Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Times Square in the Rain

Last night I went to bed early. The weather has been so bipolar lately. While the Ground Hog predicted an early spring, who knows what bark in his hutch that this furred creature was smoking. So I decided to take a walk. It was raining, brought the umbrella. Why not? Better than getting soaked and sick.

Walking down the street I could see the damp, darkness that gets people depressed about New York. Actually, damp darkness could get people depressed anywhere. On the other hand, the street lights lit my way and I found a strange comfort. It was raining, that is what nature does sometimes.

Much to the chagrin of my mother. I used to enjoy walks in the rain. She would scream, "You have things to do and you can't be sick" as she would kidnap me from my trail in her minivan and then eventually peal my wet clothes off of my person. I wasn't a rebellious kid most of the time. I just think this was my way of sticking it to the man. I don't know. I am just talking out of my ass. I do that sometimes. But my mom didn't like it. Just saying.

Rain has always been an omen for me. One rainy night I was watching a ventriloquist special with my family. That Christmas I got a Groucho Marx figure. This is a skill that to date is making me quite well known. That spring on a rainy night I saw a movie called LA Confidential. I told my mother I wanted to act. She didn't say no. Instead she said, "Well, okay. If you want to do that you have to go to New York City. That's where people go to train, learn and get good."

I remember my dad didn't want me to go to New York. He thought I would get shot. He had been to the city in the 1970s and got off on the express train in Harlem and saw three black kids beating a car with a crow bar. Plus he just thought I would get raped and shot and raped again based on all the bad press my city gets sometimes, and thus letting the rest of the world know crime occurs everywhere.

Well the summer after my junior year of college we toured the Eastern Seaboard and I saw some All-Women's Colleges, many my dad's ideal picks for me. My plan was to go to one of them and then move to the city after I had been properly educated. One in particular scared the hell out of my dad. We went there and my dad saw several students with shaved heads, combat boots, and nose rings. I believe one growled at my father at one juncture but I am not sure. Sure, he had dreamed of me going there but not like this. My dad said to my mom, "Anne, what is going on here?"

To which my mom replied, "Bill, they need a place to go to school, too."

Well perhaps my dad could have dealt with the womyn population more gracefully if he didn't have to fill out a three page informational packet in order to obtain a special man permit. My father was told he had to have a man permit in order to be allowed on the campus, because ordinarily, there were no men unless permitted, hence the man permit. When we finished and my dad was able to toss out his man permit, he said, "So, April, Kid, if you want to do this for real I think you need to move to New York." Dreams have a funny way of making themselves happen I suppose.

I ended up moving to New York and the rest is history. It's funny how some of my teenage ambitions are slowly coming true. I dreamed of performing standup and now I do that in the city. I dreamed of publishing a book and I have done that. I dreamed of being on TV and I have done that. I dreamed of getting my music on the radio and I have done that. Whenever I run past MTV I chuckle because while I am not a regular I have been on there. When I walk past The Today Show I smile cause I have been on that program, too.

Yesterday I made my hometown magazine, special thanks to Matt Falsetti. Wonderful article. It was just yesterday it was raining outside and my mom said to me, "Well, okay. If you want to do that you have to go to New York City. That's where people go to train, learn and get good."

So now when I walk in the rain, I always make sure I see Times Square in the rain. It's beautiful even empty. But I dont walk to get wet. I don't walk to get fit. Although I use an umbrella I don't even care if I get soaked. It doesn't matter because rain or shine, I am walking towards my dreams.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback 877-Buy-Book,
EBook Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available in spring 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Stepping Up My Standup

This past Sunday I did a show. It was one that could have been a disaster because it was Oscar night. However I was pleasantly surprised. Not only was it awesome, but all the comedians brought their game. The energy in the place was electric, and everyone stayed to support everyone else. Yes the place wasnt filled, but it was still fun. I hadn't been onstage in about a month. In between a short film, plus my audiobook, plus mapping my musical, and telegram season getting busy I havent had a moment to breathe.

Not to mention there has been some stuff that has happened in standup with me that was terrible with a shitty club system. I won't go into it. It's like the scene in Death Becomes Her with Goldie Hawn where she is in group therapy during the fat cat lady thing she does where she says, "I would like to talk about Madeline Ashton." And then everyone goes, "NOOOOO!!!!"

Bottom line, I want to step up my standup. I don't know how I am going to do it but I am. Originally I hoped after the shit club system and I fell out that an A list club would scoop me up because of my exposure and the fact people knew me and my puppet children but it didn't happen. Probably because I wasn't a man. "Madeline Ashton.....NOOOOO!!!!"

Anyway, I want to step up my standup and I don't know what is next. I am certainly not going to that shit club system again. There are two other additional clubs I refuse to deal with. I am past the stage where I bring. I have more TV credits than the (male) headliner. I want A Club or no duce. I know I will get there and it has to be soon.

Either way I had a good set Sunday but as always I could do better. I want to write more and I want to step up my game. I don't know how I will, but I will. I think I need to put my ego aside and just humble up. But I have done too much to be treated like crap. Either way, I want to step up my game and I don't know how. I would go to a comedy class but I know more than everyone their and the teachers for the most part. I would have a private writing session with a so called coach but I tried that once and it was an epic failure. I would go to an open mic but I am at the point where I waste my money, get nothing done because everyone cracks inside jokes, and then at least once a mic someone tries to start sit with me because I have been on TV. Sometimes they start with me mid-set. Plus I am much too famous to pay for stage time.

I don't know what is next but I want to step up my standup. I don't know how. Things are complicated right now. I know I have my friends, fans, God, and my puppet children. The answers will present themselves in time I know. I just have to be patient and listen to the universe.


I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as a paperback on 877-Buy-Book,
Available as an ebook on Nook and Kindle
Audiobook available on itunes in Spring 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Monday, February 25, 2013

Following Your Dreams

Dear Poppy Seed,
Maybe you are doing what you always wanted to do with your life, maybe not. Only you know. The truth is, dreams are wonderful in a lot of ways. They keep you going through the day and they keep you entertained at night. In your dreams you can be an astronaut, judge, Native American Tribal Chief. Whatever. And when the alarm sounds you are back to reality. However there are some of you reading, some of you that follow me, that want to make your dreams a reality. That is a wonderful thing. It is also a scary thing too.
The beautiful thing about dreams is that everything goes well in dream land. You win the man or woman. You get the gold. You receive the Oscar beating out Daniel Day Lewis or Meryl Streep. You perform alongside Lady Gaga on MTV. And all goes smoothly. But reality isn’t so smooth. The man might turn out to be a liar. The woman might turn out to be crazy. You get heat stroke during training sessions and have a few bad races. You do a hundred auditions and never land a role. You perform a hundred gigs for three people and go home and watch MTV and cry. Reality bites.
But here is the thing, with blood, sweat, tears, and determination never to give up dreams come true. In 2010 I was living in a rain storm that didn’t seem to stop. A woman who I lived with that was like a sister lost her mind over a guy and moved out. A crazy dancer moved in and left me in a crazy way. In between I had money troubles. Not to mention I was at a club that worked me like a dog and cheated me despite my hardwork, talent, and past credits. In the words of Rodney Dangerfield, “I get no respect.”
I thought about throwing in the towel. Quitting forever. Going home and getting that provider husband and baby. Saying that I did the New York thing and after a while it wasn’t for me. I was about to give up my hard earned dreams and return to reality.
Well then I lost a dear friend of mine-Chacho-to drugs. With his passing, I thought of all the things he would have wanted for me. Chacho was always so proud whenever I ended up on TV or in print somewhere and would brag to no end. That’s when I decided I wasn’t letting my dreams go and would push harder and faster than ever. Within weeks of Chaco’s death I found my puppet children and I on TV. Some of it was fate, dumb luck, and of course the fact I am a puppet hoarder. We went on a press tour. The world saw I was passionate. I ended up getting fired from the hole that worked me to death. No matter. I got a job web hosting, made music, and published I Came, I Saw, I Sang. My life changed because I didn’t quit.
The beautiful thing about the comedy game is that everyone has different goals. Some people just want to do standup. Others want to act. Some want to write. Then there are those who end up as club owners and managers. The thing is, those who continue to run the race and finish not only finish together but end up working together.
That being said, know where you are going and focus on your game. As in don’t get jealous, do not covet. Every dog has their day. What is meant to be yours will be yours. And when someone gets something great, even though you feel it was meant for you, it might be the first and last big thing they get. It was meant for them, be happy. Because you would want them to be happy for you. Plus jealousy is a waste of time.
That being said, always remember to follow your heart and enjoy what you do, whatever it may be. Chase butterflies, look at trees, follow your dreams and don’t be afraid to wish upon a star every once in a great while. And remember following your dreams takes COURAGE! 
And as a side note, in following your dreams remember to change your socks, bathe, and wear clean underwear.
Just saying
Mama Foxxx
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as a paperback on 877-Buy-Book,
Available as an ebook on Nook and Kindle
Audiobook available on itunes in Spring 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Pretty Little Mouth: A Play Worth the Taste

When I go to a play festival I know it will either be very good or very bad. When I see a new work I know it will either be quite breathtakingly wonderful or quite breathtakingly awful to the point where I need an inhaler. When seeing a play where there is a theme of BDSM it can either be painfully awesome or it can just plain hurt. Pretty Little  Mouth, written and directed by Marcus Yi is breathtakingly wonderful and painfully awesome as well as original, daring, and has quality that transcends the blackbox theatre it played in.
At the beginning of the play Marcus Yi, the director, originally from Singapore that is a lawyer by day and playwright by night, announces that “all cellphones must be turned off or there will be real dominitrixes that will come off the stage and spank you.” This exudes a laugh from the audience, a healthy start to the risqué show. As the show begins, ensemble girls do dance numbers in leather with whips. Immediately as an audience member one gets the sense the show will be a wild ride and it is not for the faint hearted. And no, Pretty Little Mouth certainly is not.
The show begins with Emily, a stately African American woman who looks more like a sculpture in her red dress and heals with proper Mid-Atlantic Speech rather than a former dominitrix. At the beginning of the play, she is sitting in her red dress getting ready to teach a flute lesson to a pupil she describes as a “spoiled kid” as she speaks to a former friend of hers from her dungeon days. Tiffany Terrell, in playing Emily, gives the character a sophistication but also does well in layering her with an undercurrent of a past she wants to forget as she lives in a present where her husband is running for mayor and she is more desperate housewife than dungeon mistress. A mixture of simplicity and depth, it is clear this actress can play any role and in many ways is reminiscent of Meryl Streep in her early days. This mixture of simplicity and depth is seen as soon as this woman, in her red gown, lights a joint. Within minutes her flute student is knocking at the door. She puts out the joint and begins spraying air freshener, an old college trick.
Enter Brian Knoebel playing the role of John. At first he is an impish student, forced to take flute because his parents believe it will bolster his college application. Less inclined to attend lessons because he is serious about music and more inclined to go to the home of Emily because he has a school boy crush on her, this is apparent when he flubs the piece he is supposed to have been practicing for three months. At first this character is likeable and seems innocent. However within minutes we see John is conniving and evil. He tells his teacher he doesn’t want to play flute but wants to continue seeing her. That’s when John confesses to having a joint in his pocket. Emily, the adult on the surface, tells him to hand him the joint. That is when John resorts to blackmail explaining that he has found out about Emily’s past working in the dungeon while repairing her computer, and is willing to expose her past unless she gives him what he wants. John wants a night with his gorgeous, statuesque teacher. Emily agrees, only on the condition that John give her the hard drive with all of her old advertisements from her domming days.
At this point Pretty Little Mouth has proven that it is interesting. However, there is still the crucial question. Will it sink or will it swim? Well it proves that it swims. Emily comes to the home of her pupil John when his parents are not home in order to commit the forbidden act that could get her sent to jail if caught as well as ruin the reputation of her husband. Ever the fifteen year old, pimple faced dork with a dream he has a room adorned with Star Wars memorabilia including a Yoda Piggy Bank. In an effort to make his conquest feel welcome, John gives her Kool-Aid, the tactic of perhaps Vili Fualaau used to seduce Mary Kay Letourneau. Needless to say Emily is disgusted. John attempts to turn on music, which Emily tells him is “noise.” That’s when he claps his hands and John turns off the lights. In an awkward minute and a half, which sums up the first sexual encounter or an adolescent male, John turns the lights on. He turns off his manipulative side and seems concerned about the welfare of Emily, who demands the disks. However John has another trick up his sleeve. He reveals that there is a camera in the Yoda Piggy Bank that captured their whole tryst, and Emily is to become his sex slave or else he will expose this as well as her past of working in the world of BDSM.
(L: Brian Knoebel (John) reveals  to R: Tiffany Terrell (Emily) that their tryst is not over anytime soon). 

As the leather clad cuties grace the stage we wonder what is next. At this point Pretty Little Mouth could drag but it does the opposite. Now we are intrigued as we see Emily in her blue bathrobe and hear a knock on the door. It is Danielle Ma in the role of Jalene. Unlike her put together friend from college who married rich, Jalene is still entrenched in the BDSM world and has been dating a drug dealer that she has stolen from. As Jalene, Danielle Ma gives her a mix of whackiness, sexiness, and outright likeability. High off of a crystal meth binge, Jalene admits her boyfriend gave her a black eye and she stole out of retaliation. Emily tries to get a word in edgewise but Jalene is in her “Earth Mother” alter ego, ruling the dungeon with an iron fist. Finally, after making drinks the two UT sisters begin to talk about Emily’s problems. At this point Emily has hit rock bottom. Her husband was not working late on a campaign for mayor, but rather having an affair with his barely legal secretary. Jalene, who believes Emily has the perfect life, dismisses her problems. That is when Emily confides in her about John blackmailing her about her past profession. Jalene then asks Emily why she stopped working in the dungeon. Emily replies she enjoyed the pain she gave to men too much. That is when Jalene suggests that Emily brings John to the brink not enough to kill him, but perhaps give him a good scare.
The climax of Pretty Little Mouth is when John enters. This is where Marcus Yi’s masterful writing comes in. Despite the fact he is a conniving and manipulative geek, John has also developed feelings for his flute teacher turned sex slave and says he desires to marry her and take care of her. He has even planned a future for the two in California. But Emily has other plans for him. She tells John she loves him and wants to experiment with him. That is when she reveals the four way restraints. John puts them on and begins to get nervous. Emily enters adorned in the leather outfit from her domming days along with a whip that she periodically cracks. John goes from the one who has the upper hand to a sniveling, scared pile of mess. In this turn of events, the sex slave has now become the master. While I choose not to reveal the ending, this part of the show is the perfect ending to a perfect tale where there is no dull moment.
While the acting was excellent, and there was no weak link, the true credit belongs to Marcus Yi. As a director he knows well how to place everyone based on their strengths and what they bring to the piece. A masterful writer who combines suspense, wit, and intrigue that is both entertaining and deep, he exposes that all is not as it seems in a place where everyone rides their bikes in front of houses with white picket fences. He rips down the dirty curtains and gently probes the inner dungeon master or deviant in all of us.
Pretty Little Mouth is a must see. See it now before it is sold out on Broadway, or before it hits the big screen. 
(Tiffany Terrell (Emily) in the back as Brian Knoebel in the front (John) in the climax aka the turning of the screw, no pun intended).

Friday, February 22, 2013

Smack My Bitch Up (Prodigy)

When I was thirteen a photographer friend of mine had an assistant. She was a nice girl and she used to like to go after famous men in order to date them. Some of it was she was star struck, some of it was that she was young. Some of it was that she was a groupie type.

At the time my family had just gotten MTV. It was a way that my dad could watch my brother's football games. Where there was one station to be purchased twenty more came with the package. Within two weeks of having MTV I was hooked like heroin. I still remember when Prodigy came on the screen. I was in love. I loved their loud music, the cacophony of noise. This was awesome. "He's so cute!" I squealed with my sister.During an MTV watching session, in which Prodigy made MTV news my dad decided it was time for one of his daddy lectures. He told us that while it was wonderful that these people did what they did fame wasn't the most important thing in the world. It was more important to live a good life and have a family.

Well in the mean time my photographer friend's assistant began dating a band member from Prodigy. She fell head over heals for him and by the way she spoke about him they were going to be together forever. Apparently she met this guy while he was on tour and invited me to this party where the band members would be. She gave me the scoop on Prodigy, that they weren't a real band per se. That they were put together by the studio and owned by Madonna and her label.

This girl very quickly fell for this guy and called him all the time burning up her phone bill. However Mr. Prodigy had different ideas. This girl was following him, and burning up her money. On the other hand Mr. Prodigy could have cared less. The girl wanted to be Mrs. Prodigy, but she was just one of many girls that he had in many ports. She was in love, he was just looking to have his bed occupied.

Finally one day she made plans to fly to London to be with him, start a life. My photographer friend, sick of the charade, gave her the business. He told her that if this guy cared about her he would be paying for her plane ticket to England and paying for her to come to see him. If this guy cared he would have tried harder to make this work. It's not what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear that Mr. Prodigy, her famous boyfriend, loved her.

Needless to say the romance began to fall off soon after that. She woke up and realized despite his fame Mr. Prodigy was just a frog, not a prince. The experience helped her wake up. From there she actually met a nice, nonfamous guy who made a decent amount of money and treated her well. They got married and have kids. They are happy. Sure she didn't marry Mr. Prodigy but she has a good story. But all and all, it is just a good story. The end.

As for Mr. Prodigy, he had his time in the sun and like the 1990s he too faded into obscurity. He is probably living in London, maybe working in music still. Or perhaps he is working at the local eatery serving fish 'n' chips asking customers, "Do you want fries with that?" I think him and the legion of bands that burned out and disappeared after a hit or two.

I thought of this story the other day when I was in kickboxing and I heard the song "Fire Starter." I was like, "Wow, havent heard that since middle school" and thought of this girl. Perhaps Mr. Prodigy is running around the British country side and telling women of his days as a rock superstar, beer belly and all. I can only guess. Sigh, just be thankful that phase of my life is over.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book and for paperback
Kindle and Nook for Ebook
Audiobook available on 2013
Subscribe to my youtube at
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Forgive Them Father (Lauryn Hill)

I have spoken a lot about some drama that happened this week-some drug addict bitch throwing shade-and I will allude briefly to it again. Well not in the way you think. Truth is, the drama made me tired. It gave me stomach aches and made it hard for me to keep my food down. The only thing stopping me from disfiguring Horse Face was that she wasn't worth a felony charge. Hell I would have beat her brains in but in between the drug use and the dumb ass she she is to begin with I don't think it would have done much good. But I didn't because again she is not worth jail time.

At the same time this whole thing has made me grateful that the past is the past. That I am out of a circle of people who thrive on drama, so much so that it is all consuming offstage and when they get onstage they are flat, boring, and unmemorable. If these people put the same energy they did into their careers as they did to stirring shit they would be winning an Academy Award this Sunday. But alas, they are not. This is a circle of people where gossip isn't just a past time, it is an all the time. This is a group of people where no one can be trusted. They are your friends until you have what they want, then they throw you under a bus. Not to mention it's not just Horse Face, they all drink heavily and use copious amounts of drugs. Dealing with their negative attention seeking bullshit drained my energy and gave me a headache. It made me angry until I realized they did not deserve my anger. That would mean that they mattered.

Instead I am out of that group of people. I am no longer with an ex who lies and drinks on top of his psych meds. Horse Face can have that prize, backney and balding head. I am no longer a gossiping, jealous wannabe envious of the success of others and entitled that it should be my own when I do nothing about it. My energy goes into my art and into my work and one day I will win a Tony or an Emmy or an Oscar. Hell I may even host that damn show. My friends these days are my true friends, not friendemies who will turn at any second.

My life is much better now. I don't like drama offstage. It drains me. Not only does it show personal growth, but also is the mark that I am doing things with myself. I don't feed off of people's misery, and experiencing the jealousy I have in these past eighteen months I would never, ever want anyone to feel that way. I look at that whole circle, all those people, and I could laugh because they are so petty, stupid, and truly don't matter. But instead I feel a certain amount of pity because they don't know better and never will.

I know better though, and I know better than to be angry. Because when you argue with an idiot you get two idiots arguing. I remember my friend Chacho Vasquez once said it best, "People are in your past because you past them over. When you look back they are right where you left them, doing the same shit and even wearing the same bad clothes."

Chacho was correct. Monday he would have been thirty seven years old. I know his spirit was with me, guiding me, letting me to know to laugh this bitch and her drama off. To shake her like last season's fashions.

I am thankful and grateful that these people are a part of my past. They don't deserve to be a part of my present because they don't deserve my gifts. And they most certainly won't be a part of my future. But the little refresher was good. It reminded me that I don't like what I used to be and that I never want to go there again. Progress and growth, while painful, feel good. It is a reminder that we must keep moving towards the ball of light. It is a reminder that no one is worth getting the best of you.

That being said keep moving towards the light kids.

And as for those people, I ask God to forgive them cause they know not what they do. Poor ignorants do not know any better. And it must be painful to be that shallow, stupid, and limited in ever capacity.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback 877-Buy-Book, Amazon
EBook Kindle, Nook
Audiobook available in Spring 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Sexual Harassment at the Phone Sex Line

Last night I was in Queens with my friend's Derek and Roger just McChillin. It had been an eventful night. Derek made these chicken meat balls and then petrified them in the microwave breaking Fernando's plate. Derek then attempted to hide the broken plate. I had a taste of the petrified meatball. Tasted curiously like astronaut iced cream.

Anyway, Derek was talking about his time as a phone sex operator. Apparently, there had been a lot going on with guys pretending to be trannies and the whole shabing shbang that just goes with working at such an establishment. Well Derek was telling us this guy that worked at the phone sex line was developing a thing for him. So my buddy was totally oblivious and was just like la la la. Well this dude starts getting jealous and possessive everytime Derek talks dirty to someone on the other line. He starts calling Derek names when he is doing his job and saying he is a tease and stuff. And then he says Derek was leading him on by talking dirty to the client and messing with his emotions and making the work place unsafe.

So he accused Derek of sexual harassment.

You can be accused of sexual harassment at a phone sex line? And I thought I had heard everything. Needless to say the claim didnt get very far. Still, this dude filed the appropriate paper work and everything.


While I thought nothing surprised me, clearly I was wrong. Apparently anything is possible with my friends.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback 877-Buy-Book,
EBook on Amazon and Kindle
Audiobook on itunes
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Monday, February 18, 2013

Breaking and Entering

I was recently telling this story about my late friend and figured it was best to write it down. The truth is, Chacho was a colorful character. Part of being his friend sometimes was making sure he didn't get killed and making sure others didn't kill him, hell it was making sure I didn't kill him. One day we were trotting in Chelsea after one of his botched plastic surgery accidents had put him in the hospital. While he could not afford Michael Jackson's doc, I was sure my friend was going to someone like him. Someone probably licensed in Cuba where he was from but had no prayer of getting accredited in America.

On this day in particular, Chacho and I had run into an old friend of his. He was talking his ear off and treating me like the third wheel which meant one of two things, one that my buddy was planning on getting sex later from this strapping gent. Or two, that my buddy was about to throw down some shade. Adorn in his Louis Vuitton Chacho pushed his Chanel sunglasses to his nose as soon as the man left. 

This is how the exchange went between us

Me: Who was that?

Chacho: That mutherfucker? He told the Feds I was selling drugs and he got me sent away. Not only did he cripple the small business I was trying to run, but he owes me five thousand dollars!

Me: Chacho, I am sorry to hear that.

Chacho: You don't understand! I will get my five grand, April!

Me: Chacho, it has been five years. You have been to jail and now you are bettering yourself. Forget about it. He did you a favor. Besides, it was a drug debt. That's illegal. 

Chacho: He owes me five grand.

Me: Chacho, he also put you in jail. While I understand you are upset you need to put the past behind you. 

Chacho: And it wasn't a very happy time in my life so there you go!

I bid Chacho goodbye and went home. As usual, my head spun from our adventures but I walked in my door laughing my ass off at my friend and his anti-logic. So I went to bed and as usual had my phone beside me. That is when my phone rang. It was Chacho. It was probably the usual drama where he was fighting with his brother over something crazy. I picked up for some odd reason.

Chacho: Hello April, I have a bit of a problem.

Me: If this is the shit with your brother I am in no mood, Chacho.

Chacho: Oh no, nothing like that. You remember the guy we met on the street that owed me five grand? Well I broke into his apartment because I remembered where he lived, using the old nail file and credit card trick. I had planned to steal five thousand dollars worth of things to get my money back. But there is one problem April, he moved! So now I am in some stranger's apartment and I can't possibly steal from them because they don't owe me money. I don't know what to do!

I go silent on the other end of the phone. I may have accidentally become an accessory to a crime. 

Chacho: You there?

Me: Yes, this is what you do. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE! NOW!

Chacho: Okay, will do. 

Chacho hangs up the phone. I am sitting in bed exasperated. Five minutes later I get another call. It is Chacho again.

Chacho: Hi April, I am on the sidewalk. I got out of the apartment. I didn't steal anything. 

Me: Good. Chacho, do me a favor, don't call me in the midst of doing something illegal ever again. Seriously, you put me in a compromising situation.

Chacho: Okay, fair enough. Thanks for talking to me. Sweet dreams, sweet heart. Love You, Toodles. 

Chacho hangs up the phone. My head in spinning. I have a feeling I will need advil in the morning and I am absolutely right.

But one thing about Chacho, he never lied to me. Man was honest. He let me know what he was up to. Once I told him to lie to me to pretend he had his shit together. Chacho responded by saying, "Why would I do that? I am such a jerkoff I would probably screw it up."

Because of Chacho I use the words jerkoff and shade all the time. Happy Birthday Dear Heart, I hope you stole yourself a nice present and are having sex somewhere with a nice looking man who loves and adores you. Or as you once reminded me, "A man is put on this planet only to buy you presents." So maybe you man will buy you presents and go broke.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
EBook Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available in the spring of 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Sunday, February 17, 2013

No More Drama (Mary J. Blige)

As you all know I have had some drama this past week. I don't even want to talk about it anymore. When I was younger I thrived off of drama. It let me know I was alive. These days I honestly hate the shit. For serious.

The drama this week has made me tired. I don't fight over men. To me they all do the same damn tricks and have the same set of equipment. I don't care. Take your bullshit elsewhere. You aren't mad at me, you are mad at your man. Slap your man around. He is a balding idiot. And I know for a fact he is an idiot because I used to date him. He had plenty of nicknames. His friends call him Shotgun. But in my experience he was more Mr. Softy.

Either way I am depleted. My recording session was postponed because Debbie Harry was laying down background vocal tracks, an all day event for a whole album. I didn't get my man's email until I got there.  I took the day and just mozied and made plans with friends after I talked to my parents. So far today has been drama free. Last night I was so tired from this crap I fell asleep as soon as I got home. I was out delivering a telegram and saw a street fight. I was like, wow, someone's drama and it ain't mine.

Tonight I plan to clean my house and deliver a Marilyn Monroe. Tomorrow I plan on interviewing web designers and composers for my musical. I also plan on making more videos and wearing the new bathrobe my mother sent me. Oh and to get in touch with my dress maker and puppet designer cause May Wilson is being upgraded. No more drama. No more drama. Save that shit for the stage girl.

Speaking of drama, Mary J. Blige, you better pay your taxes girl. You and Lauryn Hill.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback 877-Buy-Book,
EBook available on Nook and Kindle
Audiobook available in the spring of 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Ms. Wannabe Strikes Again

I have had a hateraide filled last twenty four hours. A girl known as Ms. Wannabe has struck again. Lets just say the foul bitch has stepped over the line. I don't want to get into detail about what happened because why? I know it was pointed at me. I mean, the whore made a video where she had a character that had the name April getting her head beaten in. Not to mention since I have been binge video making she is starting the same shit. I know, scary right? Part of me is scared and knows I have to watch my back against her.

I don't know what is more foul. The fact this cunt face has ripped down the posters at the club I perform at. The fact she would put up a video when I did. The fact she spread rumors that I was drinking again and stalking her which wasn't true, and then had the nerve to corner me at a painfully terrible pAArty to pick my brain about my ex as she bragged about her drug use. (For the record, I am not a stalker. That involves focus.) Then she had the nerve to say that I was bad mouthing her boyfriend. Meanwhile the bitch is ripping off my wardrobe. Not to mention whenever I put out a video she feels the need to put out one. Oh and she and my ex's psycho mama were talking shit about me on a very public site. Now she is copying my binge video making and made a video where a girl named April was getting her head beaten in, oh and it was filmed in my ex's room. And on top of that she is talking about writing a book. And the whore got on a TV show that I was on and talked about all this money I got which was a LIE!

I would be a fool to ignore this. She clearly wants to be me and it is scary. I have done nothing to this woman except once upon a time I dated her asshole boyfriend. Whateveski.

Yesterday I was pissed with her. So pissed I almost sent my followers after the cow. Yes, I have eight times as many followers as that cow. Oh and her latest is that she is trying to work out. Did I mention she is weight training and kickboxing, two activities I like? Yes, that cow has just jumped over the moon and landed on my bad side. Yesterday I was stewing like hell and wanted to send some friends to beat her ass too. She doesn't know who I know. She messed with the wrong person. Plus bitch is such a poser. She brags about being caught for shoplifting. You were caught you dumb ho. Plus the one who is caught and brags usually was the dumb fall kid who was made to hold the stuff. My friend Chacho filled me in on that crap when she started her shade. Not to mention she claims she is poor when both her parents are well educated and her aunt is a millionaire.


Being stalked in this way is emotionally damaging, especially since I have done nothing to this woman except once upon a time I dated the loser she now spreads her legs for. I don't want him, she can have him. But for some reason she has it out for me. My mother says he still pines for me. Let him. Since ending it with his ass I have dated celebrities and have been on television countless times. I would never be seen with someone that ugly in public.

After talking it out with friends I have decided not to even print this woman's name or to assail her in public any longer. I am already farther than she will ever be. Acknowledging her would be letting her get what she wants, to sniff my underwear. Not to mention that it would be feeding into her sickness. There is a part of me that is afraid because she is so obsessed with being April Brucker.

But then there is a part of me that takes pity on her. While I call her names it is because she is a bully. Her behavior is that of a sick child. She wants the attention and she wants to fight with her boyfriend's old girlfriend. If they all died and went to hell I wouldn't care, but she is obsessed with my every move. I mean, before this whole thing I was friends with her. We laughed and joked and hit it off. She was funny, talented, and had the singing voice of an angel. Better than what I have for sure. Yet for some reason she sees being obsessed with me as her route to happiness.

For as hard as it is for me, I have to look away. I have really torked up my privacy settings so she can't see my stuff and I can't see hers. Unfortunately, someone like that makes you feed off their drama and then in turn you become obsessed with what they are doing-hence this entire blog. I guess for as much as she is angering me, it is a wake up call that comes with a growing career and fan base. For the ten people that love you twenty hate you. And she is one of the twenty that does.

I remember when he was alive I was telling my friend Joe about her shade. He stopped me and said, "Tune her out, April."

That whole circle of people that she is associated with is uber toxic. Since things have started happening for me they have either tried to rain on my parade or have slandered me in public. To me jealousy is a shame. It is time wasting and all consuming. It gets me no where. Having been on the other side of it I can tell you it is ugly and disgusting. But then again, these people are ugly and disgusting.

I don't wish any ill upon this woman. There is a part of me that hopes her cat gets rabies and claws her fucking eyes out while she sleeps. But then there is a part of me that feels deep sorrow that she doesn't feel that she is enough, and that feels she has to be someone else in order to appease her boyfriend. In that part that feels sorry for her, I know there is a deep pain in her heart because she feels the need to stay in a relationship that is clearly unhealthy and where she is deeply troubled and unhappy. Someone who changes their appearance to look like someone else, takes on an identity that is not their own and abuses drugs is someone who is struggling deeply. They are someone who is profoundly troubled. I can only pray God protects others from her but most importantly her from herself.

I have given this woman too much attention already and cannot feed into her. But someone melting down so quickly is just painful to watch. Especially in a lot of ways because I feel so responsible. People tell me these things are going to happen. I have what they call followers. I am starting to have what they call a career.

There is a part of me that is worried she will beat me at my own game by trying to be April Brucker. But she can't and won't. Being someone else is hard work. Changing your whole personality is hard work. This will probably be her first and last big TV appearance too. I mean, it is the best a glorified extra will ever do. I only wish her the best and much success. I just want her to stop stalking me and trying to be me. Not only is it spooky and scary, it is heart breaking because I knew her before this and I know she is better than that. And to do this over a guy? One who is not all that good looking. It isn't just pathetic, it is beyond the pale.

But now I have to tune her out. I need to focus on my growing fan base. The fact my TV shows are on netflix. The fact I am one of my bosses top workers. The fact I have a growing family of puppet children. The fact that Lauryn Hill's former sound engineer is reading my audio book. The fact I am April Brucker and never have nor never will feel the need to be anyone else.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, Amazon for paperback
EBook on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available in Spring of 2013
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

"I Give the Best Blow Jobs in NYC!"

The other night I was walking along and this chick was there with her man friends. They were surrounding her. She seemed like she was 23 and couldn't exactly hold the liquor. I didn't care. I was just passing. Anyway this girl was talking to these guys.

Guy 1: So, what makes you hot?

Guy 2: Well I think her ass makes me hot.

Girl: I give the best blow jobs in NYC, that's what makes me hot.

Guy 1: What do I have to do to find out?

Guy 2: Really?

Girl: I give good blow jobs. Really good blow jobs. I GIVE THE BEST BLOW JOBS IN NYC!

At this point I turned my head like WTF?!?!?!!?

The girl and I locked eyes.

Girl:Yes lady, I am talking to you. I give the best blow jobs in NYC!

I wanted to correct her. While her blow jobs might be good, many of my gay friends who work as escorts or in the porn industry would give that trash pit a run for her money. However, for as hard as they all work none can top May Wilson.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book or Amazon for Paperback
Kindle or Nook for E-Book
Watch for the audiobook on itunes this spring
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Dreaming is Free (Blondie)

When I was thirteen I was at the end of my rope. School was hellacious. I got made fun of all the time. Between a weight problem and an acne problem I was a mess. At the time I was on this face medication that made my lips bleed. I tried wearing make up to sexy myself up. My blush was orange and my lipstick was more or less purple. I looked like a pumpkin. On top of that I wore this water proof mascara because at the time I was embarking on a failed career as a diver. Well I was not only a horrendous diver, move over Shamu, but I was allergic to water proof mascara. So my eyes swelled shut. Did I mention my mother picked my clothes? On top of that I had top and bottom braces with rubber bands, or gum bands as we call them in Pittsburgh.

I had bullseye all over my forehead.

School was a nightmare and I didn't want to go. I wasn't skinny and pretty like the popular girls. The guys didn't want me. If they asked me out it was as a joke.

Then my family got cable television. To make a long story short I was from a family of readers and educators. My dad was the first of seven, the first to get a college degree and the first to not only get an MBA but also to go to law school as well. His father had been a steel worker who had not graduated from high school, but when my dad was older went to school at night to obtain his GED in order to get a promotion. It was an odd father/son bonding moment but they did it. My dad was big on education because he had grown up poor and realized life without it sucked and made you a slave. My mom was a teacher and told us to aim high, as in Ivy League. So the week was reserved for reading and homework, and the weekends television. We didn't have cable because we were not big television waters. But when Friday came, it was television time.

My friends all had cable and were on the up and up with the MTV. My brother, sister and I, in the damn darkness. On a bus once we were talking and the subject of Coolio came up. I didn't know who or what a Coolio was and needless to say that ended in a barrage of terrible jokes.

But my brother Wendell was embarking on a football career and my dad wanted to watch the high school games. This required getting local cable. To get the local channel this involved getting thirty others. Finally we had cable. I had arrived. Yeehaw!

Immediately I became addicted to MTV. The pop culture on the screen, the musicians and the actors, opened my mind up. I wasnt as academic as my siblings Skipper and Wendell. I was more creative. These artists spoke to me. They were creative, thought out of the box, and were changing the world. When they spoke about school they all talked about how they were awkward and made fun of. This seemed to be a theme. I was creative, awkward, and made fun of. Suddenly I had a plan and a goal. I wanted to go to New York, to entertain people, and to change the world. While it sounds cheesy, MTV saved my life and my sanity during those terrible, crucial years.

As a part of this package we also got AMC. On the screen I saw Mae West, my idol and my hero. She had come into vogue during the flapper era, a decade of tall and willowy women. She was short and curvy. Mae West broke the mold by writing pieces for herself. She pushed the boundaries, going so far as to go to jail. She was an inspiration to an adolescent struggling with her weight in a place where different meant deadly. I suddenly didn't feel this stifling need to conform. Instead, I felt like different didn't make me wrong, but rather it made me right and special. I didn't have to be like the pretty popular girls. They weren't better than me, I was better than them.

From there I had a mission. I practiced in front of my mirror to death with my Groucho Marx figure. My parents worried about my loner ways, meanwhile I dreamed of a career as the next Edgar Bergen. I brought home ribbons in forensics as a master storyteller. I wrote stories and eventually got published in a local paper. I took acting classes and volunteered as well as produced a show on public access. I was on my way. So much so I just started a bunch of sentences with the  pronound "I".

I went on to move to New York City, and was even featured on F'in MTV Blocks. In addition, my puppet children and I have been on TV and we are beginning to fulfill our mission of reaching people. The producer for my audio book was exchanging emails with Naughty By Nature, a band I wasnt allowed to watch when they came on the TV. Lauryn Hill's former sound engineer stole my book. I had a convo with Deborah Harry. I live down the street from Broadway. I am writing a damn musical. People have recognized my puppet children and I and often ask for photos. A song I recorded was number one on internet radio for five weeks. Essentially I am doing every thing I set out to do. This is just the beginning.

I have been thinking about all the people who have made my life hellacious lately. It is because I receive a large number of fan letters from young people. Many are bullied. Bullying is an epidemic in this country and people are only beginning to understand the long standing psychological trauma associated with it now. One kid was even beaten into a coma by kids on a school yard. One recently sent me a letter that she was at the end of her rope and she needed hope.

So I posted something to this effect on facebook and this is what I would say to anyone. Growing up I wasn't allowed to watch cable television and everyone laughed at me. Now I am on cable television quite a bit as well as Netflix with my puppet babies, and hell I still don't own a TV. Because I wasn't allowed to watch television, I got good with making dolls talk and I developed an ability to write. Both are making me quite famous and quite successful. Kids made fun of me because I accidentally called the Notorious B.I.G. The Notorious Big. A year ago I hung out with one of this closest friends. I thought Snoop Dogg was a brand of kennel food and not only did he give me a pep talk when we met but he took my card. I thought a Fugee was a cold virus and Lauryn Hill's former sound engineer stole my book and is reading it. I watched a Deborah Harry rerun and I spoke to her in the hall. I not only walk passed MTV every day, but I have been on there. I walk passed Broadway every day, and I will be on there. I walk passed the Today Show every day with the people gathering at the front and smile because I know I have been on that show too. As for the mean girls they all got fat. As for the guys who asked me out as a joke, joke is on them. Maybe they laughed at me, but now they wish they had my life. I am getting the last laugh. So hang in there. It does get better.

Someone wrote me a sweet note back about how I shouldn't let people drag me down from my past and that there was no need to prove myself. And people over the years have also told me that junior high sucks for everyone.

But I would tell any kid in that place to just hang in there. Every dog has their day and their day will come. It does get better as I said. Now I only wish I could time travel and tell my thirteen year old self that. I wish I could show her my life now and give her a hug. Maybe that is why bullies make me sick and when I see that side of a guy he becomes so unattractive. Maybe that is why I stand by my friends, even when they do things like get arrested, because I know what it's like to be kicked by the world. Maybe that's why I don't exclude anyone. I know my thirteen year old self wouldn't believe it. She would tell me about her dreams, and I would tell her they would come true but she would have to work very hard.

Then she would ask me if I had any money. I would tell her, "Working on that."

Sigh, my bank account doesn't know I hang out with famous people. My bank account doesn't know who I hang out with. My bank account says I still need to save up for a TV and a bed.

But living the dream. And with the price of the suffering we go through, at least dreaming is free.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback, 877-Buy-Book,
Ebook Kindle and Nook
Portion of the proceeds go to RAINN

Monday, February 11, 2013

Rhapsody (Blondie)

Yesterday was an adventure. After discovering Lauryn Hill's sound engineer had stolen my book and was reading it, I would step into the hall and have another encounter. This one with a complete legend. I had heard Deborah Harry was working on our floor and had rented out the studio next door. Archie told me about it and I was like, okay. He made me promise not to post it on facebook. So much for that right now. Anyway, I understood she was working and blah blah blah and so was I. While in my dreams I could be as cool as Blondie was back in the day I would never even try.

After a recording session that started late cause these things just do sometimes I stepped into the hall to run to the restroom. When you do a VO job a water bottle is your best friend and sometimes you just have to piss like a race horse. As I made my way to the wash room I saw these two tiny dogs run by my feet. They were sweet. I spoke to the dogs a little not cause I am crazy but screw it, people speak to dogs.

Just then I looked up and standing in front of me was Deborah Harry. She was making herself tea in the studio microwave and this is how the exchange went:

Deborah: Hi.

Me: Hi. Are those your dogs?

Deborah: Yes, they are cute, aren't they?

Me: Darling. Makes me want a dog. How old are they?

Deborah: One is six and the other is a rescue so I don't know.

Me: Well if I had a dog again it would be a Shepherd.

Deborah: Did you have a Shepherd growing up?

Me: Yes, it was my parents first dog. They got it before I was born because my mom caught two guys breaking into their house and my dad wasn't home. He got it for her so she would feel better.

Deborah: Good call.

Me: Yeah, it was their first kid.

Deborah: Dogs are like kids by the way.

We both laugh

Me: I'm April by the way.

Deborah: Debbie.

Me: As in Debbie Harry, the Debbie.

Deborah lets out a knowing smile and laugh

Me: I am such a fan. Not to sound like a dork but I love your music. Loved your remake of Rhapsody you did in 1998. So what are you doing here?

Deborah:  Recording a new album. All new stuff. It will be available on the internet in a few months.What are you doing here?

Me: Recording an audio book.

Deborah: What is it called? What is it about?

Me: It is called I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl. It's about my time as a singing telegram delivery girl in the city.

Deborah: That's cool.

Me: Yeah, laying tracks for it to be down on tape. Here, let me fetch you a card.

I run and fetch Deborah a card. She is still chilling in the hallway with her dogs.

I run out and hand Deborah the card

Deborah: Thank you. I look forward to reading it or hearing it.

Me: Thank you. I only wish to be as cool as you.

Deborah: A huh. But let me tell you, that is up for debate.

We both laugh and say goodbye.

I run into the studio

I see Archie


Archie shrugs

Archie: I just hope you didnt say, 'Bitch, I hope you werent the one who stole my book!"

We all laugh

End scene

In closing, once a substitute teacher remarked about how I looked like Deborah Harry. A mean girl then retorted that Deborah Harry was pretty unlike me. This was followed by, "And April doesnt matter."

Met Deborah Harry and she disagrees. But we both concur that you don't matter, bitch.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, for paperback
Ebook available on Kindle and Nook
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Sunday, February 10, 2013

That Thing (Lauryn Hill)

As you all know I am recording my audiobook. I am there every Sunday with my buddy Archie Ekong who is my sound engineer. Anyway, a little about Archie. Archie is the protoge of Lauryn Hill's sound engineer.

A little background on my connex with Lauryn Hill. In middle school my family finally got cable and with that package came MTV. One of the first videos I saw was "That Thing." I immediately fell in love with Lauryn Hill and made my mother buy me the Rolling Stone she was interviewed in. This marked a new era for me. I would be in the loop. A week before I hadn't known who Leonardo DiCaprio was and as a result got made fun of by the mean girl clique. In that week I also had not known who the Fugees were. When I asked what a Fugee was I got laughed out of the room. To me a Fugee sounded like a new clothing line. Oh and Coolio, well I just thought that was an expression.

Well when I saw Lauryn Hill's video I knew who she was. I fell in love. The woman was brilliant and her song telling. School was hell, but this woman seemed different. She came at it hard, something women in music are still scare to do. As the hell known as seventh grade sailed on, I told myself I would get back at those bitches who made fun of me someday.

Fast forward to years later. I was in my recording studio when I asked Archie where my book went. I leave one there to make work easier. Archie mentioned it was missing. I was like, someone stole my book?!?! We laughed about it. Archie mentioned Hernan was a huge reader and probably took it. Hernan, the Hernan. Then it hit me, LAURYN HILL'S SOUND ENGINEER STOLE MY BOOK!!!!!!!

I thought back to seventh grade and to all those mean girls. Here I was living in the big old city and maybe I didn't know what a Fugee was. But Lauryn Hill's former sound engineer was reading my book. All the memories of being teased mercilessly flashed through my mind. Now I, April Brucker, chunky thirteen obsessed with puppets, had grown up and was in a New York City recording studio. Not to mention the man who was responsible for one of the greatest albums in the nineties was reading my book.

My response, "I hope he enjoys it. I am glad people still read."

I then remembered seventh grade, being so chunky and awkward. Those mean girls and all their nasty words. I was chunky, I had acne, rub it in. In a lot of ways I am glad they did. Because my parents didn't let me watch television I became a reader and went on to write a book. I also developed an ability to make dolls talk. They teased me for this. Well let me tell you, my ability to make dolls talk is making me very famous. Ironically, I grew up for the most part without cable and in the dark and now my talking dolls have been on national television-cable if you will-many, many, times.

And my writing, which also made me the bullseye on the middle school dart board, is leading me to meet many a famous person. When I met him this summer Snoop Dogg took a post card for my book. And now Lauryn Hill's sound engineer is reading it. Tonight is the Grammy's. Lauryn Hill won one of those I do believe. Maybe this is crazy, maybe this is insane, but maybe it is a sign.

Either way, if I could go back in time to tell my thirteen year old self, anything, it would be to hang in there. That while it hurts that I carry a little more weight and have face acne and it only makes me a bigger target when they call me weird, weird will be the thing that sets me apart. Weird will be the thing that makes people love me. And weird will take me to places and let me do things that those mean girls will only get to watch on TV. Peoples let me tell you this is just the beginning.

Today I also met Deborah Harry, someone who I also worshipped growing up.

I will tell that story in Part Two of my blog tomorrow.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
Ebook available on Kindle and Nook
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Saturday, February 9, 2013

Genius of Love (The Tom Toms)

Today's adventure was visiting my friend in jail. Yes, I visited a buddy in jail. Yes, I have shady friends sometimes. Well, he wasn't shady. He had a history of drug abuse and didn't want to get hooked on vicadin and accidentally sold to an undercover cop. Then he was put in a drug program where he absconded on a twenty four hour pass and relapsed and missed court. After being on the run for seven days he ended up in MDC-Manhattan Detention Complex.

Getting to MDC in the show was a trip but it was no biggie. I am a Northern East Coast Woman. I am used to snow. I debated whether or not to go but his mother had been talking me all week and they couldn't go because of the snow. Plus I missed my buddy who was so proud of me for writing my book and my puppet stuff. And this was my big chance to see him before he went to Rikers which by the way is a pain in the ass to get to. My mom didn't want me to go and said just wish him well. But I figured what else was I supposed to do? So I decided to go.

Walking into MDC I felt immediately like I was in jail. Maybe it was the metal detectors. Maybe it was the guards. Maybe it was being told I needed a locker for my cellphone and that I had to turn it off. When I went to get my pass they asked who I was going to see, and they didn't want the name but rather my friend's case number. It is weird saying you want to see someone and then calling off their case number. In some ways it is inhumane, doesn't even give them a proper identity. It's like they don't matter. They aren't a person. So many times organizations try to pitch and say that their customers aren't just a number. But here you are a number. After all, it is jail.

They asked me what my relationship was and I said friend. The guard shrugged and did a double take. They are used to women trying to get away with the bare minimum of clothing probably referring to themselves as girlfriend to see the male inmates. My buddy is gay. None of that would be happening here. I didn't want to tell the guard that, but my buddy's parents had been in all week and now they know them by name. Fortunately his mother is understanding about drugs and addiction, not many people's are.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign of what to do in the event of an inmate suicide. Wowsa, welcome to jail. People got depressed and killed themselves here. While the guards for the most part were kind to me because I showed manners I could tell they could be SOB's sometimes. Then again, they were well paid SOB's. They had to be SOB's. You don't go to jail because you were singing in the choir or skipping through daisies. It is a kind reminder that you broke the law. End of story.

After being processed I was in a waiting room watching the news. My stomach began to do flip flops. I had this feeling of doom. For some reason, although I had no reason to be scared, I feared they would get me for something. As a kid I always feared the principal's office and now it was like being in the principal's office but as an adult. Wait, this was worse than a principal's office. I didn't want to move for fear of being chastised. Another woman sat in the waiting area with me and flashed me a knowing, sympathetic smile. We were both there for the same thing. We both knew. The air in a jail is different. This is a place where you are told what to do, where to go, and freedom is another word for nothing left to lose in the words of Janice Joplin. Wait, freedom, what is that? That is what I have. My buddy, not so much. He got credit for time served but they were really thinking of throwing the book at him.

The lighting in a jail is different too. Most places try to have as much light as possible, happy if you will. Jails are kind of dark and scary. Sort of like the Shashank Redemption. My buddy's mother mentioned when you see an inmate you have to put a quarter in a locker and then put your stuff in there, but you get your quarter back or leave it for someone else out of good will. She leaves it for someone else. It's because it's the only ray of light there is in a jail. Sometimes, that person used all the money that they had to see their loved one locked up. I could only imagine the stress the family of the accused feels sometimes, and the stigma of guilt depending on the crime under charge.

Of course there are vending machines. Why have real food when you can have junk? Of course they serve the prisoners slop of some sort that is probably not fit to feed anyone or anything human. But this is the state, they barely view prisoners as human. To them they are a waste of space. Granted, many are. But some like my friend are drug offenders who are running from their demons and use a controlled substance to deal with their pain. Unfortunately Mother Justice does not understand depression and self-medication. If she did my former lover boy Holden Caulfield would not have had as many brushes with the law as he did. They say she is blind. Bitch is more like Helen Keller. On the walls of course were posters with slogans like It's Nice to Be Important But It's Important To Be Nice. Followed by Reach For The Sky and You Might Get the Stars, etc. I felt like I was in grade school again. But then again this was a place where perhaps they had to go back to basics. There were children's books which was nice I suppose.

My name was then called and off I went to see my buddy. I was escorted into a room with mostly playschool type tables and chairs and was directed where to go. The vibe of the place makes you comply. The guards have their eyes open and you don't even want to turn your head in the wrong direction. While it seems facist in some ways there are reasons for this. Security reasons. The lady guard asked me if I needed to go to the restroom before I went. I could tell she knew I was scared out of my wits. I did and my stomach in a response released stress related bile. The bathroom was disgusting, probably never cleaned. But this is jail. No one cares about you when you are in jail, remember? When I exited the rest room I felt better. I think they knew at this point I wasnt smuggling drugs or weapons in. I just wanted to hug my buddy, that's all.

My buddy came out wearing a lime green jump suit and was happy to see me and thanked me several times and mentioned he would not forget this visit in the cold. He seemed in good spirits and mentioned they changed his anti-depressant. Then like a good gay man he asked if he had circles under his eyes. I asked if I had woken him up and he said no, the timing was perfect. The reason I had come so early was because I knew around ten or eleven everyone and their damn mother would be there and I wanted to beat the foot traffic. While I was low drama it wouldn't be the same for everyone visiting. I bet around noon the fights with the female guards start because someone brought lipstick. My buddy had his hot coca and was happily up. He mentioned that his mother was losing her blessed mind which was true. I had been talking to her all week. She was a nice lady but losing her mind, after all, her kid was looking at some time and up to a week ago they were recommending a year. Plus with all the television shows about jail like Lock Up Raw it's easy to get scared. Not to mention my friend is gay and in jail, which either isn't a problem or puts a bullseye on your forehead.

I had written my boy a letter about a week ago and he mentioned he had written me but had no envelopes or stamps. Those things happen in jail. I told him lime green was a good color for him and we laughed about it. I teased him and said with a color choice like that he was obviously gay.

My buddy mentioned he was happier in jail than he was in his drug program. He said he liked the structure of jail and played cards and stuff with the other inmates. I teased him because he likes black guys and told him he was probably having the time of his life. We both laughed at that, because in part it may have been true. Yes, it is racist to assume the slew of black guys in jail are all gay but some of them are operating on the downlow. Then my buddy mentioned one Spanish guy with gold teeth had been hitting on him all week, tapping him on the shoulder and then when my buddy turns his head running in the other direction. I teased him about this dude liking him. We also laughed about how this was not the game to play in jail because flirt with the wrong person and you might meet with your end via shank. However, I also cautioned my buddy that there were three places never to find love: Drug/Alcohol Twelve Step Meetings, Rehab, and Prison. A guy from the TC he had deviated from was dating this other chick there and well, we had a laugh about this romance destined for disaster and doom.

Just then, we both looked around the room and the majority of guys in there were with female visitors. Some of these dudes were holding their hands and some of these women were getting that middle school droopy affectionate. I made a joke with my buddy that I should just start kissing him to make things awkward. We both agreed we shouldn't but laughed. Behind us there was a cute guy with a girlfriend who wore these tight assed jeans which she was probably given shit about upon walking in. My buddy observed that he was hot. Sure, he was hot but a little too gangsta for my type. Anyway, my buddy being his ever homo self began checking him out with me. We giggled like little school girls. I was surprised I didnt see former boyfriends personally. I mean, once I was watching a Lock Up Raw about Rikers and saw a lesbian chick I knew who used to beg for change in Chelsea. Hell, these things happen to me and only me it seems.

As I laughed and giggled with my buddy whether it was about the hottie and his gal pal or people we knew in general I began to forget I was visiting someone in jail. Even as he glanced at the clock knowing the hour would come to an end at some point it didn't feel like I was in the slammer. My buddy was making me laugh and we were having a good time just like we used to on Monday nights before his arrest. Nevermind I was dressed down no makeup and in jogging pants that hadn't been washed in some time. Nevermind he was talking about how he needed desperately to dye his hair back to brown from his salt 'n' pepper color. I was having a good time on a Saturday morning with my friend, and didnt even care that it was in jail. Even as he mentioned that the perspective cell/tier mates ranged from petty thieves to people charged with rape, rape/murder, or just plain murder we were having a ball. He told me he could sleep all day if he wanted or play cards with other inmates, whatever.

Just then the hot gangsta guy who was disgustingly kissing on his Boo playfully slapped her and the female guard said, "Dont you do that!" The room turned like WTF? Everyone got silent. This was strange. They say when things get silent in jail it is a bad thing. Something happened. I asked my buddy what happened who saw the whole thing out of the corner of his eye and he said the guy had playfully slapped the girl. I was like wowsa. And then my buddy added, "He is so cute that he can punch me anytime he wants." And then we both burst out laughing. I mentioned I was glad I didn't see any old boyfriends of mine and we both laughed again.

While gangsta boy was probably no homo with his gal pal he looked like he was a pro at this. I have a feeling he might be meeting my buddy for a love connection later. I mean it is jail. It could happen, especially if the gangsta boy is going away for sometime and won't see a woman and every man has his needs. Then my buddy asked how the snow had hit us and if it had stuck. Then it occurred to me that he didn't know because jails are not notorious for windows. I looked around and saw a window in the back, but there were probably no windows elsewhere. I told him it wasn't so bad in the city but it was probably bad where his parents were in Queens.

They gave us fifteen extra minutes on our visit which was nice of them, probably because my buddy is a good prisoner and I was well behaved, plus there weren't a lot of people there. My buddy then mentioned he had to pee like a race horse. Some of it is a combo of his meds and probably the hot chocolate he had drank before my arrival finally catching up to him. But I knew in the back of my mind the awkward departure was the fact that eventually he knew I would have to say goodbye and he would eventually have to go back to where he was housed, a jail cell. I know there was a part of him that envied the fact I got to leave and skip in the snow, even if it was a blizzard where my feet could get wet. He couldn't. While he is a gay gay he is still a guy, and departing from a jail visit isn't easy. I told him to go pee. I knew he would have to and I knew the awkward outros weren't him. This was part of his way of dealing with where he was, and while he was in good spirits no one wants to be seen or remembered as an inmate at Manhattan Detention Complex. While they had received good ratings on Yelp I can tell this is not the fine dining Manhattan is known for.

My friend then told me once again like he had at the beginning of the visit that he would never forget this. I know he won't. I often joked he was my gay husband. He'll be out in June and then we can hang out all the time like we used to on Monday nights. Maybe I can even go to Fire Island with him when the weather permits. I have always wanted to go and believe it or not as a fag hag I have never been.

 Either way, I had to wait to be released after he left. After all, you are in jail. As I was reminded I was told I could depart. I walked back through the dim lighting, got my things, and then my cellphone. Upon leaving, one step away from freedom, I was reminded again when the guard asked me not to touch that key when the door wouldn't open. I asked her if I could turn my cellphone on in the building and she said no. I had to wait until I got outside. I thanked her, wished her a good day, and left. As I was on my way out more people were on their way in to see a friend, family member, or loved one whatever. Some knew their sentence, others did not. Either way, while my buddy says his mom is freaking out I can understand why. It must be stressful as hell to have a kid in jail. I was just a friend getting to walk back into freedom. Imagine being a parent knowing your child can't.

There was a pang of guilt that hit me as soon as I walked back into the sunshine that I had never felt before. The guilt that I could leave while my buddy was damned to stay. Also the hatred of drugs and addiction and what they did to people. My buddy has a good heart but unfortunately has a drug problem. As a result he is in jail and his family is losing their ever blessed mind. While my buddy seems to be taking it in stride his mother isn't. Part of it might be his way of dealing, but maybe it hasn't hit yet. While his mother seems used to her son's battle with drugs, it probably still breaks her heart. Actually, I know it does. She told me so during the three times we spoke.

As the sun shone in my direction the guilt melted and was replaced by gratitude. I was not only grateful for my freedom, but grateful for all the good things I was doing with my freedom. It was also a gentle reminder to exercise good judgement at all times because as my mother used to say, "You don't have to work that hard to fuck up your life."I also realized my buddy wouldn't want me to feel guilt because he was so proud of me for the way my life was going. Once I didnt want to talk about my book and he stopped me and said, "You need to. You need to let people know they can do these things with their lives, April."

Before he got locked up my buddy had started my book and thought it was so special I was using my talents to make people's day, and was the first to describe my book as a "feel good book." I found myself saying a prayer for my friend and his gentle spirit, asking God to guide him in the process get his perspective shit together and to be able to say no to drugs for good. I also found myself hating drugs and what they did to people and their lives. How they stole time, ripped families apart, and just destroyed lives and everything else in their path as they held souls captive essentially like demons from hell. Walking to the subway I smelled that someone had lit a joint and it made me sick, so sick I wanted to smash something. This was the shit that was costing my friend his freedom and the word felony on his record forever. Sure, it was Tina that was his drug but I was not in the mood for Mary Jane or her lighthearted, Scooby Doo watching antics or any other controlled substance or their street name at that moment in time.

As promised I called my buddy's mom who was grateful I visited and was having her driveway shoveled. Because my buddy can't have things with writing on them in jail, his mother is reading my book currently. She had picked it up amongst his other things from his drug program and security wouldn't let her take it into the jail. While it merely had a message to my buddy for his birthday they couldn't allow it because of all the gang stuff that occurs in jails. I hope she enjoys it. She seems very nice and perhaps this will be the laugh she needs in this desperate hour of stress and darkness. I know he doesn't mean to cause her pain and even said so during the visit that it breaks his heart he does this, but addiction is an evil disease. With that, I gave God an extra thank you for my freedom and therefore promised to make better choices than I ever had and to be more responsible with it. Not that lately I have been making bad choices, but we could always be a little smarter. We all take our freedom for granted until we lose it.

To detox I went to lunch with my girlfriends. One had jury duty this week and had been turned away, too many jurors and not enough cases. The one case was the cannibal cop. While my lady friend had been glad she was turned away, she was like wowsa. I wonder if the Cannibal Cop is at MDC. I wonder if my buddy will think he is hot. Or better yet, according to court documents he is straight. What if I have a shot with that hottie? I think I better go back so I could bump into him. Oh no, maybe I better stay away for some time because I have a weakness for bad boys and outlaws. I will be sending him my panties and the next thing I know roasting on a spit as he eats my brain. Or maybe he will find love and marry my buddy and be the husband his mother wants him to have. I know, my buddy and I are friends for a reason. Okay, neither one of us make the best choices but still, we have a weakness for a hot guy even if he likes a little flesh with a side of fava beans a la Lector.

Either way, I can't wait for my boy's release in June. And perhaps this time things will go right and he will get it right. Cause the hot boys will be running about and maybe we can both get one, preferably with lots of money. Cause in the words of the Tom Toms, "What's you gonna do when you get out of jail? I'm gonna have some fun."

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available through 877-Buy-Book,
Ebook available through Kindle and Nook
Watch for the audio book
Portion of the proceeds go to RAINN

Friday, February 8, 2013

Party and Bullshit (Notorious B.I.G)

When I was in middle school Biggie Smalls was big. I mean, he was already a big guy but he was a big star. When he got killed his murder was big news. Puffy made a billion dedications and when we were watching the VMA's my mother made a crack about it being the throngs of his kiddies out of wedlock. Whateves.

We didn't have cable in our house so we were a little in the dark. As a matter of fact I called him The Notorious Big and everyone laughed at me. Then he got shot. I never met the guy which made me sad. He could spit out mad rhymes and had an idea of what it was to be an outcast like I was. Biggie or Christopher Wallace like he was known to his mother was overweight and dropped out of school to sell drugs. I was overweight at the time and loved to write poetry. I didnt dare spit mad rhymes. But still, he seemed to live a cool life, making money even from the grave. Hey, he supported his family.

In high school I had a friend who could take me home from school every day. I will admit I crushed on him a little, him being the bad boy I dreamed of. At the time I was someone who's parents still wouldnt let her date at eighteen. He smoked, drank, and did all the things I thought I would never do but eventually did and more. When we used to ride home from school he played B.I.G. I still think, "Biggie Smalls is the illest."

The following year I moved to NYC and had one of the worst years of my life to date. Chilling near school, I ended up in what was once Empire Records and purchased Ready to Die by Biggie. Yes, the lyrics were a little sexist and degrading to women at times but the rhymes were ill. Plus it gave me a connection to the streets of New York. Despite what people thought of me I knew I had a heart and soul in me, a street vibe. It was a side of me I had always known was there but hadnt tapped. It was April the Bad Ass.

Okay not really, but it helped me shed a layer of skin on me and off I went. Being April Brucker.

The Bad Ass got me in trouble I never dreamed of at certain points. I laugh about it now because Bad Ass was actually Bad Actor as in stupid or Dumb Ass as in dumb. Still it gave me some good stories. But Biggie had lots of good stories probly.

About eight years later, and some TV credits later, I got the chance to guest judge a hip hop show Uptown. The rap stars all went in and were stripped search, a bi-product of Biggie's era, an era where rappers feuded from different sides of the country and killed each other over music. One guest judge worked for a record label, another was the original DJ Spinderella from Salt 'n'Pepa

Spin had come from a musical family, and her father had been a sax player for James Brown. We spoke about the people she knew and Spin told me she knew Biggie and was close to him. I asked her how he was as a person. Spin said he was "the sweetest, biggest Teddy Bear." I laughed remembering his rapping about Gats, robbing trains, and slapping hos being a pimp daddy. Spin agreed.

Spin then told an endearing story about how she used to watch some kids and how they didn't want to go to school, because they were kids of course. At the time, Spin was running out of options. Spin mentioned she knew Biggie but they didn't believe her. Well Spin then called Biggie and informed him of her ordeal. Biggie then stepped in with the perfect plan. He called the house and Spin put him on the phone with the kids. Biggie proceeded to introduce himself as Biggie Smalls, rap a little, and then told them they had to listen to Spin and go to school. The story was sweet and while I had been a fan to begin with, this made me happy I had spent money on his albums and listened to him during those rides home senior year. This also made me angry someone killed him, someone probably close to him. Then I realized this story, this anecdote made the fat man who liked big booty bitches a son, brother, and father; it made him real.

A few months later as a part of a web network I used to spit freestyle rhymes. While I had my dissers there were many who said I went hard for a white girl. In my heart I know it was because once upon a time I was an overweight outcast. I hated school and struggled to find my place. My dreams were big and I knew the sky was the limit. I dreamed of getting out and getting the rainbow. Then I realized I dreamed big, just like B.I.G. That is why I wasn't afraid to hit it as hard as I did on the mic.

And he is probably rolling his eyes and laughing from the after life talking trash about my abilities or lackthereof.

Party and bullshit.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, for paperback
Ebook on Nook and Kindle
Watch out for audiobook
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Thursday, February 7, 2013

When I Was Your Man (Bruno Mars)

I was with my baby sister this past weekend and yes she now has a love life. Skipper has grown up so quickly. It is weird. I actually like her boyfriend believe it or not. I only threatened to kill him twice if he didn't treat my sister right. He was a good sport about it, and if my sister ends up closing the story book and living happily ever after with this guy it would be far from the worst thing ever. Believe it or not I left the trip liking him and not wanting to kill him. Skipper seems happy.

I had the forever talk with my sister. There is still a lot to think about before Skipper says forever. One is where she will match. The other is, the relationship is still in it's infancy. Their dark sides haven't come out yet and clashed.

I ended up having a deep talk with Skipper. Basically I told her that if this guy turned out to be a good guy to hold on to him. If not let him go. I told my sister that a terrible relationship could damage her forever and once you were damaged goods with a few severe dents you would never be what you once were. And at the same time don't be hasty and let someone go and then look back and regret it. I know, projecting my shit onto my own baby sister. I get it.

I remembered being twenty one and somehow becoming engaged to perhaps one of the biggest psychopaths I have met to date. At the beginning it was great. Then suddenly he was telling me my comedy sucked. Then he told me it was him or the puppets. After that the fights got violent. I remember even between him offering to kill his mother to get the insurance money to be with me I wanted to stay. When I ended it he stalked me and had his old girlfriends threaten me as well. I got a different mailing address and the memories still give me nightmares. You thought I would have been eager for a nice guy after that?

Hell no.

I dated bottom feeders because I felt like that was all I was worth. They didn't want to take me seriously and they didn't mind my ex was stalking me. The worse they treated me the more I wanted them.

There were some nice guys who came along and wanted to treat me well. One in particular really liked me. But the nicer he was to me the bitchier I was back. Some of it was that I was going through some intense shit at the time, an ex who was trying to kill himself at least once a week to get my attention. Some of it was that I didn't know how to be treated right. Needless to say the clusterfuck ended badly and if he saw me somewhere he would run. I heard he got married and is happy. I am glad he is happy, and frankly I feel bad I couldn't be the one to give it to him.

Then there was another one who would have given me the planet and I just wanted to give him grief. He lost my number and found the number of some girl who was nice and now they are engaged. I saw them and it made me want to stick a knife in my head, especially since I blew him off for a guy who had legal issues at the time.

Of course there was one who I was extremely mean to. He really cared about me and the only thing I cared about was getting under his skin. The closer he got the more I wanted to kick him. The nicer the things he did the more I retaliated. Not to mention when he told me he loved me I started cheating on him. Bitch was an understatement. I embarrassed him in public with my antics, called him names, and left him no choice but to call it over. He has a new girlfriend who hates my guts because I was so mean to him. His family hates me because I was so mean. Granted, my ex-fiance was posting scantily clad photos of me with the word slut on them in every online forum he could. But my then boyfriend was a really good sport about my stalker calling and hanging up whenever we were together.

I know this nuttiness, the jealousy, the outright bitch was the result of an abusive relationship and stalker ex. There was only one who could get past that and well, he was a bipolar who wouldnt comply with his psych meds and a drug addict and I had to let him go. He could handle my bitch and that made him special. It was because he could see the shitoeous behavior wasn't the result of a horrid attitude but because I was a damaged person. He knew how not to take it seriously in a way no other guy had. But alas, he was more damaged than I was.

Maybe I can't get a nice guy because I can't be nice. I know that. Plus I know when I go down my list of losers starting with the stalker ex who tried to kill himself in front of me twice I am not exactly what you take home to mom. And then it might get awkward when I realize I dated his dad at one point which has happened to me by the way. Some would say this is colorful. That is one way to describe it. Others would just call me an asshole and a goof ball.

But I just think of all those guys I used to jerk around and think of all the things I shouldn't have said and all the ways I should have behaved. And how they are all happy and it is too late for us. While I am sure my sister's judgement is better once you are a pickle you can never be a cucumber again. I know full well what it is like in life having to travel with a past where your psyche is scarred from an abusive psycho and all the things that follow taking it out on anyone and everyone you encounter in the wide world of dating. And how all your anger and grief just isolates you to the point where when you exit hell all you see is burnt ash and rubble.

Then I think of that line in As Good as it Gets. Jack Nicholson, a Duke in the Kingdom of the Damaged sums it up best, "Some people are on a hill, having a picnic, eating noodle salad. Just no one in this car."

To come to think of it I don't like noodle salad anyway. Plus this experience helps me speak to young women who write to me. Perhaps God never gives us more than we can handle, and this was the catalyst to help me get it together and get my dreams in motion never to let anyone take me down. Either way, I sometimes wish I wasn't so mean to some of the guys in my past.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
ebook on Kindle and Nook
Portion of Proceeds go to RAINN

Sunday, February 3, 2013


Last night I got into Providence. Backstory, it is a pleasure cruise mixed with business. While it is an excuse to see my sister, I am also working on a project for PACE (Providence Alliance for Clinical Educators) using my puppets. It is discharge instructions for children from hospitals post fever. When I buzzed into town my sister had organized a mini get together with her friends. It was an excuse to see Skipper, meet her new boyfriend and see her friends whom have grown up so much in front of me.

We had food, I read everyone's astro charts, and there was lots of laughter. Then we went dancing. It was a hipster place that Skipper had heard lots of good things about and had been to once or twice. She warned me that the place was dark and the music was loud.

We danced for a bit-well not really cause they were hipsters-to the electro upstairs and then made our way downstairs to the hip hop. For the most part these were dorky kids, Brown and RISD kids. I didnt mind. The DJ looked like he crawled out of Alphabet City somewhere which was fun. I ended up talking to a guy named Bristol who was kinda drunk. Then I macked on a dude in a suit who was there with a girl and shot me down. I am usually shy when it comes to guys and am perpetually single. My sister Skipper always has a boyfriend and was trying to play matchmaker for the night. With my puppets away, it was just me, the music, and the throng of hipster men.

Skipper pointed out that there was a guy behind me who wanted to dance. So I asked him to dance and we started dancing. At first it was innocent and then he seriously began grinding on me. While it was awkward and uncomfortable, maybe he didnt get much female action just like I dont get much male action. Then the started touching my belt loops and trying to put his hands in my pockets. Weird but okay. The song was almost over.

Thats when he tried to kiss me. This was moving much, much too fast especially since I couldn't see his face in such a dark room. A few minutes later, his mouth made it's way to my shoulder and HE BIT ME!

I couldn't believe it. He gave me a little love bite. I said it, the spooky boy bit me. He was Damien the Devil Boy from South Park or the stepson of Dracula, either way I didnt know. He had seemed sort of pale but it all made sense.

I had remembered a conversation with my Skipper's friends at dinner about how in your early twenties you thrived on drama, but around the time you were twenty five you were over it. I would have been twisted enough to make this man a boyfriend at some time in my life. Risk all for a fool who probably was on psych meds he didn't take. Or fall in love with someone who bit me. But common sense and instinct kicked in. I shoved him and ran.

My sister Skipper and her boyfriend promptly ran after me and asked what happened. "I got bitten." I replied.

I showed the future ER doctor the place I was bitten and Skipper told me not to worry. I am glad she is not going into match making and sticking with medicine instead.

But as I explained I was bitten she kept laughing.

Now that I think of it today it is sort of hot he bit me. Maybe I havent grown up as much as I thought

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, for paperback
Ebook available on Nook and Kindle
Portion of the proceeds go to RAINN