There were a couple things that went terribly wrong last night. Perhaps not wrong in terms of “right” and “wrong,” and Jilly Beans is trying to help me view the world in different terms, saying right and wrong allows for nothing in between, such as the beautiful shades of gray illuminating all our lives, but more like wrong in the sense that I was not myself, out of place, and off balance. I can only attribute this to a couple variants, a few minor differences between last night’s stage appearance, and all my others.
First, and obviously, I wasn’t drunk. Every other time I’ve been on stage, a little man named Jack Daniels has helped me to be the toughest, baddest, and least scared bitch in the whole joint. Shit, with him behind me, I could walk out naked, dance like a wild monkey, and suck someones dick without even blinking, in front of the entire Mandalay Bay Even center arena. Without him, the lights are incredibly bright, the sounds of silence deafening, and my heartbeat booming. Without booze, liquid courage, I found myself a mere mortal trying to make other mere mortals laugh. Which is no easy task at the 8 o’clock show. People have just finished dinner, barely even have one drink in them, let alone enough to be ready to laugh at dirty filthy jokes, and once again, those bright lights match the sun outside. Not one person was ready to laugh in that room. They were by the end of the night, thanks to the two drink minimum, but not at 8pm, when I went on. When Sam and Jennie hit the stage. Which brings me to my next problem.
I’m having a hard enough time when one person calls me Jennie. It’s so uncomfortable. So raw. I’ve never felt so naked as when my real name was used on the show, and still, here, 46 days later, I’m not used to it. In fact, when we started filming, it took me a solid three days to figure out who people were talking to when they’d say Jennie. The mic guy would whisper Jennie so that he could mic me up, and I’d walk right past. I’ve trained myself not to answer to that name, because in a crowd, you never know who will recognize you as your alter ego, and god forbid I answer to Jennie to the guy in front of me at coffee when the guy behind me in line knows I’m Penny. Then the jig is up. My cover is blown. Well, my cover was blown last night. Entirely. In fact, my cover was blown to smithereens. Fucking decimated. And it set me off balance entirely. I didn’t know how to act. Didn’t know what part to play. I sat dumbfounded that the crowd now knew my name. The official one. The crowd has now been introduced to Jennie. And if fucking freaked me out.
To make matter’s worse, I had asked Sam to introduce me as Jennie Flame, I’m obviously still holding onto that little shred of protection, like the last name Flame will save me from the wolves. In retrospect, this probably fucked me up way more than being called Jennie. If it were Jennie Ketcham, I would be fine. I’m starting to figure out who I am, and could play on that. If I had gone with Penny Flame, that would be fine too. However, I chose some sick rendition of both, like my real me and the character me made sweet sweet love and had a sweet sweet love child that was only quasi-real, and her name was Jennie Flame. Semi-actual. Half fake, and half not fake, which to me spells ALL FAKE. And of course, once the wheels were in motion, it was all I could think about. It threw me off and made me act retarded. So much so that after our first little go, Sam told me to relax, and smile.
I didn’t even have the courage to tell him what was up, that being called both was fucking with my head. What’s more is that there was an additional situation, a situation that hadn’t even materialized into a situation, but merely the prospect of a situation, and that made me uncomfortable. As much as I’d like to discuss that here, I don’t think it’s appropriate, because I don’t feel it is safe territory to get into. Which says buttloads considering my intent within this blog is to be entirely forthcoming, and scrupulously honest. Some things are better left unaddressed. And this may be one.
So, I realized I am having a pretty serious identity crisis. I must let go entirely of Penny Flame, as a whole, and only put on the character mask when I put on the pants, shirt and tie. Oh and the Penny hat. I can’t just wear the mask. Or the pants. Or the hat. I have to put on the whole fucking outfit, or I will end up walking around quasi dressed, a half person, and unsure of which half I’d like to be. So for now, until I figure out what fucking pants I’m wearing, and which shirt I need to change out of, I think it is best to put the comedy thing aside, and just work on being me. No Jennie Flame. That just confuses things even more. There is far too much to figure out, I’ve become so entangled with this persona, I’m not sure where I begin and where she ends. So for now, back to your cage little Fuego, back to those steel bars and water bowl, I’ll let you out to play one day, but just not today.
That being said, I did have a good day today. I saw my dear man Brando, who has been working his ass off for Brazzers. He is one of my oldest and dearest friends in the adult business, and everyday that we are still friends I am thankful. I love him very deeply, and he may be one of the only men I have a sincerely intimate relationship with, and that’s because we don’t have sex. Yup. I mailed off a little memory card that I had forgotten about, mailed it back to Metro, and now hopefully I can get paid. I quit a month ago exactly, and if I am not paid my final paycheck within the next week, I will be going to the labor board. A month for your last check is far too long, and I’m fairly positive, in California, your employer has 72hrs to get you your money or he is in biiiiiiiiiiiiiig trouble. Well, sirs, it has been far over 72hrs, and I’d like my money please. Mama’s gotta pay rent.
I cleaned house, left a message for my sponsor, hit a meeting, and shared about last nights awkward experience. I haven’t told anybody in any of the meetings about my life, just about my addictions, and am starting to feel guilty for not telling the guys in SAA. Jill says to pray to gravity for clarity, and that I don’t have to say anything that makes me uncomfortable. But I should say the things that make me uncomfortable in my head, the things that make me feel like I’m keeping secrets. Which is precisely what is happening. I’ll pray tonight. I don’t like kneeling, because it makes me feel like I’m at work. I like to pray while laying flat on my back, like I’m in a coffin, on my way to the cemetery. A little morbid perhaps, but if I practice praying in my death maybe I can learn to do it in my life.
Anyway, weird night, productive day, sleepy Jennie bear. Sorry if this post had no real insight, I’m still not in my right mind, and apologize if I seem off. I am.