I really don’t think there’s anywhere better on earth to take my horribly disfigured face right now than Palm Springs.

If anyone, anywhere can understand the madness that is splashing acid on your face and turning it to well-worn leather in the hopes that beneath you’ll find smooth, baby’s butt quality skin, it’ll be gals like this, my fellow “fuck with your face” fanatics.

Iconic Palm Springs resident, Barbara Sinatra.

Anyway, Palm Springs is lousy with blue hairs clinging to youth so I’ll fit right in.  Except without the blue hair.  I’ll never go blue hair.  In fact, let’s make a list of things I won’t do … it won’t be long, I promise.

1. Anything that changes the size or shape of my lips.  Down that path lies madness.
2. Anything that pulls my eyes up at the outside, Angelina Jolie style.  My chance to look like I Dream of Jeannie has long since passed.
3. Blonde hair.
4. Short hair.
5. Grey hair. (I’ve got a hair theme going here so why not just state the obvious…)
6. Wigs.
7. Implants anywhere except “the girls.”
8. Enough face work to make me look like I have a zipper in the back of my head holding it all together.
9. Uhhh ….

Pretty short list.  Guess I better warn my son that he’s on his own for college expenses.  I have some “work” to do… Bwah-haha!