One of the greatest discoveries of my young adult life was when I was exposed to the preppy retro tan-gasm that is Palm Springs. Hot dang do I love finding fabulous new places in America. I also enjoy finagling upgrades and flying to said places in first class. This process usually involves a heightened sense of entitlement fueled by the Chard.
Besides creatures like Coyotes and Prairie Dogs, Old People are the dominant life form. But it’s like Cocoon! The warm Cali sun and pure desert hot springs turns these old bats into swingin’ party animals! They run around, dance up a storm, and spit game like they’re The Situation after a trip to the bathroom stall at Kharma for some boog shoog, ready for make out seshs with randos.
Haters (Betsy and Marge) assume that because it’s such a golf mecca and there’s no beach or Jews or looming sense of disaster (DR, Italia, Europe in general), it must be bad. Wrong again, sloots! The primary activities here include:
- Perfecting your tan
- Strolling the markets, street fairs, and boutiques
- Talking Shit
- Taking in the astounding architecture and scenery
guysothers play golf from the shade of your tricked-out golf cart on the fairway (Day Drinking)
- Cougar Watching
- Dancing at Arnold Palmer’s
Don’t even get me started on the dress code.
If you’re not wearing a shift dress or mod-looking frock, they’ll chase you out the damn door with dirty martinis sloshing in all directions. Amen.