Friday, November 30, 2012

Egg Drop Soup and Old Friends

Yesterday wasn't such a hot day. I was sick. My body hurt. Walking up the stairs was a chore. Not to mention I had the runs, I know, overshare. Anyway, I called my mommy with all my health concerns like I always do. My mom said it was lack of protein. But I am always getting protein. She said it was bad protein. I mentioned I had been eating a lot of cart food and she said that was it. But my food cart is usually pretty good. Maybe I had gotten the old Denny's Style Rainbow Meat. Either way, my mom recommended a chicken from the supermarket. But I had been getting the runs so badly that nothing was staying down. So I figured chicken tomorrow,soup today.

The Chinese place around the corner serves the most delicious Egg Drop Soup in the world. I had some and it was like heaven. My stomach settled and I began to feel relaxed and went out like a light. Not only did it taste good, but that settled my stomach. I slept for a few hours, just tired from a week steeped in action. Monday I had a gig in Westchester. Tuesday I had some book stuff. Wednesday more book stuff. And yesterday I donated one of my books to a worthy cause.

I woke up for a little bit, fought with an old friend online, had some iced cream, and went to sleep.

The Egg Drop Soup had helped. My stomach was settled,just a little tired.

When I woke up I saw an old friend Maura McCarthy decided to follow me on Twitter. We had done a theatre camp together when we were kids in Pittsburgh. She looked good, had become a red head, and was acting in LA. I had remembered liking Maura and it had been forever since we spoke. I tweeted at her and said I was glad she was still acting.

Maura tweeted back and said that indeed it had been a long time and she saw my article in xoJane! I was like wowsa! Way to reconnect. In case you have not seen my article here it is xo

This was awesome. My friend Mandy Stadtmiller, who is utterly amazing, got me to write the piece. The whole experience has been exciting.

Anyway, it made my morning. I am feeling better today. Also am getting my first royalty check for my book in the mail. SO EXCITED!



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

Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

Hero of the Week: Larry DePrimo

His name is Officer Larry DiPrimo, he is twenty-five years old. Larry is a member of NYC's finest. I say he is a member of NYC's finest for two reasons. One,it is what we call our officer's of the law. Second, he did a good deed.

The story began on November 14th. There was a homeless man who was without socks or shoes. On the blustery night Officer Larry could feel the cold seep through his two layers of socks and boots. Ordinarily on patrol in The Village, Officer Larry was covering Times Square that night because of a shortage of people. Anyway, he heard two passerby's snickering about the shoeless and sockless old homeless hobo. Officer Larry caught site of the man and thought, "If I am feeling the cold he must be freezing."

Officer Larry walked over to the homeless man and asked him if he had anything to cover his feet. The man said, "Sir, I have never owned a pair of socks or shoes." Officer Larry, saddened by this man and perhaps feeling as if he had entered some tragic Dickens novel, asked the man his shoe size. He said that he would buy the man a pair of shoes and didn't care what the cost was.

So Officer Larry went to the Sketcher store and spent one hundred dollars on a pair of boots and gave them to the guy.   The tale would have stopped there except a tourist from Arizona caught the whole thing on camera. The photo was posted to the NYPD's facebook page and garnered almost a million likes! And now he is in the New York Daily News. 

Officer Larry DiPrimo did not know he was being captured on camera and he did the right thing for the right reason. That is rare. I also hope he is single....

Either way,it's a good story to start off the holidays.

April E. Brucker
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Loser of the Week: William Bailey

Well I came across this story in the news and this man is beyond stupid. He defines fucktard, dickwad, assweed, and cunt scab. Yes, I am talking about William Bailey, the Canton, Ohio man who made fun of a little nine year old girl named Hope Holcomb with cerebral palsy trying to get off the school bus. If that wasn't bad enough he got his kid to join in and encouraged his son to, "Walk like a retard."

Apparently,the two families have children in the same school and have been feuding. Even so, the feud is between the adults. This has nothing to do with the children you tremendous dickwad fucktard assweed cunt scab inbred mouth breather! This man had no words for his shiteous actions. Then again, COWARDS AND BULLIES NEVER DO!

Well he has entered the court of Brucker. This is my place and I propose they punish this feindish low life in the following ways.

1. Sentence him to jail like they have for a month.

2. Have him strapped to the wall in jail and have a bunch of angry, sex starved convicts probably looking at life sentences do what they will.

3. Make sure they beat him so badly that he walks with a limp for life.

Maybe the Geneva Convention will sue me for my Judge Dread style of justice but rest assured this man deserves an ass whoopin. A man who bullies a disabled little girl is not a man. He is a coward and a bully.

My bet is that his kid is a little asshole and a little bastard with a rat tail who terrorizes other children. Wonder where he gets it from? But then again behind ever jerkoff child is a jerkoff parent.

Anyway,the dude as I said got jail. Which relieves me to no end because in this ever changing world the people are making a statement. Bullying of any kind and any way,shape,or form is unacceptable. Hell, let me have a swing at this moron. I bet you I could beat his ass. But why should I? Ten other people will.

Of course I better be nice to this piece of white trash. He will be either pumping my gas or serving my fries.

Regardless of your political views this man deserves an ass whoopin. You don't believe me, watch the video right here.

Aaron Carter and Angus T. Jones, you have been dethroned. There is a new grand high fuck up in
This is what I would call a professional asshole. He makes fun of a little girl with a disability. Someone needs to kick his ass pronto. Weekend trip to Canton, anyone?
Even your own kid doesn't want to be seen with you. I think he is plotting to run away and with good reason.

A smiling, happy, nice child does not deserve to be bullied. She might walk with a limp but that is the last of her problems. Go little Hope! You are a ray of sunshine and let us know if he bothers you again ;)


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

Come to my signing
December 27 7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

And for a more salacious selection:

Fan Art By Libby Jay

Check out some new fan art for yours truly from Miss Libby Jay

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

Come to my signing
December 27 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library 
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA 15102

She Talks to Angels (Black Crows)

Every year, around the middle of October to the middle of November I always try to work on something to improve myself. It's not that I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions but everyone does things in their own time and this is mine. That window is significant because October 17th is the anniversary of my friend Chacho's passing, and November 16th is my friend Joe's birthday, also deceased. While it can be said this is morbid time of year for me, it's not. I use it as a time for self-reflection, self-improvement, and to move towards a positive goal. I don't think both dates were placed so close by accident, but rather because the universe was giving me a window to start a project and carry it out.

This is the first year I have done it. Well okay, I sort of started two years ago when Chacho passed running after my dreams. Then I got the wheels in motion for the book. This year I still found the hole in my heart was gaping huge. I got mad and used my time terribly. I made the genius decision to unblock my whole blocked list on facebook which met with disaster. So I figured in the spirit of the flamboyant voguer and the quiet set designer I would start another positive project. Working on a set that was both clean and funny.

I initially started this project on the anniversary of my Chacho's passing when I sort of got dumped from a show I was a well-publicized act for because I wasn't "family friendly enough." Sure, I had done kids and church shows when I was younger, but drunk night club audiences don't want well thought out material. They want filth and lots of it. They said I could send them a video of my new act and blah blah blah. Part of me was like, "Fuck you! You have seen me on TV! People stormed the dressing room the last time I was on the show to meet me and my children!"But they don't care who I think I am.

I went out that night to Cha Chas (ironically close to my boy's name) to keep from killing someone. It had been a rough week. I had verbally castrated a wannabe punk booker. While he deserved it, I should have written him off as a mere loss. My goal was to work clean. I figured even if I sucked at least I was doing something positive. Well I didn't suck. I actually had done really well!

The truth is, I was forced to be clean on the spot in Coney this summer and managed well. But now I was really working at it and found I could do it. I felt empowered. I felt positive. I felt like I was moving forward. Granted,someone tried to give me drink specials on my way home and I yelled at them screaming, "Chemical dependency killed my friend!" But this is a practice of progress not perfection.

I worked clean a few more times before Sandy hit and couldn't do anything. When I finally got up I felt drained and was down on standup and the so called business. That's when I thought I saw someone who looked like my friend Joe, probably the universe telling me I needed a better attitude.

One thing about Joe was that Joe used to tell me how very funny I was. Sometimes,when one of our Chelsea Boys would be talking about some empty drivel Joe would whisper, "Say something provocative. This is getting boring." While quiet and sweet he had a devilish streak. But overall he was a big brother type and angel in disguise.

I can picture Joe now, coffee cup and cigarette. I am telling him I am scared of losing my identity by doing a good set.

Joe takes a puff of his cigarette and says, "Are you afraid or just lazy?"

Last night, after having been off stage for a week and a half I decided to make good on this goal. I went down to Cha Cha's and was greeted by world's bitchiest waitress. She barked at me twice. Heather was great though, which made me think twice about decking the waitress. Anyway,the show was good and I went up. I didn't swear once and I killed it. Okay, the ending needs work but my riffing was awesome.I need to not drop the energy but overall I killed it.


I made new friends and it ended up being a great night. On the subway home I felt empowered. It also made me realize how important it was that I am taking this step. My mother has wanted me to take it for a long time. Not to mention it is more lucrative. But also Chacho and Joe would want me to do this not just for the betterment for me personally but professionally.

Of course Chacho, who used to brag about knowing someone on TV when he was alive and that someone being me, would be posed in his Louis Vuitton. He would be filing his nails and be ready for the flashing lights of the cameras. He would tell me that as long as there is more TV time to potentially be had I need to make room onstage,he wants his cameo ASAP. Chacho would remind me that while I am the star,he is still the one with the better wardrobe and lest I forget he has better skin because he botoxed earlier. Then he would kindly pass some of his mojo over my way. Then a hot guy would pass and he would lose his concentration.

Joe on the otherhand would hang back, with his cigarette and cup of coffee. He would tell me again how funny I am. Of course he would also dismay that they were not using better lighting and that the design is so simplistic and bland. Joe would be taking notes the entire time whether it was on my show on the set, mainly the set. He would enjoy the show with some critical feedback but that chair would never work. And then a cute guy would pass and he too could lose his concentration.

Point being, this is what I need todo to get to the next level. Chacho and Joe would want me there with the best dress ever. Joe would be mad he didnt design it and Chacho would be trying to steal it for himself. But their spirits never left me, rather they are with me in another altered form, at least this is my belief. And they want me to use this window every year to better myself. And now I am working clean. Not just for me but for them. I know I have their support all the way.

Yesterday was a productive day. Got published in xoJane, spoke to someone about further marketing my book.

And I worked clean.

Amen to that.

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

Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Make It Big (Troop Beverly Hills)

Check me out on xoJane. If you like it share and share alike xoxoxo

Angus T Jones: Well Done and Overcooked

Angus T. Jones's career, burnt to a crisp
Well Angus T. Jones has proved that in the series of Two and a Half Men he is a half of a man. Not only did Prophet Angus release a statement, but he made a public apology. He said he was "sorry" if his remarks "offended his costars and their work."

Translated, Angus realized that serving Satan was better than serving fries. So Angus gave himself to Jesus until he realized his career was burning and well done instead of medium rare and full of promise.

What I would like to see is Angus T. Jones and Kirk Cameron fight over who is more annoying. Angus just went mad, Kirk Cameron has been going for decades. Cage match.

Better yet, I would also like to see a reality show called Two Amens where Angus T. Jones tries to save Charlie Sheen and tries to get him to find Jesus. Maybe Julie McCullough from Growing Pains- who is now trying to have a painful career as a standup comedian-can be their Mary Magdelene. Woman has big boob, is aging, and needs a job.

Maybe then there can be a cage match with Kirk Cameron where she kills him and saves us all. I do like her even though she is an old slut past her prime, but she is a nice old slut. Maybe she can have a second career as a pro-wrestler.

In the end Augus T. Jones isn't a Jesus freak. He is a poser. Tebow is a Jesus freak and while some people find him annoying I find him endearing because he actually has a talent and is sincere. Not to mention he knows not to piss off the people paying him!!!!

I hate you Angus. Your career is well burnt. You're done, Angie!

Angus before the meltdown, had a career

Read my book:
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available on Amazon

Come to my signing
December 27, 2012 @7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA 15102

Loser of the Day: AL

A few years ago when I was really in a rough spot I befriended a fifty year old black ex-con named Al. The basis for Shanniqua Faniqua Fana Fana Fo'niqua Parker, Al was a spiritual man. He would quote the Bible, forget, and then end up quoting the Little Engine That Could. Al would always target white women because a black woman would kick his ass in a minute. As I got to know Al, being naive and twenty-four I thought he was a man of God. My roommate Nikki at the time,the product of a single mother who made foolish decisions in men, saw otherwise.

She saw how I glossed over his eleven years in jail for armed robbery. Then there was the crack habit and alcoholism he was going to meetings for and picking up chicks at. In that mix there was the fact he was thrown out of his three quarter house for decking a counselor because he got mad. Women always tend to overlook these things.

Anyway, Al must know I am doing well because today he tried to make a comeback. Mind you it has been years since we have spoken and I was not aware he even had my number. Al also complimented my sexual abilities and let me tell you, we actually never slept together. This was how the whole exchange went.

Scene opens.

Me Jogging. A number comes up I don't recognize.

Al: April, wish I could lick your clit and eat your pussy.

Unsure of what to do I decide to defuse the situation.

Me: Merry Christmas

Al: Same to you, April. Are you still living on 46th and 9th?

Me: Who is this. Got a new phone ;)

Maybe this is one of my gays from a while back screwing with me. One in particular always sent me obscene messages as a joke.

Al: An old friend of yours April. A good friend sweetie.

Hmmm, I really don't know who this is.

Me: Does my old friend have a name?

Al: My name is Al, April.

Oh shit, I know who this is. Of all the fucking days why now? I have a book that is out and things coming from it. Now I am being pursued by an ex con. Granted, Al was cute, but they all are before they knock you up, ruin your credit, and abandon you when they are on the run from the law.So I decide to play dumb hoping he will go away. The neerdowell is looking for a place to live and to ruin my life.

Me: Where did we meet, Al?

Al: Are you still on 46th and 9th? Still hot like always? Can we go out for drinks sometime April?

Oh so you are drinking and doing drugs again and want to give me an ex con sob story. I have to lie and fast.

Me: No, I moved to LA.

Al: Really since when?

Me: And I'm married.

This will get rid of McLoser. McLosers are always afraid of another man.

Al:When did this happen?

Me: A while ago.

Al: It's like 6:30 Am your time?

I say nothing,he is getting it.

Al: I am so horny right now I want to show you my nine inches baby.

Now this degenerate is just insulting. I bet he doesn't even have three inches. Plus he isn't giving up. I better think and quick. So I pretend to be my own overpossessive, aggressive, jealous husband.

Me: This is April's husband.Stay away from my wife you fucking cretin.

This should scare him off, right? Oh no.

Al: She fuck good bro. I remember those days when she used to blow me. She have a nice ass. You are a very lucky dude. She knows how to suck a good cock.

Now I am insulted. I never once did his dead beat ass. He is just being a dickweed. But, I also realize I have two men fighting over me. One real,one imaginary. So I up the stakes and let this former property of the State of New York know that I mean business.My pretend husband and I must get creative.

Me: Listen asshole,this is my wife you are talking about.  Talk like that again and I will rip your head off and shit in it.

No reply back. I think Al got the message to hit the road. Needless to say,the moral of the story is that ex-cons are no match for a woman and her imaginary husband. Imaginary husbands will fight for your honor, no questions asked.

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

Come to my signing
December 27,2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA 15102

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

INDIEpendent Woman

For the past five years I have had no agent or manager. I had one several years ago. The thing is, he really wasnt doing anything for me.Yes, he got me the some commercial spot that was fun but regrettable. Yes, he got me a cute headshot. No, he really wasnt doing much else aside from trying to drug me and sleep with me.    So I let him go.

For about a few months I was unsure, drinking heavily and wandering around the comedy scene with my puppet hoping to find management. None came. However, what did come was another TV spot just because I showed up somewhere with May. I was standing in line like many unrepresented people and they pointed a camera my way. WE got on TV. Rest is history. There were people who had private auditions that didnt get nearly as much air time as I did. One lady, a fattie who won some old lady contest, bitched on a comedy blog that I got more air time than her friend with facial warts. Needless to say the bitch had management and I did not. She could be passive aggressive because she was ugly and misused big words, but I was on big TV and everyone and their mother saw me.

I was sticking it to the MANager.

The next year I stayed in touch with one guy who sort of jerked me around and then freelanced with another. One got me a cancelled gig and the other just sent me out for things I was wrong for. But through my own doing I got on Good Day NY. Say what you will about my Rachael Ray appearance but I procured that with no guidance whatsoever. The ugly hipsters at Best Week Ever felt the need to cyberbully me. Joel McHale was mean to me. But if those bitches had to do it on their own they couldnt. Today I am somewhat of a cult legend because of that. Not to mention the blogger at Best Week Ever got fired and got fat. I however went on to appear on Cinematherapy.

No bad for someone who is unMANageable in the eyes of the morons who claim to own reputable operations.

Of course the following year was a lil rough. Paid the price for being me. Doors slammed because lets face it,when a woman takes a risk she is either a darling or a deviant. I was more the ladder and it worked against me. However,through my own hard work I booked an appearance with Jeff Foxworthy. I was on Pix all the time. I had friends with big managers who bitched and moaned that they hadnt been on TV in years. Lil April Brucker went and did it on her own. One so called comedy manager booked me for some gig where the owner tried to get me to pose naked and cheaped out on a mic. Sigh, I did better on my own.

I was MANaging thank you very much.

The following year I began doing my own videos. I was slowly discovering standup was dead. Through fierce determination I got underground stars and dealt with their agents and managers. I was also on Shovio,with people who were well regarded in radio and film as a pro, and they all had big time management. Not to mention this was the year my babies and I were on TLC and a plethora of other outlets, all on our own. Hell I got more air time in one week than someone under the umbrella of the best and brightest gets ever. Fan mail trickled in. I thought at this point I would get quality NYC representation as well as better club spots. Neither happened.

No MANager no cry.

Of course the next year I did a lot. I was a talking head for an online network and began releasing music. My music got internet airplay. It was awesome. I also began steps to publish and release my book. I worked for a minute with a manager in Las Vegas but it didnt end up working out. While a nice guy, I wasnt getting the publishing contract I wanted and my lawyer wouldnt let me sign away my rights. I didn't know what was next.

Somehow I MANaged.

This year I had a song that was number one on the internet for five weeks. There are artists who have management that can't even get airplay. I also had a short in the Manhattan International Film Festival and got that through my own connections. My book has been sold out twice on Amazon and I have appeared on the website of Britney Spears and am being sold overseas. No literary agent or manager. No comedy agent or manager. No record label.

I don't need the MAN or woMAN. I am MANaging quite well.

The biggest misconception is that you need an agent or manager. I have many friends with so called top notch representation who flounder aimlessly in the pond. They collect dust on someone's shelf. They have never been on TV. I have been on TV God knows how many times and no one is helping me. Did I mention I pitched a show to ten networks? None of my signed friends have done that. Maybe sometimes it would be nice to have someone tie up the loose ends but that is not God's plan for me at the moment. Maybe I should chase them but they own a TV. Plus I have no trouble getting on TV thank you. And thank you to my puppet babies.

There are lots of folks who are indie that do well. Yannis Pappas is killing it in the clubs and on youtube with a fan base better than any of the washed up fools on a lot of rosters in the city.

Eddie Brill never had management and has been on Letterman more than any other comic in the show.

Bill Murray never had representation and he has had a career more incredible than anyone who has.

Ani DiFranco couldn't get repped and came to love being indie and eventually got her own record label.

These are just a few.

Maybe if the right agent or manager comes along I will give them a whirl. Plus I won't have to fight with people for money. It's harder being indie but hard work makes success and there is no rest for the weary.  I like it because I call the shots on my career and don't have to be steered in the wrong direction by some MANager who views me as a commission rather than an artist and will waste my time with his money grubbing stupidity.

I don't need a MANager to waste my time.

I am an INDIEpendant WOMAN.

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

Come to my book signing
December 27 @7
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park PA 15102

When Child Stars Meltdown: Angus T. Jones

Child stars are cute when they are children. The Olsen Twins were cute on Full House. Of course Lindsay Lohan was funny and charming in The Parent Trap. Lest we forget Dustin Diamond was somewhat endearing as Screech, the bully target of Bayside High and dork that we all loved on Saved By the Bell?

But then they got annoying. The Olsen's developed a drug dependency and eating disorder and may or may not have been getting Oxys for Mr. Heath Ledger. Lindsay Lohan is a tabloid headline that just keeps going,and we all fear her death but like Bobby Brown, another kiddie star, she will live until she is one hundred. Dustin Diamond now rips off his fans, lies about his penis size,and releases sex tapes with ugly women. I would say let him go but aside from an atrocious comedy routine that he tours with, Diamond wrote Behind the Bell, a tell all book where this brokeass who has no career tells lies about his costars and the women he slept with. Of course his competition is Lark Vorhees, his once costar refusing to take her psych meds who showed up to an interview with what looked to be the residue of baking flower on her face.

But the latest is Angus T. Jones. The cheeky star of Two and a Half Men has found God. And when celebrity kids find God they also find ways to annoy all of us. Jones testified on behalf of his whacky church telling people not to watch the show because it is immortal. Jones claimed that he was serving Satan by raking in millions and being cast member on this show.He said he would leave now but was legally bound by contract. Small Fat Fried Tater Tot went on to say that since his parent's divorce he was tempted to drink but Jesus saved him from drugs and alcohol.And while women tempted him God was overseeing him and he was still a virgin.

Well Angie, the way you are going it looks like women aren't tempting you and it's not just your choice it's everyone's. So you will be keeping that V Card forever Jesus Boy.

Now as for the serving Satan claims, let's see how he changes his tune when they fire him and the only thing that underqualified, overindulged little bastard can do is serve fries for $5.75 an hour at McDonalds? Suddenly serving Satan  won't be so bad.

When Kirk Cameron went God at least he capitalized by making annoying movies.Lisa Welchel wrote books and went on Survivor. Angus T. Jones just needs to go away.

Maybe he will develop a drug problem, will add some depth to his obvious issues and make him more fun. Maybe he will become a bad tabloid headline, but God boys are never that much fun.Maybe Dustin Diamond will teach him the art of standup comedy.

Dear God no.

Angus drank the Kool-Aid. It's all too late.

Jesus saved me.Now off to save Sheen

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

Come to my book signing
December 27,2012 7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave.
Bethel Park,PA

Monday, November 26, 2012

Lesser Celeb Sibling of the Week: Aaron Carter

There are some celebrity families where talent runs. For example the Barrymore's have been actors for generations and each talented and sustaining a career. Even the Sheen clan with Emilio, Martin, and while he is currently on and off the rails Charlie. Of course there are the Howards with Ronnie, Bryce and my lovely former classmate Paige.

But there are some exceptions to the rule. One is the Carter Clan. Nick was a Backstreet Boy. He danced and made girls swoon. Then he went to rehab. But my point is, he put the family on the map and knew when to hang up.

Unfortunately his cokehead brother Aaron does not. Mooching off of his brother's fame he made a retarded album as a tween, but the tween girls like it. My point is that he should have just hung it up. But like the Energizer Bunny with Downs he keeps going in the wrong direction annoying everyone. As of late he is not only releasing an album (dear God) but also in the Fantasticks off Broadway. This marginal family member of a once A-lister somehow had enough clout to take that role away from a talented actor. I wouldn't care except he's an obnoxious asshole on the twitter.

He writes:

1. I am not a manufactured artist.

Yes you are. You are a rip off of your boy band brother.

2. Nick is appearing on SNL. Tell the producers to take it easy on the boy bands.

They sing and dance like morons, have no talent, and are overweight at this point. Hell no, they need to be putting the heat on.

3. In our family we stick together.

Yes, because Nick is your meal ticket.

Then the moron went further to block my friend Libby on the McTwitter when she told him that he was in fact a manufactured artist, boy bands need to be worked harder, and he is a lesser celebrity sibling.

Oh and these days Aaron is looking like a big old cokehead. Basically, he looks a lil like Kurt Cobain before the suicide, riding the white horse and the white pony. You don't lose this kind of weight and have this kind of wasting by going to the gym.

Either way, he would have no career if Nick were not your brother. Aaron Carter is a depressing waste of human flesh and reminds us all that success is sometimes about who you know and who you blow. And that the lesser sibling is always the more annoying sibling.

Hopefully he will accidentally wander into traffic and die.

I look like Kurt Cobain, I have the drug problem minus the talent

Enough about this moron. Back to people with actual talent like myself (this is my blog)
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available on Amazon

Come to my signing
December 27 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

Craigslist Ads From Hell

These were real ads I saw on the CL throughout the years. Sometimes you just need to remember these experiences so that you can move forward with your life and keep laughing. And by the way, these ads unfortunately are word for word. 

1. Models needed to demonstrate erotic massage for couples. While the job does not require sex or groping, models will be required to be naked.

2. Topless bartender needed for event. Elite businessmen. We are not creeps, just Europeans looking to have a good time.

3. I am a businessman looking to spoil a struggling actress or student. It is a sugar daddy/sugar baby arrangement. We meet once a week. Serious inquiries only.

4. Discounted rent for a special lady struggling to make it. I am a man with an obscene amount of wealth looking for the right woman and a casual romantic relationship. I am not creepy and will not press for sex right away.

5. I am a businessman who has a certain fetish, and that fetish is to see a beautiful female vegetarian urinate and defecate in front of me. I will not do anything nasty to you, I will just keep your waste in plastic bags for my own amusement.

6. Are you disabled or seriously physically deformed and have you ever dreamed of being a model? If that is the case our fashion show wants you. It's this Saturday in the Bronx.

7. Midget Mud Wrestlers Wanted For Bar in Queens. Serious inquiries only.

8. Are you a woman who has been a victim of rape, incest, or abuse? Look no further. Here is an opportunity to earn fifty dollars an hour and revenge against men as a dominitrix. I will be your slave and will be in bondage while you whip me and work out your PTSD through aggression. What do you say ladies?

9. Have you had a love affair with a famous spirit from the 18th or 18th century, and insist their being deceased didn't interfere with your love life? If so we want to hear from you.

10. Ebony Escorts, save and discreet, looking for girls to start working ASAP. It's a great way to make money ladies.

Reply with a few of your own. I know you have them.

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

Come to my Book Signing
December 27th 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

What a Difference a Mani/Pedi Makes

Hello Darlings. I know I was a little out of sorts yesterday with my depression. Anyway, I felt like staying in bed all day and watching Married With Children. But my mom urged me to get a mani/pedi. I went to the salon and started to get my mani/pedi when I saw a girl I knew from the neighborhood. She had met a guy online and was flying out to Phoenix the next day to see him. But here's the thing, they talk and text daily but she hadnt heard from him in two days. The cad was breaking her heart and she was unsure of what to do. Should she stay or go? Should she go to Phoenix or get a hotel? These were all questions to be settled at the nail salon.

I told her not to worry and then she would hear from him.

Enter a third woman. She agreed with me. Keep the hotel and if it doesn't work out with his guy then she just has a vacation of her own to go on. We all agreed that men were obtuse, thoughtless creatures with no feelings. As we talked we made our friend feel better about her voyage. The third girl made an important point, you need to put yourself out there and risk getting hurt. And if you get hurt it means that you just keep moving. Cry for one day but keep on moving.

She talked about this guy she met over the summer who seemed hot on her but then totally stood her up when he was invited to her ice show. Then she sent him a picture and he was McShade about the whole thing. They still talk but her heart isn't on him. Then we reminisced about Kindred Spirit who behaved much the same way. These guys always tell you one thing and then want another. They love you one minute and then the next minute they just want to be friends. Such tricky creatures they are.

My friend going to Arizona said she was starting to resent her potential beau and I pointed out maybe he needed to move down a few notches because maybe he was showing her who he really was. We all agreed. Either way I hope her trip to Arizona goes well. Best of the the best, she gets a man she truly loves and adores. Worst of the worst, she just tans for a few days and has her time.

Either way the trip to the nail salon perked up my spirits. I felt better and went to hang with some of my boys.

Sigh, men are such simple, stupid creatures. I would say I hurt their feelings but that would involve having feelings.

Then again, men are funny too. They make me laugh. Especially when they bring me flowers when they screwed up. I need something like this to happen soon. There must be more gossip at the nail salon.

I must set feminism back hundreds of years.

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

Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Rd
Bethel Park, PA

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Disturbia (Rihanna)

A review of my brother Wendell on said that he was cute. Another review said that when the female students got drunk they talked about having his children. The females like my brother. Sure, he is cute I suppose. But to call  sibling remotely attractive is weird and unnatural unless you are from a Red State, and by red I mean bright Alabama or Kentucky Red.

My brother's students think he is hot and is dismayed he is not teaching this semester. AHHH!!! My sister in law apparently knows about these reviews. She thinks they are funny. Nonetheless they still distress me to no end, as in disturb me. Do they know Wendell almost won the No Bathing Contest in High School? Do they know a woman called him once and he barked, "What do you want!"

Do they know the man they are crushing on?

Wendell is my brother. I suppose he is nice looking. Veronique seems to agree. I know they do married people stuff fill in the blanks. But I don't want to know anymore.

People say we look alike.

Boys hit on Skipper too. If I had my way she would be living in a castle and would let down her hair in secret to speak to them. Me, evil witch, would kill them off. I am protective of my sister.

Either way, the reviews from my brother's students were cute and sweet but slightly disturbing.

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

Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park PA

The Sun Always Shines on TV (A-ha)

I am feeling that post-turkey blues. In the vein of Thanksgiving there is much to be thankful for. My book is available overseas. One of my articles is being published on a highly trafficked website. I am making contacts to further my book. More on that later. Not to mention my whole family seems to be doing well. Still, there is this blues.

It is cold outside and I am beginning to hate the Northeast Winters. There is a part of me that loves New York and this place has become home. Some of me is not sure though. I hate the cold like no one else. There is a part of me that really wants to move to LA. I hate the cold. I know I have said it before. Plus I just have this feeling that I have done everything I am supposed to do in New York.

While I could do stage and Broadway, I am not a so-called stage actress. Not to mention Broadway wants a true triple threat. I act, sing well but not like some of my competition, and can tumble but don't dance. As for the standup, that used to be the focus. Then some things went down that I just won't get into because they still make me angry. The art form has been dead for years anyway. Plus I am a pariah amongst my so called peers for being an ambitious woman, shame on me for having goals and being pretty. Not to mention the smaller club owners don't like me because I don't fit in the imaginationless mold known as woman, on her knees pleasing them. The bigger club owners don't want me either because while I get on television like a hood girl pops out babies, easy, I am not a "big enough name." But the male comedian who has not done shit in years apparently is. And most bookers either like me or hate me. For everyone one that likes me three hate me. Again it's because I don't fit into this mold known as woman that they created in their male minds. Not to mention sometimes they just don't know what to do with me. I like to travel, meeting good audiences. But some audiences want to give me shit right away because I am a woman, a woman with a doll. It's a nice reminder that while the world is changing it is still a giant boys club.

 I still perform if I like the venue, like the people producing, or am getting paid. All three are ideal. Otherwise, I am probably wasting my time with this so called "art form." Actually to call comedy an art form is generous. But I'll call it whatever it wants to be called as long as they let me sell my book. I am a whore that way.

These days the focus is my book of course as well as my videos and music. LA could be the perfect destination. But life would be different out there. For one I would have to learn how to drive and I have never gotten a license because I am atrocious behind a wheel. In between my road rage and too cautious around the turns I know I am terrible. What can I say? I'm a mess. Not to mention I would have to get bi-coastal management. I have been without a manager for years. I had one when I was younger but when I fired him I got on TV. Ironic. I freelanced with one guy who did not know how to send me out and place me at all. Then I still sort of freelance with one lady. She's nice but really doesn't have the connections. Having a manager means nothing in New York. I know plenty of friends who have them but are still bartending and having their headshots sit on shelves collecting dust never being called. In LA I hear it's essential. Still, they could waste more of my time. I actually do my own best work as my own booker, businessperson, and product.

Who needs a manager when you have you? Hence manager, the first three letters being m-a-n and in my experience they are u-s-e-l-e-s-s.

I am plotting my next move. Part of me wants to move to Europe, get big over there. I have had enough exposure and have fans in the UK. But I don't want to make the move unless I am sure.

There is a lot of thought going on, McRandom. The excess of turkey makes me have strange dreams. I had a dream last night that I was interviewing at Smith College and Diane Sawyer burst into my interview drunk and declared there was no way I was going to be accepted. The interviewer said they were split down the middle. Diane said I had no woman friends. I didn't know what this all meant. But I woke up relieved that it was nearly ten years later.

After that I went back to sleep and had a second dream where I was being seduced by a booker I once worked with who looks like a rat. We went on a romantic weekend. It was weird because in real time I think he is a weasel and so unattractive. Maybe it is this holiday madness getting to me. Not to mention being associated with this person would be career suicide. He's got a drug problem and claims to book people who don't even know him. Must be the turkey eating away at my brain.

Either way I can't wait for the holidays to be over. Christmas music will be playing in the stores annoying everyone. New Years Eve will be a reminder that I am getting older and that my goals are being reached and may never. Then we will be hit with winter. Okay, I am being a downer. Bring me my slut dresses and sunshine please. I miss them.

Maybe I  need love. I know I am no prize. My ex fiance was a psycho stalker and I dated a compulsive liar. Oh and then there were the ex cons and the fugitive. I know a decent dude won't want me. Perhaps I am damned to the ex cons. But they dine and dash at the best places and steal the best presents.


That's all for today.

Die Santa Die!

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

Book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park PA

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Dead Babies: A Brucker Family Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving with my family went smoothly for the most part. Our last evening out included seeing the new James Bond and going to Hibachi. The trip to Hibachi looked as if it was going to be a disaster. The waitress brought my father cold saki. When she finally warmed it up, the grill man, an Asian by the name of Charlie, began to do his magic. My dad, ever the germophobe remarked, "Could you clean that grill a little more over there?" My brother Wendell and I exchanged a glance. My Pops did not. But yes he did. Charlie however was a good sport. As the warm saki eased into my father's system he became jovial. During the course of having dinner cooked in the middle of the table Charlie was squirting saki into the mouths of the patrons. My dad was eager, so eager that he took a squirt for almost a minute. My dad became Charlie's biggest fan. He gave the saki chef a standing O and then a nice monetary reward. Age has changed my dad for the better. He votes Democrat, goes to Springsteen concerts, and even supports my dreams as an artist. Not to mention he is a college professor, loves his students, and his students love him in return. He talks about the young people making it the right way. Back in the day he voted Republican, hated Springsteen, and told me to "get a real job." I got my Pops one of my books too. He loves it so far. The man has changed for the better in sixty years.

So has my brother Wendell. At the Hibachi Wendell sat next to his wife Veronique. They shared sushi and kisses. As they have aged they have calmed down, but when they first started dating it was bizarre. In  high school Wendell had been a football player, a shot putter, and a power lifter and had been a champion at all three. In college he had been captain of his football team. His favorite movies were anything with violence. Now it is whatever his wife likes. They still watch violent movies but she falls asleep and magically wakes up when they put a chick flick on. Wendell is finishing medical school with an MD/PhD and is currently working with transgendered kids at a free clinic in his town. He likes the work and is good with this population. Wendell treats them medically but also treats them like people, something the world fails to do. I was impressed by my brother. He has come a long way. Much like my father, in his thirty years he has changed for the better.

Some things, however, never change.

Once every holiday Wendell and my father have their mandatory fight. Usually it is because my brother Wendell says something and my father gets on a soapbox and won't back down. Instead of just letting it die Wendell keeps the issue alive, but my father is on his soapbox and must be heard and Wendell must fire back. There is screaming and yelling and usually awkward stares muffled with silent laughter from my mother, sister Skipper, and his wife Veronique. Happy holidays. This year was no different.

My sister in law Veronique was talking to her brother Pierre who is currently a medical resident. Pierre had lost a patient and was taking it hard. Veronique knew about loss because she is a child cancer specialist and occasionally loses young patients herself. Loss and death are hard. I have been to many a funeral where the person in the casket left a good looking corpse and it isn't easy on anyone. Wendell filled us in and said it was best not to ask. Skipper would have agreed except she was not in the mood to talk. She was doing what she was doing best, sleeping. This was after of course she put the DVD of Cowboy Del Amour: The Ivan Thompson Story in the player.

The fight then started. This is how the exchange went:

Wendell: Well Dad, Pierre is taking the loss of the patient hard. Veronique knows. They lost a baby at her clinic. So it's probably best not to bring it up when she comes downstairs.

Dad: I work in law enforcement with the prosecutor. Parents get upset when they lose children. The law gets involved because we have to. But babies die all the time.

Wendell: I know, and a baby died at her clinic.

Dad: Babies die all the time.

Wendell: Dad, that's not the point.

Dad: Babies die all the time.

Wendell: Dad-

Dad: Babies die all the time!

Wendell: That doesn't make it right.

Dad: I work in law enforcement. I see it quite a bit. Babies die all the time!

Wendell: That doesn't make it right!

Dad: Babies die! Babies die!

Wendell: I know babies die but it's not okay to have babies die!

Dad: Well babies die all the time! Babies die!

Now those two are arguing and it is getting awkward. Skipper has awoken to witness the fight. Ivan Thompson is on screen with some hopeless soul. My mother is just letting this roll possibly for her own amusement. I am trying not to laugh because they are just going back and fourth. It is the Scorpio father on a soapbox and the Gemini child who just won't get it. Finally I have had enough.

Me: Hey guys, see Ivan Thompson on the screen? He is fixing people up so that they can make living, healthy babies.

My father and Wendell still are not hearing me.

Wendell: Dad, you arent getting it.

Dad: You arent getting it. Babies die.

Me: Guys, look at all the living, healthy people who want to find love on the screen in this documentary. Much like us they were once healthy babies who grew into healthy adults.

Wendell is starting to defuse. There is hope. My father is on a roll though.

Dad: Babies die.

Me: Dad, one more word and that will be on the menu for Christmas.

My dad has finally gotten it. We all begin to watch Ivan Thompson try to find a bride for some reject in Mexico. The man has paid ten thousand dollars. My father and brother have shifted their focus on making fun of this man. We are a happy family once again.

But seriously, I am putting dead babies on the Christmas menu. They go quite well with stuffing and gravy.

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

Come to my signing
DEember 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

Friday, November 23, 2012

Day After Thanksgiving

It is the day after Thanksgiving at Casa Brucker. My brother Wendell and his wifey Veronique are out on a walk. I guess that is married people stuff. My sister is still sleeping. I don't know how Skipper can sleep so long but she always does. My dad is lifting and my mom is AWOL. Perhaps that is married people stuff too. I don't know.

Yesterday and the day before were both incredible. My dad's surprise party went off without a hitch. He was surprised and well, that means it was a success. The food was good and each of his siblings did a toast. They told stories, even my grandma. My Uncle Don stole the show though. My Godfather drew stick figures of various memories from the time they were young to the time they were quite old. Apparently my Uncle Don was my dad's best man and needless to say, they had the bachelor party the night before the wedding and he was no where to be found. My Uncle James, a life long alcholic with a liver of steel knew what to do with the young man. He put him in the bath tub of my parents new house. In the days before cellphones no one could find him and this was a crisis. However, they did eventually find him in the tub-no water mind you-and got him to the church on time. But the whole presentation was hysterical, especially when he said I came out wearing red lipstick. Explains everything.

My grandmother surprised everyone with a story about my dad getting peed on by a skunk. My father denies this but it was funny to know that in his sixty years on the planet he had been peed on by a smelly woodland creature. Youth, childhood, parents. Family, they never forget and they never let you forget.

Of course my Uncle Jay talked about how my dad went to the Springsteen concert with them. Prior to the Springsteen Concert my dad hadn't liked the boss. But VIP tickets from his best friend at work made him start chanting Born in the USA. Needless to say my dad had his pocket scarf and off he went. I wondered what the hell happened to my father and when were they bringing him back? But when he began to call Romeny a poser and Rick Perry a moron I realized I liked the change. Now my dad is  a Springsteen fan.

I saw my Aunt Dee, the wife of my Uncle Don both days and I would have to say I love her. We differ politically, but agree that there needs to be an easier solution. She is a bright lady, a pharmicist and bought three of my books. The whole family is reading it which is cool. By the way, Aunt Dee periodically reads my blog. Hi Aunt Dee! My baby cousin Colin went to Ireland with the Notre Dame Marching Band which was cool. Jamie and Jill both turned up. Jamie had me sign her book and we met her boyfriend Ryan. Meeting the family is stressful.

Of course there is my Mema Ralph, my dad's mom who is currently reading my book. She keeps a record of all the books she reads in a notebook stored in her underwear drawer-a place that no man or woman ever goes-at least I would hope. That is, no man or woman except for my grandmother. Anyway, I am entry number 2,000. Mind you this is in the midst of all the trash romance she reads. I will admit trash romance is a guilty pleasure of mine, but I always feel like I need to pray or take a bath after reading too many.

My Mom's family was good. My cousin Miera is now teaching at Emory. Her boyfriend Dill, a Southern Gentlemen, came up to visit as well. Lindsay my former dancer cousin and her husband Mike came with their baby son Malloy, who by the way recently turned two. Cousin Fred who works in an art gallery and is a painter and musician displayed some of his new work. My grandfather, since having his eyes fixed, has read my whole book. He yelled at me for some of my misadventures in the rougher areas of town. Then he told me a few of his own. Of course my grandmother-my mom's mom whom we call Nunni-dressed flamboyantly as usual and told outraegous stories. Luckily she didn't tell us about their sex life. She did that one Thanksgiving and needless to say the turkey came up the wrong end.

My Aunt Renee takes care of both my grandfather and grandmother in between stints at the Ren Faire. She is seeing one guy who works in a factory and does not drive but is a loyal Ren Faire participant. She was engaged to marr a man named Josh years ago but left him at the alter when Mick, her loser ex tried to make a comeback. Of course none of it panned out as Josh and Renee became Luke and Laura. Well now she is seeing Bob from the Ren Faire but is still in love with Josh and Josh is trying to make a comeback but it is just too much drama.

Casey is trying to be a visiting nurse, she is my cousin with the same birthday. I think she will be good at it and will be seeing the world which is exciting. She is young and this is the time to do it. Plus she is a cutie so she could snag a doctor.

My Aunt Laura took a job at Kohls working overnight for Black Friday and we all joked we would come and harass her. My cousin Apollo and I were all about going. However my Aunt Laura told us we could not. My Uncle Jay told my Aunt Laura she already had a job. But my Aunt Laura does clarical work and misses being around people. Her children, Baby Jay, Gabriel, and Jason all were busy the next day. Baby Jay is home from Case Western and is resuming his job at the bakery. Gabriel is delivering flowers now that his senior football season is over. Jason, a slight lad who aspires to play pro-baseball, is trying to sleep in but will be helping Big Jay with the lights.

My Uncle Francis and my Aunt Marie are active in local politics as per usual. We were missing little Frankie because he is travelling over seas with his band. However he had called to wish his mommy and daddy a good holiday. Aunt Violet and her kids, DJ and PJ were good. Both danced and sang their own renditions of popular songs.

My family all had various things to say about my book.

Dill and Miera: "We aren't readers because we travel a lot. So get the book on tape and let us know when you do."

Aunt Violet: "I read the whole thing in one sitting. It was wonderful. Was I Aunt Violent?" (My family members names have been changed)

Aunt Dee: "Great job April. To many more books."

Mema Ralph: "I am not that far through but you are entry 2000. I have been keeping my book in my underwear drawer."

Jamie: "Sign my book. It is awesome you wrote it. And put something in there about moldy cheese." (Inside family joke)

Fred: "I have yet to read your book, is there any symbolism?"

Grandpa: "Loved your book. No more going into rough areas."

Uncle Don: That was cool you wrote the book April. Good job. Knew you were born with red lipstick.

My Mom: I am so proud of you baby!

Aunt Marie: Awesome.

My Dad: Well it's selling.

This Thanksgiving, for as much as they make me crazy, I am truly blessed to have my family. They are insane, colorful, but when push comes to shove they are there not just to crack me up but to have my back.

Gift from God is an understatement.

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

come to my book signing

Bethel Park Library
Bethel Park PA
5100 w. Library Ave

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Princess Dropped Down to Earth Part 3: Vacuuming

It has been a busy day today at Casa Brucker and it isn't even noon. Today is my dad's 60th birthday. When you think of it, that is a huge milestone. He has had a rough year health wise. My Pop had nose surgery a month ago, and then before that they were scared he was having a stroke during a stress test. He exercises on the regular though, and even attended a Springsteen Concert. My Pops also voted Obama, so how bad could he be, right?

Anyway, today is insanely busy because we are having a surprise party for my dad tonight...SHHHH!!!! He thinks he is having dinner with my grandma and my aunt and uncle. Plus he is blissfully unaware that my brother and his wife are coming in tonight as well. He thinks they are flying in tomorrow. But the whole family will be there which will be nice. It will be nice then. Now my mother, well she is just flipping out.

Already today she has agonized over should we give him the presents before or after the party so we aren't obvious. How do we sneak him in? Where do we hide the gifts? Not to mention the dance moves for our happy birthday song. I told her I needed another cup of coffee before this convo.

I went on my run to burn off all the food I have been stuffing in my mouth. My old high school has been ripped down. They have built a new one. A piece of me has been destroyed-my life. On the flipside all the crap memories called high school have been destroyed too. Some things change, some things stay the same.

Some things stay the same.

When I got home my mom was cleaning and putting pool stuff in the hot tub. Then she yells, "Can you vacuum?"

"What?" I yell. There is banging because there are fifty chores happening at once. My mom is a Libra with Capricorn and Gemini rising. It must look pretty but it also is chaos in the process.

"Can you VACUUM?!? THE VACUUM IS RIGHT THERE." My  mom says as she is spaying the hot tub.

"Do I have a choice?" I ask.

"No." She says.

"This is my vacation." I whine.

"Do you see me resting? You must vacuum!" My mother commands.

That settles it. I must vacuum. I go over the carpet once, twice, three times. Then my mom yells, "Don't forget to do the stairs."

I lug the monster up the stairs. Ouch! I have failed Domestic Goddess Class. I will never have a man. I am a career woman. I was on The Today Show with my lazy puppet children. They should be vacuuming. People recognize them, especially May Wilson. She really needs to step up her game. Wait, girl made other plans. I was featured in Gawker and they were gossipping about us. People like us don't vacuum.

Wait, yes we do.

"Make sure you get the foier and then the steps going upstairs." My mother commands. She is less tha five feet tall and means business.

Is this the time where I remind her less than a month and a half ago I was featured on Britney Spears's website? Britney Spears probably never has to vacuum. I try making that arguement. Then I remember she is still the mother. I am the child. This is her home and her domain. Sure I can pull the diva trip. But my mom is a trainer. She runs and swims daily. She teaches seven days a week. My mom can kick my ass and just might.

Grudgingly I do as I am told. I have no choice. The chore of vacuuming is ego reducing. As I run the vacuum I secretly hope I will wake my sister Skipper up. Why does she get to sleep until noon basically and I am stuck with all the chores? I ask my mother this and she remarks that Skipper is a fragile child.

Fragile my ass. I have vacuumed and now this! Skipper is doing the trash. I put this out in the air. My mom agrees but Skipper is slick. Skipper will find some way to make me take up the trash. People featured in Chat Magazine don't take out the trash. Yes we do. I will probably be taking out the trash later. What am I talking about?

There will be more cooking and more cleaning I am sure. I can picture me holding a Pulitizer Prize/Academy Award/Emmy/Tony and my mother saying, "That's great, but we are having a party in an hour to celebrate. The neighbors are coming. Could you do me a favor and vacuum?"

I would say, "Do I have a choice?"

And my mother would say, "No." And then she would put the vacuum in my hand.

I would tell her David Sedaris/Kate Winslet, Jay Leno/Hugh Jackman don't have to vacuum. And then I would remember that when they come home, their mom's house is still their mom's house. Much like me, they probably have to vacuum, mop, cook/clean, and take out the trash. As a matter of fact I got to work with Jeff Foxworthy once. I have a feeling his wife is sending him out to get the ingrediants for the stuffing about now, and as he is on his way I have a feeling Lynn Spears has Britney busy dusting.

The space ship has landed. My tiara is lopsided. The Puppet Princess is home and must cook lunch.

Some things  never change. xo

I Came, I Saw, I Sang
Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available on Amazon

Come to my signing
December 27,2012
Bethel Park Public Library
Bethel Park, PA
5100 West Library Avenue

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Princess Dropped Down to Earth Part Deux: The Hair Cut

Growing up my mom always had a way around things. Woman always gets her way hell or high water. Sometimes it is genius, sometimes it is hair brained. Today was hair brained. Usually when my mother is engineering some scheme I am her unwitting right hand. Whether I was eight, eighteen or twenty eight. To make a long story short my father's birthday is tomorrow and my mom wants to look great. She had her hair cut but her hairdresser was having a boyfriend crisis and gave her some bizarre looking mullet type of cut. My mother was beside herself and had me cut her hair. This is how the whole thing went down.

Mom: April, will you cut my hair?

Me: Sure. You mean trim that mullet in the back?

Mom: Yes. We need to into the bathroom. I have the perfect pair of scissors. I can't believe Lizzie did this to me. Maybe I should call Lizzie and have her squeeze me in.

Me: Yeah. I hang around hair dressers. I dont cut hair.

My mom runs down the stairs. I am off the hook.

Mom shouts from landing

Mom: I don't feel like driving over there and your father is coming home soon. Cut my hair now!

Mom thrusts the scissors in my hand.

Mom: I want a centimeter or two off like this.

Mom demonstrates with fingers.

I begin trimming.

Mom: No, not like that. I don't want you to cut my hair straight across like a man. I want the cut up and down like shark teeth. Let me demonstrate.

My mom demonstrates the cutting technique clearly out of my skill range.

Me: You should do this. You have a better idea of what you want.

Mom: Shark teeth. You can do this.

Me: How about I trim the back? Get rid of your mullet. I am not a hair dresser but that I can do well.

I begin to cut.

Mom: No! Not straight across. Shark teeth!

Me: I have never cut hair before! This is a free cut! You wanted to save money and time well here you go!

Mom: It is my holiday and I want a shark tooth cut! My daughter will give me a shark tooth cut!

I grugingly begin cutting. I now have no choice.

Mom: Up and down, the jagged edges, up and down. (Repeat three times)

Me: Mom, my friends in hair school diagramed for six weeks until they attempted a cut like this.

Mom: You are doing a great job.

My mom has second thoughs about her compliment

Mom: You didn't get the other side. Now one side is longer than the other!

Me: I hate you.

Mom: Stop being an asshole and cut my hair.

Me: You're the asshole, screw you! I never cut hair and now I am. You get what you get. You should have asked Dad.

Mom: Oh him? The last time he cut my hair it was atrocious.

April: Serves you right.

Mom: I love you. Now cut my hair on the other side please.

Me: Okay.

Grudgingly I cut the other side in silence. My mother periodically commands me. I have surrendered to the madness.

Finally we are done.

Mom: Oh shit, now I have to clean this up.

April: You wanted a hair cut, remember?

Mom: And now there's no blonde left in my hair. Only dark roots.

Me: Sorry, you wanted it cut short. You wanted the shark teeth. I gave you what you wanted.

Mom: I need to color it.

April: Do you have hair coloring?

Mom: No.

April: Then go get some.

Mom: I am going to the Rite Aid.

April: Tell Skipper it's her turn. My sister has done nothing all day.

Mom goes to leave.

I go downstairs. Mom is having tea.

Me: Did you go to the Rite Aid? Are you going?

Mom: No, your dad's gonna be home and it's time to cook dinner.

Me: Okay.

Mom: By the way we are having shrimp. I need you to see which pack is the freshest.

I turn over all three packs. One says use best by 2-1-11, the other says use best by 2-1-12.

April: Mom, one pack is a year and a half old and the other is several months old. How long have you had these shrimp in the freezer?

Mom: Oh I just forgot about them.

Mom goes to throw them away.

Mom pulls out another pack. It says use by 2-1-13.

Me: This one is more current.

Mom: Then throw them in. Pasta and shrimp for dinner.

To Be Continued.

I love my mom, she is the greatest woman in the world. Not only is she sweet and endearing with a capacity to feel deeply and a passion for personal fitness, but she is funny as hell.

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

Come to my book signing
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
7pm xo


Princess Dropped Back to Earth: Pre-Thanksgiving Adventures

I am back in Pittsburgh. This means only one puppet and it's all about the business. I am cooking and cleaning too. It's weird being back home. Some things change, some things stay the same. I am about ten years older than I was when I left. There is still a part of me that is soft, loves Pumpkin Pie. There is a part of me the big city had hardened. I guess adulthood changes you. Part of me is like, "I want my mommy!"

Then when she shoves a vacuum in my hand I am like, "Eh, maybe I like this adulthood thing better than I thought."

The day before I left I had to unclog my sink. My apartment looks like a bunker. Then again, I am promoting a book. My book is now available overseas which is exciting!!!!Go here to find out more

Anyway I had to go to the hardware store to buy Drano. YUCK! That was an adventure. Which Drano do I buy? Not the kind that makes meth. Wait they all make meth. Bad joke and I couldn't resist.

Today we are doing all the pre-prep work for Thanksgiving. We are getting the pies and getting ready to surprise my dad for his birthday. Don't tell him. I have go get him a present too. I don't know what I am getting him yet. Almost got him a book but didnt know which one to get him.

Some girl who used to date the quarterback and graduated with my brother is getting married. I remember when she was a ditz, now she will be  a married ditz. She still has terrible peroxide blonde hair. My gay haidresser friends say that stuff is bad for your roots. Woman, how do you have a scalp.

My mom is already pestering me with morning chores. My nails are chipped like a homeless crackhead begging for your change. My lips are a little chapped. My mom is also telling me that my nails are chipped and my lips are a little chapped. But she did like the new Spiderman. Somethings do stay the same.

Somethings change. My sister was interviewing to match for her residency. These days her hair is one color. I never thought that would happen. In high school she was blonde, eggplant, red, eggplant again, red again, blonde again but for the last few years has managed to be almond colored. Who would have thought the kid would stick with one shade? Then again J. Lo never did.

I am currently rethinking my stance on love after seeing Spiderman. I believe in love again and want it for Christmas. But once I get it I will mess it up. I know I'm a mess. What else is new. Still, my messiness makes for good stories. Within the last year I dated a comedy legend, convicted felon turned fugitive, dead beat father, washed up reality tv star, and wannabe sound engineer. Who's next? After Hurricane Sandy I would say the Con Ed line guy.

Anyway, that's what's new here. I will be cooking turkey Thursday and eating all day. Tomorrow is my dad's birthday.


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


Sunday, November 18, 2012

Kiss My Ass-Another Fan Encounter

I was walking down the street in my Hell's Kitchen neighborhood when this woman walks by in her leather boots. She was fierce I tell you, Sasha Fierce, Fiercy McFierston. Anyway I complimented her on her boots and she had a male companion with her. He turns around and says, "You're that puppet chick from TLC!?!? I just saw you on TV." WOWSA. JUST SAW ME ON TV?!?!? Sure my puppet kiddies and I have been on the tele quite a few times in America as well as the rest of the planet but I still get warm and fuzzy when I hear it.

"Yes, that would be me." I said sheepishly.

I got Sonny out, the man who lives rent free in my purse. The man who is always trying to pick up women but is never successful. The man who is and always will be a bachelor. The puppet destined to be the 40 year old virgin of our generation. So the girl who is mad fierce begins talking to Sonny. She asks if Sonny thinks that she is cute and Sonny says yes. She asks if Sonny can send her flowers and Sonny says he doesn't pay for women anymore, that they must take him out to dinner. So the girl says this is unacceptable and the only way Sonny can win favor with her is to kiss her butt. Now I don't know what is crazier. The fact that this woman is talking to Sonny as if he were a real man, the fact that I don't know what to do, or the fact her gay friend is getting this whole thing on camera!

"Kiss my ass puppet. You know you want to." She says and points to her derriere. So I know what to do, the camera is on. Sonny kisses her butt.

"Buy me flowers by two o'clock." She commanded and Sonny promised he would. The two walked off into the sunset and I found myself smiling. The whole thing is still cracking me up.

But Sonny is the typical man. Getting physical action and then making promises that he never intends to keep.


I told them to follow me on twitter. Perhaps they will buy my book.

Either way, I am (almost) a superstar. Better ride that cloud. I have a sink that needs Drano and when I get home tomorrow my mother is going to make me cook, clean, and vacuum.

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


Tomorrow I am going home for a few days to see the family. It should be nice. This is sort of a double hitter. It's my dad's birthday and then Thanksgiving the next day. This is a big birthday for my dad too. He's the big 6-0!

I think this is going to be a good trip for me. Lately I have just felt worn out. Between the hurricane, working, book stuff and other things I feel burnt out. I need some of my mom's cooking, some time in her hot tub. It will also be nice to see my cousins and grandmother.

Family drama of course is always paramount. But he way I look at it is there should be a ticket taker at the door saying, "Enjoy the show."

Just kidding. I love my family. Anyway it's the time of year I get to see my family most. Thanksgiving, Heismans, Christmas. It's the season of the Brucker's. We are nice to turkeys and darn it we let it snow.

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

Come to my book signing
Bethel Park Library
Bethel Park, PA
5100 West Library Avenue

See you then!

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Crazy, Stupid, Pathetic Women and Why I Hate Them

I hate women who feel the need to change themselves for a man. As in empty headed things who have no original thoughts of their own. Things. Yes, I said things. They are not human. They aspire to be Stepford Wives. Do you have an original thought of your own Stepford Wife? Or are you just a pathetic drone copying someone else? Do you even have a favorite food you pathetic thing with boobs and curves? Or are you just wasting our time? I lean towards the latter.

The other day I ran into an old beau of mine. He's dating someone who is on the youngish side. I don't care. I have been robbed from the cradle plenty of times. However I was a little different because I didn't act young and didn't come across as obviously parroting a man. I had crossed paths with this teeny bopper before. She aspired to be a Broadway Star of some sort and then a pop singer and did standup for a minute before she discovered that took talent and dedication. Anyway, my ex introduced her and apparently she was quick to say she didn't like rap because it denigrated women but instead liked rock. Not to mention she also quoted something from history, from Winston Churchill. Finally at the end of the five minutes we were hanging out she made a remark against African Americans that wreaked of veiled racism. I was taken aback. This was not this chick at all. When I knew her she bopped to hip hop, probably didn't own a book, and even was dating a black dude. Then it occurred to me, she was parrotting my ex's views!!!!! My ex hates hip hop and goes on these rants about how it denigrates women. Not to mention he loves history and Winston Churchill is his personal hero. Lastly, a number of years ago he was rightfully decked  by an African American man for being out of line and since then he has been a racist. Well it's a good thing this moron is an ex. Apparently he has a weakness for feeble minded women and so far that is one thing I am not.

Of course the top of the pathetic women list are the former girlfriends of the ex fiance who went ape shit after our breakup. Old high school girlfriends, my ex wrote to them and assured them they were special. The one I had the most contempt was special. She had a kid in high school and as a result had to marry the baby daddy. Well she didn't have to, it's just that she is one of those right to life whackos and thinks all life is beautiful. So she decided that my ex was the man to rescue her. Yes the man who lives in his mother's basement. She tried to make a play when we were together. Then when we broke up he got her to write me all sorts of nasty letters. The kicker was, she called me a bitch and a bulimic and misspelled both words. But what would I expect from a woman who lists The New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys as her favorite groups, and Z100 as her fave radio station and the Jersey Shore as her fave show? This tusker, easily over two hundred pounds, then goes as far as to go on some forum to diss me and say I was stalking my ex and that she had to block me. I didn't know about this until a friend of mine McGoogled me and asked what this idiot was talking about. I told him the story and he laughed. Maybe I should tell her to kill herself, she'll feel better. Or maybe just toss a soon to be extinct Twinkie in her fat cage, remind her that Jerry Springer is casting, and walk by with one of the Jonas Brothers with May Wilson on my arm. Then maybe she'll jump her crazy ass off of a bridge.

The winner of the most pathetic woman of all time is Dimsdale's ex. Dimsdale was a very famous comedian I had dated a little over a year ago. Actually, Dims is a legend. Anyway, he had a groupie who he had kept as one of his many gal pals who popped out his love child. After ten years of being strung along the skank magically got preggers. Well Dims, not wanting a family but wanting to be honorable sent her some dough. This whacky trainwreck, being rather greedy, demanded the child support to be tripled. Well Dimsdale severed ties with her and said he wasn't seeing the kid. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but I got to know both the love child and baby mama. Both talked incessantly about how Dimsdale demanded them and capitalized on him any chance they got. From the play about their courtship to trashing him in the press, they get their money's worth. Anyway, as soon as I started seeing Dimsdale I got a series of hang up calls. They were always before and after my dates with him. Sometimes when I got the calls some woman's voice would yell, "BITCH!" Then she would slam the phone down. I knew who this was. His cray cray baby mama. I ordinarily feel bad for a woman who has been screwed but she made her bed and she needs to lie in it. She had that kid as a cash cow and not only ruined Dimsdale's life but the kid that didn't ask for it. Yeah, you gave birth to your little money maker but you need to pay slut. I told my mom about this and she said that while I was dating Dims that was none of their business and what they were doing was illegal. Either way, whenever the bitch love child sees me she won't look at me. Someone feels a lil guilty? But I don't blame her as much as I blame Mommy Dearest. To do it again I would parade with Dimsdale in front of them. Add insult to injury and let her know that she was just another groupie to him and the child he didn't acknowledge, well it was all her fault too. I think she is the epitome of pathetic. Just saying.

Sigh. Not a fan of pathetic women. From women who change for a man, to women who do a man's dirty work, to crazies who won't let go. They make having a uterus seem like such a terrible thing.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Go to to buy my book

More Photos for the Hell of It

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

Next Public Signing
12/27/2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
Bethel Park, PA

Friday, November 16, 2012

RIP Twinkie

This is my eulogy to the Twinkie, my forbidden friend and lover. I come today not to praise Twinkie but to bury him. He has lived a good long life. It has been quite a love affair. There were other women, there were other men. It sounds so salacious but it really is love plain and simple. Everyone loved Twinkie. Actually, his full name is Twinkie Hostess. He had a lesser known but equally as loved sister Little Debbie who has passed on too, but she is not significant enough to have a eulogy.

I first met Twinkie when I was but a lass. Growing up outside of Pittsburgh we were forbidden to eat you. My mother was a gym teacher/exercise nut and she said you were bad. But you know how I tend to like men who are bad for me, men who have issues. Maybe you started this craze. When I was seven I tasted you for the first time, every creamy layer. I liked you. You gave me comfort. You said you were never going to put fat on my thighs. Like all men you lie, but I liked the lies you told. I was hooked on you Twinkie.

My father made fun of you after my piano teacher- a mentally unstable woman-stayed in bed after a break up and cancelled our lesson. He joked that she ate an entire box of you. I know I would have. Twinkie, you understood our feelings. You were the comforter, friend, and destroyer of all heart broken women. You were there to listen, there to relieve, and there to pack on the extra pounds so we would never have a man again. It didn't matter though, we had you as well as your sister Lifetime.

There were good times. There was sixth grade when someone brought in a box for their birthday. You helped us celebrate the special day and made it so much brighter. There was seventh grade when I split one of you at a forensics match and made a new friend. You were always helping me to make new friends. You were a bit of a man whore because you didnt care that women shared you. But Twinkie, you were unselfish that way and that's why we loved you.

There were also the times you saved my life. Yes, it was true. At seventeen I was working at a supermarket and feeling lightheaded. You were the first thing I grabbed and gave me a nice energy boost. Then at nineteen I got really drunk with my college friends and was falling over. I didn't know alcohol could act that fast. I needed to eat something to sober me up so I had three of you. I know it sounds shameful but it's true. You were delicious and perhaps it should have been on some Triple X super lovers sight, but who couldn't love a man who came in a whole box the way I loved you?

As I got older and more of you equaled more trips to the gym, I stopped buying boxes. I just got the two pack. You made me laugh again after a bad night of standup. You were the man to rescue me and ruin my waistline after a breakup. You were the only man in the world who could sit there and watch Lifetime Movies and let me eat him and let me tell you it sounds so dirty but there are so many women in my same damn boat.

I sit in my cold, damp apartment. I am writing this blog late into the night naked. I am watching reruns of Soul Food seasons 1-5. I cleaned my house and ate real food, food that fits on the Food Pyramid in health class under categories that are not other. Life is not the same as you can see. I am a wreck without you.

Some called you a simple carbohydrate, meaning you gave a spike in energy and then it faded. But your charm was eternal. Professionals who made their lives making people physically fit like my mother condemned you outright as a bad food, but you were a bad food with a good heart. Then there were men like my brother who ate boxes of you and wouldn't share, selfishly hogging your goodness because they needed to put the weight on to play football. And people like my sister, a runner and academic who viewed you as a snack, a slam to what you really were. Of course there were those who OD'ed on your lovin and had to go to OA and count days off of your sweetness. But all of this and more don't even begin to explain what you were to me and so many others. Twinkie, you were a man of many layers.

I am distraught without you, distraught.

In the background I play the old R and B song, "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?"

I am a shell of a woman. Hostess murdered you! TWINKIE I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU!

But then I remember all Twinkies go to heaven and you will always be my special star. The man who was misunderstood. The one who got me through breakups, makeups, drunken nights, made me friends, and was the best to watch Lifetime with.

RIP Twinkie. It has been a good run

Check out my book
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

Available on Amazon