This I Believe

Allison - beverly hills, California
Entered on June 4, 2007

What you know vs. Who you know

…what is more important?

I suppose it depends on which coast you are located. In DC I would have been confident on the latter. Now, after waiting in line for an hour to get into some club on Hollywood Blvd as others streamed past, I believe the who instead. In Los Angeles it screams obvious. It screams shallow. Superficial.

But here’s what’s funny. In DC I never felt smart enough. Surrounded by political and government are’s and want-to-be’s I struggled to project the intellect. Smart, yes indeed, something I never doubt. Enough is the key word.

Here I feel too smart, too intellectual, hungry for stimulating conversation in any form. I don’t doubt the intelligence of those around me, but rather its importance to them.

Here I know I am not hot enough. Cool enough. Surrounded by aspiring whatever’s and those totting around their yoga mat like a purse, I struggle to maintain my ideas of what beauty and aspiration ought to be. Hot, yes indeed, something I never doubt. Again, key word here is enough. Popular enough. On the guest list enough.

Sitting here writing I know I don’t give a you-know-what about those things, not here, not ever. But I have to say after standing in line for a hour and freezing to death I may have traded 10 points of my IQ score to be on that damn list. I missed DC horribly at that moment.

A few days ago I had the gall to walk into a Beverly Hills plastic surgery office for a consultation. Consultation was the wrong part. I needn’t anything fixed, but rather just to get some minor liposuction on my mid section that I know will always sit there, less I starve myself to death or workout 3 hours a day. Or both. Anyway, I walk in, strip down and stand in front of this man who proceeds to point out every place on my body where I ought to suck out the fat. $16,000 worth of sucking.

I am not looking to be perfect, I say, just to make my stomach proportionate to the rest of my more toned physique.

He blinked at me.

Why in the hell did I not want to be perfect?

After he left the room and before I put my clothes back on I stood in front of the mirror in my bra and some paper/elastic panty thing, picking at the places of slight body fat. And I laughed. I was thinking, what if I had come in 5 years ago and 30 lbs heavier looking for some lipo? He may have deemed me hopeless if he hadn’t first passed out from looking at a body so far from perfect.

I got dressed and left feeling better than when I went in. Though only slightly more disgusted by this city I now call home. I love it because I hate it. I am fascinated by this place and its power over main stream America.

No amount sun and warm will or could ever be enough to replace the things I have to believe matter; if not here, certainly elsewhere.

So what’s worse, feeling less than attention getting or less than smart enough?

Neither. They both are a little pathetic, I suppose. Why must our social surroundings undermine that who returns our gaze in the mirror every morning? At the end of the day I am determined to believe that I am smart and cool enough to reside on both coasts, and this I shall pursue.