At stake, a flake and a little heartbreak…

  At stake, a flake and a little heartbreak. So I’m sitting on a plane home from Miami right now, in the very last row of the plane, the one that doesn’t recline, and that causes you to be a half hour later than everyone else arriving in LA because for some reason when a large group of people get together they turn into morons and don’t know how to exit a plane in a timely fashion. So last row, no recline, patron has wore off and my zzzzz’s have turned into the tap tap tapping of the keyboard, as I type away, trying my best to expound on a whirlwind of emotions that are running through my mind right now. I have a couple things that I feel need direct attention, and what better way to deal with it than in my blog, with my words, and a little tap tap taperoo. So I found something out this weekend. I found out a couple things actually, like if you land in terminal D in Vegas and have to make it to terminal C within 20 minutes and you have on shoes that were a present from India, your feet might end up a little bit raw by the time you get there. If you get there in time at all. I also found out that there are some redbull substitutes that will give you such bad heartburn and indigestion, you may be better off doing rails of crack of the back of a toilet seat in that same bar that has tried to poison you with substitute Redbull. I also found out that Bossman has a medium pimpin significant other. Significant enough for him to ask me to stop blogging about him. Not because he is embarrassed of me. And not because he doesn’t like me blogging about him, or talking about him. And definitely not because she reads it. But because she has these little bitch ass friends (who are nothing but so calledsies) who read my shit, are probably reading it right now, and call her to complain. I will insert a letter to these dumb whores right now. Dear Dumb Whores, Thank you very much for reading my words. For eating them up, for believing in everything I say regardless of whether we have met yet or not. And thank you for finding me threatening enough as a woman to actually call another woman and tell her some lame shit about what I’ve said regarding a guy that we kind of share. This is all very flattering, and will not go unnoticed. That being said. What the fuck is wrong with you bitches? Do you want to hurt your girlfriend? Is that what you are going for? Do you get off on having something to call her about and bitch? “oh, penny said this about bossman now, or he gave it to penny real good, we just read all about it….” Where the fuck do you have the right to intentionally hurt the feelings of someone who is supposed to be your friend. If she doesn’t read my shit, then its probably because she doesn’t want to know what the fuck is going on. So where do you get off going out of your way to call her and wreck her day. You are not real friends. You are bitches. And to the significant other, I apologize. I never meant to hurt your feelings. Bossman just makes for good stories, and I like him a lot, so it makes sense that I would talk about him. But I never meant to throw you or him under the bus. We should probably go out for a drink sometime, or just chill, because we obviously have very similar taste. But to be quite honest, your friends are dumb whores, and aren’t good for you if all they want to do is call you up and try to break your heart. Back to the blog. Isn’t that just the craziest thing you have ever heard? To be honest with you, I don’t really feel like anybody reads any of the shit I write, so when Bossman came to me and asked me not to say anything about him, I was a little bit upset. In fact, I was a lot a bit upset. Me: Are you fucking shitting me? Bossman: No, they read it and they call her, and it bums her out. Me: What dumb fucking whores. Bossman: I know. I think what really surprised me is that he has someone in his life that he cares enough about to ask me to censor myself. And admittedly, little tiny strings of jealousy stirred in my belly. In my heart. Dang. Someone else he cares about like me? Equally? Rrrrr……. But then I get to thinking. I have a couple people in my life that I care about like I care about him. Granted I don’t have sex with anybody else, but sex is secondary to emotion, meaningless without it, and that is why I quit having sex with other people off camera. Because I care about one person enough to make a change in my life, and the way I run my fucking. So back in late April, early May, I cut off all my other booty calls, (still kick it with the guys and occasionally snuggle, but don’t ever fuck em), and just figured that he had done the same. That’s what I get for not asking the right questions. A little bit of heartbreak. My own fault. Especially because I have constructed this persona, that is a mixture of my on screen self and my real self, and I have forgotten where I begin and Penny Flame ends. I don’t know what I am okay with in terms of a relationship, what I want out of a relationship, or if I even want him in a relationship for that matter. And I never gave it much thought until this weekend when I found out that there is someone else. Do I find someone else’s too? Or will that just complicate things more? Anyway, this is the last time I will write about Bossman. So you dumb bitches that are intentionally hurting his other girls feelings can stop reading my shit if that is the only thing you are looking for. I will not participate in your drama, and because I really like this cat, I don’t want to hurt a chicks feelings that he really likes. And I don’t know you girls but damn. Y’all some mean ass bitches. If I was his other girl, I would have ditched your melodramatic, selfish, insecure and heartless asses a long time ago. But I probably would have punched you each in the face at least once before I cut off all connection. This is why I don’t have girlfriends. On another note, Miami was a complete and total fuck off. I mean, I did some quality work in the name of the Brazzers News Network, but at the end of the day, when we had set up a whole Girls Night Out for Shanes World, it all went to fucking hell. Night One. The first scene runs an hour and a half late, and we finally leave for the club around 11:30 at night. Which is fine because clubs in Miami close around 4, and that gave us just enough time to get there, fuck there, drink there and leave there. Unfortunately, a little someone I’ll refer to here as Smaudrey Bitoni got a bit too drunk and couldn’t complete her scene. She got so drunk in fact, that we didn’t even really start her scene, had to carry her back up to the room after the club, and clean up a little bit of a pee mess. Which I am going to skip over entirely. It turns out that she drank as much as she did because she felt uncomfortable and wasn’t sure how to deal with it. So down went the booze. In with the shots. I only found out about her discomfort through my agent, who I had to call the next night and tell that the shoot was off. Oh I didn’t tell you we had to cancel the whole shoot? Halfway through? So fucking close? Yeah. Night two, Audrey, I mean Smaudrey wouldn’t pick up my phone calls. Not the first time and not the sixth time. Which was a little disturbing because we are trying to film a movie that she plays a large role in and we can’t find her anywhere. Until we go back to the hotel, the lobby and wait for maybe 2.5 seconds. Smaudrey is running out of the elevator, trying not to talk to me. I catch her, ask her what the deal is, and she tells me this. Her: Premium Cash said I have to hang out with them all night, I’m sorry. Me: I guess that’s how it has to be. Call as soon as you’re done so we can finish this shit up. Her: okay, sorry. Me: Fuck. My production Manager called off the shoot because there is no way in hell that we can finish without her, and the likelihood of her calling after being out drinking with another team is nill. So Megs called it. And we decided to hoof it back over to the bar where everyone we knew was watching the UFC fight. This seemed like a great idea until we stumbled upon Smaudrey, who was there drinking, chilling, and telling people this. Her: I’m just not into it, the whole reality thing just isn’t my thing, and I just didn’t want to do it. Us: are you fucking serious? Turns out that Premium cash had never required her to go out with them the entire night. That Audrey intentionally ditched out on the movie because she felt awkward. Awkward is one thing. But she should have addressed this before we dumped a shitload of money into it. She should have told us before we put two nights work into it. Basically, she should have told us anything, instead of nothing. And another thing is that she shouldn’t have told one company something different than another company. Internet land is relatively small and we are all homies. And Megan is friends with fucking everyone, so everything gets back to her. Especially lies. The lies Smaudrey told made it back to our table within ten minutes of her saying them. From the people at Premium Cash. At least you know they are an honest and upstanding company. Even if one of their girls decided to try and make them out not to be. I felt bad about the situation for a little bit. I never want anybody on my set to feel uncomfortable. At no point do I ever want any “fun” that happens to be contrived, or forced, and I certainly don’t want chicks to do shit they don’t want to do. But I can’t actually fix any problems if I’m not aware of their existence. Its like Bossman’s other little chick. I didn’t know I was hurting her feelings until he told me. And now I’m not going to anymore, but only because he told me. I could never know anything without him telling me. We can both exist in ignorance of each other if we choose, and no dumb bitch will get in the way of our non-knowledge. Speaking of non-knowledge…. I wish I didn’t know? Can I say that? He said nothing has changed between us, and I appreciate that fact, but has it changed inside of me? Have a created an image of a man in my mind that doesn’t match up to the one standing before me? Have I caused myself to feel emotions that I should have blocked off at the pass? Am I really in a position where I should have caught feelings for him at all? I think I’ve fucked myself over to be honest. I think I’ve made myself seem way tighter than I actually am, and tried to be down with things that I don’t naturally feel down with. Sex is no problem, which is why I encourage him to fuck chicks I know he doesn’t care about. This changes things, even though it doesn’t change things between us at all. Am I changed? Do I need to change? I should have changed seats before I got on this damn airplane, that’s for sure. That is for sure. No recline. How the fuck am I ever going to relax? I am about to crawl up over each seat and find that screaming baby and scream right back at it. How the fuck would it feel? No, be nice little Fuego, there is no need to take out a weekend of frustration on a little screaming baby. Maybe some dumb whore bitches who intentionally try to hurt their girlfriends feelings, but certainly not some little baby who is screaming at the top of her lungs simply because her ears, like my own, will not pop. In a fucking fishbowl I am, just swimming in circles.img_01522

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~ by Penny Flame on August 10, 2008.

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