suits are starting to get uncomfortable. The Citibank execs are perhaps seeing a little too much sexual tension in the workplace. It's probably not too much of a stretch to imagine that Debrahlee's mind is more on the successful mens then it is on productive work. So out she goes. Debrahlee takes her shot at a possible settlement and some surefire publicity. As I said in my previous post I could be totally off base on this one, but we'll see.
Debrahlee's attorneys are starting to spin once again that Debrahlee can't be faulted for being a volcanic bobble-titted sex bomb. They compare her enhancements to a woman who gets her hair done or has a nose job. Nice try, but when a jury sees that video they may have a different take.