Not Jenny 28

Jenny talks about the pageant circuit a lot. Well, mostly she talks about the dresses she wore at this-or-that pageant and I hate to admit it but it is sort of interesting. (I had no idea that pageant dresses were barely functional, cost over $5000 and often have to be glued or taped on.) Jenny says that when she finally made it to Miss America, she was wearing turquoise and that that is her pageant color -- the color you always look your best in. When you walk in a room wearing your pageant color -- and you know it -- everyone looks. (Did you know your pageant color actually enhances your talent?) Everyone has a pageant color and most people don't even realize it. I tell Jenny that I have no idea what my pageant color is and she tells me that, without a doubt, it is purple.

Not Jenny 27

"I'm off to another convention!" Jenny yells. She is talking and expertly maneuvering her wheeled shoulder bag down the crowded sidewalk. "You pack lightly, I see." I yell back at her. "Well yes," she responds, "but I also check my large, red, empty suitcase which, of course, will be full on the return flight. As usual, I plan to S-H-O-P my hot little ass off!" Later, I share this story with our colleague Amanda who then reminds me about how she once saw Jenny drop $1500 bucks on a pair of sunglasses at the mall. I look appropriately shocked. "I told you that, remember?" Amanda says, "That was the same trip when she and I stopped at the food court and Jenny told the Wendy's cashier that her tax dollars cashed her welfare check and so she better not fuck up our order."

Not Jenny 26

Even Jenny can't completely mask the fact that she is, at best, a Personal Assistant. She does, however, somehow make her job seem more glamorous than my job -- a job which, though not as glamorous, at least requires a terminal degree.
"I didn't just study acting," says Jenny, "I went to a Con-SER-va-to-ry."
"To ... study acting, right?" I reply, honestly looking for clarification.
"Well yes," she says, "but when you study acting at a Con-SER-va-to-ry, that is all you know. From graduation day on, acting it is all you can do -- It's a huge sacrifice."
"I see," I say, "So ... are you acting now?"
"Oh yes," Jenny answers, "I act all the time."

Not Jenny 25

I was Jenny once. Seriously. It all happened so fast that some of the details are a blur but I was definitely Jenny for at least a good ten minutes -- and you don't forget how something like that feels.

One way a Not Jenny like me can become a Jenny is by association with an actual Jenny. For example, last week I was briefly adopted by a bona fide Jenny while we were on our way to work. I was walking through the park with my iPod secretly blaring some completely Not Jenny music when my path intersected with the path of a total Jenny who was also walking with an iPod. (Let's not kid ourselves, they all have iPods.)

Jenny looked at me and my iPod and she smiled at us. I flashed back my best pleasedon'tnoticethatiamnotJennyjustthisonceplease counter-smile and she bought it completely. The next think I knew the earbuds were out and she was chatting me up. She was completely chatting up totally Not Jenny me. A Not Jenny who had, not five seconds earlier, been privately rocking out to music so Not Jenny that even mentioning the artist in the presence of a Jenny would make her pooh talcum powder in disgust. But my secret remained undiscovered and for that brief moment, I was Jenny too.

Everyone was jealous.

I tried to think of Jenny things to say and commented that the iPod was great because it made it socially acceptable to ignore people. "You just say you didn't hear them," I said, and laughed like a Jenny I once new. She laughed too and said, "You must be dead inside like Jenny and I!" The banter continued until a block later when our paths diverged and I was Not Jenny again. We waved goodbye, popped the earbuds back in and got back to ignoring people like me.

God, I love my iPod.

Not Jenny 24

I hear them talking about me. In the hallway, at the Union building.
I think they know. There is no way I'm Jenny. Even going under the
scalpel, breast augmentations, puffier lips, and a "tummy tuck." They
become beautiful, I become Frankenstein, right down to the nuts and
bolts. My blond locks have just as much shine and body, my eyelashes
are just as long, but it's like they know. They always know. They have
radar. And I have an Adam's Apple. I can't ever be Jenny, I'll always
just be Johnny.

Not Jenny 23

Not Jenny – Middle Age Version

I have to admit the truth, I’m getting a little old to deceive myself
any longer. I am not, nor have I ever been, a Jenny. At least not
yet…

Hope springs eternal, or so they say, so maybe there is still a chance
for me. If I can just set a goal, eat less, exercise more, and start
taking better care of myself. The kids are grown and don’t need my
attention any more, life is simpler, and I can devote 24/7 to my
self-improvement plan. I can become a middle-aged Jenny. These middle
aged Jennys must exist somewhere, Jennys have to grow up and reach
their middle age.

Watch out world, a new Jenny is about to make her debut! I can do it.
I know I can do it.

I am going to start this plan right away,but first, let me check in
with the Oprah show and see just what these middle aged, Jenny, role
models are like.

Oh gosh! There she is! The Jenny I’ve always dreamed of becoming!
That will be me in just a short time. Life will be perfect when I
become her. And, the secret to her success is …

What? I have to do all of that to become a Jenny! No way. I can
never rise that early, exercise that much, and eat that horrid food.
Forget it!

But, as they say, hope springs eternal. Maybe it won’t be quite so
much work to become a senior citizen Jenny if I just wait another 10
years.

Not Jenny #22

hippiejenny

Jenny. Pretty Jenny smoked buds. Big shimmery fatties with purple threads. Smoke encircled her head like a wreath. Hair like Rapunzel- soft with daisys and dreads. Jenny could feeeeeeeeeel the music and touch it just between the notes. She could taste it. She did. A sister of golden hair surprise. At shows, it was always Jenny touching, becoming light- Jenny got real meaning from being high as a kite. Jenny was experienced. Jenny and her lover had tantric sex. We could watch. They touched God. They were God. God. Jenny in the sky with diamonds. Beautiful butterfly. Free. Loved. Amity enveloped her like a cloak of loveliness. So true and earthy.Me. My buds were tiny and laced. Enthreaded with sadness. Always looking for the confident beauties. Kept tasting. Puffed them all. And then some. My spark never lit. My lover, how he enticed me, named me bitch and whore. No wait... what was it? Cumdumpster. But how he could touch between the vibrations! Like Jenny! He probably touched God with Jenny. Was God. Music tinkling, echoing against my yellow teeth, shaky limbs &
thin skin, me always slurring over notes out of my grasp. Tripping and falling into the back of a cruiser. No cloak for me. Coughing and spacey. Earthy and dirty. Just filthy. Still ugly.

And I'm Not Jenny

And I'm Not Jenny is a book of performance writing composed of a monologue series ("And I'm Not Jenny") and the texts for four performances ("Vice Versa," "BODY/TALK/RADIO," "In Penumbral Flats," and "BeRemainBecome"). AINJ appeared from Slope Editions.

This blog will continue the "And I'm Not Jenny" series from AINJ and is open to anyone's contributions. Please email your Not Jenny monologues to Tara Rebele: tararebele (at) tararebele (dot) com.

All Not Jenny monologues will be published anonymously, so don't worry about sharing your deepest, darkest Not Jenny moments.