Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Go All The Way (The Raspberries)

Back in the spring of 2007, I stumbled upon an adventure. After meeting a group of men, I was invited to join a penis enlargement forum. Yes, it was a place on the internet where men could talk about their dick size, and then come up with a plan on how to get bigger, bolder, and give the ladies more bam. Okay, that is totally cheesy, but it is true.

The first time I logged onto the forum, it was men talking about how much they grew as a result of using a set of weights to enlarge their magic stick. It made me giggle the way they were so obsessed with how big their pleasure wand was. There were two rules on the forum. One was that you needed to check your spelling, and your post had to be grammatically correct. (Yes, when you talk about your dick you must have some dignity). The second was not to denigrate the penis size of any dude. I found out rule number two the hard way after posting some stupid comment about men with small penises. Anyway, I was verbally lambasted by the moderator. This was a sensitive issue for those involved.

When I went on the first few times, it was like a men's locker room. These guys were talking about what they did to chicks and where. Some talked about their sexual prowess as if they were treasure hunters who had cracked the female code. Others complained that they asked a girlfriend about her ex boyfriend and how he was in bed, and to compare the performance. Additionally, they also wanted a comparison on penis size. After not getting the answer they wanted, they engaged in revenge fucking. Then they went on the forum to whine. And then there were those guys who dated women, found out that they slept with a shit load of guys, and talked about what "sluts" these women were. As a woman, this made my head explode.

Finally I had to chime in. I let the bedroom gangsters know more often than not, they were disappointments and yes, we were pretending to enjoy it. Unfortunately, we would never get that night of displeasure back to tell them. I also told the ones who wanted their ladies to kill and tell about the past not to ask questions they didn't want the answer to. And then there was the genius of love who called a woman who screwed 50 dudes a slut but he himself had slept with 80 women. I informed him he probably had children somewhere he didn't know about, and might or might not have caught something nasty so he should be one to talk. I couldn't hold my tongue. These idiots had to be told.

There was an insurrection. A woman made the place unsafe for their manliness. I got a talkin to by one of the mods and was told to shape up or ship out. I thought about it. Female insecurity is all about weight. It is all about the face and the hair. Not to mention we never feel our useless mammary glands are big enough, or that are butt and thighs are tight enough. We fear getting old because no man will want us once we pass a certain age. For years I thought men had it made. They didn't have to worry about being sexually assaulted. As they got old and rich they could still get as much ass as they wanted. Fat guys could get by on their personality. Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe there was more to this whole dick pic than I was seeing. Perhaps this wasn't about penis size, but the way male insecurity masked itself. Men are visually driven, and therefore they want to sexually please. However, after you get rid of that total biological factor, they still wanted to be good partners. They just had different fears and worries. They worried that if they weren't sexually pleasing, they wouldn't make a woman happy. What they were really saying was, they were afraid overall, again, they wouldn't have what it took to be a good lover let alone romantic companion.

So I made nice and gave my input in discussions. Sometimes these guys had a boneheaded way of approaching women. I would gently tell them that perhaps they should change their tact. Other guys felt shy about approaching girls in general, especially a lady they liked. I would encourage them to put themselves out there. It was the only way this girl would ever know they were alive. If she didn't like them, it was her loss not theirs. And then there were those fellows who were getting to the point where things were going to go hot and heavy, and wanted some advice. The guys would recommend sex tricks, I would recommend just talking to the lady to see what SHE LIKED. While this boggled many minds, the advice did prove helpful.

A lot of young dudes on the forum began to message me. Some wanted to know what turned a woman on in bed, and if I girls truly looked down on guys who weren't as packed. They wanted to know if they should use mood music as well. I told them again, just get to know a girl. See if you want to sleep with her. Talk to her. See what she likes. Every woman was different. Again, while this boggled their minds, they found the advice helpful. It was funny and adorable at the same time. They sincerely wanted to make their ladies happy. They wanted to find true companionship with a partner. Yet sex was on their mind first and talking came second. Still, the aim was sincere and their little hearts were in the right place.

I ended up on the forum a few more months. However, I backed off. Life got big, and I didn't have time to dick around so to speak. And I made the mistake of dating a moderator, who FYI, was not well hung.

However, I will say I am grateful for my time on the forum. It got me to understand dudes in a whole new light. Men do have feelings, so much moreso than women. However, they are not as emotional. Guys do want to go out of their way to be good boyfriends and husbands, but at the same time get hung up on things like penis size. Yes, they have sex on the brain, but they also want happily ever after, they just don't express it the same. Maybe their hang up-no pun intended-is the whole penis thing. But we all have our own hang ups.

We are all crazy and insecure in our own unique way.

Check out my DVD Broke and Semi-Famous available on EBay

Monday, August 18, 2014

Night of the Living Blow Job

Last night my friend Nishu had a cook out party for his friend Marcurio. A weird mix of hodge podge, Marcurio is part German and part Latvian. However, he was raised in both Brazil and Argentina, depending on where his parents worked. On top of that he lived and worked in Puerto Rico and NY. It was the big 50, a milestone. A membership to a new club. The night before, the recently divorced Marcurio had partied until the sun came up, drank as much as an errant sailor, and was still going.

Nishu, notorious for being the ring master of a crazy cast of characters, invited some of the usual suspects. Juan came with his Japanese girlfriend Koko. Nishu’s girlfriend Hedda was there as well, the one who has normalized him. Over the past six months, she has acted as a sedative of sorts. Nishu has gone from dating fetish models and answering ads on craigslist to having Hedda on his arm. Last night they were talking about the tentative wedding they were having in India where Nishu is from, and the possibility there would be one dog in the equation. The whole thing is good and odd at the same time. It is odd to see and hear Nishu using the love term when it comes to a woman, let alone only sleeping with one woman at a time. It is also good to see him so focused and so grown up. Despite his playboy past he is actually a good boyfriend. I think he had it in him though, because he was always a good friend.

Marcurio brought two guests with him. One was Marco, his good friend who he met while in high school in Argentina. Now Marco owned a private security firm and rode Harley’s. And there was a woman in the mix with those two. Her name was Sandra. A tall, leggy blonde, she worked for the Catalonian government in Spain. However, she now lived in NYC. While she was not lively as the rest of the group, she seemed fine, like she was blending in. Sure, we can be nuts as a whole, but she was adjusting, and Nishu was making her feel welcome.

I chatted with Sandra briefly. Apparently there is a movement for Catalonian independence in Spain I was not aware of. I asked her if it was similar to the Basque movement. She said it was less violent. I likened it to the Scottish movement for independence. She agreed, and we both discussed that and the IRA. I found her reserved but intelligent. Things were still smooth, still good.

We began to talk about various types of relationships, swinging and such. I mentioned I knew people who were swingers that had a healthy, honest, open relationship. Juan and Koko knew a couple where the swinging got out of control, and the woman developed feelings for her male swing. The subject came up about how feelings come and go, and people can’t turn them off. Sandra got silent, almost judgmental. She shot a hateful glance our way. Shortly afterwards, those two departed. Apparently, they needed to catch an early flight to Japan to visit Koko’s family the next day.

Then I asked Marcurio if he had ever been married. He mentioned he had, to the daughter of a famous baseball star. His ex wife, a Dominican, had tried to kill him on several occasions. Once she had stabbed him with a pair of scissors. Then she threatened him with a kitchen knife. After that she held a gun to his head. We asked why he stayed. Marcurio said, “It’s not her fault.” We laughed. Wow. Then we asked if they were still talking. Marcurio said despite their divorce they were the best of friends. WOW!

After which, I mentioned that as a recently divorced guy we should take him to a strip club. There were several in the neighborhood. I told him he needed the diseased booty of a stripper all over his face as well as her augmented breasts. The party agreed. The question was, which club to take him too. At some, because of the high stage fee, the girls were tip sharks. At others, they didn’t go full nude. These were such crisis and we arrived at a dead end. Still, this man needed lots of action from a dirty, loose, woman with no morals.

And then the name Matilda came up. Yes, he had met Matilda at the surprise party we threw for Hedda’s best friend Meg. Matilda was from Croatia, and up until two days before we met her had been living on a boat with this random Indian dude. They had no where else to go, and someone lent them the boat. Matilda baked these crepes laced in Jack Daniels. I mistakenly had one as a nondrinker not knowing. Within seconds, I offered the rest of mine to a slightly sloshed drinker friend. Anyway, Matilda was ready to rock ‘n’ roll.

A free spirit, she struck up a conversation with Marcurio about blow jobs, and then offered him one. 

Marcurio apparently declined, but got her digits. I blurted out, “You were recently divorced, what the frickety frack were you thinking? It’s a free blow job and you don’t have to pay!”

“Yeah,”  his friend Marco agreed. “Man, that is an offer you can’t refuse.”

Hedda agreed. “When someone offers a blow job for no money you just say yes.”

“And if you get this offer again she might have no teeth.” I reminded him.

“That is the best kind of blow job.” Marcurio informed.

“But she might have a crack habit and AIDS.” I said.

“That is depressing…..Never thought of that.” Marcurio replied.

“I have Matilda’s number, let’s call her and have her come over.” Nishu suggested.

We all agreed. Perhaps Marcurio could finally collect on his birthday present. All the while, Sandra sat there, with gleam in her eye that read homicide. I could tell she didn’t like me especially, but whatever. Mario agreed an up front offer for a blow job would have been a little odd, but he would have considered it. When we asked Sandra, she said in a stilted tone, “If I were a guy, I think I would be turned off by that.”

“But you aren’t a dude.” I countered. Everyone agreed. At that moment, a scowl set in across her face.
Nishu tried Matilda again, no luck. Finally he got her. She said she was in Queens somewhere and might come over. Apparently she was piss faced drunk. Probably laced it in her own food again. The good news was, she now had a residence and was no longer living on a boat. Meanwhile, the wine had run out for the drinkers and Nishu ran to the liquor store. The rest of us were left to debate the evening and the subject of BJs.

We goaded Marcurio into collecting on his much promised present. All the while, Sandra withdrew and got moodier and moodier. Hedda and I teased Marcurio about what had happened, and Mario joined the fun. Hedda suggested she should make the same offer to Nishu. When Nishu returned, Sandra was now downing liquor and unhappily sucking on a cigarette. She was waaaaayyyyy too uptight for our group. Meanwhile, we ordered a pizza. When it arrived, Nishu and Hedda disappeared to find the plates. They were gone for sometime, and we sat there. Mario, Marcurio, and I continued the blow job gag, and even joked about collecting money to get the birthday boy a high priced call girl.

I went inside to see if they needed help finding the plates. The hate from the direction of Sandra was much too much. When I went inside, Nishu and Hedda were both stepping out of the bathroom. Hedda had made the offer and well……That is when I said, “You both did not?” They giggled, got the plates, and out we went. Hey, at least someone was cashing in on the offer, right?

Pizza was punctuated with more inappropriate jokes. Sandra glowered now. Marcurio apologized, “We are a little nutty here in case you didn’t know. Sorry if you feel overwhelmed.”

“I wasn’t even paying attention.” Sandra said, not even visibly hiding her disgust. Hedda, wanting to change the mood from the wet blanket, cut off the lid from the recently finished pizza box and made it into a birthday keep sake for Marcurio. For as nutty as my friends are, they are equally as thoughtful. Nishu and Hedda were trying to make the party a nice experience, and now this woman was just making it awkward.
Minutes later, she announced she was heading out. She claimed she had to work. After she left, Mario, who had been silent for a great while, told us tales of his adventures as a biker. He spoke of the kindness of strangers on the road. We all were sucked into his stories, a nice change of pace from the sex talk that had enveloped the night. A short while later, Marcurio asked, “What did you think of Sandra?” We all bit our lips.
Finally, Marcurio confessed they had met on Tinder, and had only known her about three days. I was floored, I thought she was an old friend like all the others. Apparently she had been his “date”to his birthday party the night before. We asked if he slept with her. Marcurio replied, “Now I never will because you cock blocked me.” 

Thus began a debate about if Tinder was a meet up, dating, or hook up app. The jury was out. On the other hand, some of us felt bad about not knowing she was Marcurio’s date. If we had known, we wouldn’t have called Matilda and pressured him into collecting on the blow job he was promised. I felt bad, and so did Mario. Hedda said we had no way of knowing, and Nishu agreed. Marcurio laughed the whole thing off. But now this strange woman hated us all. Yeah, she was a stick in the mud. Yeah, she was on a whore app looking for love. Maybe we should have been a little better behaved.

Then we thought about it. Perhaps Sandra and her uptight nature made her not the right match for the recently single, ready to rock Marcurio. On the other hand, perhaps Marcurio was the reason for his brushes of death with women in the first place. Then we suggested we call Matilda, call Sandra, and have Sandra see Marcurio collect on his present live and in person. But we decided against it.

Instead, we decided to keep laughing and having fun. We decided to keep cracking jokes and to continue frolicking in the Neverland we somehow inhabited, stilted souls never to develop into full blown adults. The pirate who had accidentally infiltrated our lair would never return again, by hook or by crook. And in unison we shouted, “BLOW JOBS FOR ALL!!!”

Gosh my sixth grade self would have thought this was the best night ever.

The end.
Buy my DVD Broke and Semi-Famous available through EBay

Saturday, August 16, 2014

5 Questions

Everyone knows that E Harmony has the five questions. Yes, when someone gets to know you they send you five questions. Usually, they have an online profile pic that looks like this.

However, that is usually a lie. Because you see, as we know 6 feet means 5'6". Banker probably means bus boy. You get the hint. Oh, and they probably look something like this in person.

Anyway, they usually ask you five questions. My answer to all of them recently when a dude sent them my way was, "Just don't kill me." Or "The idea date would not end with me locked in your basement, begging for my life."

Of course, I now have 5 questions of my own. My suitors will have to answer these to the best of their ability. Here they are:

1. Have you ever been to jail? If so, what for and how long?

2. Have you ever been abducted by aliens and do you see/take orders from dead people?

3. Do you have HIV/AIDS/Hep C. Note, legally I have to ask and your answer does not disqualify you.

4. Will your father hit on me at Thanksgiving?

5. Are you in a drug treatment program/probation? If so, what is your curfew time?

Anyway, I think these should clear a lot of air.

Check out my DVD Broke and Semi-Famous

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Grandpa The Street Fighter

Today would have been my Pop Pop's 96th birthday. A gentle soul, he coached all six of his kids in swimming and worked as a meet official as well. My Pop Pop always told outlandish stories, too. It was hard not to love the man, and even harder not to take his passing personally.

A World War II Navy man, he served as a 2nd Lieutenant in his platoon of squids. I never knew much about his war adventures, but he mentioned in passing he was there when the atomic bomb was dropped. My Pop Pop would mention he was in the war, but the other details of his mission remained a mystery. Once, my brother Wendell interviewed him for a school project where he spoke more in detail than he ever had. Pop Pop felt the war was over, life went on I suppose.

Before the war, my Pop Pop had attended the University of Pittsburgh. While a student there, he had been an engineering major and quite a boxer. Once, when I was in high school my parents were away on a college visitation trip with my brother, and Pop Pop babysat. While he was watching us, I left my math book on the kitchen table. When I woke up, my Pop Pop was doing math problems. I was stunned. "Pop Pop, we have a television." I said gently. Later, my mom explained that as someone who was originally an engineer, my Pop Pop was not only good at math, but loved it.

I hate math with every fibre of my being and still do. My brother Wendell tolerates it, like the drug addict relative out of rehab and needing money yet again. As for my sister Skipper, she is good at it but they only have a casual relationship. Pop Pop, while originally an engineer, ended up taking over the family insurance business. It was because the war was over, he was recently married, and had a child on the way. This was the ready job he needed.

My Pop Pop was the type who never spoke about himself, but rather spoke about the accomplishments of his grandchildren instead. Whether it was Mindy and Meara and their success as dancers,one with City Baller and the other at the university as a dance professor respectively. Or my cousin Martin and his art. Then there was my other cousin Timmy who almost went to the Olympics as a skiier. Lest we not forget Skipper and Wendell and their success in the science and medical fields. Cody and Blaze, my younger cousins, excelled in baseball and soccer. And then there's my newest cousin Valery.

My Pop Pop was the first person to buy my book, and read it in a single night. I offered to give it to him as a gift, but he insisted on paying for it. His last outing before he passed Thanksgiving Day was my book signing.

What I did not know was that my Pop Pop was so skilled as an athlete. I had seen him swim, and he played tennis well into his 80s. However, I never knew he was a boxer. This is the video my mom and I took of my 95 year old grandfather demonstrating his moves.

RIP Pop Pop, you were da man.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available through Barnes and Noble/Amazon

Monday, August 11, 2014

UnPretty (TLC)

This morning I was at the corner store getting my coffee. In New York City, everything moves kind of fast. Plus the dudes at my deli know me. They know what I want when I walk in the door. Usually, the way a New York Deli works though is that when one person is checking out, the other person orders. Things tend to move quickly in the city that never sleeps.

At the counter is this woman I mean she is a big girl. She looks like the type who lives in an SRO with her six cats because no one has ever loved her. Meanwhile I rolled out of bed. I don't look so great myself. I don't think anything of her. It's New York. We get everyone. So she turns to me, and has this huge growth on her face with hair coming out of it. She looks like a witch crawled out of a Brother's Grimm Fairy Tale. Her teeth resemble more fangs than teeth of course. So she turns to me and this is how the interaction goes:

Woman: Could you wait a second until I get out of here? I know I am fat and ugly but let me finish.

Me: I'm sorry.

Woman: I know they would much rather deal with you because you're a pretty girl.

Me: I am sure that's not true.

Woman: Oh honey, we both know it is. I weigh 300 pounds.

Then she takes her jars of cat food (I was right) box of donuts (like her crazy ass needed those) and off she went. Mohammed, the guy behind the counter, and I exchanged a WTF look as she left. Yeah, the bitch was crazy. There was no arguing with her. I was stunned. Part of me wanted to inform this beast no one made her 300 pounds. It was the shitload of donuts and ice cream she was eating. Maybe she could motivate herself to spend less time with her cats and go to the gym. Also, these days you didnt have to be forced to have a witch growth on your face. Most Obamacare plans cover basic dermatology. Even if she didn't know they did, she could pay a rat a quarter to gnaw that thing off her face. Hey, John Candy's suggestion not mine.

Of course it was funny to me that she thought my life was easy, and people just wanted to wait on me hand and foot. It was hysterical to assume I have always been the weight that I am at. As a high school student I struggled with my weight. Then I had a mini thyroid problem as a teenager. It was hell, the fat girl jokes. I know how it is to walk around in that skin and be the hopeless butt of everyone's jokes. Moreover, I remember the preferential treatment some of the size 2 pretty girls got, and I was always left out of the loop. Dudes talked to me to get answers on English and history homework. And when they did ask me out, it was a joke. My mom says keep it on the down low that I was fat, ugly, had braces with rubber bands, and cystic acne. Truth is, I am not. I need to remind myself of how bad life used to be, but also to let people know that it can and does get better.

Then I recalled a passage in Burn Down the Ground by author and award winning storyteller Kambri Crews. Burn Down the Ground details her childhood being raised in the woods by two deaf parents, and at times having to steal water, etc. After years of living in the woods, Kambri's family abandons their wildling existence mostly because their finances improve, and move to suburbia. Anyway, the crush of a popular girl likes her. So in retaliation, the popular girl, who is a teacher helper and grades papers, crosses out her name and writes Bambi instead. Kambri points out to her this was ironic and funny on so many levels because only months before she had lived in the woods with no proper electricity or running water and was forced to wear a crew cut. Oh perception.

While the whole thing made me laugh in a way, it also pissed me off. How dare you claim to know me lady? I have been through some shit in my life. Yes, I have had some things happen to me that I would not wish on my worst enemy. There have been periods in my life where I have rented property in the Valley of the Shadow of Death beachside because I knew I was going to be there a while. Some of the events on my life's timeline read like a horror show. If you think the ride has been easy, you are wrong. There has been enough self-loathing and then some that could sink the Titanic for efficiently than an iceberg. Seriously bitch. Fuck you. Some of what I have been through would probably kill you.

Then I remembered the words of someone to me once. "When you see someone behaving in a way that is rotten, it's a lesson in how you don't want to be."

However, it also made me think that humility is not thinking less of oneself, but oneself less. She probably has mental health issues, and those carry a stigma that makes a sufferer avoid getting treatment. She probably has compulsive over eating disorder, which is an addiction. The sufferer can't stop and their health suffers. Their world revolves around food at the exclusion of all things else. Not to mention her physical health is a mess and her self-esteem is shit. So like all addicts she blames everyone else for her problems and doesn't see her role, therefore she doesn't change her circumstances because she cant. That is when I actually started to feel sorry for her.

Then it made me realize beauty was not about weight. It's about personality. In my high school, my older brother Wendell went to school with a bigger girl named Katrina. Katrina was Student Government President, on homecoming court, and was the star of the school play. Everyone liked her. She was on the "A" list because she was a good person with an even better sense of humor. Later, she lost weight because she had a Type II diabetes scare. However, she still retained her awesome personality and we loved her regardless. In addition to Katrina, I have met other big girls who have been able to rock it out, get a guy, and enjoy life to the fullest.

I have also met skinny bitches who were just bitches, judgmental to the "T." These women who for the most part were marginal looking at best gossiped about their friends, complained about fat that was not there, and demanded their boyfriends and husbands made them the center of the universe. Once, I was forced to spend time with these mean girls when promo jobs paid my rent. Being thin and "good looking" was their meal ticket, and they enjoyed making snide remarks about others. I was glad to get away from them. Glad to get air. Glad to be away from such ugly people.

Of course, when someone is nasty, even if they are pretty at one point, they still become ugly. A mean girl I went to high school with did not age well. Same with a football player heart throb who wasn't so nice to a lot of people either. Even if you upkeep all day, if what is underneath is rotten, eventually it breaks out and shows up physically in ways you could never imagine.

I still remember brunching with friends and seeing a big girl dancing as she crossed the cross walk. She had her headphones in and her ipod on. We all agreed it was amazing and wanted to go join her. It was a gentle reminder that pretty and ugly is not about weight or shape. Yeah, there is a fashion and makeup component. But more than anything, it is about heart and soul. Just as pretty can come in all forms, so can ugly.

Don't let an ugly person ruin your day


Saturday, August 9, 2014

We've Only Just Begun (The Carpenters)

Yesterday marked my parent's 39 wedding anniversary. It is kind of strange they have been married that long. These days, people have a starter marriage, then a second marriage, and maybe two or three others. They are still on their first one though.

It all began at my Aunt Marie's wedding. You see, the back story was that my Nunni had dragged my mom to my aunt's wedding. She convinced my mom, who was a first year teacher, that there were available men at weddings. My mother scoffed. Still, she worked in education, where women outnumber men literally 3:1. Plus my mom taught PE. As a jock, male teachers were intimidated by her. Sure, she is tiny, but she can kick your ass. Do not be fooled.

They came to be invited to the wedding because my Nunni had stepped in to help my Mema Ralph during a rough period. Years before, Mema Ralph had lost her husband to a heart attack. My Aunt Margaret (RIP) had gotten married, and left home. At the time, my dad was in college. As my aunt was ready to make her voyage down the aisle, there were still 4 young children to be accounted for. Mema Ralph had no work experience aside from being a stay at home mom. So my Nunni, who was a nurse, stepped in and helped her get licensed as an LPN. To thank her for assisting in her dire time of need, she plus one guest were invited to the wedding of her daughter Marie and her fiance Frank, a guy who she had dated since high school. (They too are still married).

The reception was crowded, and music was playing. My Aunt Margaret, who was an awesome cook, was catering the affair. Suddenly, out of no where, the bartender had a heart attack, and an ambulance had to be called. The place was filled, because both the Brucker and O'Brien clans invited everyone they knew. It was a German Irish Catholic wedding, and there is one thing people do there. They get drunk. They get drunk to celebrate. They get drunk to forget that they are getting old because someone they saw grow up is getting married. They get drunk to deal with family members that they can't stand. Alcohol serves a purpose, a big one, and the bartender was down for the count.

My Nunni, always being a part of the solution, decided she and my mother would take charge of the situation. They jumped behind the bar, and with members of the Brucker clan, began making drinks and handing them out to guests at the wedding. So what the bartender was gone? They were on their own making the best of a terrible situation, and the guests were none the wiser. Between my mom and Nunni manning the booze and my Aunt Margaret in the kitchen, things moved smoothly. Of course, my dad stepped in as social director making sure there was no hitch. After all it was his sister's big day, and because their father had passed he had given her away, and therefore had to take on the rest of those duties, and this meant cruise director on the big day. Sure, it was crazy, but my Aunt Marie and Uncle Frank played if off as if nothing was happening, and despite the dust up their big day ended up being fantastic.

Afterwards, my grateful father walked over to my Nunni and asked, "Thank you so much. You took a situation that could have been a complete disaster and made it work. If there is anything I can do, ever, let me know."

To which my Nunni replied, "Yeah, go over there and dance with my single daughter."

Meanwhile, my Nunni walks over to my mother and says, "Act like you are bored. Guys like that."

So they danced and the rest is history. Nine months later, they were married. Of course, on her wedding day, my mom said to the DJ, "For my first dance, I don't know what I want. But don't play 'We've Only Just Begun.' I hate that song."

The DJ said, "Okay."

Sure enough, on her wedding day, that was their first dance song. So yeah, that's the story of Wilbur and Annalise Brucker. There you go.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad

Love you

Thursday, August 7, 2014

One Love (Whodini)

There is a lot of talk about whether or not a person can be faithful to one. You see some people married for 65 plus years, like my Nunni and Pop Pop were before they both passed. Heck they were so intertwined they passed within months of each other. On the other hand, there are some people who can’t seem to stay loyal to one partner. It’s blamed on a character flaw by some. Others call them sex addicts. I don’t know. Or then sometimes people cheat, but then they are cheated on. Disney tells us the Prince and the Princess live happily ever after. Really though, it’s more complicated.

When I was younger, I was pretty much wired like a woman when it came to relationships. There were committed couples around me. My parents have been married 40 plus years, and my aunts and uncles are all going strong. I had the understanding love wasn’t always perfect but you tried your best. We are crazy in my family in other ways, but we don’t divorce. Instead we test the law of science by getting struck by lighting and working as lab test subjects. Oh, and we also test the legal system, both as counsel and defendant. But no divorce here. In a relationship you were in it to win it, end of story.

In high school, I remember it was the first time I realized things could get a tad complicated. Enter Bobby Parker. I was what was termed as a good girl. As in, National Honor Society plus a zillion other resume builders, career oriented and solely volunteer plus a part time minimum wage paying job at the supermarket. Bobby on the other hand was a pot head who was slowly making his way to other drugs. We had always been friends, and I found him bright and easy to talk to.

Well Bobby had a girlfriend three towns over who had a rep for being easy. The dudes said she could “chug it like a champ.” Bobby would give me rides home from school more often than not, and would fight anyone who said anything bad about me. His friends gave him smack for talking to me, but he kept on doing it. Bobby’s girlfriend found out about me through a jealous friend in that druggie circle. Although we never met, word on the street was she wasn’t happy with me. Yeah, I liked Bobby and Bobby liked me. But she was still his girlfriend. Basically, he got his intellectual/emotional fix from talking to me and his physical fix by having trashy (probably unprotected) teen sex in the back seat of his Caddy. Years later, he has kicked drugs and is married. He barely keeps in contact, and I understand and appreciate the boundary. Maybe these days he is getting all his needs fulfilled. But he had a physical relationship with one of us and an emotional relationship with the other. So yeah, love can be complicated.

That summer, I worked as a lifeguard and saw married man after married man try to proposition me to the steam room like I was some cheap trick. It never worked. Some of it was dignity, but then there was the fact my mother was my boss, too. They all confessed they loved their wives but were bored. It’s nature. Men are physical creatures where as women are emotional creatures. Hell, there is even adultery in nature. It served a purpose in continuing the species in time of famine. The men of the species would copulate with every woman in the little nest or whatnot. And then when the babies were born, the men would all guard them. That’s the nature explanation. My mom says it’s because some men are assholes who go crazy when they get out of their cage. Who knows?

That’s why The Seven Year Itch was such a hit. Idiot’s wife goes away with kid. Idiot plays for a few days with the hot neighbor. Idiot goes back to join the wifey. Happily ever after…..kindof.

When I got to college, I wanted a boyfriend because I never had one. Most of the guys just wanted to lose their virginity if they hadn’t already. Guys peak sexually at 18-22. So it was of course going to happen, the horn dog. I dated a little my first year. Every time I had a boyfriend type, he would turn out to be a horn dog and just cheat. It was amazing how these guys could just cheat without thinking about it. Yeah, I had been the other woman in the Bobby Parker teen triangle. It fucked with my head I will admit. But I knew he was somebody else’s guy. Sure, the married dudes approached me for hand jobs in the steam room. I didn’t give them. They were married. It seemed no one had a moral compass but myself.

I finally started dating one dude I really liked. He was a bit older than I was. A trust fund kid, he had an awesome apartment with a bachelor bar. We hit it off, and he wanted all the benefits and then some change of being Mr. April Brucker without the title. It hurt. But he explained he was quite a bit older, and knew I would change my mind. I tried dating dudes my age, but never connected with them the way I connected with Prince Semi-Charming. When Prince Semi-Charming would find out, he would throw a hissy fit. Yet it was alright for him to see other women. Once I even decided to put an end to the madness and asked, “Would it be alright if I called you my boyfriend? I am here an awful lot.”

Prince Semi-Charming replied, “April, that is a great way to scare a guy off.” Months later, in a drunken fit, I told him how I felt before throwing up on his carpet. He rejected me. That was the end of the end. I was done. However, Prince Semi-Charming was only beginning. As soon as I met my fiancé he stepped up his game and tried harder than ever to win me back. Once, he made a joke about a ventriloquist giving him a blow job, and my fiancé nearly killed him right then and there. Of course the madness with the fiancé ended, and Prince Semi-Charming rode back into the picture calling me night and day. Nevermind he had a girlfriend that would eventually become his wife. I was done, completely done. He even sent me an inappropriate message his wedding day. No wonder his wife hates me.

These days, he sees me every once in a while. For the most part, we actually get along better now that we aren’t so entwined in our codependent cycle. But as I said his wife hates me. Every once in a while, when I see him, he will bring up the fact that we dated, typically in front of a group of people who don’t know that we did. Usually he does this when I am in an up mood or there is a joke about a relationship someone tells. Part of me thinks he might not be happy with his wife, who is a bit of a battle axe. The other part of me thinks he’s goofy. Then there is a part of me that thinks yeah, he’s happy. But he still has feelings for me. He loves us both. His wife hates the site of me, but he loves us both. For the record, I don’t seek him out and we havent spoken in almost a year and a half. Probably for the best.

Of course, the break up with the fiancé was messy as I have described. During the relationship there was a lot of jealous, destructive behavior on both ends. I flipped out at an ex of his he was intriguing with, and wasn’t proud. Of course, I began to suspect he was sleeping with a stripper ex who a decent amount of money in the lotto. It pissed me off because I had been loyal. Things ended like an explosion in a nuclear waste plant. He began sleeping with another ex of his who was working as a hair dresser of some sort. She was developing a serious heroin problem, and slowly was getting worse and worse as were her decisions. Hence her letting my ex in her life. In addition to her heroin habit draining her wallet, she was also paying my ex’s bills.

I still remember finding this out when my ex messaged me in order to get me back. Yeah, he had cheated. I had been awful. It was a terrible relationship but we loved each other. I confronted him about sleeping with the druggie hair dresser. To which my ex replied, “Yeah, but I don’t want her back. After being with you, I can’t go back to something that ugly for real.”

Now this is where it gets crazy. When I wouldn’t take him back he flipped out. I got the different mailing address. Yet this hair dresser chick would send me nasty emails and say terrible things about me. Bitch, do you know what your man is saying about you? Do you know he called you ugly? And doesn’t it feel a little weird and pathetic to have a dude fucking you, yet he is stalking his ex night and day? Only a tad dysfunctional, don’t you think? Of course, I can’t say I was any better. I tried dating and would purge my guts on my dates scaring any potential, decent boyfriends off. But hey, the opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. There was no way either of us was going to be loyal to anyone when we were still spending all of our energy sparring with each other.

Leaving that relationship felt like getting released from jail. That is when I decided to have fun. I partied in any day that ended in a “y.” I dated several trust fund playboy types living off family money. Others were ex-cons, recently released from jail and hadn’t had a lady in a while and were willing to just give me a whirl. Dates were fun, care free, and dirty jokes and booze flowed like water. I was having so much fun part of me never wanted a boyfriend again. I suddenly began to understand why people wanted open relationships, to swing, and every other kind of committed or not lifestyle. Suddenly I began to wonder if monogamy ever worked, or people just forced themselves into it because it was what they were supposed to do.

Then there were those who wanted more, and I told them they couldn’t give it. I always ended up hurting them. Once, two dudes got into a fight over me because one said he was okay with fun and then wasn’t when he saw me with someone else. Sure, I felt like a sadist. Yet I wasn’t the liar. He was. He said he was okay with fun. However, maybe he was until he suddenly morphed into a human. Maybe we all are until we morph into humans. I don’t know.

During that period in my life, before things got too crazy, I ended up at a swinger’s party by accident. I just knew it was a couples get together in the erotic fashion, and it was a chance to perform ventriloquism and get paid. As the evening went on, I found out it was a swingers event. Several women in the room gave their husband’s permission to sleep with me as long as we didn’t get attached. It sounded like an awesome idea actually. That is, until the surprise orgy erupted. Clothes came off, and these were some ugly bodies. Yes, clothes were designed for these people-especially these people. I tried to leave but they kept sucking me back into the orgy, forcibly pulling my hands. Was this what hell was like? Being sucked into an orgy of ugly people? I did not know. Either way, I determined perhaps not only the swinger lifestyle was not for me but maybe, just maybe, things were getting a tad too crazy.

So I tried to do the whole boyfriend thing again. At first it was nice. Having a guy around was nice. We had nice dinners. We had nice times. He was nice when he met my mom. Nice. Yet, underneath I didn’t feel right in the relationship. I tried my hardest to be a good girlfriend, but always failed. Either I would just end up fighting with him, or wouldn’t pick up the phone when he called because I just couldn’t. Soon, I began to look elsewhere to satisfy myself. Yes, I turned into a cheater. That thing I had hated in college. The loyal, moral compass was gone. I couldn’t help myself, and I cheated constantly. The relationship ended, and it felt like a relief. Finally, I didn’t have to be inauthentic anymore, and once again I could leave jail. I wish I understood why I behaved the way I did, and I still feel like a bad person. I avoid him when I can, which is often. Still, I came to the conclusion maybe I am not wired to be monogamous. And maybe this is why some people cheat. It’s not about being a dirt bag. It’s about nature being a bitch, and us getting hang ups about it.

Of course, I have also looked into the whole open relationship thing since then. It is semi-commonplace in the gay world, and they manage to make it work. Other friends of mine, where one partner is bi, also have this arrangement. I have one friend couple that it works very well in. The husband is a priest in the Church of Satan, and his wife is a practicing member. They sleep with their “side pieces” and respect the primary partner. In a strange way, their union is more honest and pure than many of my married friends-gay and straight. They know who is hooking up with who. It took me a while to wind my head around the fact that there was no jealousy, only understanding in their arrangement. Yet every once in a while, a third party does come in who tries to ruin things between them. Their bond prevails, but it’s a wonder neither has been shot.

I have also seen an open relationship erupt into flames. Once a guy I know was in a polyamorous arrangement with a dungeon mistress and her husband. He fell in love with the dungeon mistress, and her husband nearly killed him in a jealous rage. The two left her house, and moved in together. That is when they brought in a third girl working as a stripper. The dungeon mistress and the stripper got a relationship going, and then kicked out my boy. Needless to say he turned into a jealous stalker type. Too much drama.

Of course sometimes it is more open on one end than it is the other. Once, a married dude assured me he had an open relationship. We hung out and had fun. I wanted to see him again, that is, until I got a call from his wife biting my head off. She told me she wanted to shoot me. I told her that her husband said they had an open relationship. She informed me again she would shoot me if she ever saw me. Needless to say, I don’t think she got the memo about their arrangement. So much for that.

Yet also, I think sometimes people might be jungle cats in one part of their life, but be loyal in another. One is my friend Nishu, who was such a playboy back in the day. He only dated fetish models until he met his lady Jill. Not only has he been a good boyfriend, but he has been loyal and giving to the point where it is amazing. My brother Wendell’s friend Biff from college had a bedroom door that was basically revolving until he met his wife Lydia. Not only is he a loyal husband, but they just had their first child and he is all about being a dad. Even my fellow jungle kitten friend Nina is talking about getting serious with the new man she is with. No, she is not sleeping with throngs of men like she used to in the old days. Note, maybe all couldn’t commit to a relationship, but they were loving family members and awesome friends. So maybe it there, they just had to find the right person if you will.

Still, what constitutes cheating? Is a husband looking at porn after being a good guy and father grounds for divorce? If a guy needs to go to a strip club the night of his bachelor party, is he truly not ready to be married? If things get emotional and deep with a male/female friendship to the point where there is an attraction that isnt acted on, is that cheating as well? Again, this is when it all gets complicated.

Once I was discussing how open relationships might be the wave of the future with my mom and sister Skipper. Of course, Skipper was starting to get serious with Boomer and this was the last thing she wanted to hear. My mom stopped me. She said, “That will never work. Women will be jealous, men will continue to be possessive. People will continue to die.”


Monogamy or polyamory? What is the answer. Jury is still out.