Not Jenny

Just like many others, I wanted to be Jenny too. I don't know why. Why does anyone want to be Jenny? I realized my sophomore year of college that I couldn't try anymore. I wanted my music louder, my clothes blacker, and my attitude worse. Jenny likes to be skinny but I like cheeseburgers. I tried to be skinny like Jenny and ended up stuck in group therapy with other girls who tried to be too skinny like jenny. I don't want to be skinny anymore. I realized that there is no jenny. Because even the Jenny that I wasted my time comparing myself to is comparing herself to another Jenny who is also comparing herself to another Jenny. Jenny is a social construct perpetuated by society and media to try to keep women in line. I don't buy it and I don't want it. Jenny isn't real. There is no jenny.

"Jenny doesn't accidentally look twelve..."

Jenny doesn't accidentally look twelve in every outfit. Jenny doesn't get carded anymore. Jenny never got carded in a gas station for looking to young to drive. At 19 years old. She can wear fun make-up. Bright purple eyeshadow or Blue lipstick. I look like a kid playing with face paint if I go anywhere beyond the neutrals or skin tones. If Jenny wears pigtails it's cutesy and sexy, not infantile. Jenny has the blonde hair and dark roots, I have the dark hair and blonde roots. Dark hair makes me look at least a little bit older than blonde hair. Fucking Jenny. She didn't have to abandon everything pink at 16 years old. I'll look 13 until I suddenly turn into an old lady at either 50 or 60. At least then Jenny and I will be the same.

I have no idea how to be Jenny

All work and no play makes Jenny a dull boy

I've never been Jenny. I'm not Jenny now, I won't ever be.

Jenny didn't have braces and glasses and acne and a flat chest at the same time. She didn't pee from laughing really hard. Jenny didn't sway in unrequited love for four years, she didn't ask five guys to the prom over two years and go with one who ditched her once the bus unloaded at some dumb shmancy place. Jenny didn't think the place was dumb, she thought it was great, the whole ridiculous shebang. Jenny isn't called "cute" or "intimidating". She's mysterious and sly, flirty and somehow, that little gap in her teeth are sexy while Not Jenny's braced teeth are too mainstream. Jenny's mole is unique and makes her look mature while Not Jenny's post-adolescent acne is hormone hell. Jenny doesn't suffer from depression and then have to convince her mother that yes, this is more than anxiety. Jenny wasn't a maniac before she finally got on SNRIs- she didn't even need them. She's got more serotonin and vitamin D than the sun. Jenny went to college at the same school for four years and loved it- she didn't have a psycho roommate or find NYC to be an anxious existentialist's nightmare. She didn't transfer, she didn't drop out, Jenny is linear. Jenny is smooth and clean, she walks in straight lines. Jenny wears shoes with heels without rubber soles on concrete without wincing. Jenny doesn't wince at small children with sticky hands and doesn't explain to her mother that there won't be any grandchildren out of choice and she shouldn't count on a wedding either. Jenny doesn't explain to her friends that just because she kissed someone romantically or had sex with them doesn't mean she can't find her clitoris. Jenny doesn't do a lot of things that Not Jenny and I do, and it's made me love Not Jenny every bit more. I've never been Jenny. I'm not Jenny now, I won't ever be. But sometimes, sometimes I do envy Joni. Joni is confident in her Not-Jennyness and laughs at the guacamole on her chin and lives for dirt under her nails and doesn't walk by mirrors purposely and isn't late but she also isn't early and her door is always open but somehow she hasn't been robbed and she bikes when she can but also doesn't mind a drive through Concord and Joni wears the pipecleaner bracelet made by her five year old niece proudly and doesn't give a shit that lime and plum aren't a popular color combination, she'll wear that lime shirt and plum pants and a bandana and pretend she's a pirate gardener if she wants to.

I'm thinking I'd like to be Joni.

"Not (going to be with a) Jenny"

Jenny doesn’t have coarse curly hair covering her at her head that blends into a patchy beard. Jenny doesn’t have a happy trail that starts on her chest and runs straight down to the tops of her feet. I’m clearly not Jenny, but I felt like Jenny once when I ordered a Caramel Macchiato with soymilk from Starbucks. Felt like Rob when I payed for it in change. After that I started drinking my coffee black, making it at home to save money. Started spending most of what I saved on booze, trying to get enough confidence to convince a Jenny to come home with me. Never have. Slept with a Katie once though. We took shots when we woke up, started dating ‘til I learned she was spending the money I saved on booze. And not sharing. I dumped her, started writing Robert, and drinking espresso.

"Not Jason"

I’m not Jason. I don’t really hit the gym. I’d rather have a beer and spend time on the Internet. I’m not tall, tan, or toned. Not tough, but resilient. I don’t really win competitions that often, always teetered on the edge of nerdy and five foot seven. Girls seem to think I like it when they call me cute but they’re wrong. However, I’ll take what I can get. Maybe if I traded in my road bike for a motorcycle and had some perfect wavy hair I’d almost be Jason. I’ll never be Jason, James Bond, Clint Eastwood, Brad Pitt, Kobe Bryant, or Ken. I'll be me and I’ll tell my wife that I can’t fix her car, but I can cook her a great dinner. That I’ve got a passion for music, not football (though I used to play as a linebacker before everyone else hit a growth spurt). I’ll kill the spiders but I wont like it. She’ll be OK with all of this, but she probably won’t be named Jenny.

"Jenny isn't what I see when I look in the mirror. "

Jenny isn't what I see when I look in the mirror. But she is what I see when I look anywhere else. She walks down the hall in front of me, she smiles at me from magazine covers and movie boxes, she never lets me forget that she is there. I tell myself I don't care, that I don't want to be Jenny anyway. But I do. Everyone does, and she knows it, and she's never going away. Jenny's hair is long and thick and full of life and always looks effortlessly in place, no matter what. I don't have Jenny's hair. Jenny's legs are long and thin and don't have any scars at all. I don't have Jenny's legs. Jenny's brother is protective and popular and happy and they have a great relationship. I don't have Jenny's brother. Jenny's best friend from growing up is alive. I don't have Jenny's luck like that. Jenny never makes anyone mad, and everyone likes her even though they don't like every other girl that is better than them at something. I pretend I don't want Jenny's life and looks. I say that I will make do with mine, that we take what we get and we do the best we can with it. But if I could change my hair, if I could erase the three scars on each of my legs, if I could be closer with my brother, if I could stop my friend Danny from rolling his car, I would. If I could have her luck and her magnetism, I would. And because of that, Jenny always, always wins. I don't have Jenny's success.

Too Pale To Be Jenny

I am not Jenny. I couldn't be Jenny if I tried. Too pale to be Jenny. She is tan, slim, and gorgeous. Bronze, kissed by the sun legs and skin every man lusts over. No freckles and covered in birthmarks. That is me. Jenny has never got sun poisoning, never had burnt bathing suit lines for prom. Doesn't need to lather herself with 65 SPF. She is an oiled babe on hot summer days. She doesn't need to go to a dermatologist for regular check ups. Jenny's never been scared that they lesion they biopsied might be cancer. Worry free, care free. She makes all the boys drool with that tight ass, flat abs, and killer body. I'm terrified to walk in a bathing suit, that my fat ass might jiggle too much. Repulsive. People are probably barfing in bags somewhere watching. Maybe I can get this body into shape and actually go to the gym when I say it. I think I'd rather sit back and enjoy a beer.

"He wanted me to be Jenny."

He wanted me to be Jenny. I sure as hell tried to be. Bulimic, tried it. Anorexic, tried it. Tanning, tried it. Fake nails, tried it. I was never Jenny enough. Always told me I was "too slutty" so he had the right to control my every move. Apparently dating a virgin wasn't the best idea for a non-Christian, different morals about sex, fun-loving, non-Jenny. So I just tried to forget about all of that. Even lied to his dad and said I was a Christian. Is this Jenny enough for the Jenny club?

"Can't you just try to look good for me sometimes?" Said it at the fucking peak of my Jenny-ness. But happy go lucky wanna-be-Jenny over here answered, "Oh babe, I'm sorry, yes of course!" And the Jenny-ness continued. What a stupid bitch that Jenny was. Too bad nobody else liked her. Too bad she was stuck with the one fucking Psycho in the world who actually wanted her to become Jenny. The more Jenny she was, the more she deserved to be with the fucker.

Too bad for him my long lost Friends helped me realize I could never be Jenny, and didn't want to be. Especially for his Dumb ass. Everyone missed ME. They FUCKING HATED Jenny. The dumb bitch.

The stupid piece of shit actually cried when I was getting out of the car. I just looked at him and said "You're not sad, you never even liked the real me."
When he drove away I swear I saw Jenny in the back seat banging on the window mouthing the words "Help me." Guess even Jenny wasn't Jenny enough.

Recovery Jenny

I am not jenny, but I am dying to be. You wanna know why? Jenny can actually BE a TEENAGER. Jenny can be present in her life. Jenny can eat what her body wants and be okay with that. Jenny can wear a bikini and feel confident.

I dream to be Jenny and hopefully one day... I will be. I want to be able to spontaneously go out with a friend for ice cream, or share popcorn with my boyfriend at the movies. I want to get dessert on my birthday and actually eat it!

I want to listen to what my body wants and be okay with that, instead of ignoring it. I want to become one with my body, like Jenny is with hers. I want to eat what I am in the mood for.

Jenny is always social. I want to be social. I am tired ( pun intended) of isolating and having to stay home because I don’t have enough energy to go out. I don’t want invites that involve food to be turned down anymore. I want to have the energy to do what I want, go where I want and be with who I want. I want to live. I want to get close to people. I’m sick of having to run home to sleep because I am so weak and tired. Jenny told me, she used to miss out on so much, but not anymore.

I want to be present at my graduation. I want to experience college. I don’t want to be held back anymore. I want to have children, get married, be a therapist.

I want to be able to focus. I want to be able to stay warm without wearing ten layers of clothing. I want to have long beautiful hair – like Jenny. I want nice teeth and nice nails. I want to dance and party and travel. Jenny has been all over the world … boy, am I jealous! I want to be okay with my body. No, I want to love my body – inside and out.

Enough about me. I want to be like Jenny! Jenny finally loves herself. It took a while, but she does. Jenny eats what she wants and goes where she wants. Jenny is the decision maker in her life. Jenny feels in control of her life for the right reasons. Jenny has positive coping skills. She loves nature, writing, animals, traveling etc. Jenny can exercise and stop when she wants to. Jenny even wears whatever she wants and doesn’t depend on the size to make her feel “ okay.” Jenny no longer weighs herself… she doesn’t have to. She knows that she is healthy and okay. Jenny lives in the moment. She doesn’t look to her past and she doesn’t look to her future. She knows that the past is done with and the future is unknown.

Jenny does well in school. She has the energy to stay up at night studying or stay after school for extra help. Jenny even allows herself a midnight snack if she gets hungry while studying. Jenny gets great grades and gets involved in her classes.

Jenny actually sees and feels nature when she takes a walk. She isn’t thinking how many calories she is burning or how fast she can go. Nope. She is present. She breathes in the fresh air, smells the flowers, waves to her neighbors. She watches the bee’s buzz, the birds fly and the clouds move.

Well, I am not Jenny, but I hope to be. I am on my way to becoming Jenny and I cant wait! Jenny told me that I will be okay, just like her. She told me that I can be happy. She told me to live my life and that weight and numbers are not the most important thing in ones life. She told me, “ food is not the enemy.” Jenny gave me great advice. “Listen to your body and youll be okay.” Relax, breath and have faith, are words of advice she also gave me. “Never forget… happiness comes from within,” Jenny smiled. Jenny is happy, and guess what? One day, I will be too.

I Can Hear You, Jenny

I am NOT Jenny, but I know one. Yeah, I definitely know one pretty damn well. She makes my life a living hell every single day. Jenny is the reason I’m stuck in this place. Jenny made me this way. I hear Jenny’s voice all the time. It’s like nails on a chalkboard. And then one day, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I told someone about Jenny, what she was saying and doing to me. And I ended up here. Perfect little Jenny. Always telling me to straighten up. Always telling me to make my hair look a little nicer, to do my make–up a little better. But I can’t help it. I can’t change who I am. I wish I had never heard from Jenny. I wish Jenny had never existed. Then, there would be nothing to compare myself to. Then, I wouldn’t be stuck in this shit hole, where everyone thinks I’m crazy because Jenny talks to me. I’m not crazy. Her eyes would stare daggers at me from those magazine covers. I could hear her voice. I really could…now, I’m just trying to shut her up.

I’m Not Jenny

I’m not captain of the cheerleading squad. I’m not Homecoming queen. I’m not even seen. Nope. I never have been. I don’t have long, beautiful hair. I don’t have a lot of money. I’m not the best student in my class. I don’t have nice teeth. No, actually, I have braces. They’re hideous. I’m not tall and thin. I don’t party on the weekends. I don’t go on dates. Boys don’t even notice me. I don’t get a call from a friend asking me to go see a movie or get a bite to eat. My weekends consist of sitting home babysitting my little brother, walking the dogs, and doing homework. Oh, yeah, and spending hours trying to figure out how to be pretty and popular. I haven’t been too successful though. Jenny. Oh, how badly I want to be like Jenny! When she passes in the hall, it’s like a celebrity walks by. Me? When I walk by, no one even notices. I’m not Jenny. Nope. Not me. It seems that no matter how hard I try, I never will be. Well, at least not until my acne clears up, I can get rid of my glasses, and I can tame my wild, frizzy hair.

I’m definitely not a Jenny, but I’ve lived with a Jenny, and I’ve tried to act like a Jenny before, but why? It’s so expensive to be a Jenny. Jenny buys new clothes every season because she tires of old ones (one season old that is). Jenny obsesses over being skinny, going to the gym, being hott. I’ve caught Jenny running off to the bathroom after dinner and flushing away a very pricey filet mignon. Jenny gets electrolysis and dreams about the day when she’ll finally schedule her breast augmentation. People think that being Jenny is so great; that Jenny is so funny, beautiful, and lucky. The funny thing is Jenny wants to believe that herself and sometimes even tricks herself into believing it. Only, Jenny clearly isn’t happy with herself or her appearance. She puts her body, bank account, and reputation on the line for it.

Just read And I'm Not Jenny for a class. I loved it. Here is what I wrote.

Jenny told me I should grow my hair longer, so I wouldn’t be mistaken for a boy. I don’t have silky hair like Jenny. Jenny told me that I should grow my hair and brush it every night, like this. And then Jenny brushes her hair, in the cafeteria so all the boys can see what it would be like to run their hands through her long silky hair. Jenny doesn’t actually tell me to grow my hair. Jenny has never talked to me. She tells her friends that the” it” in the girls’ locker room should grow it’s hair so that it actually looks like a girl. Jenny is never mistaken for a boy. She wears a training bra and no one in our grade even has boobs yet. I went into Jenny’s locker and stole her hair brush when she was in gym. I put it in the toilet in the girls’ locker room.

Oh How Nice For Her...

Jenny always had it easier than me. She didn't have to move from town to town because of parental struggles with jobs, unlike me. She didn't have to share a room with two siblings growing up, unlike me. She didn't have to steal food to eat, unlike me. She didn't have to wear make-up if she didn't want to, a natural beauty, unlike me. She didn't have to work two jobs to help pay rent through high school, unlike me. She didn't have to get fucked from behind to feel any sort of connection with another sexually, unlike me. She didn't have to grin and bear the embarrassment of abuse marks from men in her life, unlike me. She didn't have to settle with marrying someone she didn't love strictly to support the baby within her womb, unlike me.But one way or another, things work themselves out. Fuck you Jenny.

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.