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Jenny Myst · (09-14-2017)

Dear Diary:

Looking in the mirror can be a pleasant but also soul-shattering experience for every girl. Something that happens everyday and often multiple times a day can be both the best and worst experiences of a girls day. Before heading out into the world to be judged and cat-called, she needs to be, herself, vindicated. She needs to feel like she loves herself before she leaves the house, even though, deep down, she probably doesn't.

What girl can say she truly loves herself? Name one girl who is considered "attractive" by modern society who actually loves going through what it takes daily to get the attention she so desperately craves. Go on, name one.

The whole "women's revolution" thing, the marching, the equal rights, it is all because women feel and have always felt inferior. It is part of our nature. We are sensitive creatures, I guess. We try to be strong, but even though we feel entirely more comfortable lounging around the house with no makeup on and our hair in a ponytail, we know that we need to make sure we look like a supermodel to leave the house to not be looked at as a lesbian.

It is sickening, really. But sometimes the truth isn't always what we wish it to be. Sometimes reality is predetermined, and we have to live within the parameters. Reality isn't what we make it, reality is what makes us.

As I sit here looking in the mirror, primping just to go to something as simple as the grocery store, I began to wonder about such things. I sit here with no makeup on, and wonder to myself what would happen if I did leave the hotel room like this. My god, I'd break the internet worse than James Raven did when he won the title. In a way, I dress myself up in an array of cosmetics to seek the attention I deserve, but in the cruel juxtaposition of things I think it would be liberating to not get that attention, but get attention for me as myself. To be acknowledged as Jennifer Sambuca, a 24 year old from Las Vegas who is trying to make her way in this world.

The fact is, I got into this business because I was pretty--or at least, I showed them I was. I got a job here because I was the image that the male demographic, the higher common denominator of the fan base, wanted to see. I got a job here, for all intents and purposes, because I was fake. An enhanced chest, 3 pounds of makeup, skirts that barely covered my crotch and heels to make to look like I was walking on stilts. That wasn't me, but it is what they wanted. It wasn't me, but it was what I was, if that makes any sense. Sure, perhaps it was a tribute to my profession before I signed this contract--a stripper is supposed to have a certain look--but I went from taking my clothes off for men to get a few bucks to putting them on to make more. Yet, I wasn't looked at as anything different. I was stuck, I was caught in a revolving door of male libido and the more I looked like Roxy Cotton, the more zero's were added to my check. It was the only life I had known for sometime, and there was a weird feeling within me that I would never be anything more than exactly that: nothing.

But now I sit here, my makeup kit out in front of me, and I look at how far I've come. Sure, I am not blowing the doors off by any means but I have grown so much that I feel as though I am a different person. I feel like I am a champion in my own regard. I've always been a "bombshell"--I've heard the neighbors talk to my 'father' about it--but now I feel as though I have conqoured perhaps the toughest part of life as a mid-twenties female, feeling content. I like where I am. Sure, there are pieces that need to come together. There is still so much to see, and so much left to do. But I feel now like I can say, for all those girls out there who have ever looked into the mirror and seen a pretty face that they themselves have scorned for being ugly, that you are not alone. I used to think I was the only one. Why does everything always happen to me? Why do the worst things happen to the best people? I was exposed to the most horrific things you could image at a young and tender age. Sure, chalk it up to bad luck, but I chalk it up to character building. Without all of that I would probably be working some office job somewhere, or perhaps a waitress--I always enjoyed that in high school--and I would not know what it is like or how it feels to overcome obstacles as large as the Grand Canyon without as much as a scratch. I know what I can do, but I don't always do it. Does that make sense? I know what I am capable of but everytime I come up on the short end of the stick I feel more and more like I want to go back out there and make up for it. I don't let it get me down. Call me cocky, sure. Arrogant. Maybe. Ignorant? Never. I know who I am and what I deserve based on the work I have put in, but my failure to show that to anyone that matters is what brings on those late-evening sighs and glasses of wine.

I guess this is rambling a bit. Just a girl looking in the mirror. I have this makeup kit sitting in front of me. I am about to go from broken and hopeless to optimistic perfection with a few strokes of a brush. I am about to become someone totally different than the girl I see. I shouldn't have to. No girl should have to. But the fact is, we do. Nobody knows what a girl goes through when she leaves the public eye. Nobody knows what pain she feels, even when she smiles. I've said it before but it is a quote I like so much. You'd be suprised what a smile can hide. It isn't the same for us as it is for the boys. It isn't the same for us as it was for our parents. Every girl is different, but every girl is really the same.

We want to feel loved, but we are in a constant battle day in and day out to find a way to love ourselves.

I came here and I knew I had to be aggressive. I knew I had to make moves. I had to use my body to get ahead, as I always had, and it worked. I hated it. I hate it. A girl's gotta do what a girls gotta do. I found a guy here who I thought would be my calling card. The first right thing I had done my entire life. I sought him out, stalked him almost, and eventually, fell in love. What killed me was every day I felt the need to prove my worth, to build my investment, to show him that he made the right choice. Ask any girl anywhere ever what she feels when she wakes up in the morning and puts her jeans on instead of yoga pants--she wants to be the best she can be in the eyes of everyone else. Girls. We cry, often for no reason, though in our minds the reason is clear. We laugh, we hug, we kiss, we suffer. I have thrown my body around because doing that has been the only thing I have ever been good at. Girls here want to throw that in my face, but that's like a girl who had a baby in high school. Sure, she made a mistake and tease her for it if you want to, but she knows what happened and she accepted it. I accept that I have been rather promiscuous in my early days but I have never even looked at another man on this roster--not just for Chris but for myself. Now I have a chance to add another reason to put this makeup on. I have a chance to embrace the perfection I claim. I say PERFECTION because it is what I strive to be, it is the standard I hold myself to, and I will continue to. My transformation. My transregtion. My improvement.

I am Jenny Myst. I am Sex, Metal, Barbie, Chaos.

And I am happy.

"You wanted to call me out......so here I am. Not so loud now, are ya? Miss Michelle, the Bombshell Champion who has done nothing here but prove something we all already knew, that Abigail was just smoke in mirrors. You did what I was going to do, you just used booking to beat me to it. So, great.....here we are. The match I deserve, just with a different piece of labia meat holding MY title.This is a match that I have no choice but to win. But let me ask you.....Miss....Michelle, is it? Do you ache at night to be just like me? I was the First Lady of the XWF long before you. I coined the phrase. I was the first lady of XWF, first lady of AX3, the first lady of professional wrestling. Do you want to be me that bad? Is that why you called me out? You see everything you want to be personified as a blonde model-caliber superstar who has more re-tweets without having a Twitter than you do people who even know you exist? Let me tell you this right now, Ms. Jealous, I have the utmost amount of respect for women's wrestling and women wrestlers. Put that thought on the back burner. What I don't respect is pretentious, fake bitches like you who soil this division like a

kids pants. You do not represent what women's wrestling is. You represent a cut-rate runway model with a self entitled attitude because you have a successful past and defeated a Bombshell Champion that had to take a short cut to win the belt. She didn't have to beat me to win it, because she can't. Neither can you. You damn near begged the Sugay Sisters to allow you to be the first woman here to pin me. Where is this confidence coming from? Miss Michelle thinks she is a trophy wife? For what, the Special Olympics? You are just embarrassing yourself, hun. Degrading the belt you don't deserve to have. You're so bad at your job, you should make a run for congress.

All of that talking, and I am the one with the big mouth? Well, where are ya? Where have ya been? All the bird-chirping and you've been silent for almost a week. If I give you a straw, will you go suck the fun out of someone else's life? Hell, you're more of a letdown than Kim Anderson.

Let that sink in.

Michelle, I was willing to overlook your obvious mental instabilites for your admireable efforts to conceal them. You were the PWF Women's Champion. You beat every girl there....yadda yadda. All of that success.

Hold on......

Wait......

I'm really trying to give a fuck here.

Ahh hell, I just can't.

You're the type of chick that makes me wish I had more middle fingers.

Bitch Michelle Said:I personally enjoyed it because Jenny Myst has had such a demoralizing demeanor toward the other XwF’s bombshells that this was one of her most humbling experiences. Given enough of those, she might just be able to see the error of her ways and start to make the change that she viably needs.

First of all, keep my name out of your mouth. Is your jealousy that severe? You clearly want to be me. Pink everything, the first lady nonsense, dolling yourself up like you're headed off to a Halloween party. Bitch, that is my job. There is a reason you called me out. What have I done that has been so impressive that you saw me as a first target? As a threat? You could have called out anyone, but my name was the first one out of your mouth. You want to eliminate me because you want to be me. There isn't room for two sexed up fembots on this roster, and you know it. You see, Michelle, I have accepted what I am. There is nothing you can say about me that I haven't already said about myself. I talk a big game, sure, but I have yet to back it up. Yes King of the Ring was humbling, you dumb twat, but it would be lot more humbling if I had actually lost. I beat Abigail from pillar to post and she cashed in on ONE moment of weakness and stole a belt she didn't deserve. Don't think that because you came in here and beat her that you are some queen bee. You're nothing until you beat me. You know that, you recognized that, and that is why you called me out. Even your promo about Abigail was focused on me. You have issues with me because I am everything you aspire to be. Yeah, I slept my way to the top.....but I hooked myself up with an XWF Top 50 All Time former Universal Champion and LEGEND while you're still getting your blue waffle syrup from a man someone couldn't pick out of a lineup if he was the only one in it!

That seems to be the ultimate goal here for everyone. Your M.O. is no different than anyone else. Beat Jenny Myst. That is the bar that has been set. You have disrespected the title because you've focused more on pinning me than being the top women's champion in the world. Who am I? Why accept my challenge? I should be a nobody to you. I should be gum under your designer shoes. You won't allow that, will you? You're right. You do have a bright future. Someday, you'll go far. I just hope you stay there.

Ugh. I don't have the energy to pretend I like you today.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Stop trying to be me because you can never be this perfect. Stop trying to pretend.

Flattery and insults raise the same question: What do you want?

Do you want to be the Bombshell Champion and the number one woman on this roster? Or do you want to beat Jenny Myst? You'd better get your priorities in order because while you are out there blowing kisses and baby talking, trying to sound cute, I'll be in the ring putting you on your ass and holding MY title over my head as the most perfect Bombshell Champion this company has ever had.

PERFECTION

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