Free Ride

Yesterday I wasn't feeling so hot. I met the girls for lunch early that morning with a du-rag on my head looking like Mr. Jinga Janga. I had curlers. I was to be MM strip to a bikini,okay Marilyn Monroe. There had been some drama with my book. Amazon was out of stock.People want to order but are scared. Got my first royalty statement but they didn't include the books sold out on Amazon so we will be chatting Monday which is cool cause I like my publisher. My ebook is behind schedule. Then there is other press related drama I will not even get into.

I got to Penn to jump on the LIRR and began to have a meltdown in the station. I am twenty eight fucking years old. Why am I not farther along in my career? Why am I not farther along in my life? Maybe I watched too many movies where it came easier for the protagonist. In the end she gets the man. Nevermind she looks like a stripper, she gets the castle. Did I mention I always secretly prayed Julia Roberts got creamed by a mac track as I got older? She made being a hooker look so glamorous and easy.

I went to try to pitch my book to a store in my spare time. The apathetic clerk who looked pissed he was probably using his Skidmore degree to ring up books said, "You have to go through a distributor." No shit Sherlock. Like I don't know that. I am an indie book. Clearly you don't own a television or computer. Otherwise you would have seen I was on Britney Spears's website, bitch! Then his partner,who probably had more of a love for the written word than pure disdain for those purchasing said, "The manger is here everyday from 9-5. They do occasionally sell indie books." He smiled at me and gave me a sticker.No matter what happens, when I am uber successful, I will remember that man.

I sometimes think I get doors slammed in my face because I am not only the only one like myself, but I am a woman. If I were a man who took the swing I did on Rachael Ray, I would be a legend. If I were a man with puppets on TLC, I would be a legend. Oh and if I were a man who wrote a book that was about to be published I would be in stores.Of course there are the whiny women's comedy collectives who moan about how comedy is a man's world. They are cliquish, obnoxious, and frankly don't even know what discrimination is first hand.

I have been bumped by lesser deserving male comedians because they had a TV credit in 2006 and it is now 2012, but apparently there hasbeen plaque has more cache because of their gender. It had nothing to do with ability or talent. Then after they have the nerve to view me as a sex object they tell me when I don't have the info on crowd work because God forbid I came from another spot they say, "Perhaps this isn't for you." I just want to say, oh really, this hasn't been for you since Last Comic Standing 4 in 2006 or something, hence last because it was the last big thing you did you washed up piece of shit. How's the day job? How's the stupid radio program you do for free?

Of course I could go on all day about the chip I have on my shoulder. On the other hand,my revenge on these simple SOBs is to have the better career. I have my list of names. When the time comes they are F-U-C-K-E-D. Same with the stupid bitches who whine about sexism and men oppressing them when they are too ugly to be discriminated against. Hey, they talk shit on Brit Brit because they could never have her career.

Then I remembered delivering a singing telegram from Blake Mallen two weeks ago. Blake is the CEO of ViSalus. To make a long story short, the order almost sent me to an early grave. They needed Scotch,then they wanted me in CT, then the guy was in NYC!!!! AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! But in the end it turned out to be one of my best deliveries ever. I got to like the mystery man I never met who lives in LA. His assistants were very nice. He thought out of the box. And on his blogs he is super motivating. I pictured Blake giving me some pump me up speech not to give up.

Suddenly I wanted Blake to pull up in his limo and take me to his private island. Screw work, screw my book, screw the world. But Blake would inform me that I had a terrible attitude. He would tell me to go for it.

Then I remembered Blake and I never met.

My train came and I got to the station early. If anyone asked my name I would tell them No One. I didn't want to engage. I felt like crying in a corner. This whole damn book thing is too much. I wondered why I couldn't be fat and whiny like the women comedians who whine about male comedians and their sexism when not even Stevie Wonder would take a stab at that thing? I wondered why I couldn't have impressive boobs and be stupid as hell and just get walk on roles like all those girls who blew their way to the top? I wondered why I couldn't be a man?

Just then a Jamaican dude asked if I needed a ride. He operated a gypsy cab. I got in and told him where to go.He informed me that the ride would be free because he was going that way anyway. For the first time in my flurry I calmed down. I had just gotten a free ride!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I told him I would be willing to give him some dough. He laughed and told me it was alright. He was headed to the airport where the real money was,and that I was to have a good night.

Maybe I have issues with my book, but my issues are exciting. Maybe I have problems, but my problems are a luxury.

The gig went swimmingly and on the way back I was recognized by a fan.

I is AWESOME!

Love April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Person

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Just Saw This Now

I have been so freaking busy as of late with my book and everything else it seems the phone and emails are getting ahead of me. Whether it is emailing stores, sellers, magazines saying do a story on me and my book or my mother trying to book my Thanksgiving airfare I feel like "AHHHH!!!"

My mom woke me up this morning to book my ticket. She called me six times because she is up at four. I worked late so I got up closer to eight. I thought maybe she thought I was dead. Maybe something had happened to a family member. Instead it was, "When are you coming home for Thanksgiving?" What, you woke me up for this? You could have asked me this yesterday!!!!!!! But it was pretty funny. We got the tickets booked. My mom's my mom. She calls me at any hour but it was pretty damn funny as I said.

Of course there has been some drama in publication land. Whether it is my book being out of stock on Amazon, my ebook running slightly behind schedule or whatever whatever whatever. Then there are the fools who ask me, "How is your book?" Meanwhile they have no intention of buying a copy. I should just start countering it with, "Fine, how are your money problems?"

"How is your court case?"

"How is your loser child that hates your guts?"

If they are truly broke, fine. But don't keep asking about my sales if you have no intent. Seriously, it is in poor taste.

I am a bikini-gram for an old man tonight. I just did a bikini shave. It's amazing how my bush grows with little or no water. I used to raise tomatoes when I was a kid with my parents. They took a ton of water to grow. It's like I shave so I have a nice bikini line and like a thief in the night it comes back like poison ivy ready to ruin my day.

Also saw a hottie in the gym who's so not my type. He is six foot eight and a former swimmer. He's a regular at kickboxing and was a sprinter for Fordham. I think he's cute and quiet. He has no criminal record and no visible track marks. He probably is boring compared to the guys I date, but boring isn't all bad. He is cute. Maybe I will jump in the pool when he is there and pretend to drown. Maybe not.

Where is that liberated woman? Gone for the moment but she'll be back again tomorrow.

Sigh, now to shave them pits.

Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.buybooksontheweb.com

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Topless Women

Yesterday for my birthday my friends went above and beyond. Ryan O'Regan took me out to breakfast. Tiffany took me out to coffee. Cathy took me out to coffee. And then Vips had sort of a last minute get together. I knew Vips, Jen, Lynn from the telegram company, and then of course Sarah. Vips had some other friends come over who were pretty cool, a couple from England. And then there was a woman named Jeanette. Jeanette is Vips's downstairs neighbor. Jeanette comes in with a short reddish, orange dress and a prime set of knockers. Immediately I liked her the second she opened her mouth. A divorcee who works in finance with a condo in Philly when she wants to get away from the job or the naggings of a stupid ex husband, she slips away. Apparently, she had made friends with the manager of the place that they were getting cocktails and the manager, hot for this siren of a woman, invited her back to jazz night.

As the evening progressed, we all stayed up well past our bed time. I wasn't planning a big party because I am not really a birthday person. Plus my cousin was supposed to come to town and flaked out. The last ticket to Otto and George was sold out probably and I had already backed out for my cousin who backed out on me. I was planning to spend the night alone before this get together was planned. So when the cake came, I bought the cookies, and then the Brits got oysters and fries from an eatery around the corner and Vips ordered oodles of pizza I was like, "Wow, this is good. My body will be paying tomorrow but this is good."

So as I ate this awesome yet bizarre food combo, Vips gave me a cake with trick candles. I made my wish a billion gazillion times. It felt good to be blowing out the cake for once instead of the the entertainment carrying armed and dangerous with song and dance. Or me not onstage with a puppet, although Don Juan did make an appearance. Then Jeanette mentioned her ta tas were fake. While I was going back and fourth about whether they were real or fake, I had my doubts but yet Mother Nature can be wonderfully generous to certain creatures. Jeanette revealed the operation was eleven grand. Wowsa!!!!!

We all admired the boob job she had and she offered to show us, that is, on the condition the men would go into the bathroom. Vips and Simon were damned to the bathroom and JEanette stripped down to bra and panties and exposed her ta tas. Jen, the British Lady, and myself all took a turn feeling these works of art. Meanwhile Vips and Simon, damned to the bathroom, were banging on the door because being men they wanted to feast their eyes. While they are both nice guys, they are still guys, and the things that get their attention are tits, Shark Week, and Football. Jen, trying to subdue them, held the door, as we all continue to admire the nice job Jeanette's plastic surgeon did on her bust. Wow.

Part of me wanted to turn into a feminist, informing this woman she was more than her bust size. Then I looked down at my modest B cup and looked at her nice surgical enhancement. She said the t job made her feel complete when she looked at herself naked. I figured she was a woman slugging it out without the help of a man, why not let her be happy? Let her have her boob job. And if we are ever trapped in the ocean as our ship is sinking she has a good heart and will have no problem being my life raft. I loved her and I loved her boob job. My only regret is that she put her clothes back on so she didn't jump out of my cake.

After Vips and Simon were let out of the bathroom we discussed boob jobs. I told Vips I now wanted one and he supported my decision. Then Vips informed me that I looked fine. Sigh.

While today my stomach is paying me back for poor dietary decisions, the topless female was the best birthday surprise ever. They always ask if a hot man or woman jumped out of the cake and in my case she almost did.

If this is any indication of what twenty-eight will be it is already looking awesome.

Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

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Book of Life-A Birthday Blog

Today is my birthday. I am twenty eight years old. Yes, twenty eight years ago my mother had me in the hospital. She held me. It was a Wednesday just like today. Actually my mom had a C-Section, so she's got a bikini scar no thanks to me. My dad was the first to hold me because my mother was conked out. When they peered out the window of Magee, the hospital I took my first breath. The breath that started it all.

My twenties have been an adventure so far. Twenty was a neat year, the comedy clubs and rooms of New York City became my playground. Twenty one sucked, I was in an abusive relationship with a rageaholic. Twenty two was a big pAArtying year, that ended with me giving that up. Twenty three was a big year of movement and lessons, I made my first big TV appearance on Rachael Ray, got myself in some trouble, and dated a pathological liar for six months. Twenty four sucked; I was broke, poor, miserable, but got really good as a comedian and puppeteer. Twenty five was a sort of let go or be dragged, desperate and not needing to get where I needed to go I began to create my own thing. Twenty six was a pretty awesome year, my puppet children and I were on TLC and did a press tour and I became a talking head for a website. Twenty seven saw the release of my book and it being featured on Britney Spears's website.

What will twenty eight bring? I am starting to do well with my life and am not ashamed. My book is sold out on Amazon and I have to get them to restock. My puppet children and I are happy. I have my poppy seeds. I have self-esteem. Some part of me still feels inadequate like I should be farther along with my career. Like I should have millions of dollars. Like I am just some freaking failure. Like I am a Peter Panette who is unmarried and there are no children in her forseeable future that aren't puppets or fans that write her letters.

On the other hand I feel pretty amazing. My book is starting to sell, and people are reading it and liking it. I am pitching it to book sellers and have two magazines fixing to interview me. I also have a radio appearance coming up and am set to be a part of a monthly show. I am trying to get my music on FM Radio. I have fans writing me letter, making me posters, writing me songs, flying in to see me. Not to mention that those who have come across me today have sought me out for my wisdom. It has been pretty trippy actually. Me, wisdom, balance? While I am a Libra I have more of the wishy, washy, snap decision and the self-righteous temper that go with my sign.

As I get my footing, I am scared that this will slip away sometimes. That people won't buy my book, that this folly has been a waste of my time and energy. Then I remember what my twenty eight years on this planet have taught me. If there is anything one can do it is to be of love and service. It is to do the next right thing. It is to get the product you are selling out there in the world. It is to dream the big dreams. It is to, no matter how scary, never to be afraid.

At this point in my life I have people who for some reason look up to me. Ha ha on them, just kidding. However, such a station makes me wonder about the kind of influence I am. Am I a good witch or a bad witch? For as much as I like to doubt myself, because women are taught to do that, I know the universe gives me other clues whether people surprise me by telling me about the purchase of my book, my book is featured on Britney's website, or I get a fan letter that makes my eyes water. Bottom line, ten years ago I was only dreaming of moving to the city as a kid in Pittsburgh. I was auditioning for NYU. I never thought I would get in but I did.

The reason I called this blog the book of life is because on Yom Kippur, today, the Jews have this thing called the book of life that they apparently write in. They write something for each year I believe such as goals, etc. My goals are to be a strong, successful woman of influence. To operate from a place of love and tolerance, and to be an inspiration to those I meet.

Hope you enjoyed my blog. Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

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Marathon

Yesterday I found myself talking to a young man who has become like a little brother to me. He was auditioning for a show he really wanted to be in, but got cut in the final callback. Sad was an understatement, it was more end of the world permeating through his veins. He wanted this role badly. I know the feeling, I have been there many times. I told him what I once was told by a club owner after an unsuccessful audition when I was a mere lass, "This is a marathon not a sprint."

I remember when I was about his age it looked like I was going to be on a hit reality show they were casting for in NYC. My dad even talked to the president of CBS Music at the time. However, the contract sucked and there was no way I could afford to go to Hollywood. So I passed up the opportunity. I remember second guessing and my dad told me a story about how he was offered a job with Arthur Anderson and they invited him to move to DC. Something told him not to take it and we all know how that ended. Anyway, the show didn't happen, the production company went bankrupt, and it would have been a waste of my time. But when it all went down I was heartbroken. I remember at the time crossing paths with author Mary Karr who said to me, "You are angry you didn't get what you wanted. Sometimes I look back at what I wanted and I say, 'Thank God I didn't get what I wanted.'"

I have been thinking of Mary's words lately. Shortly after the reality show debacle I did another infamous TV appearance with May Wilson where we met Jerry Springer, we all know how that turned out. Apparently it was a big deal when meanwhile they okayed our jokes.....hmmmm. Anyway, we also filmed another pilot, were on WE, opened for Aretha and I thought I was on my way to becoming the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Well I didn't. Instead the day job I depended on dried up and my phone stopped ringing. It was the worst thing in the world. Where were the lights? Where was the red carpet? Why was everything falling through my finger tips like sand in the hour glass? At the time I felt like I was going to die as those around me seemed to be taking off like birds on flight. Meanwhile I was struggling harder than ever. Looking back at it, I wasn't ready for the spotlight. I was so stupid and so emotional I would have screwed it up. My career would have ended before it even started. Maybe the universe knew what it was doing when it cast that dye.

On the otherhand, I made it my business to become a good comedian. I got up everywhere and worked every odd job imaginable. I also did an indie film which upon release gets me fan mail still. I also started touring every weekend and really got comfy onstage. In addition I began street performing for as many as eight hours a day every day. Sure it was ego reducing, bare bones, but it's what I had to do to keep from slitting my wrists. Sure enough, my hard work helped open doors and people took notice, enough to get me my first hosting job on web tv. The following year I started producing my own videos and interviewing celebs with my puppets. Then I began writing a book. After that I was on a successful reality show with a successful press tour and became a talking head with my puppet children and blah blah blah. The rest is history.

I was angry about being fired from the club I hosted at for a while. Looking back, I am glad they fired me. If I would have been slaving there I would have never embarked on the endeavors that I did. Not to mention published a book. The crazy thing is, they called me begging me to take my old job back. I was like, "Um....no."

There are so many people who sprinted the race and are no longer in it. One young woman I knew back in the day was slated to be a star. Instead she dropped out of the game, got married, and had a kid. There were a few like that. The dream was glamorous but the pursuit was not. Several folks I went to college with, all extremely talented, are now doing other things. The one had the voice of an angel. It's a shame. A guy who was like my older brother that had a very promising career basically drank it away. He came around less and less until he disappeared entirely. Another young woman who was slated to be very big disappeared from view, and the last time I saw her lost her luster. I also found out another woman I shared the stage with many times that had the gift to the point where it was hard not to be a little jealous threw in the towel, got into a relationship, and left the city. She says she is happy. Yes, the lifestyle is exhausting and I am glad she is at peace. But these people were supposed to be big stars. There is not a Where Are They Now? for those that never were. If there was a Where Are They Now? for those that almost were most of the contestants from Last Comic Standing would be making an appearance.

One alum from such a show and I dated for a brief minute. We hit it off at first, but then he took me out and started picking my brain about my career and my finances. Once proud with a bunch of TV credits and now wandering the Lower East Side on a radio show that no one listens to looking for the meaning of life, he was picking my brain. Maybe he had status I did not because he has been around forever, but it has been forever since he had a job. The whole experience was strange, sad, and educational. Sometimes success in show business is not long lasting but short lived. He is probably bent over by the sidelines in this marathon, holding his side because he smokes so damn much expecting a woman to give him a job. What a user. YUCK. My revenge is not to diss him in convo. When his name comes up I act cool. Instead it's to have the better career. At this rate it's not hard to do in comparison to this fallen should have been star.

Then on the flipside, there is another alum who people trashed when she started to get recognition and television time. Because of her age and gender, they bashed her giving her a horrid nickname and rumors spread about how she was getting ahead. I will say this, whether or not the rumors are true, she has been my friend since things have started happening for me. Never once has this young woman not congratulated me. Even before it all started coming together, she never stopped knowing me on the street. Success has not and did not change her. A great many people have stopped speaking to me. A great many so called friends have not congratulated me. She on the otherhand, always supportive. I think she knows what it is like to have people say things that aren't true, and she knows what it is like to run the marathon and sometimes feel like you are dying from your last breath. A surprise friend, I treasure her. And I also know to have her back in return.

There are probably people who didnt think I would last, the folks who had the boring acts who have faded into the fabric of obscurity. They laughed at me, and got spots I didn't because they were boring. They never had to struggle or fight for anything. The second they ran into a road bump they quit. Rejection was too much. Tanking hurt. People ripping into them was just too much to bear. So they hung it up. I don't feel bad though, they deserved it. Welcome to my world people. Stay awhile. Don't worry, it sucks. But so does kharma.

I am back at the same place I was years ago, where things are beginning to happen. Scared to hell is the understatement. The fear they will slip through my fingers is ever present. Things are better than ever as they are coming together. I am back at that spot where everything is hitting. This time my attitude is different. Instead of sprinting and hoping to catch my star at the three mile mark I am more or less on a nice jog. I take each break as it comes and now have a sense of humor about the whole process. I now have fans who are very loyal and that are buying my book. I have a stalker or two and laugh that off. I kill onstage and brag about it still. I am a meglomaniac that way. I bomb onstage and cry wanting to stuff my face. I care. I will be getting up more now that things are coming together with my book, in part to promote but also because it is where my puppet children and I are at home. For as much as I want to walk away, I have to be onstage or else I get into trouble.

An old acting teacher of mine classified me as a have to, as in I have to do this or else I will probably die or kill someone else. Sometimes I wish it were different but as the spirit of the dead rapper Eazy-E once told me in a dream, "Sweetheart, it's not about what you want."

Josh Homer once said it best to me. While Josh slams me for being a meglomaniac who freely brags and self-promotes, on the otherhand he also guides me with words of wisdom and a balanced Libra perspective. (Somehow he got the scales and I didn't). He once said to me, "The important thing is, you enjoy the journey."

With that I'll shut up.

Love April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Person

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www.buybooksontheweb.com

Hit Me Baby One More Time (Britney Spears)

Yesterday I was feeling down in the dumps. Some bitch, that is the only word to describe this thing that I hate, was getting me down. She is the type that is only your friend when you need something. I don't trust her and can see her for what she is, a phony two faced whiner. Once during an art opening Ms. Thing shows up. Well she finds out I make my living primarily from my art and suddenly wants to be my best friend and know all the details. Of course she is the type who only cozies up to people who she feels can help her. I mean, she has some talent but overall I think she's a whiner and that rules out anything that could be even remotely likable about this thing.

Some friends were updating me about her and her stupid blog where she whines about her minority status. Don't get me wrong, discrimination is real. But she blames all her problems on her race. It couldn't be that she is an annoying whiner. It couldn't be that she shoves the fact she is this particular ethnicity down everyone's throat. It couldn't be that she's her annoying self. They said she was performing a lot, was writing for a highly trafficked blog, and had some TV auditions. YUCK! Make me slit my wrists. While I am not doing badly there is something about someone that you dislike doing well that makes you want to jump into traffic on a nice early fall day.

I got home and felt like crying myself to sleep. Nevermind that I have a fucking book out. Nevermind that I had two fans who flew into town and wanted to meet me. Never fucking mind that I have been on TV how many damn times with my little puppet children. Why did I feel like dog shit on a stick? I googled Gangus Cunt to see her in action. YUCK! I hate her writing style, it is shallow and stupid just like she is. Not to mention all she does is whine. Still, she has yet to write a book. If she does it will be one hundred something pages of her bitching and moaning about how she can't do anything and has so much to do and people don't like her because of her minority status and blah blah blah hope you die. Then the last page will be a phony dedication to the mother she hates and the boyfriend who probably wishes he was sleeping with someone else.

On top of that, I had delivered a telegram to a car dealership that morning and was tired. Then of course the universe hits me with another blow. Kindred Spirit, fling who tried to use me to further his career, got cast in a movie with some legend. But then again this legend is washed up on the shores of Lake Hasbeen too. Still, he was happy which ruined my day even more. Part of me wondered who he slept with to get this advancement. Either way I found myself praying he got lung cancer for trying to use me. After all, he smokes enough. Maybe he can jump into traffic with Gangus Cunt. It would be a red letter day. Or maybe he slept with her and the film is about their incessant whining.

Just then, I see an alert or whatever they call them on facebook. Nicky Paris has posted on my page. Yes, my Mr. Twitter. Nicky posts that he went on Britney Spears website and saw me. At first I thought my Mr.Twitter had been hacked and he was spamming me. It has happened before. I was scared to click on the link and lose all my followers. Then I thought maybe I am. When you start to be slightly visible you op up all over.

Just then I typed, "Nicky, you know I am a meglomaniac. You better not be spamming me. Where am I on there if I am on there?" Just then someone typed that my book was being sold on there. I clicked to enlarge. HOLY SHIT! THE AMAZON ADVERTISEMENT FOR MY BOOK WAS A SIDEBAR ON THE BRITNEY SPEARS OFFICIAL WEBSITE. YES I AM TALKING THE ONE WITH A FEW MILLION VISITORS EVERYDAY AND HERE I WAS MYSTERIOUSLY SOLD OUT AND WHAM WOWSA!!!!!!

Suddenly my mood shifted. Now I was dancing on the ceiling. Gangus Cunt could have her stupid, meaningless blog and her simple TV auditions. Kindred Spirit could have his stupid movie that no one was probably going to see anyway. I on the otherhand was on the sidebar of Britney's website. Yes, the Britney website. In the words of my friend Michael Musto, "She is the Elizabeth Taylor of our time. She will always be relevant."

Needless to say I am awesome. For the first time in a long time I wanted to get out my Catholic School Girl outfit and skip down the block. After a singing telegram I met Big A, Dave Otto and his brother. It was fun. Dave bought a book and gave an extra donation. More of that later.

Either way, I have to say, when I told the universe as I cried, "Please give me a sign....."

It responded, "Hit me baby one more time."

Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.buybooksontheweb.com

877-Buy-Book

Facebook Exchange of the Week

Sometimes, men make me laugh. Whether they are watching sports and yelling at the quarterback like he can hear them, or obsessing over their new cars they are but simple creatures. This simplicity comes out when they deal with women. Men assume women want one thing, and that thing is their penis. In their mind we don't have thoughts or feelings. We don't want to talk or go to the beach. Oh no, we just want to be pounded very hard apparently. As a bonus, they all believe their instrument is the one to do it. Nevermind that the guy next to them has the same equipment and skill set and is just as qualified for the job if not more. Sigh....this is how the following exchange went.

Strange Guy With Bizarre Random Middle Eastern Name: Hey

Me: Hey

Strange Guy With Bizarre Random Middle Eastern Name:Let me tear in with my eleven inch cock

What in God's name makes him think that this is going to be successful, and the only thing that's eleven inches near him is a ruler.

Me: Ok?

I didnt know what else to say, really.

Strange Guy With Bizarre Random Middle Eastern Name: Mmm..is it okay to go down and smell ur undies..then push ur legs up wide in air and lick ur crotch over the undies,then massarge ur clitty round and round in tornado and suck the pussy juice soaking to ur undies

Wow, so much for asking how I am, how my night is going. This man is cutting right to the chase. While it is creepy as hell in a way I can respect that he isn't bullshitting me by pretending to care about my job or my life. WOW!

Me: Nice to meet you too.

Strange Guy With Bizarre Random Middle Eastern Name: Yeah..me too.do u like to have a boob ride with my cock bouncing and jirking in between ur boobs flesh with its sticky pre cum..?

Me: I like long walks on the beach.

This is the part where I beg my mother to take me somewhere safe away from this creepy man who is trying to talk to me on the internet. Wait, man? I went to his page and saw that he was like fifteen. Oh shit, I could get arrested for having his conversation because he would probably tell the cops about his so-called sexual abilities and get us all busted. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Strange Guy With Bizarre Random Middle Eastern Name: What other things do you like when it comes to sex?

Me: I don't have sex. I like church and Disney Movies and the God of my understanding. You should like the same things because YOU ARE ONLY FIFTEEN. NOW GO TO BED AND TURN OFF THE COMPUTER OR ELSE YOUR MOTHER AND I WILL BE HAVING A CHAT YOUNG MAN. I WILL ALSO TELL EVERYONE YOU ARE AVAILABLE FOR CHILDREN'S PARTIES.

Strange Guy With Bizarre Random Middle Eastern Name: I can eat a mad pussy. You should let me sometime.

Me: I believe the Disney Channel is playing Aladdin 2. I believe that is more age appropriate. Good night.

Sigh, men. Such simple creatures. This man needs the assistance of a true player, a gentlemen who tells him in order to be successful with women you just can't be yourself.

Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

877-buy-book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Electric Blue (Ice House)

I feel a little crazy today. Spinning in my own head and my own world. The mission today was to go to the bookstores to try to get my book in there. A lot of the people I dealt with were very nice and sent me to their buyers. Usually the publisher rep does this, however I am self-published so I am my own publisher rep. It's pretty trippy, oye vey.

I had an awesome discovery today. My book sold out on Amazon on it's own. I don't know who is buying it but it was an awesome surprise. I called Brittany at Infinity, who I probably annoyed to no end this morning, and she informed me that they sent several to Amazon but apparently there was only one left because someone had bought the others they sent them. I was like, "Wow this is good news." She was like, "Yeah." It was a huge booster to my ego. My friend Terry Snee brought the last Amazon copy. My publisher cuts a check once the book sales reach twenty dollars. I think I got there a while ago. Still it has been an awesome journey. Ebook comes out in a bit.

My mother asked me if I was dating, had a guy. What guy? My only lover is my book. There are no moments for men. They will only get in the way.

Lately though I have missed performing standup comedy. Between promoting the book and dealing with stores that might buy it and working, that is a full time job. I haven't been onstage as much in the last few months between the music and the book, both were full time jobs. "Stay" hit number one on internet radio for five weeks. The book was a full time job between the editing, finding a publisher, more editing, more marketing, and where to go next. Plus he telegrams have been way busy. While I have done puppet shows and other things, I haven't done a lot of club gigs per se. At least not as many as I used to do.

I miss them. I should start pimping my puppet children and I out for spots again. We do videos and other things, although not as many since the book. We still do street performances, but we need the club dates. I have thought about getting a manager, a comedy manager. I also need a home base again. Since the falling out with my old home base, I have been sort of a nomad. The nice thing about having a home base as far as clubs go is that everyone knows your name.

I could always produce shows but that is a pain in the ass. But if I build it they will come. I do open mics from time to time, but who can be a professional comedian and pay for stage time? No, it's not ego. It's the fact pro comics are broke.

I will also start to do more music soon.

I also want to return to acting class. While I think actors are stupid, unskilled pretty people who make me nauseated as they are paid bukoo bucks to tell me how they like my chewing gum and how awesome it is I did get a degree in it. There is an art when it comes to that. I want to go back to class, fall on my ass, and dig deeper. I have done more acting in this past eighteen months than I had before. I made a movie, filmed a pilot, and then a sketch. The pilot almost got picked up by Spike TV. I like acting, it's fun. I like the art of rehearsal, always more ways to experiment. Sometimes you hit, sometimes you fall on your ass.

I find myself missing acting class. I haven't taken one in a while. Hell with it. I also might do some mics. I just need to get back to basics. Maybe make some videos. Damnit, I am too much of an extrovert just to be a literary genius.

I am thinking too hard.

Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

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Young Love

I remember being nineteen and being all alone in NYC. The girls were all either goody goody or just slutty. The slutty girls were all sort of ugly actually. This one chick who was pretty fat always seemed to be getting action. As I sat alone, stood up on a Friday night and saw this thing out on the town I wondered, "How does she do it?" She didnt even have a good personality. She was stuck up, unfunny, and worst of all just nauseating. Then I saw the guys she was with and said, "Oh." The funny part is, some of them came out sophomore year. Maybe she was what turned them out. Or worse yet, they were like, "Hi Mom, hi Dad, I actually like chicks. The chicks I like just happen to look like guys."

One of my most memorable mishaps was when April Brucker who had no experience with men met a total stoner at a frosh talent night. He liked my puppets, I thought he was hot. He invited me to his place to watch TV. When I got to his house he turned on the television. For the record, I thought when he invited me to watch television we were actually watching television. Needless to say he had other plans. He kissed me and things began to get hot and heavy. Things had never really gotten hot and heavy in my young life and I began to panic. Finally I just told him I had to go and ran out of the room. My then friends thought it was hysterical because watch tv was code for hook up. I saw the dude later in the dining hall and apologized for my lack of experience. We ended up being friends actually and ended up watching television just to watch television. He has a good job and married someone else. If we would see each other on the street we would be friends and actually laugh about the whole thing.

There is an old saying in Latin that roughly translates, "In wine there is truth." Or worse yet, sometimes when you drink wine you love everybody. During the end of my first semester freshmen year I met this guy filming a student film. We hit it off, and he told me he would take me out to dinner and bring me flowers. I was stoked. He gave me his number. We chatted once or twice on the phone and it looked like I was going to finally have what I wanted,a boyfriend. He liked the puppets and everything. Well one night a friend of mine was having a party to celebrate end of the first semester. I got pretty wasted. So what did I do? I got out my phone and started calling everyone. I apparently told this guy I loved him and wanted to be with him forever. Needless to say, he avoided me every time he saw me after that. I know this all went down because his best friend told me when he saw me at the student center. Word to the wise, that is not the way to win a man's heart. We have seen each other since then and have been friendly, but he still puts a little pep in his step after our encounters. These days he is an unemployed actor and wannabe comic. Maybe it's better the love affair didn't work out.

Of course there was also the misadventure where I met a greasy guitar player at a talent show in Union Square. He went to school of recorded music and his parents were lawyers. Nonetheless, he believed he was Bruce Springsteen. Obsessed with Layne Staley, he played all the music when I hung out in his house. During that time a friend of mine told me that to pick up guys you had to smoke. I was trying it, but it was ruining my cardio. During this exchange, Romeo told me that, "If you fuck me, you can say you fucked me before I became a rockstar." I felt intimidated because I lacked experience. However, that became apparent in a moment or two. Romeo took my number and called me again, but I didnt feel like entertaining his ego. While he had rockstar ambitions, he didn't have the work ethic and after graduation changed paths to become a life coach for troubled children. I of course, well you know my puppet children and I have been making history. Someday he'll tell the story of how April Brucker was in his room, he had a chance to be a man, but screwed it up by being himself. Best punchline ever.

The following year I found myself seeing a much older man. While the whole thing was fun, I found myself getting much too attached as he patted me on the head and told me to wander the other way. We were on again, off again, and it was oh so complicated in my twenty year old brain. His dad was loaded, he had a great apartment, and he was promising me a trip to see the Roosevelt House on LI knowing I was a history buff. But when we got to that place of what is this he always backed off because of my age. I wasn't having it though. One evening, when I had too much of his high class Scotch I told him how I felt and how he had hurt me ever so badly. Then I told him I loved him, wanted to be with him, and threw up all over him. The next day I had a headache and felt like a fool. But we also talked and I found out more than anything in the world I had a friend. Since then we have just been friends, nothing less and nothing more. He is now married to someone else and has a kid. We have worked together several times and the whole experience is buried in the ruins as ancient history never to be spoken about again. But when I do speak about it I can't stop laughing. God was I stupid in those days.

Or then there was my first love bomber, an older comic who was totally all over me and had a very obvious drinking problem. We ended up hanging out and then he totally disappeared on me. The bad boy chain smoker then proceeded to hit on another woman right in front of me the next time he saw me!!!!! I thought this was a reflection of myself. But it was another big lesson. Men are jerks. It was tough to swallow, especially since the girl was so incredibly sleazy. But months later he tried to make a comeback. However when he saw me with another guy he backed off and I could hear him telling his friends some twisted tale of how I broke his heart. Meanwhile there was some serious editing on his part. Mr. Fabulous would go on to drink his way out of a promising comedy career and now is selling used cars in his home state.

My point of all this is, no one is worth going crazy over, man or woman. I found myself walking down memory lane because a young girl I know is flipping out over her boss who is an underemployed musician, recent divorcee who owes his ex and the IRS money, a second rate DJ, balding with a heart problem and the list goes on. You flip out now, but don't flip out too much. Leave room for the laughter later on. Not only will you realize that men think that they are God's gift and seriously aren't worth it, but the encounters provide good stories later.

No one, male or female, is worth getting too bent out of shape over.

LOve, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

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Silencing the Noise

The past several days I have been steeped in the tizzy of April being April. Sometimes I am so neurotic, self-centered, egocentric, and just plain crazy I should win an award. Seriously. All weekend long I was running around, working. Nothing seemed to be coming together. My buses were late, or when they were on time they were running the milk route or the weekend schedule and I had to schlep and have a mini-adventure. If people were supposed to show up, like our model for our video, they flaked. Even though they screwed themselves because we will never work with them again, in a way we felt like we were being rejected. My friend Marcus and I discussed this. Yes, rejected. On top of that there is so much to be done with promoting my book. So many people to send press packs to. So many people who don't answer my emails when I want them to which is pronto, right after I send them. They must be at their iphones and blackberries. They can't have life, outside work, family, lunch breaks, eight hours of sleep. No wonder I work with puppets. They are always there when I need them, and when I pull their strings they say what I want them to

Monday was the beginning of a nutty two days for me. I felt this panic and anxiety. The last time I felt this was when I was nineteen years old, alone in New York City. I was surrounded by all these people. The girls were so slutty that they were getting action all the time. Meanwhile they were ugly on top of being slutty so I wanted to know how this was happening. The good girls were so nauseatingly fake and could quote scriptures. It seemed everyone was smart and talented and I was just this dirty impostor from Pittsburgh with her puppets. So I broke my back to prove to everyone I belonged. It was painful. I was lonely. Eventually it got easier but damn that was a lonely feeling.

Now here I was feeling it again. Of course the last few weeks have been big and everything with my book. Big steps are scary. Sometimes when you take a big step, you don't know what's at the top of the landing. Will it be a pot of gold or a scary monster? Either way I was like a five year old kid scared of the dark again.

Tuesday felt even worse. I had to talk to a few people about my book and felt so lost. Nevermind Stephen King once had a first book and there was some of this drama. He probably worried that people would embrace him. Finally, after a mini meltdown I walked in the rain. Although I was risking pneumonia, I just needed to clear my head. I ended up meeting a woman who is like a mom to be to give her a duplicate set of my house keys in case of emergency-don't ask. Anyway, I poured my heart out and she laughed and told me to relax. What the hell was she talking about? I was soaking wet, unsure of the next step for my future, HOW THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO RELAX!!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

This morning I woke up feeling no better. Steeped in self-pity, I realized my birthday was next week and I was getting another year older. That I had accomplished nothing. That I wasn't on Conan. Nevermind I was on Entertainment Tonight, TLC and a slew of other shows. Nevermind I wrote a damn book. I just felt this worthlessness. I pictured myself alone with my six cats, three hundred pounds, eating iced cream with my hands at the edge of a cliff with my puppets as my only people to talk to. They would have to be because all at once I realized I was allergic to cats and that they would never work in this nightmare. Yes, nightmare. I was going to die without my dreams ever being realized.

Then something happened this afternoon. A friend of mine and I met and I signed her book. Something about the whole thing made me happy. Maybe it was because the noise in my head was finally quiet. The itty bitty committee had stepped out for lunch. It felt good. She is starting my book after a murder mystery she is currently reading. A murder mystery is a must finish in my opinionation. Then again, being an egomaniac my opinionation is the only thing that matters in my world. This particular friend is one who has come in my path recently and she writes too. I am anxious to see her book when it comes out. Plus she has been ever supportive with all the stalker/fan drama I have had in some of the past weeks.

When I got home I read on facebook a message from a fan in Canada who wanted to buy my book. The fan letter they wrote me made me smile and get teary eyed at the same time. Fan mail always does. At that moment I took a deep breath and decided to tell that chatter in my ever speedy brain to shut the hell up. I wrote the fan back instructing them on how to purchase my book. As I wrote I realized if I wanted people, young and old, to get one thing out of my book it would be that their dreams mattered-that they weren't stupid but in fact counted. That everyone's ideas and dreams were important. And that my hope was that my book inspired people to follow their dream whether it is to move to the city to perform/write, become a teacher, become an engineer, diplomat, whatever. The world needs all kinds of people. If the world were run by performers nothing would ever get done.

Just then my phone rang. Pink gorilla in Greenwich, CT. Okay, can do. The window is a little tight and I will have to run now. I talked to the client. They wanted a bottle of Scotch to go with the present. I have to run to the liquor store. Then they call again, they want me in CT before 9. It is 7. They also wanted me to sing the song Maniac from Dirty Dancing. I have to take a train and then haul the Scotch which isnt as light as you would like to believe and take a cab to some side street because he might not be home. Oh and then they need to give me the message and one is calling from a cell and the other from an office and everyone is making me CAT SHIT CRAZY!!!!!! As my serenity and selflessness I had achieved an hour before went out the window something hit me. I was just a person

I began to lose my mind as I ran to catch the train. It would get me there in time. I pull up my iphone learning Maniac when I see a text from the client. The birthday boy was going to be downtown in NYC. My jaw dropped. They were trying to kill me it seemed. I took a breath. Then another beam of whatever from the universe hit me. I did an om. It was something my boss at the telegram company, who by the way is a certified meditation teacher, taught me to do. During that om, it occurred to me that my job was to be of service. That what I did was a gift. That there were people who would chase my dreams in a second if I didnt want to. Plus the folks in Cali were probably going as crazy as I was, because this was the client's assistant booking this whole thing. Poor thing was probably losing her blessed mind, and if anything probably was ready to kill her boss and if she saw me in person would have been chugging my Scotch. During our texts and phone convo I put her at ease so she could relax and therefore her boss could be happy and that meant everyone could be happy.

When I got to Soho, despite my running around I didnt feel tired. Instead I focused on a huge rose statue. Despite the New York buzz around me I felt a sort of peace. I had put one foot in front of the other, I was going to take a breath, and just do the best job I knew to do. I was going to be okay. Everything with my book was going to be okay. My job was to make this guys night and give him a memory. In a lot of ways, I have the greatest job in the world. Many a day and night I am invited into someone's family or an intimate moment in their world for a wrinkle in time. I give them a smile and we share a memory knowing the world isn't all that big. That we are all connected.

That's exactly what happened tonight. I gave the bday boy the surprise of the night. The whole party joined us on the sidewalk to take photos. Other diners in the cool late summer/early autumn snapped me with their camera phones. We were all smiling, laughing, having a good time. The client in LA was happy. His assistant wanted to know the name of the Scotch I purchased, probably because she wants to polish off a whole bottle after the stress she has been through. Eh, it happens. As the cameras snapped the bday boy said, "Blakey, you da man." For the record, I hit Maniac. On of the members of the delegation even fixed my mask because it was making her crazy. I had a laugh and felt beautiful. This was all good. I think he will remember 40 forever!

After I was done I saw a bunch of lights. Then I realized down the street was the Festival of San Gennaro. I walked it having never been, and dodged a procession for the San or Saint or whatever he calls himself. It was blocks of food and other festivities as well as a mini off season freak show. I ended up getting Buffalo Calimari. I was taken aback at how family orientated and well behaved people were. Going down the street I felt even more of a peace. Sometimes I work myself to death. I am ambitious and hardworking, never missing a beat and this is why people tend to like me and hire me. At the same time, I know I make them nuts but not as nuts as I make myself. That's why I just took the time to enjoy the festivities.

I came across the statue of San Gennaro. The people who worship at the church pray and pin a dollar or two to the little ribbon on it. My great grandmother was into stuff like that, just like my grandma is to some extent. My mother used to bless us with Holy Water from said locales during stressful events. My attitude was, "Eh, whatever makes you feel good." I ended up chatting with the man at the booth and asked if he believed and he said he did and gave me a pamphlet. I pinned a buck and said a prayer. My prayer to whomever is upstairs, assuming they might be named Buster Brown but no one knows, that I would stop being so crazy and be more of service and loving to others. And that I was unsure and scared of the next step in my quest with my book, and could unnamed divine force guide me. Within a moment I heard "Dress You Up in My Love" by Madonna. That song is a song of mine that is lucky. Maybe it means something. Maybe it doesn't.

On my walk back I saw an indie bookstore. I walked in and nervously explained to the clerk who had a buzz cut and nose ring that I had written a book. Immediately without judgement, she gave me the names of the two people that headed the memoir and humor section in order to give a book pitch. While my book is not yet in the store it is an exciting next step. Perhaps San Gennaro answered my prayer. Or maybe he didn't. Either way, that bookstore just happened to fall into my path which was awesome.

As my treat I took a cab ride home. I will burn off the fried food tomorrow in Jeanene's class. Sigh. Life is an adventure. When it is good and you are of love and service you can smile. When it is bad you have a funny story later. My advice is so good and this is so insightful maybe I should follow it next week when life starts happening to screw up my best laid plans.

Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Keeping the Faith (Billy Joel)

Comment whether you love me or hate me. This is the land of the first amendment. We are all entitled to our opinions

For me, rainstorms are always a sign of good things. Maybe it was because I was born on a rainy month. Maybe it was because I just love fall. I have no idea.

Around fifteen years ago, about this time I had come home from one of my brother's football games. I was thirteen and was spending a ton of time in my room. My parents, fearing I was growing anti-social, forced family time on me. As we sat in front of the television, this Edgar Bergen Special came on. Everyone in my family tried to talk like the ventriloquists in the tribute. Then my turn came. I was thirteen, fat, and living in adolescent hell. I tried it, and to everyone's surprise it clicked. My family sat astounded. To motivate my new found passion, my mother purchased me a figure as a surprise that Christmas. As you all know, the rest is history. Jay Johnson said in his one man show The Two and Onlythat only those who were special were picked to be ventriloquist, and they were a special few. Sometimes I think I'm crazy. Then I think I'm special. So I only take the short bus on Mondays.

It was about ten years ago a little after this time one of the worst rainstorms hit Western, PA. It was time for the high school musical. I was auditioning for the role of the witch. Somehow, I didnt think I would get it. I wasn't a singer per se, I wasn't a favorite, and the odds were just stacked against me. I gave it all I got though.Mrs. Reid, God rest her soul, saw me in the post office after the audition. My mom had been saying every novina there was or whatever those things are. She's into the prayer beads. I am not. I wished my teacher a Merry Christmas and without telling me in so many words she told me I would have a Merry Christmas. I asked if I got the role. I just figured, why not? Well she told me that I would have a good holiday once I checked the website. As we left the post office the rain poured down. Being a teenager in Western Pennsylvania I had all these dreams of moving on up and out and reaching for the stars. Were they coming true? I checked the website and low and behold I got the part! As the rain began to pour down and I saw flood warnings on my screen my mom said, "Call your father right now."

Years later I found myself in New York City. Things werent going so hot. The dreams werent coming true. Moving home and going to a state school was a workable option. Everyone was talented, slutty, or uber goody too shoes. I just wanted to slit my wrists. As I walked down the street it began to rain, and then it began to hail. As the balls of ice hit my head I felt like I was being stoned Old Testament Style. Then there was someone flyering for a comedy show. They told me it was free. I figured I was tired of being pelted and as a bonus I might laugh.I made myself at home and not only found myself laughing, but knowing in my heart I was as funny if not more talented than anyone who stepped on the stage. I found a new purpose. I knew what I wanted. I had puppets, dreams, and a lot of guts. I finished the school year strong and as you know decided to stay in the city.

The following year, I found myself alone. I had been booked for a high profile variety show at the People's Improv Theatre. Heartbroken over a boy, as I always was when I was twenty and stupid, I wanted to stay home. Plus the sky was this angry demon that looked like it was going to open up. However, I told myself I would get revenge on this Love Bomber by being funnier than he could ever be. I walked to the show and didnt bring an umbrella because it looked like it was calming down. Oh no, it rained. It rained hard and I was soaked. I got to the PIT and in the green room where people dried me off. They had a little bit of a laugh and told me that the worst was over and the show would be a breeze.The show was not only a breeze, but one of the best I did that year. I was free and had fun. Afterwards, I drank the leftover beer backstage. People told me that they were impressed with me. I was of course happy. For the record, the Love Bomber drank himself out of his comedy career. Who's laughing now, Buster Brown?

Of course there was the time two and a half years later that I was feeling depressed during a rainstorm. I had just come out of a hellacious patch in my life and was starting to feel good about myself again. While things were starting to turn, this nagging sense of self-loathing was ruining my night and my wardrobe. Just to kill time, I logged onto myspace. It was raining and I didnt feel like going out and had no where to go. So my default was to sit at home and be depressed. I had been so hard to take that a minute before a friend I had been chatting with online logged off and made some excuse to get away from me. I know because he told me later. Anyway, I log onto my page and my inbox is flooded with messages and my wall is flooded with Congrats. Months before, May Wilson and I had gotten in line for Last Comic Standing. They had seen the two of us simply camped out and got us on camera. Our footage had made the cut! My jaw dropped open! OMG!!!!! I did have a future with this. I just needed to have a little trust and sprinkle some pixie dust, that's all. Suddenly I felt happy, so happy that I ordered some Chinese takeout and watched a chick flick. As a bonus my family and friends saw it. What they viewed as a simple pipe dream was something that might come to fruition after all. It was pretty cool.

Almost three years later, I wasn't feeling so confident. I was low on money, and a friend who meant a lot to me, Roger, had picked the drugs instead of life. The decision would be a fatal one. We were falling out, and he was getting harder and harder to deal with. While I know he is now at peace, the fact he had a fight before he died still makes me feel terrible sometimes. I loved him, but not the decisions he was making with his life. I was broke and lonely, and dating someone who was a bad idea all around. One evening I got an offer to do a show with May in Queens. It was a place that Mae West performed at frequently back in the day call Neirs Tavern. Despite the tornado warnings I went. It looked like I was going to be stranded there all night. Nonetheless, I put on a good show, and got sixty dollars out of the money bucket. Literally the next day, I was scouted by a network called TLC for a show called My Strange Addiction. They had heard about me, my puppets, and our street performing through my friend Ron Barba. The rest is history.

Nearly the following year, Hurricane Irene was supposed to shut down the city and Bloomberg made it so. I spent the whole weekend in my apartment webcasting and working on my little book. It was the book my friend Joe had gotten me to write. The grief was getting me hard, because I was going to tell him about how I was pitching my book to be published. The day I was to drop him the line was the day I heard he died. However, Joe was someone special, and he wouldnt have wanted me to cry with the rain but rather pound out my book. And he would have been telling me to get to work, not to let things I couldn't control rent space in my head in a sort of big brotherly way. Maybe I didnt get wet in this storm or stranded, but I was living on black coffee and canned food like some wayward Vietnam Veteran. Eating my kippers as brain food, I let the ideas come out of me as I revised. Later, I looked like I had been living in the trenches as my hair stood up like the man from the movie Poltergeist. My friends told me I looked like hell. I explained I had been working on a book. I could picture Joe laughing and telling me to brush my teeth.

Where am I now in this rainstorm? My book has been out for two weeks and is beginning to sell. Two places want to review it. I dropped it off somewhere big to be reviewed. Afterwards, my head nearly exploded. I hope the editor liked my package. I got wet in today's storm. Either the editor liked my package, my book will become a best seller, or something neat is about to happen to me. I don't know. Or maybe I should simply start traveling with an umbrella.

I am just writing this blog because it is dark and rainy outside. But after the rain comes the rainbow then what follows is the sun. Point being, we have to have the yucky stuff in order to have the pretty, fun stuff.

Love April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.buybooksontheweb.com

www.Amazon.com

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Should I Have a Book Signing?

To have a book signing or not to have a book signing? That is the question. It is a pain in the ass to get space in NYC. I could go back to my old acting school but the admin has changed. My college, most of the admins are gone there. I considered a comedy club but they will hit my guests with an admit charge and then make them purchase two beverages. They are other artists. They will be too broke to buy my damn book. Of course there is an indie location like a bar or something, but would they want a signing? Some places want an arm or a leg, and until recently I was too broke to buy my damn book. I thought about producing a combo talent night and book signing. But that might give me a headache. Besides, who could come?I mean I know people would but it is just a pain. Plus it is a lot of hard work. But it will be cool to have one. I dunno. I thought about just having a comedy/music/book night. Any ideas for venues that aren't comedy clubs or won't charge me a billion dollars? So far I am selling my books from my apartment, online and on Amazon and Kindle starting this week. So much do do. Love April I Came, I Saw, I Sang www.buybooksontheweb.com 877-Buy-Book

Weaving Nostalgia and Bittersweet Tea

The other day I came face to face with a not so nice part of my past. It was an old friend of mine that was sort of right where I left her. She's from a time in my life that is different, chaotic in a way. I laugh thinking about the night we all got twisted on JD, got May Wilson, and just had some sort of blurry under-aged adventure in the New York City Bar we were in. The whole place smelled like JD. She was my friend. It was happy.

Then it wasn't. Things change when the party gets weird. That means the party is over. Time to get a life. What's cute at nineteen stops being cute when you are twenty two or twenty three. I got the memo, I guess my friend didn't. She talked about being hung over and had this story of this guy she's seeing and how she's cheating and the whole thing just made my head spin. She looked like a mess. It was the middle of the day, he makeup was running, and her breath smelled eerily familiar. She asked me how I liked her mouth wash. Mouth wash, you mean booze, right?

The whole adventure made me long for elementary school. It made me long for brownies, cookies, soda and how Nancy Reagan told us all we could "Just Say No." It was before I knew anyone who died as a result of a drug overdose or ruined their life because of addiction. It was when parties had pizza as the most decadent guest. My big worries were getting my tumbling passes at my weekly gymnastics classes, and nailing my duet with my sister. Then there was swim practice where my other big worry was the cold and calling my mother in case we got locked out of the building on her oversized cellphone. Did I mention I missed the summer reading club where I could devour books with no consequence whatsoever?

When did things become so hard? When did my friends from the past become different people? Why does it break my heart?

Then I remember sometimes the past wasn't so hot. That for as fun as ten years old was, I don't want to go back. Most importantly, I cannot. I can treasure the memories but damnit, I really went to school with some jerkoffs. I don't want to do the pizza and soda with those people. I want them to choke on it.

In a way I can go back to the summer reading club, because I am donating a copy of my book to the local library. In a way I can go back to gymnastics because now I make my living on a stage. In a way I can go back to a duet with my sister because we are producing a video together. But I know ten is out the window. So is nineteen.

Now if only my friend can let go of nineteen. Really, it wasn't that great.

Love,
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang
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www.buybooksontheweb.com

This Time of Year

This Time of Year

I am resisting that summer is over and fall is here. While it is not quite cold, the temperature is dropping like the fat off of a woman who just joined Weight Watchers. Part of me as I said is resisting that summer is over because it is time to put away the skimpy clothes that get me boys. On the other hand, I am no longer a seasonal idiot. There were no accidental affairs with ex-cons and other unmentionables this summer. Oops, that was last year. Maybe I am getting boring and old.

The leaves always change around this time of year, around my birthday. I am a Libra. According to pop astrology I am supposedly balanced. I am off kilter as ever. Ask anyone who has crossed paths with me. However, I like to keep things fair even if it means screaming at the tops of my lungs and losing my voice. I get mad when things aren’t fair and people don’t act right. I am creative and passionate. I suck at making decisions. I can be a flirt which gets me into trouble. I’m a Libra.

I like Indian summer because while it’s hot as hell you can still sense the fall in the air. The temperature drops at night. While it’s summer during the day you can sense the foreboding of the cold and the snow and Father Winter’s impending visit at night. It is a relief. It saves me money on air conditioning. On the other hand, I have to put my white mini-dress and sandals away. The leaves are changing. The temperature is changing. Obama says we must change. Did I mention sometimes change is a big old pain in my rear end?

I do like this time of year. While Labor Day has historically been a rotten weekend for me, the fall that follows is always good. It has been at least for the past few years. As the leaves fall I shed some of the crap that has happened during the year as things come to a close. It is cathartic in a way.

In 2006 I ended an abusive relationship with a man who berated me, took my puppet children away, and used me as his own personal punching bag. Sure, he stalked me and that sucked. However, after that Labor Day weekend when he went crazy I spent that fall putting my stress on paper and fighting back behind the mic. I wrote a routine that is still a hit today, and my puppet children very much became a part of my life again. Not to mention I had a bit of a fling with a man who not only made me laugh but has stayed my friend. Oh, and I moved into my cute lil apartment. I told myself as I graduated from college and embarked on my new adventure, “YES I CAN!!!”

When fall of 2007 rolled around I had made a conscience effort to live healthier. That meant an end to the crazy drinking, the use of speed diet pills, and any of destructive diet practice there was. I joined a gym and started going daily. As a matter of fact, I started getting my coffee, bagel, and reading my paper at the corner store on tenth. It has been so long going there that I just ask them for, “My usual.”I also became more spiritual, it goes hand and hand with getting healthier. Very badly, I wanted to produce a one woman show. Well I ended up going on Cash Cab with May Wilson and won $700 smackers. That money went to help front the cost. I got a few people to show up because well, I was doing everything on my own and had no idea what I was doing. Still, it was worth it. I also filled my calendar performing. I was happy damnit.

In 2008 I was a busy woman that fall. After a mistake of a relationship with a man who lied like Lindsay Lohan drinks, always and constantly, I was back to work. I found myself working with Uncle Floyd that fall, going to Jersey and the Poconos. It was a show for seniors and I had never done one. I had some serious misses onstage and a few hits, but I learned a lot about comedy. I also filmed a pilot which was exciting. Then there was Rachael Ray, a television spot I watched at the local health club. The clip made The Soup. I had never seen the show before or since I came on. Despite the TV time I freely acquire I am too broke to afford one. I took my sister out to dinner with the gift certificate though. I also ended up opening for Aretha Franklin in a pre-show event I did as a result of a contest I won. Things were good. They had to be. Did I mention that everything went downhill for sometime when the winter came?

The fall of 2009 had been a rough one. The year sucked. The pilot that I had made didn’t get picked up. I had a few people I knew from back in the day pass on. Because of the market crashing the telegram job slowed and money was tight so I began working promos. And it seemed the momentum from the year before had been lost. But when fall came, things began to open up. I was a finalist in a contest, produced my own one woman show several venues, and was putting away some good sets. One day though, after a harrowing day of promotional modeling, I ended up going to do a shoot for a promo for Who’s Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? The day was gray and I lugged myself to Grand Central. I waited in line and they called me. Standing there was Jeff Foxworthy! We kibitzed for a few and then they began shooting. I was taken aback at how wonderfully kind and humble he was. I could have taken him or left him, but after that day I became a fan. When I got out of Grand Central the sun was shining. Something told me my fortune would change. It did. One week later the promo was on television. Everyone saw it as usual but me. Sure, 2009 had sucked but this coming year would be better.

When 2010 rolled around I was doing more of my own work and things had been so uncertain though. The summer ended with Roger and I no longer speaking and then him ultimately passing away which made me sad. However, in his passing I always say he left a bit of his spirit with me. Around the week he passed, I got an opportunity to talk to the execs of a show called My Strange Addiction. On craigslist they had been looking for someone addicted to ventriloquism. I had worked in the clubs with my children, performed with them all day, and then street performed in places that they would let me as well as impromptu performances in public. They approved me in a day. Needless to say, we all know how that ended and it ended happily. During the press tour and after, I could feel Roger’s spirit around me guiding me because he had always wanted fame and recognition. However, it also made me realize that idiot, negative men, the ones Roger couldn’t give up, were what helped lead him to an early grave. Suddenly it became easier to say no to those morons. They didn’t look so attractive. In  order to focus and be positive I began kickboxing. These were good changes.

The fall of 2011 was eventful. I was part of TechCrunch Disrupt with YouNow during their early days when I was a talking head. We had rehearsals all day and then we performed all night for the nerds at the conference. I secretly wished a rich one would pick me up. I also began courting my fans who recognized me and my babies from out television appearance. I called them my poppy seeds. Actually, they were christened by a fan of mine who was in this country illegally and knows no English. I also began dating a celebrity which was an adventure. While he was older, this man was a comedy legend. Dimsdale as I call him won both a Tony and an Emmy. It also looked like I was going to go with one publishing house but didn’t, and I began filming a TV show for Koldcast network. My episode of Pig Roast with Otto and George also aired. I found that I enjoyed mountain biking. The season ended with my house getting robbed. You cant have everything. God’s revenge was that my laptop had more viruses than a porn star. Ha ha ha!

What about the fall of 2012? Well my back hurts. It’s not from doing anything dirty, get your mind out of the gutter. It’s from carrying sixty books by myself up my stairs. They are not used books. They are my books. They are entitled I Came, I Saw, I Sang. I have one newspaper who wants to review me and another radio interview today. I already did a magazine interview. We shoot the commercial sometime next week. That’s the aim. Oh things to do. Did I mention Ferragusto where I performed commedia dell arte and ate the most delicious pickled octopus?

On the otherhand, I just want a Pumpkin Spiced Latte and to snuggle up under my blanket with a hottie who will disappear once he starts to speak. Then my puppet children can be alone. But my boss hopefully will have lots of telegrams. It’s an excuse to run through the leaves.

It’s fall people!

Love,

April

Author of I Came, I Saw, I Sang

www.buybooksontheweb.com

877-buy-book

Hitchhiking in Heaven

Over the years, in between the performing and the comedy, I have found myself stranded at a great many places. To make a long story short, I have had some adventures on the road. Yes, I have done some hitchhiking.

My first big hitchhiking experience was when I was twenty three years old. I was gigging out in Long Island, Port Jeff to be exact. I had the directions to the hotel where I was to be performing. As I was walking down the street I saw that the directions took me off the beaten path, to the middle of the woods. I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing. That was sort of the metaphor for that point in my life. Only eighteen months before I had been fired from a retail job and tried to do other things but the universe always sent me here. Then I heard behind me, “You lost?” It was a woman and her two small children. They didn’t look like killers. I told them where I was going and they were alarmed I was hiking through the woods so late at night and offered me a lift. They let me in and took me four blocks, saving me a hellacious hike with the lions, tigers, and bears. They were nice people. I liked them.

Next hitchhiking adventure was much less pleasant. It was about a year later when I was doing a show in Long Island. It was a good night performance wise, but the promoter got way creepy. When this (male) promoter passed me he didn’t have to accidentally not so accidentally pat my ass. In addition he would make inappropriate sexual comments. When I looked grossed out he would say, “Just kidding. You are a comedian, take a joke.” It wasn’t a joke when he invited me to the back of the venue to talk where he was dark and he pressed his disgusting body against mine. He told me my material was too bitter and he could fix me as he attempted to slip his tongue in my mouth. My fight and flight took off as I pushed him off of me, got my stuff, and ran. I didn’t know where I was going, expect I was gone. Walking down the block I looked scared and panicked. Again, a woman with two girls pulled over and asked if I was alright. I just starting crying and they took me to the nearest train. I was scolded because the area was so dangerous at night. Nonetheless I took the scolding. I was just glad that some male promoter who told me I was funny just to get me into bed couldn’t take sexual advantage of me. He could save his sexual appetite for the local gentlemen’s club and their cottage cheese strippers and I could go home.

The following hitchhiking adventure was sort of sweet. I had just finished doing a puppet show at a country club when I had packed it in and was ready to go. The booker was sort of disorganized and had two helpers that were clearly on drugs and nodding off. As a result I had to pick up slack when the people were doing the limbo and nudge her so she knew not to nod off in front of the children. Then the booker not only had the nerve to scold me but wrote me a check that later bounced. Walking home from this hell, I saw an older couple driving along. They asked if I needed a ride and I said yes. The Glenn Miller Orchestra blasting led me to believe they were harmless. We laughed about old movies and talked about how they had a granddaughter my age. They said that I looked like the puppet girl from Rachael Ray. When I confirmed my identity they said Jerry Springer was mean. That was the first time I was recognized. McAwesome.

A few months later I was in some part of Jersey doing a gig when I was walking down a deserted road and got lost. There was no sidewalk, only woods for the most part. The destination was up the road, a car shop to deliver a telegram to one of the guys who worked there as a mechanic. As I straggled near the side of the road a truck pulled up and asked if I needed a lift. I eyed him suspiciously. This was how young women died. He asked me where I was going. I mentioned the car shop up the road. He smiled and told me he knew the guys and they were all good. He named them all, including the one I was to sing to. I began to soften, got in his truck, and got a ride. He was very nice, dropped me off, and then waited around until I was done. The gig went well and he took pics. He asked me where I was headed and I mentioned the train aka middle of nowhere. He gasped and informed me trains only can every so often and that he was going to Hoboken and offered to take me there. During our hour ride to Hoboken he told me he was a skateboarder and hobby celebrity autograph seeker. I got home in a timely manner. Plus I had a good laugh. Did I mention he even bought me a coffee? Bonus!

About two and a half years later, I was in Staten Island getting ready to do a taping for a cable access show. It was a reunion of sorts. I was getting to see David, my New York Dad, Joanie, and of course Nevin. It was sort of a homecoming because I hadn’t been to CTV in years, and since then I had been on major television so it was homegirl does good kind of. Nevermind I was still broke as hell. I ended up on the wrong side of the building, the repair side. Seeing I was lost, one of the men who was rather good looking offered me a lift to the other side of the parking lot. He was good looking so I was mentally retarded at the moment. Plus if he was going to kill me there were an awful lot of witnesses. I chatted, flirted, and then was heartbroken when I saw the wedding ring. But he took me to where I needed to go.

Fast to a few months later. It’s spring and I am in Jersey delivering a telegram. I am unsure of where I am going except the road splits in a certain way. It was starting to rain. The clouds were getting darker and scarier. Just then a woman pulled up and asked if I was lost. I told her sort of, I had no clue where I was going so I told her the address. She stopped and said, “Oh sweetheart, you are way off.” She invited me in her car. Old and sweet, I safely assumed she wasn’t an axe murderer. She took me to where I needed to go. I thanked her and saw a Bible on her floor. Maybe God sent an angel my way to keep me from danger. I don’t know. I never did get her name. But some force was perhaps watching over me that day.

One time I had a crazy two-fer. On my way to a Jersey chicken I heard, “APRIL BRUCKER!” I look over and it’s the producer for the show I am doing that evening. He ends up giving me a ride to the destination. We talked and that was McAwesome. We both remarked on how random this whole thing was. What were the freaking odds? On the way back I was lost and ended up getting a ride from a pizza delivery guy who knew no English but gave me a coupon for free chicken wings. After that, I got a slice of anchovie pizza and ended up having a good set that night. Some days are just red letter that way.

Now here I was last Friday. Hiking by the highway in Jersey. It was something out of a film noir because I am currently going through a certain film noir situation aka an out of control fan who has seen me on television has stepped over the line. The police are involved and it has been interesting. Lost, I saw a Fed Ex truck and asked him for directions. He told me it was a long way down the hill and he gave me a ride. He said I had to lay low cause Fed Ex guys can’t do that. I asked him if he was a murderer. He laughed and said no. I ended up giving him the post card to order my book and got out to do my singing telegram.

I guess I wrote this blog because I just want these people to know that wherever they are, I appreciated what they had done for me. More often than not they were good to me with wanting no reward in return. I could have been some nut that robbed them, but of course I am just a harmless eccentric with puppets and costumes. They could have raped, robbed, and killed me but didn’t. Just as there is evil in this world, there is also a benevolence. In our jading as adults, we must not forget that selflessness, especially when the world tempts us to be so selfish.

As the tide starts to change in my life, and people who saw me once upon of time as their chicken or in some dingy basement see me on television or wherever else, I want them to know that their generosity was not forgotten. That I didn’t forget. Someday when I have my mansion (hopefully soon) I will remember the person who gave me a lift when I was about to hike through the dark woods/running from a creepy man/down the road from the train/walking down a desolate road/headed the wrong way in the rain/going down a steep hill. You get the picture. If there is ever an opportunity to return the favor I will.

In the words of Blanche Dubois, “I always depend on the kindness of strangers.”

Love,

April Brucker

Author of I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

To purchase go to www.buybooksontheweb.com or call 877-Buy-Book. 

Burn in Hell, Philip Markoff

It was 2008 I believe when I met Julissa Brisman. She was a friend of a friend. I remember she was an aspiring actress who was also dipping her feet into modeling. She had a big smile and deep down eyes. Julissa was very pretty in person, so an acting career wouldn’t be a stretch. We laughed as I remember she told me she was a Taurus, determined and a fighter. She laughed when I said fighter. Looking back that was ironic in how her life ended. Julissa had coffee with a friend of mine and myself. She dressed nicely and seemed to have an awful lot of money on her for an aspiring actress. Down the line it was revealed she was giving massages on craigslist, a job that would lead to the end of her life.

I met Julissa two or three times after that. A young woman who had taken a wrong turn or two, she was desperately trying to get her life back on track. Julissa was attending AA and going to school to be a drug and alcohol counselor. Life wasn’t easy for her it seemed, everything was a struggle. Julissa never complained, took it in stride, and was always very sweet when you saw her. One woman on a message board said after her murder, “It’s not like she was some kid selling candy. She was a hooker.”

I wanted to stop this judgmental wench of a woman and inform her that while her six cats could keep her all the company in the world, he who is without sin may cast the first stone. Also, sometimes life isn’t as kind to everyone as it has been to you. Addiction and alcoholism are continual and progressive diseases. Recovery comes sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly and it takes time to shed the lifestyle. But more than anything, regardless of what she was doing to pay the bills she didn’t deserve to be murdered in cold blood.  Julissa was someone who fought through life and could never seem to get a break. Things were starting to turn around for her when she died.

Fast forward to the spring of 2009 when she got murdered. I was looking at the paper and reading the reports and at first I didn’t recognize her because her hair was blonde. A minute later I got a call from the mutual friend who said, “April, you know Julissa was murdered, right?” I took a moment. I did a double take. She was the girl I had met a handful of times, the aspiring actress and drug counselor who was trying to get sober. The one with the sunbeam smile. The Taurus.

Days later details emerged. Her killer was a medical student named Philip Markoff. White and clean cut, there were photos of him getting his white coat in the paper. Like my brother and sister, he was on his way to helping people and saving lives. Somewhere on the course he deviated and decided his time and energy would be better spent taking them.

In this photos Philip Markoff appeared stoic and cold. They attributed the fact that he robbed two prostitutes and preyed on transgendered individuals selling sex services was that he was in debt between student loans and a gambling problem. Unlike the others he had robbed, Julissa fought back. She had been a fighter. She fought against drugs and alcohol to get sober. Now she was fighting this creep who pointed a gun at her. As I saw this I thought, “Jesus, why didn’t you just get robbed safely sweetheart?”

On the other hand, I think she knew he was a monster, a demon. He was going to kill her. Julissa was a Taurus and they never give up. I could only imagine how terrifying the last few moments of her life were. I read she scratched him on the neck leaving a long, bloody gash. I found myself hoping it would leave a scar, letting this predator know that he wasn’t God, he didn’t have the right to decide who lived and who died. To someone like Philip Markoff these women were easy prey. They were sex workers. They didn’t matter.  He was going to be a doctor. So what was a dead hooker, right? Philip Markoff was going to be sipping champagne on the veranda, and in that equation Julissa Brisman didn’t count.

Of course Markoff had it all planned out. He had a fiancé at home, who was pleasantly ignorant as it can be seen in the police tapes. Sheltered and a tad spoiled, she probably unknowingly ignored some of the big red flags her man was putting up. While this psychotic charlatan was probably a master of disguise, on the other hand there is only so much one can hide. I can only imagine her horror and disgust as she realized the truth, she was about to marry a sexual sadist. Megan McAllister is now in medical school in St. Kits. She is probably unable to trust men. She is probably shaken forever. She probably has nightmares. And sometimes I bet she probably feels like she has Julissa’s blood on her hands.

Philip was set to go to trial. There were delays because as we know, in our great country’s judicial system victims have zero rights. As proceedings kept being delayed, my mutual friend began to have a meltdown. She claimed Julissa spoke to her in her dreams. Watching the news was hard for her. Eventually this friend took a job in Florida to clear her head. It seemed the only thing Mr. Markoff was ever capable of was destroying lives. Maybe he should have gone into practice with Jack Kevorkian.

However, Philip would never face trial. Being a coward, he took the coward’s way out and killed himself. Apparently on the one year anniversary of what would have been his wedding he suffocated himself with a bag. Before that he scrawled his name as well as his nickname for his fiancé on his cell wall. In a way this was actually a blessing. Massachusettes is quite liberal when it comes to criminals so Markoff would have gotten off easy. Not to mention he claimed he was indigent and the state was paying for his defense. Also, Julissa’s family would have had the pain of not just rehashing her last moments, but also some male defense lawyer dragging the poor thing through the mud. To top it off, the media would make it even worse as they kept highlighting that she was a sex worker. In the end it worked out for the best.

In his passing there was no justice for Markoff’s living victims, the two women attacked in the hotel room. Like Julissa, life had been unkind to them as well. No one wakes up, goes to first grade, and tells their classmates about how they dream of selling sex on craigslist. It happens because life hasn’t been kind to them and they have been pushed there. Same with the transgendered women he preyed on. Social outcasts who barely have rights, they had the pain of facing a sadistic bully like Markoff. Much like Julissa, he didn’t feel they counted either. Where is the justice for those victims?The answer, there is none. There are only horrible memories and nightmares.

I felt compelled to write this because I saw the Lifetime Movie The Craigslist Killer recently. About a year after his death, I caught wind of the making of it at the time through an actress friend. Just this past weekend, I came across it on youtube. The film portrayed Megan McAllister, his fiancé, as the nice girl, while Philip Markoff seemed like the perfect man trying to be the perfect fiancé with a dark secret. The movie gave him more of a sympathetic edge in an attempt to make him real and human. Bravo for making him human, but I found it as offensive as hell. Maybe it was because I had crossed paths with Julissa Brisman. Either way, in her character’s brief appearance on screen when I saw her get shot it made me ill. I remember reading the headlines and knowing that the young woman I had coffee with had been gunned down like she was an animal in the woods, simply erased because she was nothing. I remembered her smile, her laugh, and her nodding when I said Taurans were stubborn as hell and that they were fighters.

The fact she was a fighter was the reason that he killed her. Bullies don’t know what to do when someone fights back. She wasn’t going to let him rob her. Julissa was going to ID him and expose his secrets. Philip Markoff’s perfect life would be in shambles. His fiancé would leave. He had to kill her. Seeing that part of the movie upset me so badly that I actually got nauseous and almost lost my lunch.

When Philip Markoff died people were upset that there no answers into why he did what he did. Profilers had different explanations. They struggled to know, to understand. They want to know if it was something rooted in childhood, something so that they can make an excuse. There is only one answer and that is plain and simple, Philip Markoff was the closest thing to pure evil that many people will ever come into contact with. In Dante’s Inferno, there is a layer of hell where the physical body is still on Earth but the soul is in hell. My Humanities teacher, Mr. Tietz, explained that you could see it when you peered into a person’s eyes, like crime Godfather John Gotti, because there was nothing there but darkness. I remember seeing the pictures of Philip Markoff and he possessed the same sort of blank stare, the darkness behind his eyes. It was because there was nothing there. No soul. No regard for others. Robbing and killing were easy for him. Ironically, he was trying to help people by becoming a doctor, a job where one has to regard human life. By the Grace of God he never practiced medicine which is a miracle for all mankind.

I can say one thing for sure. I know there is a hell and Philip Markoff has finally come to join his physical spirit. He is burning and suffering in a place so terrible no one can imagine it. It’s indescribable. However, he deserves every horrific minute of his fate. God decides which of His creatures matters and which does not. Philip Markoff tried to play God and thought he could eliminate Julissa because how dare she fight back? How dare this hotel room masseuse stand up to the good doctor? As for those who will throw stones when I say this citing Julissa was not perfect, that is true. No one is. However, there was a difference. Julissa Brisman was an innocent struggler. Philip Markoff was nothing short of the devil.

I know Julissa is finally at peace. She is in a place where she doesn’t have to sell sexual services on craigslist. Since her death the erotic section of the site has been removed. Prostitution is legal in other places around the world and there are things done to protect those women in those countries, it was nice to see we were taking a step in that direction here. Just because they sell their bodies doesn’t mean that they are people who don’t count.

And to Philip Markoff, the afterlife is a bitch, isn’t it? Just like the word you probably commonly used to refer to women while you were alive. I hope you enjoy hell asshole. It is rumored the devil is a woman. You could kill yourself and escape jail and a trial that way. But eternity is forever, assweed. Satan is always on PMS. Hope you enjoy her, mutherfucker!

 Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

To order go to www.buybooksontheweb.com

Call 877-Buy-Book

This Time of Year

I have a love/hate relationship with this time of year. I love how it starts to get cool as the temperature drops and the leaves start to fall. They turn orange like pumpkins and remind me of the Pumpkin Spiced Lattes and the boys I scam into buying them for me. They turn blood red, burnt like fire, perfect for poetry writing, mountain biking, and long walks in the cemetery.

On the other hand it’s sort of sad because school is back. The summer is most definitely over and I can’t wear white. It’s accepting that there will be no frolicking on a strangers yacht in the marina that I know through friends. It’s accepting that I can no longer go to the beach. It’s accepting that my birthday is coming up, something that I used to hate as a child and have learned to love as an adult. It is the passage of time.

This weekend has been jinxed for me for the past several years. Nothing ever good happens Labor Day Weekend. In 2007 I had just stopped drinking and did a gig for a Sober Fest. Some of the folks were cool, some hated my guts and let me know it on the spot. They said they were laughers. Apparently when some people take the booze out of the equation they become total church people. I have done other sober shows that were good. But it was like a long trek up, a long trek back, and just being out of my mind and going crazy. However, the booker liked me and they did like May Wilson. Who doesn’t.

In 2008 I was ending a very bad relationship. Basically my then boyfriend and I were fighting all the time and this particular fight got so bad that I just starting yelling at him and then he threw me out. Of course this was all egged on by a flat chested bitch who was living with him named Trouble because that is what she was. She was his so called bestie but really she wanted to be more and was willing to ruin any relationship he had so she could get it. I hate her guts, and if there was a time or a place I will give her what is coming to her I will. But yeah, I had my heartbroken that weekend. But then afterwards I found out my man had a huge lying problem so he was no big loss.

The following year I was on a comedy tour which ended up being a disaster. Venues didn’t do proper promo, shows were cancelled, and then someone tried to stiff us out of money. However I did do one good show and that opened some doors for me. But it was a hellacious weekend that made me want to get the bumper sticker that said, “Living the dream.”

Of course 2010 brought me having a falling out with my dearly departed friend Roger. One that resulted in that being the last time we spoke before he died. I don’t know what broke my heart more, the fact that he made the choices he did or the fact I never told him how much he meant to me as my friend. I never got to say I was sorry before he died or to tell him I wasn’t mad at him but what he was doing to himself. Then my old roommate who was like my sister moved out which left a big hole in my heart too. However, I know she is happy. More importantly, I know Roger is finally at peace and took the path he had to. I know his spirit holds no grudge and is one of many angels that has my back. Most importantly, he is out of pain and that’s all I ever wanted for him.

Then 2011 I basically made one of the biggest banking errors of my life and overdrew an amount in the thousands. I also had a meltdown over the fact some big career thing didn’t happen. Weekend sucked.

Oh and this year was no different. I worked a lot which was good. However in a moment of foolhardy fun I played a practical joke on a friend that I cared about. It was meant to be funny but the truth is, turned out to be pretty rotten. In part it was for my own amusement, in part it was to actually stop her from doing something really out there over a guy. Long story short, I came clean the next day and apologized. I thought she would laugh it off. Instead she told me it was messed up and she never wanted to speak to me again. That’s her right and I understand that. I missed the mark. I was wrong. I even said so. What did she want? On the other hand, it was a lesson I had to learn. She also blocked me which I understand. However, she logged on under her mother’s account to start shit telling me I was messed up in the head. WHAT! Then she accused me of flashing her whatever he is at the moment my panties which did not happen. If anything, he was checking me out. There were people around me telling me she was only reappearing in my life because things were happening for me. Looks like I dodged the bullet of a metaphorical sense and a physical sense because love triangles always end that way. Plus she couldn’t take a joke.

Virgos are weird people in my experience. There are some Virgos I love. My baby sister is a Virgo. Precise and on the point as well as timely and on schedule, she will make a good doctor someday. Hardworking she is in the emergency room every day working to learn and to improve. Dr. Sco is what I call her.

Then there is my boss Jon Shipley the basis for Bruce in my book. He is smart, hardworking, dedicated, a neatfreak, and drinks his coffee with two percent milk. Not to mention he is a certified meditation instructor.

Let’s not forget my Aunt Diane who is a smart lady, a hardworker, funny, easy to talk to, and one of the few women I know who’s actually good with tools. She’s a Republican and it’s fun to argue about politics with her because neither one of us takes it personally.

Then of course there is my cousin and her daughter Jaclyn, born on the cusp on Virgo and Libra. She too is smart, hard working, and although quiet sometimes actually has quite the sense of humor.

Oh and then there’s my Aunt Ruth, my mom’s youngest sister and Godchild who is the caretaker of my grandparents and Ren Faire regular.

I have to mention Holland from kickboxing, with her cute little videos

Nikki Sunshine and Sandra Valls, who both were my friends during one of the roughest times in my life and didn’t turn their backs on me when so many did.

John Powers, who even though I have only met you on the internet you crack me up because you have that Virgo say what’s on your mind thing.

Oh and my friend James from up the street who loves the Yankees, works at the funeral home and purchase two of my books.

David Herman, well what’s not to love about the fact you just make my heart melt.

Michael Alsondo, the celebrity hairdresser who kidnapped me, gave me a makeover, and put my head back on right. You made me turn in a good direction when I was quite lost.

However, there are some Virgos in my life that are well….eh.

There is Trouble, the flat chested bitch who was instrumental in my breakup with my last boyfriend. Lying and conniving, she claimed to be raped several times in order to get men around her to beat a stranger up. She also fabricated stories of childhood sexual abuse, none which were substantiated, in order to get men to do her favors and give her money. She tried to ruin a weekend with my ex and I by injuring her already sick dog so that he would have to drive the mutt to an animal hospital. When she wasn’t doing that she was instigating conversations that would lead to fights. It’s good time has made her ugly, after all, she’s just a reflection of herself.

Behind her is Wench. This woman is a wannabe comedian who actually stole a joke of mine when I was in the room. Armed with a drinking and lying problem, this woman claims to have been sexually abused by her father in one sentence. In the next sentence, she denies this claim and yells at you for even going there. She also claims to have been raised in the projects when really her father was a doctor. She uses these stories to illicit sympathy as well as spots from bookers. I hate her.

Then there is Kindred Spirit, the washed up would be star who took me out to dinner and rolled out the red carpet. He posed as the perfect guy when his real goal was to use me to revive his dead comedy career. I don’t know what makes me angrier, the fact that he pretended to be into me or the fact that he wouldn’t have taken me out if he didn’t think I could do something for him. Virgos are willing to do anything to succeed. With that I hope he finds the woman who can revive his career elsewhere. Even if he does he is something called marginally talented, washed up, and classified as best days are behind him.

Ralph the Jerk that Didn’t Want to Work was also born under this star sign. He’s my Godmother’s ex-fiance who had nothing going for him. He didn’t want to work and was willing to fake any illness he had to in order to mooch off my auntie. Armed and dangerous with charm, flowers, a toupee, and glue on chest hair, gold chains, and flowers he swept my aunt off her feet. However he was engaged to two women at the same time and chose the exotic dancer with kids because she was a bigger sucker. Go to hell Ralph! Get hit by a tractor trailer.

Last but not least is Holden Caulfield. While I don’t hate him, actually part of me will always love him, I know this is bad for me. Between the unmedicated bi-polar, the drug problem, and the three warrants that include one felony this wasn’t going to end well. He has two children, neither one which he is capable of supporting. Last time I checked up on him he is back with his mom and one of his kids headed to rehab. I wish him the best. Maybe he can get well, get back off his meds, and stop mooching off of women who try to rob him.

That’s all I got people.

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

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