Bang Bros, Fried Eggs, and Whispers of Change

•November 11, 2008 • 1 Comment


Life is picking up as we speak, the seconds are actually moving faster, and it seems as though I blink and a week passes. The entire American economy is in a downward spiral and my work has taken over my play and you’ll find no complaints of being unemployed from me. I’m a busy fucking bitch to say the least.

This week has been filled with big things, big big big things that I am excited to say could and will provide a very nice new comfy home for my round bottom. Justice Young and I started directing over at Bang Bros, for a site called and needless to say, if you look at the site, you can tell it’s a long day fucking at work. And I mean long. We find three different guys in three different places and fuck them silly. This is all very fine and dandy until everything goes wrong. Which it occasionally will. But if even one thing goes wrong here, the whole shoot is fucked. I’m thrilled to be taking it on, because it is a challenge, but fuck, this is a serious challenge. If Justice and I can pull this off, and show Bang what a great team we are, Bang will continue to help us do what we do best. Which is fuck every thing that moves. And to do that in the name of Bang? Well that is just about the highest honor to be paid. Bang pretty much rules the world, and I like they way they rock shit. The owners are dope, the staff is rad and even the editors fucking rock. Great company to be in with, and man, now I got my foot in the door, I’m fitting to kick that motherfucker open and dance my way from the lobby throughout the company.

So we tried to do two shoots and only pulled through on one. Bummer. But like I said, shit goes wrong. That’s the way life is.

I have some other really big news, but I’m not quite ready to talk about it. I want to make sure all my t’s are crossed and that nonsense before I go blabbing about what may turn out to be one of the most difficult and best decisions I will make in my career. Don’t be afraid, I’m not going anywhere, in fact, y’all stuck with me for a cool minute. And that is all part of the decision. Awkward talking about things that haven’t happened.

My brain is fried. Like fried fucking eggs, messy sloppy, sizzle crisp. I think it’s a mixture of my past week and all the pot I’ve been smoking. I had chilled out so much in Europe, only smoking the occasional hash spliff, and now I jump right back in the pot pool here at home, never missing a beat, like none of it even happened. I’ve done the same thing with work, but the nature of the business is such that you take it when you can get it, especially in times like these where even the best performers are looking to lower rates to book scenes. But I’ve got to stop on the excessive pot use.

I ran into a good friend and hilarious writer Cory at Megan Stokes birthday party Friday night at the Foundry. We locked eyes and immediately I told him I wish to speak with him because I trust and value his opinion. Fantastic. He decides to stay longer-and longer and longer and longer.

I wanted to ask Cory about web oriented things, some questions regarding my site, and throughout the conversation, we kid and play around, throw jokes back and forth, and both try to be as lewd and inappropriate as humanly possible. At one point Cory said to me

Cory: You’ve smoked pot today haven’t you.

Me: Yeah, why?

Cory: You’re not as cool when you smoke pot. Definitely not as funny.

Me: Fuck. You’re right. Fuck.

So again I’m telling myself to chill out on the greenery, again I’m reminding myself that I feel/look/act/am better throughout the day when I don’t sedate myself to the point of inactive silence. And again I’m wondering what exactly it is inside of me that pushes me to use drugs and substances excessively? Am I obsessive compulsive and overdoing everything I get my hands on? Am I self destructive? Am I lazy and bored?

I’m not bored, so thats out the window. Pot brings out my laziness: explained. I am obviously self destructive, hence the cigarette in my left hand, don’t know why I question that. OCD for sure, because no matter what I do, whether its good for me or bad, I do it CONSTANTLY. Yoga, once a day, crazy hot Bikram. Running, twice a day, 7 miles in a go. Cigarettes, all day, full pack. Pot, every single moment.

I need to focus this insane energy in a productive way. Back to yoga. Back to running. Quitting cigarettes again after AVN (no way I’m not going to drink and smoke in vegas yo). Pot, only on the weeknights, no more of this schoolnight, and wake n bake shit. Time to remember what goals bubbled up in my mind out there on the Euro road and make them an actuality. My reality. My Bang Bros and Vivid gigs are the future, the present, and I need to put everything I am into these projects. Time is moving fast, and if I don’t sober up a little bit and realize it, my moments will pass.


***Side note

As I finish looking over this post, Porno Dan text me, in regard to a lunch inquiry I made about Thursday: 

Yes yes and super duper yes day drinking w dan and the flame and the megaphone

Its Hard not to fade with friends like mine……

Dan going down on  me at the Highlands in Hollywood...

Dan going down on me at the Highlands in Hollywood...


an evening to remember

•October 27, 2008 • Leave a Comment

What an interesting night. An evening to remember? I don’t know what happened last night, but some of the things said in conversation, some underlying tones and direct statements, have left me questioning my life. And in a very positive way. In such a positive way that I feel I need to make a list, here, for all to see, so that if I puss out and fail, you can all make fun of me and give me a hard time for not sticking to my guns and doing what my little heart desires.

In the previously mentioned conversation, the following question was put forth.

“What did you learn from your Euro trip?”

And I don’t think I’ve actually processed that I’ve taken a month out of my regular life, to pursue something unknown, that would in the end of it teach me about myself, and the way I choose to live my life. I don’t think I’ve actually taken the time to sit down and ask that question, or even to realize that the question is at hand. All I did is hop right back into the swing of things, working, dinner, pot, working dinner pot, and when leaving Europe I decided it was time to work for myself, to focus on my own thing, and to make it as awesome and Penny Flamerish as possible. Too long have I helped others to make their life savings, so that they can go into the world and fuck around, living it up, and not created anything for myself. My pace so quick moving and thoughtless most times I don’t realize the steady moving forward in time, each passing second fading into the distance like hundreds of thousands of others. A great wasteland of seconds that are supposed to add up to this one right now, and have only stood solitary for the moments that they were. So here begins my list. It is in no particular order, and will be added to and checked off as the events I wish to accomplish are accomplished.

1. Retire by the time I’m 35.

    • This means making enough money now, and making sure that it continues making money into the future. This does not mean I will become money hungry, but it does mean that I am motivated to make my splash in enough different areas that like Ron Jeremy, I can just fuck around and do whatever I want.

2. Write a book.

    • I’ve already started on this, started on the road while reading “On the Road,” and it doesn’t matter how long it takes, or how much insane and crazy shit happens, I will write a book, and damnit, it will be dope.

3. Try my hand at stand-up comedy.

    • Every time I get around a microphone, I got nuts. I can’t shut the fuck up. I feel like this can progress into something awesome, and perhaps profitable. Which goes toward my first goal.

4. Host the AVN award show.

    • This may seem silly, and perhaps a little insecure, but you know you’ve made it big when you get to host a show that is broadcasted on Showtime, where millions and millions of people can watch your hilarity for their viewing pleasure. I think I will be fantastic. In fact, I am going to start a petition, carrying it to all my sets, and actually everywhere I go, to help convince AVN that I will be a good host. This is going to be awesome.

5. Produce and direct feature length films for

    • I know, I know, the feature is dying. Or at least that is what everyone is crying. I personally think its just moving into the internet, and will become updates, movies spliced into 5 or 6 different sections, and the story told over a period of time. Which is fine by me, because it will still be one story line, and hence, the production of it will be one big feature.

6. Help Bang Brothers take over the world.

    • Recently, and I mean, we just shot our first one, Justice Young and I have teamed up to direct a little line called FuckTeam5, and to be quite honest folks, we are fucking killing it on the dope content scale. Fucking killing it. We took over Hollywood Blvd, I jacked off Spongebobs nose while he screamed with delight, and batman told Gianna that he watches her everyday, to which she replied, “I watch batman all the time too!” Or shit is going to be ill folks, and I think the lengths that he and I can take this together are endless.

7. Buy a condo in Maui.

    • I want a place to stay out by my mama. That’s all.

8. Travel.

    • This is the list within the list. I want to go everywhere.
      • Europe:
        • Russia- the wild weed smoking Russian from Munich.
        • Nice
        • Portugal
        • All over Spain, from the farms in the cutty’s to the heart of Barcelona
        Vienna – from my original flight path
        Anywhere and everywhere else that has neat shit I may want to see
    • To be continued…..

Its hard to know who to trust with your heart

•October 26, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Excerpt from “Diary of an American Pornstar”

Beneath the streets of Paris, the stars will be my guide. Scuffed floors of well traveled metro cars support the weight of a young woman in search of the most intense, the most desirable bedtime story: a story about love. After the celebratory beer (my credit cards are back on!!!), I scaled the mountainous stairs leading to Joachims apartment once again, to reveal to him my immediate plan for the evening.

Me: I must see the Eiffel Tower immediately.

Joachim: so you go now?

Me: Yes, and I will return later. Much later.

Joachim: Get a map from the woman, don’t get lost, and don’t get robbed.

Me: Merci. I won’t. Je vais returner.

Four trains and three metro stations later, one train I hopped on and off within seconds, I am still motivated to find this thing, Trocadero Square, bringing me back to Embarcadero, lining Frisco’s bay, this is always my exit, and the familiarity, the similarity in the names draws me to it, like moths to light, like tourists from oaklahoma or other home cooked states to the pacific ocean and palm trees or Ground Zero.

Finally, the exit, the right train, everything seems in place. I get my camera out to record my first impression, and find the guy selling tiny itty bitty worthless towers and know the big one is close. But where? I look to the street to where I assume it will be, nothing, until my eyes glance down to the view finder. Right be fucking hind me.



I have to get near it, maybe even touch it, if the Frenchies let me, but first, a little gas for my foot drive: Sugar filled crepes. God how I love the French. There is no inappropriate way or time for crepes. Well, maybe way, but definitely not time. It’s always crepe time. I merci beaucoup the crepe monsieur, and continue the mission.

-Back to my mission- Mac Dre

On the way down, a solo Frenchman approaches me, ask how often the tower sparkles. I tell him I’m straight Cali and I have no fucking clue what he is talking about, sparkles and shit.

Me: All the fucking time? Jesus Christ, I’m not fucking French, shouldn’t you know this shit?

With these final words, the whole thing, the Eiffel tower thing that is, starts sparkling like freshman girls discovering the wonders of glitter.

Me: Film me dancing in front of the sparkles please? S’il vous plait?

And he does.

He shows me all around the tower, says he is alone tonight, yet with me. He sighs l’amore, and wraps his arms around me as we walk the gardens before the tower, separating one of France’s finest works from its memorial dedicated to freedom. In every language the complicatedly simple word appears on poles reaching toward the sky.

There are wild kids at the hostel next to Joachim’s place, and they are dancing with a shitzu in the doorway, singing “You’ve got to pump it up”.

No I don’t.

Daniel, my new French cameraman then tries to show me a quiet place we can sit on a bench, shaded by trees.

Now I’m wndering if he wants to rape me or rob me. One of the bad r’s is about to happen. I want no part of this.

Me: No, mes amies await me.

Daniel the French Cameraman: but it is so nice tonight, and sa nez est perfecte. S’il vous plait.

Me: How about that well lit grass field?

Daniel the French cameraman: D’accord.

We walk to the middle of the field and he puts his plastic sitting cushion down for me, there are rats in the bushes nearby scurrying around and I expect his accomplice, who will aid him in either of the r’s, to come jumping out any moment.

Me (in my head): maybe he’ll get turned off if I bust out the hash pipe. Or maybe he’ll get too high and not r or r me.

Me (outloud): you smoke? Fumar?

He doesn’t smoke, instead he sings to me in French. Sings of all the things that illuminate his eyes, his view, sings to the Eiffel tower, to the people below it, to la Seine, and its reflection of the moon, the stars. He sings of how l’amore illuminates him.

This guy is mad French yo.

He sings of how my nose is his petite poisson, how he’d like to bite it and kiss my bouche.

Me: Merci, non.

Daniel the French Cameraman: I have one kiss please?

Me: Non, I have someone.

Daniel the French Cameraman: Ton amie can wait pour une bouchon.

Me: No, a boyfriend.

Daniel the French Cameraman: But he is not here non? N’est pas d’ici?

Me: Oui. C’est vraiment. Cette une grande probleme.

Me (in my head): yeah, and the real problem is that I don’t have one, and I don’t want you to be one.

Daniel sits behind me and starts to rub my shoulders. I clutch my pockets. His hands move down. My hands still on my pockets. I ain’t getting robbed in fucking france by no fucking Frenchman. He starts to rub my butt.

Me (in my head): maybe having everyone try to fuck you instead of fight you is no better.

Me (outloud): je suis aller.

Daniel the French Cameraman: Nous allons?

Me: Non, je suis aller.

He walks me to the point that is directly in the center of the Eiffel tower and looks up, holding my hands.


As his eyes fall back to earth, and upon my own, the notion that maybe he just wanted someone to feel close with on such a beautiful evening in such a lovely place crosses my mind.

Je comprende.

I set out this evening, this trip, with the goal of finding love on my plate, the main course, and immediately upon seeing the tower, glowing like my beautiful pacific ocean, I wanted to be desperately lonely. To suffer miserably through the glorious experience, and immediately upon crossing the Seine, Paris’ main vein, the ever moving body of water that brought life to this country, I met someone as hungry for love as I. Looked into the faces of happy couples and despised them, even though I had my singing, loving cameraman guiding my way.

Its hard to know who to trust with your heart.

I kissed Daniel goodbye, bonsoir dan la bouche, and even though we agreed to meet tomorrow night at 7pm, in the same place, when his eyes fell from the heavens, from the center of the Eiffel tower, and met mine, he knew we would never see each other again.

No more waiting….

•October 22, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Whatever you do, when you return from a month gone in Europe, do not claim that you are not jetlagged, because even though the first night may go fine, the second, you will toss and turn on your couch, and end up sitting in the backyard writing in your journal while your dog falls asleep with her face on your arm.

That’s right, its 5 am, and I’m sitting outside writing. Writing writing writing, but not like when I was there, not in my tiny leather bound journal, covered in water from the Lourve, not at some street corner café that serves the best coffee I’ve ever had, not smoking a cigarette that I rolled myself, filled with yumyumyummy hash imported by fuegan pocket straight from Amsterdam, and not wondering what I will be doing the next day.

I know what I am doing tomorrow, now, I do, and I’ve had the past month to think about this moment right now, and while I was in that moment, the moment in Paris at the café, or in Amsterdam at the bar, or Zurich high above the lake wandering through some strange Swiss couple’s vineyard, I managed to live in that precise moment, with nothing more than a glance toward this moment right now. That is the funny thing about time. All we have is this moment right now.

They say a great way to quit smoking cigarettes is to say to yourself “I’m just not going to smoke right now,” because now is all the time, and if you say you will smoke one tomorrow, well then tomorrow comes, and you are already saying “I’m just not going to smoke right now” and next thing you know, days have gone by and you have been living in this precise moment, putting things off till tomorrow that you aren’t sure you want to do anyway. In fact, you are putting something off that you don’t want to do, and so you say tomorrow, and tomorrow never comes because all that exists in this world, on this spinning watery globe, is this moment. Right now.

At 5am. Jetlagged.

So I decided to write. Which is funny because after a month of handwriting all my thoughts in a journal, it seems I’ve forgotten how to type. In France, the keys are in different places on the keyboard, and I had to train myself to use it so that I may answer emails. Unfortunately, I’m not 100% sure you can teach this old dog new tricks, in as far as reacquainting myself with the French keyboard, and I only blogged once while out there. The story of me throwing Joachim Kessefs computer at the wall. Fortunately, all those years of school paid off and I managed to get my thoughts down on paper, scratched and scribbled after nights of wandering the Parisian streets on my lonesome. The most tragically romantic evenings of my entire life, spent by myself, looking at the Eiffel Tower’s ocean blue glow over a glass of Bordeaux. It was beautiful. And exactly how I wanted it to be. Lonely, romantic, and all in my head.

While away, I’ve had several awakenings. Not in that crazy Shelly Lubben sense, like I’m gonna start getting jiggy with the big guy upstairs, but in that American Beauty paper bag blowing in the wind way, the way that matters, because the revelations start from within, and manifest their glory, and purity in the simplest things, like orange and red falling leaves, or an old bum walking along a canal ten times slower than life seems to travel. There have been things and ideas that created themselves inside my head, and these ideas were so magnificent, so powerful, that they stayed with me along the journey, and even on the way home, into the warm Southern California night, waking me at 5am to remind me that this is my home, and this is where everything I want, can happen. And actualize. THIS is IT.

Along my way, after many conversations, I found a running theme in people’s lives is “We will see.” By the second week of hearing this, this lame excuse for inaction, I decided to protest the theme by not waiting to see. By just doing. By initiating my life, and my actions, my thoughts and my dreams, and living them in every single moment of every single day. And this new theme, this idea of not waiting for a result, and instead acting and existing until the moment where I knew it was the result, my pure existence, and even in that moment, it was filled with the same passion and gusto as the moment before, the moment where I was still performing the action that all the rest of the world is still “waiting to see” the result of, the actions that they simply “wait to see.”

I don’t want my life to be filled with waiting anymore. I don’t want to “wait and see” how it turns out because I know now if I work hard, and make it happen, I don’t have to wait and see. I know exactly how it will be. How my life will turn out, how the people in my life will love me, and I will love them, how the business will be run, and how the website will succeed, and how the book will sell, (oh, didn’t I mention I’m writing a book?), and how this moment is right now, this very second, sitting in Los Angeles’ attempt at a frosty morning, no need for a jacket, in my backyard listening the the varoooom of people waiting to see what happens at work, and planes jetting across the sky filled with people waiting to arrive at a destination, and the tip type tapping of my nails on the keyboard.

I don’t need to wait to see the sun come up.

I already know it will.