Sunday, January 20, 2019

Open Letter To Covington High

Dear Mr. Rowe,

I grew up in the church. Both of my parents went to Catholic school, my dad until 9th grade and my mom all the way through grade 12. My cousin is Bishop William Winter of Pittsburgh, and my cousin married not only my parents, but all of my aunts and uncles, and at the age of 90 made a special appearance at my sister’s wedding on the alter. The priest who married my sister played high school football with my brother, and his parents, who are active in many Catholic causes, live next door to my parents in my hometown. My grandparents attended church two times a week and said the rosary daily until they passed away. Not only did I grow up respecting God and the church, but being Catholic was and still is very much a part of my fabric.
When I saw Mr. Nick Sandmann taunt Nathan Phillips I was horrified not only as a person, but as a Catholic. Nick Sandmann does not represent the Catholic Church I knew growing up. The church I grew up in prayed for the family of the fallen  Yitzhak Rabin, because despite having a different faith than us he still fought for peace in a war torn region. We prayed for the family of Matthew Shepherd, because the way he was murdered was ghastly, inhumane, and a hate crime. We also adopted a refugee family from Croatia, as the former Yugoslavia was at the time a battleground and many were dying. In taking in this family we did advocate "building a wall." In fact, our church was doing the opposite. 
 We were taught Catholic meant universal, and that the gift of being Catholic was you could go into a church anywhere and see Catholics of all shapes, sizes, and colors and have something in common. Ethnicity and color were no factor, and we were taught that it was acceptable for churches overseas to have Jesus's that were non-white, but also welcome. My elders in the Catholic Church emphasized treating all people with dignity regardless of whether they were like me or not. It was the Golden Rule, do onto others as they would do on to you. Both my grandfathers were not only good Catholics, but veterans who served their country in World War II in the South Pacific. I was taught to respect not only my elders, but all veterans as they sacrificed for our country. 
Sadly it appears this is not a part of the curriculum at Covington.  
Our priest did teach us about evil though. He sad it was afraid, egotistical, stupid and ultimately pathetic. The young man who got into the face of Nathan Phillips was all these things and so much more. I will not say his name as he does not deserve to be acknowledged let alone remembered, as his actions were the low road and Mr. Phillips took the high road in the face of true evil and hate. Actually, this tale reads like a Jesus parable. Ironically these kids were part of The March For Life effort, but these kids don't respect life at all, period. 
I am the oldest female cousin of 26 cousins and have worked as a teaching artist. When I see terrible behavior from young people, it doesn't speak so much about them but the adults that act as both parents and teachers. I shudder to think what the parents of these young men are like, and I think it's disgusting their chaperones did nothing to stop their vile behavior but instead stood back and did nothing. What turns my stomach most is these young men chanted "Build a wall" and blamed the start of the conflict on a group of black kids. Not only are these kids being taught intolerance, but part of being an adult is taking responsibility for ones own actions. They aren't being taught that either. Apparently the only value they are being taught at Covington is hate. 
While I could call your less than stellar scholar any set of names, it would do us no good. This young man is on a path that leads to no where positive. As Ghandi once said, "An eye for an eye leaves the world blind," and this kid is currently walking in a darkness that is only going to ultimately drag him down. My prayer is he will see the light and learn the error of his ways, as Saul did when he became Paul when God blinded him. They talk about these conversions and miracles in The Bible. You should read it. It's actually a good book when you don't pervert it to your own agenda that includes being a racist hate monger. 
Then again, you don’t seem to be big on reading at Covington. Because if you were, you would know that the white man was the invader and technically, if anyone should have a grievance about building a wall it should have been the indigenous peoples to keep our rape, slavery, and smallpox out. And you would also know the Catholic Church was the biggest presence in colonization, erasure of Native peoples, and the slave trade. But hey, why tell the truth? And why change? 
Just some food for thought.
April Brucker

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

George HW Bush and Other Thoughts

Today they laid to rest George HW Bush. I had mixed feelings about the late president 41. As an HIV/AIDS activist, I feel he let those affected and those at risk down. Not only did he stand back and do nothing as countless Americans died, but even victim blamed during the presidential debates when asked about what he was doing about the crisis.

The Bush family, father and son, have always been historically anti-woman and homophobic. Not only did they support abstinence education but gave federal funding to these programs. They were not only pro-life, but gave money to faith based organizations. They supported sentencing drug and alcohol offenders to the 12 Steps, which while they work for some recovery is not a one sizes fits all approach. Their policies affected those not only living with HIV, but those enduring domestic abuse and the horrors of addiction.

I had some ACT UP comrades blast the late president, particularly those who took place in the Ashes Action, where those who lost someone to HIV/AIDS dumped the ashes of their loved ones on the White House lawn, celebrate his death. Others half jokingly said he died on World AIDS Day to stick it to the community once more.

Yet on the same token, Bush was a memory of what had left The White House. He served his country, nearly dying in combat. The late president, like my grandfathers, was fighting true evil in the South Pacific. Bush also pushed the Americans with Disabilities Act, which ironically has been used to help those living with HIV/AIDS, addiction, and in some instances those suffering from domestic violence.

In attendance at that funeral was a sitting president who used his family's wealth to get countless deferments due to "bone spurs" while countless young men who did not have his privilege died. Under this same sitting president, the Nazis are rising again, an evil that would make my grandfathers and great uncles roll in their graves and foam at the mouth in the afterlife. This same president wants to gut the Americans with Disabilities Act, The Ryan White Care Act, and any protection given to those suffering from addiction and domestic violence. And while he has pledged to fight the heroin issue, he is criminalizing a disease.

Bush never verbally attacked people he disagreed with. He never made his attacks on his opponents personal. Bush always disagreed with ideas and not people. Even at his worst, George Bush would have never made fun of a physically disabled reporter. Tragically, the same cannot be said for Trump.

Bush could take a joke and even shook the hand of Dana Carvey. Trump refused to attend the White House Correspondence Dinner and is still lambasting Michelle Wolf.

Bush's legacy was far from perfect and so was the man.. But in that same room was Bill Clinton. Politically he was a friend to women, blacks, and LGBTQ. But we cannot ignore that he was a sexual abuser who assaulted countless women. We also cannot forget how he sold the LGBTQ down the river with Don't Ask Don't Tell and Defense of Marriage Act. We cannot forget that while Clinton truly loved the American people, his frat boy ways brought disgrace to the highest office in the land. And with Three Strikes and Hillary referring to blacks as "super predators" maybe he wasn't such a friend to the black community.

I am sure this is going to offend, but we must tell the truth if history is to be accurately represented. So today, we are not just mourning #41, we are mourning the loss of an adult in The White House. And as an activist, I will continue to honor those lost to HIV/AIDS and laws who didn't protect victims of domestic abuse by fighting harder. And I will honor his legacy by telling the truth about him both good and bad.

Sunday, December 2, 2018

Heat of the Moment (Asia)

The other day I was feeling low. This was after several days of feeling unbelievably good after a rather shitty fall. A clip of mine aired on television. I was a show I filmed as I wasn't feeling particularly good and it seemed everything was imploding around me. It was God throwing me a bone. Then I found out I was receiving an award. More on that later. Both seemed good.

But then there was that one thing I couldn't do. That one thing I haven't gotten.

I have been on television a gazillion times but have never managed to get a reoccurring role let alone have my own show. I have published two books but have never managed to snag a bestseller. I have pitched shows but never sold an idea. I have done modelling assignments but have never had a centerfold. I have done some great sets but I am not a headliner who regularly packs them in. I have known resident acts on the strip and have performed there but have never been a resident act.

I have a whole list of almost but nevers.

It's not good. It's not bad. It just is.

Grad school is going well. I was divided as to go and when as I did undergrad in three years. While I am glad I saved my parents dough I always felt like I rushed through. I also did some college as I did high school and life always seemed like a treadmill to the next place and I could never be where I was and enjoy it. I told myself if I did grad school I wanted to enjoy it and now I am. I wish I would have gone sooner but now I am.

Yet I always feel like I am juggling and sometimes dropping. There are times these last few months where my plate has felt so full I cannot digest what's in front of me. I know I am not the first woman to get a masters and to work. Yet it feel like somehow, there is never enough time or money or this or that.

My advocacy has been keeping me busy. I took part in an event for World AIDS Day, or at least the week of. It was a panel where we talked about Crystal Meth and HIV in the black/Latinx gay community. The panel was rewarding and I felt pumped about the dialogue around recharge.

But I couldn't contribute as much because I was lead editor for a contest, in two plays, staging my show for a festival, and partaking in a project I eventually quit because the director was a dick. But I was working and performing and then there was school. Yet I wasn't there more and I let AIDS down.

I got a job and couldn't march on World AIDS Day, and I had promised I would be there. To me my word is everything. Again I felt like I let AIDS down.

These thoughts raced through my mind today and then I remembered the Asia lyric from the song Heat of the Moment, "Teenage ambitions you remember well......"

The truth is, I had always dreamed of coming to NYU and performing. I wanted to be bicoastal in Vegas and LA and now I am. I am getting the masters I always wanted to. I wanted to write and I wrote two books. RENT was one of my favorite soundtracks and not only did I live in the East Village, but I am an activist as well as an artist and am becoming with ACT UP.

My almosts and nevers could change. There is still time, I am not dead. I am more adult as a grad student, and we have to grow to learn to be where our feet are. I am involved not only with ACT UP, but have marched against Trump. It is in part because I have known people affected by HIV/AIDS and his policies would hurt them as well as women, children, and any other vulnerable population. I didn't fail AIDS. I just had to pay my rent. Did I say RENT......heh......

I also know there are people who never expected me to make it this far. There are some folks who I will not name because they do not matter who wrote me off. As I wake up each day and fight the good fight, I know I haven't failed.

Sure, I am hard on myself, but the important part is that I haven't quit. Did I mention Legally Blonde was a good movie? Yeah, I think I need to watch more comedy.


Friday, November 30, 2018

Smell You Later

 “Guys, I need to warn you about something. Mom, I don’t want you to get mad,” My brother Wendell said one night at dinner. It was three weeks before the start of school and the team had just begun pre-season football camp. All summer, Wendell had been lifting and running and now a rising sophomore, he was looking forward to putting to together.
We stood in suspense. He was fifteen going on sixteen. Was he suffering from depression? Was it an academic issue from the year before? Did he get a girl pregnant although we never even saw him associate with a woman? Was he hurt?
“I am in camp and we are having a contest. So for the next few nights I will not be bathing.” Crickets chirped in our Western Pennsylvania Florida room as the dusk set around us. Our mouths hung open.
I said, “Wendell, you need to spend less time around those muscle heads.”
“Shut up April! You have no friends.”
Wendell was caked with mud, sweat, grass, and smelled terrible enough to be used for chemical warfare. My dad, still in his business suit in contrast to Wendell said, “Son, I am with April. This is pretty bad and you smell bad enough to devastate an enemy village.”
Wendell said, “You never support me! You wanted me to play football and now I want to fit in! Where is your sympathy.”
My dad said, “It falls between shit and syphilis in the dictionary. Now take a Goddamn bath.”
Skipper tried to play the peacekeeper. The ten year old sliver of a woman with strawberry blonde hair proposed, “Maybe Wendell needs to do this to make friends. Why don’t we try to be sensitive to his needs?”
I looked at the sprite, “Our needs are that we need to breathe.”
Skipper, who was well beyond her years said, “I realize that. But it’s also lowering his immune system against opportunistic infection. Give him a day.”
Shorty, our mom, sat silent during the proceedings. We nicknamed her that because she wasn’t even five feet tall. Wendell’s odor, which was getting worse by the second, wafted through the room. My dad held his nose and got up. My dad and brother bickered about his lack of willingness to bathe as Skipper and I laughed. This was free theatre for sure.
Wendell had the highest GPA on the team and dreamed of attending an Ivy League university. However, at this moment no one would have suspected it. As my dad made his exit Shorty sprung to life. She turned to Wendell and said, “No son of mine will win this stupid contest. You are done participating.”
Wendell said, “Stop ruining my life. All you do is ruin my life, Shorty.”
With that, Shorty took him by the ear and began to drag him. As Wendell yelped in pain she said, “You want to talk about life ruining?! I let you live in my womb for nine whole months and you destroyed my waistline. Then instead of coming out in nine months, you were nine months and two weeks!”
Skipper and I laughed as Wendell was dragged upstairs. He protested, “That’s not fair!”
“Not fair! It was 24 hours of labor, an emergency C,  and then I breast fed you and you sucked my beautiful chest away! Since before day one, you have been a dick ass!”
Wendell still in pain said, “Those things werent my fault!”
Shorty wasn’t having it, “And that's just what your ungrateful father would say.”
She let go of Wendell’s ear, took his foot, kicked him straight in the ass and he sailed into the bathroom door. Wendell had a look of defeat on his face. Shorty said, “Shower now or die!”
Whether Shorty knew it or not, she was a hero to the whole family. While her force was excessive, it was understood and warranted. The Brucker’s could breathe again.
The next day at camp, it was revealed that a vast majority of the team were disqualified from the contest as well as Wendell. To his pleasant surprise, this bonded him with his teammates who felt they were the only ones who were disenfranchised. And those that lasted an extra day because they had absentee or permissive parents withdrew when their girlfriends threatened to dump them.
One fellow lasted three whole days. It was Luccio Lazarro, who’s father owned the local pizza joint. A dirty and filthy sight, Luccio would have given any bum on the Bowery a run for their money in the stench department. At this point, Wendell was not only socially encouraged to shower, but necessary. As he said at dinner, “I am doing science fair this year. Maybe I could get a new bacteria off of him.”
However, Luccio’s reign was soon ended when the Coach Marzelle, a West Virginia native who was “all fired up” with a thick mountaineer accent, got a garden hose from the grounds keeper and said, “Boy, you have been stinking it up for far too long,” and then without warning sprayed him. Marzelle told the lad that he was to take a shower, run, and then shower again to make up for lost time. And Marzelle warned that anyone who refused to shower would be getting the same treatment.
From that day forward, Wendell bathed without argument. My brother learned a very important lesson though. Unless someone is paying your bills or your rent, you don’t need to do stupid things to get them to like you, especially things that endanger your health. Hey, it gets better.


Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Talk Dirty to Me (Poison)

When I was in 10th grade we went on a class field trip for some elective somewhere. It had been a long day since none of my other friends were in this particular class. The class was mixed with kids of all grades as it was an elective, so the array of people I wasn't friends with spanned all high school age groups. This was before the days of cellphones so I was not only alone but stranded without a companion to shoot the shit with.  For the first time in my teenage life, I wanted an excuse to go back to school.
Like Robinson Caruso, I was stranded without companionship on a bus that bumped along the hills and valleys of Western PA. I had to pee and had a stomach ache. To make matters worse, Bethany McKendrick was sitting behind me. How did I know? Aside from the inane high pitched voice she always doused herself in way too much perfume. The odor was so pungent it could have killed a small rodent.
I nicknamed the smell in my mind Cum Dripping Slut because that was kind of her MO. At the beginning of the school year she had blown several football players behind the bleachers only to be busted by a PE teacher. To say she had a reputation was an understatement. Bethany looked the role of town skank too. She always wore a spray on orange tan regardless of the weather. Then there was the badly dyed jet black hair, and when it wasn’t jet black it was pineapple blonde with the roots showing. Her clothes were always two sizes too small, and sometimes she looked top heavy and at other times her stomach poked out like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Bethany always wore a frosty pink shade of gloss, which always made her look not only like she swung from a pole but got her paycheck in slimy quarters.
Bethany was the town skank and her family was equally as gnarly. Her dad was a bit of a womanizer who left his wife for his secretary. Mrs. McKendrick, not willing to take it lying down, burned his clothes on the front lawn. Always willing to skip on a bill, she tried to get my dad to represent her during the divorce. My dad said he didn’t practice divorce law, and admitted he would have helped her if she was anyone else but Betsy McKendrick liked free stuff and no thanks.
Bethany’s guidance counselor, taking pity upon the child, appointed my brother Wendell to tutor her. A scholar athlete who was doing his first year at Brown, Wendell tried to help his charge pass math. It was a lost cause as Bethany was hoping Wendell could get her dates with the football team. And when his only interest was helping her pull up her grades, she abandoned ship. But judging by her bleacher report, apparently she didn’t need Wendell anyway.
“Love you in that dress,” a familiar voice said. It was Chad Barker, the senior lacrosse captain. The dress was so tight anyone would suffocate but hey, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?
Chad Barker had also been tutored by Wendell. He had lasted slightly longer because he needed to be academically eligible to play lacrosse. Wendell lamented that Chad only had one braincell, whom he nicknamed Floyd. Chad also told Wendell he didn’t need to do math, he would make money on lacrosse. Oh what tangled webs we weave with the peroxide blonde hair and preppy clothes. Chad then said, “You know, Misty says I give the best head. Her clit gets real wet when I eat her out.”
McWhat? Was this his girlfriend Misty Davis? The Jesus Freak who bragged about going to Congo on a mission trip last summer, and who had dreams of converting the godless and would tell anyone who listened? The Misty Davis who wore a promise ring and led the prayer circle around the flag pole? The promise ring meant she promised to save herself, but it looked like a promise apparently broken.
“Isn’t she a complete Jesus freak?” Bethany was asking the question that had raced through my mind.
“Yeah, but those Jesus freaks are horny. She gave me a hand job during youth group.” Shiz! Then I remember Chad and Misty went to the same youth group. I didn’t understand the match up personally, as Misty wanted to do missionary work and Chad was just going because his parents made him. Then Chad added, “If I knew youth group would be this good I would have gone sooner.”
You and the whole world, Pal.
“This doesn’t sound like her. Misty is pretty serious about Jesus.” I had to agree with Bethany there.
“Yeah but those church chicks are off the chain. She fucked me when her parents were out of town in three rooms in their house and we even did it in their hot tub.”
Damn, The Book of Revelations suddenly had a whole new meaning. Now I had my popcorn and I was hooked. What was going to happen next. Bethany then said, “But what about the wet noodle effect?”
“What’s that?”
“Your dick goes soft in a hot tub.”
Chad said, “This dick didn’t go soft because 007 was on a mission. That’s the name of my dick.” I already thought lowly of Chad, but when I discovered he nicknamed his penis I thought even less of him. Bethany laughed with glee. Yuck.
Then he said, “But I am getting fed up with the youth group and God stuff. She wants to stop giving it to me. So I’m getting ready to dump her.”
And then as we pulled into school Chad said, “I really liked chilling with you today. Maybe you could come over next weekend. We won’t tell Misty.” I didn’t know what was worse, the fact someone like Chad Barker found someone to have sex with him. Or that in the end, a slut like Bethany McKendrick was about to win out. Either way, now I wanted to be off the bus because I was about to vomit for a whole new reason. If this was what it all came down to, I was okay dying alone.
This was not the end of this dramatic tale but the mere rising action. The next day, in the hall, on my way to my third period class, above the hustle and bustle of students talking, slamming lockers and gossiping, I heard a high pitched voice yell, “How could you lie! How could you lie about me!” The voice was all too familiar. It was Misty Davis!
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the familiar almond colored pony tail, stud earrings, and cross she always wore. She screamed, “You said you were okay with me saving myself! Instead you lie to everyone and say we were having the sex we werent! I HATE YOU!”
Tears rolled down her face. Chad stood there, his hands in his pockets. His one braincell Floyd was trying to get out of this one as 007 had clearly failed his mission. He said, “Baby, you know Bethany McKendrick likes to lie. She’s a real slut.”
This was a plot twist if I ever saw one. All this time I had thought Bethany McKendrick would do anything that walked. Apparently she not only had standards, but did the right thing by ratting this weasel out. At that moment I realized Bethany McKendrick wasn’t the slut, but in fact Chad Barker was.
“Maybe she strayed from God, but she’s been my friend since elementary school. She would never hurt me and when she told me what you said and did......” Misty burst into tears. This was as if we were on Springer and it was all going down. As her crying grew louder, the whole hallway stopped. Sure, Misty could be annoying but she didn’t deserve this. And the more the story unfolded, the more Bethany was a hero. I not only felt bad that Misty was shedding tears over the waste that stood before her, but I felt bad for judging Bethany so harshly.
“But baby…..”
“IT’S OVER!” Misty, who always said she spoke directly to Jesus and asked what he would do, closed her eyes, took a breath, lifted her right hand, the one with the promise ring, and took a swing. When they said turn the other cheek, they never talked about when the promise ring becomes a weapon and the Jesus freak has a wicked George Forman hook. Chad was knocked to the ground yelping in pain. There was shocked laughter, gasps, and even some scattered applause. While Misty preached the word of God, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
As Chad yelped, Mr. Donnelly came out into the hall. A stocky man who coached ninth grade football he said, “Alright everyone, get to class. The excitement is over.”
Chad, still down for the count said, “Mr. Donnelly, Misty hit me. Make her go to time out!”
Mr. Donnelly shook his head, “Son, I have been hearing you run your mouth all week about the action you aren’t getting. And you are lucky that this was all you got. If this was my sister, your teeth would be missing right now, Pal. Now get up and go to whatever class you are barely passing.” I had no idea if the God Missy Davis prayed to existed, but if there was any God/Godess/Diety, He/She/They hated the same things the rest of us did.
From that point onward, I made it my business to defend Bethany McKendrick against shitty rumors regarding her sexual behavior. Maybe she was more expressive and adventurous than the rest of us, but at the end of the day she didn’t hurt the people she cared about and there was a lot to be said for that. And I got to know her a little bit and yes, she was actually an alright person. It’s amazing how you make a friend when you stop being an asshole.
As for Misty, while her Jesus stuff still annoyed me I respected her for sticking to her guns about what was important to her, and that right hook is still emblazoned in my memory.
Chad hung his head low for the rest of the year and graduated by the skin of his teeth and went to play lacrosse at a small school. He would later flunk out because apparently this was too much for Floyd. After two years at Junior College, he went to some state school and graduated. He found some girl to marry him. Either her self esteem was low or he morphed into a subhuman who wasn’t brazen enough to nickname his dick 007. I hope he changed for his sake, I really do.
Misty went to a Christian college, met her husband and became a missionary. She’s still just as annoying and admitted to voting for Trump to “save the babies.” But she’s sincere which you got to give credit where credit is due. And maybe she is intense, but she truly does believe she helps people. I just hope she doesn’t become convinced she can go to a remote island and help people, but that might be her husband’s exit strategy if the right hooks become too much.
Bethany took her interest in tanning and hair dye, for better or for worse, and turned it into a business. She went to beauty school and now has a salon where she lives close to Harrisburg with her husband. She overcame a shitty homelife and the even shittier label of town slut. Maybe she needed to find her niche so she would stop hurting herself behind the bleachers with dudes who clearly werent worth it. And she is making the world a beautiful place and is making people feel good about themselves, just like she did with Misty all those years ago.
As for me, I am still a weirdo who listens in on people’s conversations. And now I just use them for blogs and scripts. Sometimes I judge people harshly, but these days I know it’s my shit that makes that shiteous behavior possible. We all grow up, and that process is gradual. Just like Bethany, Chad, and Misty were works in progress, I was one too. I still am.

Tuesday, November 13, 2018

Sweet Fantasy (Mariah Carey)

When I was a kid, I had the biggest crush on a guy I called “Senor Hotness.” It was because in my 16 year old opinionation he was hot and spicy. He had hair that was either dyed blood red or icy blue. He was tall, thin, and wiry with several piercings. Senor Hotness got his name because the first time I laid eyes on the most perfect man on the planet I was leaving Spanish class. When he walked by I thought, “Heaven Walks on Earth!”
When you have a teen crush, it means planning a massive future with a stranger you don’t have the guts to talk to. This meant I was marrying Senor Hotness, having his 2.5 children, and putting my future on hold to be the future Mrs. Hotness. What could possibly go wrong?
The man I created in my mind was utterly perfect. He loved history as much as I did, and didn’t think my dreams of being onstage with puppets and creating my own work were stupid. Like the characters in Felicity we would be in New York together making it happen, me with my writing and performing and him with a skill he would later discover.
Sweet, sweet fantasy baby.
I would feed my addiction to this stud muffin by walking past his lunch table just to hear him laugh with his friends. I would walk past his locker to see him socializing with his friends just to hear his voice. There was a shorter way I could have gone to class and the detour always made me just get in the door when the bell rang, but any time with Senor Hotness was worth it.
Then he got a girlfriend. That mutherfucker! He broke my heart. She had jet black hair, a nose ring, pale skin, and a banging perfect little body. They were always holding hands and sucking face by his locker. I prayed for her to be hit by a bus or taken out tragically. Or he would find out she was the tawdry tramp we always knew she was and Senor Hotness would come running into my arms. Then we could begin our love affair.
Each time I saw her, and I will call her Skankola McFee, I looked to see if there was anything wrong with her and painfully measured myself up against my perceived competition. I was blonde and gentlemen prefer blondes, right? Her skin was pale and made her look dead, but flawless. I had bouts with cystic acne. Her nose ring was probably a nuisance when she got a cold but she was cooler than me. And she had the perfect body and I struggled with my weight. I had heard Skankola McFee wasn’t on the advanced track like I was. So at least I was smarter than the tramp. But guys don’t care about that. They want it now and they want it easy and she was entrapping him with her feminine wows.
They say God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves. Senor Hotness was spending so much time socializing and was consumed by the face sucking going on by his locker that I guess he forgot to get his books because he was failing all of his classes and wasn’t set to graduate on time. And he got fired from his after school job, and this meant his ladyship had to pay for everything. That got real old real quick and she dumped him. And to top it off, I heard from other people that he had been a controlling shithead to her and that she was actually a sweet person. And the worst part was, when I finally talked to Senor Hotness was the biggest dufus ever. I had fallen out of love as quickly as I had fallen in.
After high school I forgot about all of them. I went to college, had actual relationships with losers that I sadly did not make up, and moved towards happy destiny in a life I carved for myself. However, facebook makes us all curious about parts of our past that we unearth at our own risk. So I decided to see what Senor Hotness and his old flame were up to.
His old flame was married with two kids and working as a legal assistant. She looked happy but strange without the jet black hair or nose ring, but I suppose motherhood will make you grow up. I felt bad about hating her with no basis for my hate, and regretted calling her Skankola McFee. We had been kids. We were all stupid. She grew up. The guy in the center of this struggle I had in my mind was no prize anyway. I was glad life seemed to be working out for her.
Then I went to the page of Senor Hotness. He is now living in Texas and is a member of a white separatist group. In one singular facebook post that began with, “White pride worldwide,” he used slurs against lgbtq people, immigrants, and blacks. And he even misspelled them too. What a charmer and a mind. Trump should give him a job. I also want to add that he had gained about 100 pounds and had a ZZ Top beard. Back in the day I could justify this idiot because he was Senor Hotness, but now he was as ugly on the outside as he clearly was within. 
He had two kids because as he explained, “I need to keep the white race going.” They were dressed in camo and looked like future school shooters. His wife was nondescript and you could tell she spoke only when spoken to and perhaps had a suggestion box when she needed to express grievances against her husband. Behind them the family had their Confederate flag as their father proclaimed liberals, “LOSERS!”
Well Sir, if you would have taken your books out of your locker you would have known Robert E. Lee had to surrender. And you would also know how to spell. Sigh, all of this could have been mine.
It always blows my mind when a young person cries about a crush or love affair that doesn’t work out. I know it feels like the end of the world, but it isn’t. If there could be a crystal ball to show the future and they could see stuff like this, they would not only embrace it not working out but they would celebrate. Alas, it does get better. But you got to go through it to get through it I suppose.