The result was an ooey, gooey, bloody, crusty mess that I paid a small fortune to have done and thanked him profusely for. It was itchy and scabby and scary and it drove me nutzoid. Absolutely nutzoid. So much so, that I apparently picked off the scab in my sleep, leaving bigger scars than what I went in for! Oh my. Such a terrible accident. Yes, yes. Such a senseless tragedy.
OK. Full disclosure.
It wasn’t an accident. It didn’t happen in my sleep. I lied.
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED WAS: I couldn’t leave the house for 10 days, because, well, my GOD! I couldn’t! I looked like Zelda Fitzgerald, after the fire. So I had a 10-day coke party in my apartment, OF COURSE. Because that’s what you do when you’re recuperating from surgery: cocaine!
And so there I was, on the third day, when emotions were running high and coordination was running low, and I was gesticulating wildly to make a point about, oh, the Spice Girls or something, and I was pointing with my 14-carat-gold drug straw, and I FLICKED THE SCAB OFF MY FACE AND INTO THE PILE OF COCAINE – thereby negating the entire operation, permanently disfiguring myself, and setting into motion the whole cycle of self-loathing and denial that makes this column so delightful. (On the up side, though, I got the entire pile of coke to myself.)
MORAL OF THE STORY: Kids, don’t do drugs! Especially when healing from plastic surgery! Oh, and stay in school!
So, tonight I go in for my first IPL (Intense Pulsed Light) Photofacial Rejuvination at the Laser Solutions Skincare clinic in Beverly Hills. Very exciting. I’ll keep you posted with before and after pictures.
– James St. James
(Video: Tharirin Smothers)