The truth about everything...

Stitch n’ Bitch last night was quite the interesting mix of conversations. I wish I had written them all down!

There was a motorcycle outside for an extended amount of time revving his engine so we got onto the topic of motorcycles, which I love. We talked about Harley-Davidsons versus other motorcycles. I recently bought Michael a book called She’s a Bad Motorcycle, in which Sonny Barger, founder of the Hell’s Angels, sings the praises of Japanese made cruisers which don’t leak or break down constantly. In fact in one interview when asked what her would ride if not a Harley, he replied,

"I would probably ride a BMW or a Honda ST 1100. The Harleys are getting better every year, but they're still junk. I mean I bought my wife a brand new 2000 Dyna Glide Sport and it goes into a speed wobble at 85 and I've done everything that I can do to get it out. I'm a good mechanic, I've followed their directions, we took it their shop, they've done work and it still wobbles on her. The factory tells us to change the shocks. Now why should we buy a brand new motorcycle?"

We also talked about underwear choices. Apparently Angela and I are the only two people not wearing Victoria’s Secret in the whole wide world.

The question also came up as to why people wear underwear in their doctor’s office when the nurse has specifically told them to take EVERYTHING off and wear a gown.

Then we started into the most interesting discussion regarding our body consciousness. One of our members is an MD who said that she is constantly asked if things are too big, too small, too loose, too tight, too red, too white, too brown, or otherwise abnormal.

I imagine that I would have a better perspective on my own body if I was seeing all shapes and sizes every day.

Here in L.A., the first 25 pages of virtually every free rag are all about being pulled up, enhanced, decreased, puffed up, smoothed out, whitened, straightened, tightened and plucked. We are a city obsessed.

When I was in Europe and the Middle East, people looked their age. Women of 35 went out onto the beach in a bikini with cellulite and leathered skin. Men with gray hair and sagging breasts wore nothing at all. Not to say that there weren’t hot, fit men and women, but usually they were 20-something. Even the fit older folks had saggy skin on top of their musculature.

In Los Angeles, there is such an incredible amount of pressure to be beautiful and to defy age. There is makeup that touts its age defying qualities. How are we ever supposed to get comfortable with who we actually are if we are constantly being bombarded with messages that tell us that we can be someone better. If you had the power to make yourself a better person, wouldn’t you be just a little bit angry or disappointed in yourself if you chose to keep yourself the way you are?

That message, that you’re fine the way you are, but with some money and time you could be so much better, is killing people in this city every day whether its in the form of a botched surgery, a suicide, steroids, an overdose or an eating disorder. Yet I still look at the photos in Vogue, I still beat myself up over my size, I still sometimes think that if I had a million dollars I would call all of those whiteners, straighteners, plumpers and sculptors and shell out everything I have for the "perfect" body.