united manual labor service is more like it....

I get so much more exercise when I'm single. I live in a fifth-floor walkup and today the UPS man dropped off three big boxes from my mom -- on the bottom floor. So, three trips later, all this stuff is in my living room. I'm building biceps, I tell you.

Incidentally, the internet connection in my apartment goes out when my roommate blowdries her hair. Apparently the high wattage sucks all the power from the cable router.

In any case, I put up a new photo gallery in the "Modeling" section, so you can check that sucker out.

any press is good press, and this is really flattering press

I'm in the New York Post again, in a followup article to my first appearance in the Post's dating column.

According to the Post, I am a "hipster hottie." According to Dale, I'm "the kind of person I wouldn't mind being stuck at an airport with."

That picture was taken in the laundromat next door to the diner.

Brenda? Charmed to meet you.

So, for about the one hundredth time in the last decade, someone has pointed out how much I look like Shannen Doherty. Or, how much she looks like me.

I have been getting this comment since roughly 1992. Over a decade. Throughout junior high, high school, college, and a modeling career, people have been telling me how much I look like bitchy Brenda from Beverly Hills 90210.

Sometimes, people object that Shannen is not hot, but personally, I think she is quite hot, and that people are projecting their knowledge of her notoriously unpleasant personality onto what I must say are some pretty smokin' photos.

I wanna be like Molly Ringwald

And now, the t-shirt! I designed and ordered this and will be wearing it on the subway in 8-14 days!

she has no mercy, none at all, temptress, succubus, demon woman

I just wrote to a guy I'm going on a first date with...

"But don't show up to coffee with fragile self-confidence, because I'll just crush it under my pointy stilleto pumps and transmute your hollowed-out carcass into a spiritually undead minion in the Army of Jen."

Area Woman's Mom finds out about blog

It took my mom exactly half a day to find out I had a blog and she was quoted on it. This, of course, reminded me of the Onion article in which the speaker's computer-illiterate mother finally stumbled across his blog and commented "I don't know why you didn't tell me about your 'computer diary'!" I went looking for the article, but the Onion has now declared it a "premium-only" property.

I'm so little and sticky

I'm getting some promotional stickers, reprinted here actual size! Soon to be affixed to various and sundry items nationwide!

(They're cheaper in black and white. Maybe someday I'll have full-color stickers. Oh, a girl can dream!)

867-5309....

Just so everybody knows, I have really only one major pet peeve. I mean, besides the obvious stuff that nobody likes, like "people leaving their old, crusted mac and cheese in the sink."

My pet peeve is people who are emailing with you and then write back to say "Call me to discuss." We ARE discussing! What are you, illiterate? There is no need to switch mediums mid-conversation. Type whatever the hell you want to say and hit send. Phones are for losers.

If I were a butler, my name would be...

The president of my fan club ordered me some plastic balls from Amazon for use in a photoshoot.

UPS delivered them, I signed for them, and all was well. But, not knowing I had received the package, Chris tracked it on the UPS website and wrote this email:

Jen,

The UPS webpage says that the balls were delivered about two hours ago, but it also says the signer was JENNINGS and that they were delivered in the Bronx.

Where are our balls?

Sports Illustrated needs me for my mind

So, I got in my application for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model Search. It's actually a reality show, in conjunction with NBC, called "America's Next Top Swimsuit Model."

It required writing about twenty 250-words-or-less essays about myself -- why I like modeling, if I ever use my looks to my advantage, whether I'm a competitive person, etc. I'm hoping the sheer volume of verbiage required scared off the stupid models, so the competition will be down to me and other smart chicks. Hmnn, that WOULD make a good show!

Anyway, here's one of the pictures I submitted. Thanks to Gary Winter for the great shot! (Taken in the fountain in Central Park).

submit to jen, submissives!

So, I get a lot of guys writing to me wanting to be my slave. Well, not a LOT, maybe one a month. But they're serious. I mean, we're in New York, I know a number of professional dominatrixes, so it's not quite as weird as it might be someplace else. But, as my best friend Jenn says, there's a certain "assertive" quality that comes through in all my photos, even when I'm trying to look sweet and innocent.

my darling mom

I send my mom lots of my new pictures, and it's kind of cute how she has a really awful monitor and sometimes makes strange comments about the photos because they look really blurry on her monitor. And then she prints them out and brings them into work. It's adorable.

So, I sent her one of my new pictures (from the Eric Martin gallery, on this site), where you can see a little hint of nipple. (Quick, go find the big version and save it to your hard drive!)

She wrote back "This is VERY nice. Your Dad would notice, that this is the first one you've sent us where you actually are showing something. Naughty girl.... Please turn down Hustler magazine when they call. Love Mom"

This is a very Mom thing to say, and a perfectly reasonable request. I wrote back "Okay, but Playboy's getting a yes!"

She replied "I knew you were going to say that."

daisy, daisy, give me your answer, do

Today I went on a date with a guy who drives a bike taxi! I should be more specific. Today, I went on a date in a bike taxi. He picked me up on a corner and took me for a ride all around midtown and Central Park. How stylish! It is actually remarkably possible to have a conversation with your bike taxi driver; the driving is very stop-and-go, and it wasn't too loud to be heard. And, I must say, I got plenty of time to view the back of his head and make certain it was up to my exacting standards. No comment on the undoubtedly well-developed butt-muscles.

eyes are the windows to the heart of darkness

I've always gotten comments about my eyes (how big, how green!), but lately I've been getting a LOT more. Like, every time I leave the house. Several times a day, from strangers. The bank teller said to me yesterday "No disrespect, ma'am, but you have beautiful eyes." (Photo at right by Gary Winter).

I finally figured out it's that my hair has gotten really long, so I've been wearing it back a lot, thus making my eyes more noticable.

So, the other day, a man at the place where I buy my Cuban sandwiches said to me:

"Are your eyes real?"

Now, eyes are not like, say, breasts, where five grand and a trip to the plastic surgeon can augment your natural assets. Are my eyes real? What, like I'd have glass eyes?

So I figured he must mean, "Are you wearing colored contacts?"

So I replied "Yes, they're really this color."

And he said "No, they're so BIG!"

Right.