Yes my feet got wet in the rain. My friend was cool and made me coffee though.
I ended up leaving Queens and getting a Ruben and coffee. Odd combo I know. I fumed over the fact I am returning to the venue this week that I put on TV and they had the nerve to fucking fire me from my own mic without telling me as a thank you. I know when I bitch I don't look good. I know when I hold a resentment I am not happy. It's just that I know they are shitty people. Ordinarily, I would have told them I have lots to do, like my grandpa has heart disease and he is dying. It's partially true, that grandfather did have heart disease and he died nearly forty one years ago this month. I could tell them the funeral is at the last minute. The only reason I am bothering is that this is a chance to do a headliner show and a chance to sell my book. I wouldn't give a damn about it being a headliner show except I get to sell my damn book. My book, my book, my book.
I guess after all this time it still hurts that I worked so hard for them and they did what they did. And then their in house cronies spread nasty rumors about me. In a lot of ways I am glad I never moved up the ladder there,otherwise I would be pathetically wandering there everything damned to repeat the same tortured existence. Hell, twenty years later I would still be there. Still, I have a huge chip on my shoulder about what happened and for as much as I pray and ask God to remove it He just doesn't. I attribute it to the fact that the help is going to the orphans with AIDS.
Since then my dreams have changed too. I really don't care about being respected by certain comedy circles like I used to. Hell, I really don't care about being a respected comedian. There are a lot of people wandering, doing the same damn thing, plus television has killed the art form. Then lots of the pro comics are bitter and beat to shit from long nights and years of chasing the pipe dream that doesnt materialize. You hear them talk and make up lies about women in the business who make it performing sexual favors because it boosts their male ego. I guess I wonder why they just dont quit? Work a forklift, paint houses, donate to PBS.
In many ways I have moved on not only appearing on TV more than any of those morons that are regulars at that club will ever in their lackluster careers but also having songs that were hits on the internet and even writing a book that is getting some nice press. I have even spoken to people about turning it into a musical or screenplay. Did I mention I had a series that almost got picked up by a fucking network this year and a film I was in is going to festivals?!?!?!
The truth remains though, what went down still hurts. I could list my fucking accomplishments all day long and know I already have a better career than most of the alumni of Last Comic Standing these days. (The show where you had to have the least amount of talent to qualify and even less to win. Yes, they gave me a good clip. Thank God I didnt become a contestant). But again, what went down still fucking hurts and I have a huge assed chip on my shoulder. Maybe it's because for so freaking long this was such a big part of my identity. Every night was getting onstage, and every weekend was being on the road to perform. So much of me was tied into this,and when this all went down it was worse than having my heart broken. There have been times this year that I have found myself crying because I don't perform as much as I used to.
I know this whole thing is me being called home. It goes with being a have to. As in I have to do this, there is no other way. The universe is telling me there is no choice. But in someways I am fighting it. There is no way I can ever flourish as a woman and feel safe in that world. But when it isn't in my life I feel empty, sad, play devilish pranks on people,and write my dead friends notes on facebook. It's a mess. LOL
On the other hand I have been getting stage time again and it has been interesting. It seems the Gods are laughing at me. Went up Wednesday at an open mic where there was just so much chaos and I was the last up. Nothing got done really. I should have stayed the fuck home. Thursday I did an open mic in Coney and somethings almost got done. I got up and riffed and actually did rather well on my riffs. It felt good to be up onstage again. Plus I got some laughs from the three people there. Tonight was a disaster. My brain was tired. I did two sets back to back and tanked it. I tried running old material,but manbasher shit in front of all men never works. Then I just wasnt feeling it. Essentially shit didnt get done.
Some of me dreads that I lost my gift. I probably did to some extent. I know some of it is that I see the newbies bright eyed and bushy tailed and have such a chip on my shoulder. Plus I have a resentment about paying for stage time and have a bad attitude. I know it comes across when I step behind the mic but I dont care. Wait, yes I do. Some veteran comedian who hasn't done shit in years and that tried to lure me in bed to try to revive his dead career that keeps dying like a beached whale told me that if I didnt care so much I wouldnt have any chance of being good. Maybe the pick up line laced in masculine lies looking for a meal ticket had some truth. In some ways I wish I could get that back, that wonder and love. I do love being onstage, I do love making people laugh. But everything that went down killed a part of me. I know I let them. But I got fucked. Lets be honest. Once you are a pickle you can never be a cucumber again.
They say open mics are supposed to keep you fresh. So far they are just annoying and sometimes unsafe for me. Once a comedian who has a drug problem verbally assaulted me for a TV appearance I did. This has happened more than once. I am debating whether to get onstage or to stay home in front of my mirror. Plus the group of people are below me careerwise for the most part and really have nothing to offer as far as well paying gigs and connections go. Is stage time really that important? Who knows?
I have lots to do this week.
I know I have to drop the rock.
Not before I throw it first.
Burn a bridge, break a mirror, idolize myself.
Maybe I will tell them my grandfather died again come Thursday.And he did forty one years ago. But my grandfather that I never met would also want me to sell books. If it's a disaster those fuckers really don't deserve my best. But my books would like to be sold. Hmmmm.
Okay, I am dropping the rock. But not before I break a few windows. And for the record,dont expect me to be warm and effusive when the time comes. The bitch is back!!!!
UNDECIDED
Love April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Person
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