Thursday, January 31, 2013

Dry Humping in Public

I have been sick for the last few days and yuckolicious. Anyway, I was out getting my soup and there was this disgusting couple dry humping in public. I mean this guy and this girl were all over each other. The guy and girl were basically sucking each other's faces and then he lifts her up and just is dry humping her. I mean, they are going full at it and her back is against the wall. I was like, wow, holy inappropriate.

Well I looked over to get a closer look at the love birds and they were ugly. The guy was looking like a gerbil rat love child mix and then the girl had this wart on her face. I felt like I was going to vomit and I already had an upset stomach.

Then it gets worse. Another passerby felt my grief as he said, "GEt a room."

To which the love birds replied, "Welcome to New York."

No, more like welcome to hell. Seriously, this was disgusting. I should have thrown fruit at them or something.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as an ebook on Kindle and Nook

Wednesday, January 30, 2013


I have started my own production company and I am calling it IndieWood. We are indie all the way and we are taking over Hollywood. Yes, it is all my own. I have been filming videos long enough and it is finally time kiddies. I don't know what is next but I know that it is just time to do this. Anyway I decided to do this after a few things happened.

Let me start by saying I am currently unrepresented and unsigned. At one time the idea of no agent or manager would make me scream. What was I going to do? No one would want me and I would never become a star. Then what happened was I fired my agent and manager at the time because nothing was coming out of the business arrangement. I later learned having an agent and manager meant nothing actually. Most of the time they were burnt out actors or idiots who wanted to be close to show business who cared nothing about their clients. Or they blindly submitted based on a photo and wasted your time at auditions for things you would not be good for. Disconnected without knowing you or caring, they gave you bum career advice. Or they only saw a shallow version of what you could do and being narrow minded losers they didnt want to risk dreaming big. What happened was I stopped looking for an agent or manager and decided to be my own.

While it is more work, I decide the course of my future and the number of my stars. Plus the industry has changed so much. It used to be you went to drama school, trained, and that was respected. Reality TV has changed everything. The unions are a joke these days, and most networks are opting for reality shows because they are cheaper to produce and don't have to deal with the unions. Plus most reality folks are unrepresented for the most part. Bottom line, you don't need an agent or manager. These days you need yourself and your dreams.

After being without an agent or manager for some time, I ironically started to get on television quite a bit. While friends of mine who were represented by big names languished in obscurity or waited months between gigs, I found myself working on the regular. Not to mention was recognized on the street.

I have always been a soul and an artist who has done things her own way. I was kicked out of my first acting school, only to book an acting job a week later and to be perhaps the only person out of that cest pool who is managing to make a name for themselves. I was fired from a club I did a lot for, only to become a well loved talking head, write a book, and get my music on the radio. These things would kill most but only made me stronger. Not to mention I have always found a way to grab my star without anyone giving me any kind of ladder whatsoever. During this time my book has been featured on a promo for Nook and the official website for Britney Spears.

Indiewood is about being unrepresented and proud. It's about thinking outside of the box. It is about being your own person. It is about saying fuck you to the constraints the world places on thought.

Indiewood's next project is a musical. We will get on Broadway. We have gotten this far on our own.

You watch us.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Person, 877-Buy-Books for paperback
ebook available on Nook and Kindle
Portion of the Proceeds go to RAINN

Monday, January 28, 2013

Adventures With A Nigerian Scammer

A few days ago, as I lie in bed sick, I was messaged by a man from Nigeria. He was one of the many randos I befriended on the good old facebook. Anyway the message exchange went like this.

Nigerian Scammer: Hey.

Me: Hey.

Nigerian Scammer: I am a holy man of God starting a mission and have a diamond mine. I think you should invest your money.

Me: Where are you from?

This is fishy, way fishy. 

Nigerian Scammer: Nigeria.

Me: You're a Nigerian Scammer!!!!

Nigerian: No, I am a minster and a holy man of God. I am a Christian and have a diamond mine.

Me: Well Christian and scammer are one in the same.

Nigerian: I am not a scammer. I have proof. I met your father a year ago when he came over here. Ask him, he knows I am not a scammer.

Wait a minute. My dad is the type who never travels out of the state of PA unless he is visiting NYC for the Heismans, visiting my bro and sis in Providence or going to South Carolina to vacation. My dad never went to Nigeria. SCAMMER!!!!

Me: My dad has never been to Nigeria and will never go. You are a scammer. Admit it right now.

Nigerian: I am a man of God with a diamond mine. Your father helped me establish a school for children.

Me: My dad does a lot of work for kids but he doesn't work with scammers. My dad puts people like you in jail. And you won't be able to message me again because I am blocking you.


I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as an ebook on Kindle and Nook
Portion of the proceeds go to RAINN

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Beating Yourself With a Feather

A lot of times I get letters from young people or people who have seen my work that want my esteemed advice. I don't know why on Earth they would want that garbage. My twenties have been spent in dingy basements, dating ex cons, and then there was that fugitive. I am hardly the wealth of good decisions. Okay, but at least my stories are colorful. But those are for a different day. That being said everyone wants advice on writing and how to do it if they can't focus, or how to make videos or how to pursue comedy or follow the dream and you name it.

Artists especially are easily frustrated. In an industry where one must get used to rejection and poverty, there are very few spots at the top starring in motion pictures and living in Posh Beverly Hills Pads. As a result everyone is just racing like a bunch of rats for the same cheese and is in a hurry to get it. But with every piece of cheese comes a glue trap. It's the pressure to succeed, to be at the top. It's the pressure to be recognized. It's the pressure to create worthwhile work. It's the pressure to be a good artist. It is the pressure to be happy.

I remember being a young comedian in the city and just felt overwhelmed. I was grabbing for my star and it looked like it was crashing down on my head. Being daring and unique I showed a lot of promise right away. I got on television without even trying it seemed. People paid me money. I was in a pilot. I was going to be a superstar. Putting my hands under my pits like Mary Katherine Gallagher I was ready to go.

But then it didnt happen. My TV appearance yielded nothing. As for the pilot, it didnt get picked up. I had a falling out with one booker, and then the market popped making people put on less live events. I had no money and felt extremely depressed. I had gone from the top of the world to rock bottom. I felt worthless and nothing in my life was sticking. When did I become a loser? And then someone gave me the best advice. They told me I was hard on myself and I wanted to rush things before I was ready. And then they told me the truth. I had a long way to go as a comedian and a person before I could be ready. Then they said something that stuck with me, "Be gentle with yourself. Beat yourself with a feather instead of a hammer."

I slowly began to change my whole outlook. Each set became a learning experience. With every tank there was not a pity party at the bar or bakery but rather an evaluation of why it didn't work and what I could do differently. And when I killed it, it was what worked and what could be improved upon, because the job was never done and one could never rest on their laurels. In addition, it was writing a book. Where instead of expecting the Great American Novel on the first draft I let the first draft be sloppy and then rewrite after rewrite I improved it, and at certain points even put it away. For my vidoes, I didnt expect to be a youtube sensation right away. Rather I saw what stuck and what didnt. As for criticism, I didnt take that so personally but rather took what I needed and left the rest.

Now I am at the same juncture I was when I was twenty four. I have been on TV several times. I have a project I am pitching. I have a book and projects based off of that. People tell me I am "taking off." While it scares me that it might evaporate again, I dont think it will this time. It is because this time I am ready for it. Success is one of those things you are ready for. It is like a ham in the oven, you don't want it before it's ready to eat.

In my travels I have seen people get success out of the gate. More often than not it is not long lasting. They don't know how to do the work to sustain it and they cannot handle it. The people who are successful for the longest are the people who have the foot work behind it and as a result can keep going. The crazy thing is, all the people I used to compare myself to back in the day and I used to envy because they seemingly took off with no work are no longer around. Bottom line, you are ready when you are ready.

The past two years I have been incredibly blessed to work with a lot of talented people. When I do I don't psych myself out by telling myself I will never be as good. Rather I see what I can learn from them. There are a great many things you can learn around people who are good. And if you beat yourself with a feather you can soak in that knowledge. Also, if you beat yourself with a feather, it is easier to accept when someone is extraordinary and not to get intimidated.

Chris Rock tells a story where he was fresh off of SNL and working in Chicago and was used to the openers sucking. Well a guy named Martin Lawrence got up and killed, and for once in Chris Rock's life he had to work to follow someone. Bottom line, a feather beating helps you with moments like that. Installing humility but being able to still do the job. Yes, while you can be good there is always someone beyond awesome. Translated, always work hard, keep your head down, and be on your game.

A feather beating can also help you deal with haters. Yes, haters come with this career. Beating yourself with a hammer is feeding into their nonsense trolling. A feather tells you to take them with a grain of salt and thank them for watching.

So what I tell everyone is in your process take your time. When you are meant to be ready you will be. Beat yourself with a feather, not with a hammer.

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

Saturday, January 26, 2013

The Mr. Ripley Complex

For years I have lived in NYC. It is a fast paced, wonderful mecca where anything can happen. However, it is also a place where people can be who they want to me. I wanted to be a ventriloquist, comedian, actress, singer and writer. My quest has been somewhat successful. I perform in the clubs, I have been Off-Broadway, my music has been on the radio, and I published my own book. Some people are ordinary and want to be extraordinary. There are two ways to go about this. One, develop a skill or talent and become good at it. Two, make up an identity that is so fabulous and put in all your energy to being a brilliant bullshit artist. Some people go with the second option.

I remember my first exposure to a Mr. Ripley was one year at the Heisman's. It was the year Troy Smith won. A man showed up, nice looking young African American with diamond studs in his ears. He told everyone he was Reggie Bush. Reggie had won the year before and was playing pro. Maybe he was swooping in as a former winner to say hello. That did happen from time to time. Anyway, he looked like Reggie, just maybe a little taller and less stockier. Reggie is very sweet and quiet in person. This dude on the other hand was introducing himself as Reggie Bush and people were buying into it. He was taking photos etc. At the end of the night he disappeared and my mother and father concurred it was not Reggie but some poser. We never found out who the poser was. But I just remember thinking something wasnt right.

There are some who impersonate celebrities, and others who claim to be related. One wannabe I met on my journey claimed to be related to Angie Harmon from Law and Order. They looked nothing alike but people believed her. The young woman was a reasonably talented actress and a wonderful singer but had a lot of mental problems, a severe eating disorder being one. She eventually disappeared to LA where she was never heard from again. I met people who knew her later and said the young woman was prone to lying and this was yet another yarn she spun. Another young woman I went to a summer workshop with claimed she used to party with Spenser Pratt from the Hills and it was because she was related to Heidi Montag by marriage. This chick claimed to go to parties and know people and blah, blah, blah. Well one of her stories fell apart one evening when the actual cousin of Heidi Montag showed up. Interesting and shit show were the understatements of the year.

There are some who have a fabulous career, and others who just make it up. A few summers ago I was working on a project with the former dance captain of Cats on Broadway. This kid was trying to worm our way into our circle. He claimed to be a former child star appearing on such programs as Sesame Street and even going so far as to claim he was in Up With People and Chunk in Goonies. I was at a party where he told a room full of people they were gossiping about him on TMZ and he was afraid for his life. Well it turned out the dude was homeless and had issues with drugs and alcohol. He was quickly persona non grata in our circle. But there were some people that he really had going. They believed him hook, line and sinker.

Then there are some who lead a mundane life that want so badly to be exciting. I dated a lawyer briefly who was bright but wanted to shine like a star. So he would tell tall tales about how he knew celebrities, rubbed elbows with the rich and famous, and even went so far as to make up a boxing and music career. I remember once he met my mother and told her flat out about how he almost made the Olympics for boxing but got hurt at the last second. My jaw dropped open at this obvious lie. The relationship soured because I never knew what was true and what wasnt. As he rubbed elbows with these trust fund kids, he would try to keep up which was sad and pathetic and I got tired of seeing a liar in action. We broke up and he found himself on the rocks with debtors because he lied about not having money to pay his bills, and he had champagne taste on a beer budget. And also on the rocks at his job. Well suddenly he had "cancer," and everyone felt bad for him. I had my doubts about this story. Well the cancer was gone in three weeks as fake cancer typically is. About a year later, my story with my puppet children aired on TLC and I spoke about my former fiance. This dillweed told everyone in his circle he was the former fiance which made his current girlfriend, a drug addict who is sober for an hour a day max, go on the war path of sorts against me.  Needless to say I blocked them all online.

But the one who takes the cake is the kid who pretended to be the son of the North Korean diplomat. He showed up to swanky eateries with his posse and answered any and all questions about Kim Jong Ill. He had photos of himself with atomic weapons and he seemed legit. He spoke about his country proudly and even said he hoped to introduce the idea of democracy to his people. I was swayed by the man and found myself wishing he didnt have a gal pal. Well it turns out that he was LYING. He was really from the Midwest. His parents were immigrants, yes. But he was no diplomats kid. They came from modest means and stuff. He had everyone fooled. The ugly curtains came down after one evening, a former friend of mine called him who knew him better than I did. He was no where to be found, left town, and turns out had a record as a scam artist. This man had all of us bought and sold. It was beyond terrible. We had all liked the diplomats kid and I often wondered who offered to spot me dinner in that swanky place that night. Maybe I will never know.

I guess in my travels I have met and worked with a great many celebrities. Many want desperately to be seen as normal and down to Earth, and when speaking to them in conversation tend to drive the focus away from their stardom rather to. And those who talk about how famous they are, well they are not really all that famous at all but rather wannabes. Even children of celebrities dont want to focus on their famous parents. I went to school with the daughter of a famous director who was very sweet, very down to Earth, and never dropped her father's name once. While we all knew, she didnt want it to be the pinnacle of our friendship. Still, some people very much want to be a part of that world.

Why not just become good at something that gets you recognized? A therapist friend of mine called it negative attention seeking. Basically, it is when someone wants attention and adoration but childhood trauma and low self esteem leave them feeling they have no skills or talents. But their desire to be the center of attention either causes them to make excessive drama or to fabricate a life that is so unbelievable that people can't help but look. Or maybe it is that reality for them has been so torturous and unbearable that they must create a fantasy world where they can be who they want.  I know this was in fact the case with the woman who claimed relation to Angie Harmon, the druggie who claimed to be Chunk in Goonies, and my ex.

Or maybe it was a childhood where they had nothing and there was a lot of lying and they want to be extraordinary. Who knows? That is why we have Clarke Rockefellers. They lie and are just that good at it.

Liars make me giggle sometimes because they are so obvious. But they also make me sad. Not only because they hurt so many people in the aftermath, but they don't believe that their truth-which is themselves- are good enough to begin with.

They inspire me to be rigorously honest.

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

Friday, January 25, 2013

Grave Cave Cold

It is deathly cold outside and I hate it. There is no way to walk three feet without risking frost bite even with gloves. This is Artic, so Artic that I see a penguin running around. Oops a Penguin would be happy. This cold is not happy. It is depressing and awful. I hate the month of January as a rule. Nothing goes on, there is nothing to do, and most of all, my industry comes to a slow. I am doing lots of other things but the cold just takes the energy out of my bones.

I am getting sick-ear ache-and getting depressed.

I always get depressed when I get sick. I have been delivering some telegrams and such. Book sales are okay. Still, I am ready for the next thing. Getting my book on tape done. But when I sit around and am all by myself sick I start to get this feeling of being nothing and going no where. I know rationally I am not true. But I am sick, tired, broke, and my ears hurt. Towards February things get better. I already have two radio appearances booked for February. I have two shows booked for March-both want me to push my book. A film I was in had  a successful screening. Not to mention we are screening another film I am in.

I have been eating a lot of chicken soup and drinking a lot of tea which means I always have to piss like a race horse. I have been spending a lot of time in my pajamas which means I feel less than sexy. Not to mention I have been watching lots of movies on youtube with steamy sex scenes. I look at all these beautiful people and say, “Why can’t my love life be like that?” They have sex and break dishes and stuff.

May Wilson’s love life is like that.

Shanniqua Parker killed her boyfriend who sexed her like that.

Sonny Jones pretends his love life is like that.

Officer E just arrests random men and takes them to the bath house.

I know it will get better, that this will pass. But today I have a Marilyn Monroe, then I have some chicken soup to have, and after that I have a phone date with my mommy for my latest project, and then bed time.



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

877-Buy-Book for paperback

Available as an ebook on Amazon and Nook

Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Jesus in My Underwear Drawer

I don't know what it is about people but as soon as they find Jesus they go ape shit. It's not like it is ever a good thing when they find him. Actually those like me who were born going to church have more of a whatever attitude. I love God and I consider myself more spiritual than religious. I leave room for all beliefs no matter how crazy. Heck, I was raised in a faith that taught a man was born from a chick who was a virgin and no sexual contact took place-but an angel told her she was embarking on the most spiritual-and probably painful when you think about it-event of her life. This is not medically possible but there have been millions of people killed over this. Fo' McSerious.

A former friend of mine from back in the day has recently found Jesus. She has joined this whacky church where they go seven days a week and stuff. I mean, already that is a big, red light. Anyway, she posts about going and all the things the pastor says. He says some things that are on point. But then it's the fact they are so obsessed is a big red light. These days my buddy is ending all of her sentences in an exclamation point. That is another sign of just nuts. Not to mention she used to be all Democrat and even joined Amnesty International with us when we were in high school. Now she takes her vitamins with her daily dose of Fox News. It's one thing to lean a little to the right, it's another just to be crazy. My buddy is just crazy.

A girl I went to high school with who was a bit of a wild child and her mom used to show up to places bra less and was cool has now become a Jesus freak. She preaches to anyone who will listen. She has even gone so far as to open up a Jesus Cafe. Would it be appropriate to ask for Devil Food Cake? Or better yet, should I tell her Jesus was a Jew?

A little fan girl of mine went and joined a crazy church. She was a good kid and I liked her. But then she started to change and once I posted gay people deserved rights and she said that Jesus didnt want us comfortable in our sin and blah blah blah. I was like, "This is not you." Needless to say she stopped following me. Someone who is that militant is never happy. That is all there is to it.

I had a former puppet maker of mine go Jesus Freaky on me. She announced she would not contribute any more to my act. Apparently she didnt find my so called "irreverence" funny. Whatever. Meanwhile I had sent this nut job my mother, my sister, and several of her friends. Jesus may have watched over her, but I kept her business going for a little bit even when her level of production was unpredictable and she didnt follow directions because it was against God's will. My belief is that she suffers from bi-polar disorder, because I have encountered her in the midst of severe mood swings and all. I do believe that she is one of those people who is holding on to God because she holds on by a thread.

That's what irks me most about Christianity. A lot of people who are overzealous adherents are in fact holding on by a thread. It's one thing to love God, it's another thing to just be nuts. I dated a guy a few years ago who's mother claimed she had a direct link to God. I had been engaged to a complete psycho-an atheist by the way-when I met George Washington. Unlike his counterpart who couldnt tell a lie George could never tell the truth. Anyway, his mother wrote me several letters a week starting with the phrase, "God told me to write to you" and boasted of how God talked to her. Each would wrap up with how her son was my soul mate. Needless to say her boy was not my soul mate. And when we broke up this lady began trashing me to anyone who would listen. I found her a few weeks ago trashing me. I was like Liz, what would Jesus do.

My mom is currently being bullied by some mouth breathing mega-church goers she made the mistake of doing business with. I told her this: The Man they used to own is now running their country. The people their book says are going to hell are not only getting rights, but now they going to be forced under the law to marry them in their churches. And you have several degrees so you are't making babies. Not to mention they want to teach Creationism-a story where God was bored one day, created a man, and then created a woman. They decry evolution despite the fact there is fossil evidence to back it up. And Creationism is just a story and does not even begin to explain the dinosaurs. These morons want it to be taught alongside Chemistry and Biology.

Sigh, I just found Jesus in my underwear drawer. God does he like Victoria's Secret.

Actually, that's a lie. The NRA loves God and guns and accidentally shot him as an intruder. I mean, that long hair and robe is kind of off putting.

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

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

UnChained Melody (Righteous Brothers)

I want to start by saying I am not what they call a good singer. Although life has a way of making me sing. In drama camp as a kid I just wanted to act but they forced me to sing. I grinned and beared it and eventually it was my favorite class. In high school I auditioned for The Wizard of Oz and ended up getting the lead as the Witch, only to find out I had to sing. I ended up really having a great time and loved the chorus teacher. I was around some kids with great voices. Although I was not one I appreciated what they went through.
College I was mandated to sing as a part of my studio training. I loved my teacher actually. Class was fun and I really learned a lot about the science behind my voice. I never thought I would use it like I did though. Because after college we all know how I supported my career, singing telegrams!
Although I sang daily I never called myself a singer. My bosses assistants have incredible voices. Delta has an amazing range, and Jeanie sings big band which means she has a belt and a half. Over time though, I have learned to work with what I have. Despite the fact I speak like a cartoon character I sing like a man. My voice is low and smoky. Over time, despite my lack of natural vocal ability, I have learned I have two things in my favor. One, the three notes in my range, when I hit them I am not only on pitch but sound amazing. Second, I can take a song and make it my own, good or bad. Either way, it is unique. And when you think of it, most good singers don’t have what they call good voices. They have unique sounds. Billie Holiday breaks every rule there is, either by being off the music or by singing directly from her throat. Rod Stewart, well I love the man but same thing. Most rock singers too. Ethel Merman, she was on her throat a lot. Wowsa.
The other night cause I was bored I decided to have a little fun with Unchained Melody. I did it because why not? I love the song. At first I was afraid to touch it because well, it’s legendary. But then I got bored and figured why not?
My head voice is isn’t there at all, but I have made it my own. It is unique. It is awesome. It is awesomely bad. It is an original interpretive performance. It is letting my fans know that they shouldn’t be afraid to try anything, even if they get a thousand tomatoes thrown at them.
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book/ for paperback
Available as an ebook on Kindle and Nook
Portion of Proceeds go to RAINN

Monday, January 21, 2013

Someone Like You (Adele)

I have been having morbid cold weather curosity and faintly remembered that crap killed the cat. Sure the cat killed Tweetie but this crap ultimately made Sylvester a pladder at the Asian eatery up the road in the rural hick town. It is all true. It really is.

I have been looking up old boyfriends and the women they are either dating or married to. Not because I really care or it would do me any good. Just because a part of me wants to know, where are they now?

One is married. He has a kid and seems happy. I still remember how much I care about him. Seeing him happy made me happy because I have let him go. The other part of me sort of resented him because I really loved him and he sort of strung me along. He had all sorts of excuses why he couldn't be my boyfriend and blah blah blah but the second I moved on would appear like a phantom over the horizon. He broke my heart really bad. But he was right, I wasn't ready for a relationship. My encounters with him are always weird. In part he feels like he was responsible for my meeting my fiance and that disaster. The ego in me feels maybe he regrets marrying his wife. My group of friends confided in me that despite this issues I was his number one and she knew it. That's why she hates me so much. But they seem well suited for each other and have another kid on the way. She is more laid back while he is outgoing just like me. We would have killed each other.

Then someone I dated on the rebound is engaged. He was more in love with himself than anyone else. Still I could picture him in front of the mirror saying to himself flexing his muscles, "We ought to stop meeting like this. People will start to talk."

Another guy I dated on the rebound from my fiance is in a relationship. He was a bit of a party animal when I knew him and spent six hundred bucks on me in the course of a night. They said he was a ladies man. My fiance never spent a dime on me, and I would always pay his way. This dude treated me like a lady and now he has a lady. I dont mind it. We just had some fun. But still, how time changes and how things get crazy.

Then of course there was one guy I was mean to. It's a long story. He was so nice to me and I had been through a hell of a lot. The second he was kind to me I just kicked him in the face. I know I did. But my ex fiance was stalking me at the time and I wanted saved. Now he hates my guts and posts about it when he can and so does his current girlfriend when she isnt trying to be me in a way. I say I hate them all in one breath but in the other I feel guilty I used to make him cry. In one breath I say if I can make you cry you werent a man, but in the other I know I was just that much of a bitch.

After him I looked up some guys I wasn't so nice to because I was into bad boys. They have girlfriends, are married, have kids. It's all too late.

I know my guy problems are my doing. Sometimes I am smart, too smart and just have to be right. Then there are those times where I just want to be liked that badly. Of course I am pretty much damaged from all the morons I dated and don't trust anyone which is a problem. Plus my career and puppets come first and then family and somewhere to the bottom of the list is my man. Faithful, ha. I get bored. Why can't I just have an open relationship? May Wilson suggested that.

All my ex boyfriends say I am a drama queen with issues. Maybe I am. They hate me and I hate them. We are even. At least I am consistent that way.

However, there will come a time that perhaps I will want the happily ever after and the person who loves me for me and all that happy horse shit. There is a part of me that is so used to men failing me and so used to being alone that I don't care. But then there is a part of me that is afraid to be alone forever.

There are a thousand factors as to why I screw up the way I do. I could blame the psychotic ex fiance who used to hit me and stalk me but I think it was even before then. I could blame the gnawing insecurity called being a fat girl. I could blame May Wilson, she is stealing all my friends on facebook.

Maybe I'll get a prison pen pal.  That way me and Mr. Convict can run off into the sunset making him a fugitive. I have fallen for a fugitive before. I can make it work. I tried it before and it failed but I learned how to make it better. Instead of a carriage ride we will have a high speed chase. God this is a fucked up fairy tale.

Disney you have corrupted my mind. Walt Disney is a racist, anti-Semite and probable homophobe.

Happy New Year!

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

Friday, January 18, 2013

Lance Armstrong-My Opinion

I was watching the Lance Armstrong interview last night and wow. First off we all know he was lying through his teeth. Now that we are passed that lets get to the point. Who the hell told him it was a good idea to walk into the Big Black Lion's Den called Oprah Winfrey. Yes, he is facing sanction and action and blah blah blah and now he is getting his ass kicked by a black woman. Overall, life sucks for Lance Armstrong.

But that is just the tip if the iceberg. What happened last night was a witch hunt. Lots of pro-athletes use performance enhancing drugs. It's not because they want to. It's because professional sports are so intense that they have to. These are guys who's body and strength is their ticket. Their competition is the biggest and the fastest. If they don't they get hurt which means that their career is over and they are screwed. For a lot of these guys pro sports is their ticket out of a rough life and a rough childhood, and they aren't just supporting themselves with that big house, but have a slew of loser relatives on the payroll.

As we continue this witch hunt why don't we we go after every athlete there is at the top level? Maybe it isn't fair, but when you get paid millions of dollars you need to produce, end of story. And these people were the top one percent sports wise and are just getting that umph. Let's witch hunt the Super Bowl winning Steelers in the 1970s and 1980s, those guys were all jacked. Why don't we take the Mr. Universe title away from The Governator? Do you think for a second he got that bulked up on his own?

Oh and while we are at it lets go after every athlete from the former Soviet Union and the East Germans, especially their women. I don't care how often a woman lifts and throws the shot put. She does not balk that way on her own. Feminists shoot me now but women have more body fat and it is the help of testerone. But they won the Gold. Why don't we take that away from people plucked from their homes and trained to death so that mom and dad could have a house in their cow village?

And while we are on the war path, why don't we go after the Russians and Chinese who put their gymnasts on special diets and puberty delaying drugs. American gymnasts are fatter and have more womanly bodies because they are not on drugs. While they out performed the competition this games, most of the time they don't have the difficulty because their bodies are more natually mature. So lets take away the metals those poor little girls robbed of their childhood have earned.

As for the blood doping, that is just straight up bull shit. You aren't even using someone else's blood. You are using your own. Should you be penalized for using your own blood? That's like being penalized for using your own body. Oops, you are using your own body.

I even spoke to a pro body builder who informed me, "No one at the pro level competes clean. You can't or you get decimated."

In this world we have problems like child abuse, world hunger, and we still have not found a cure for AIDS. Yes, Lance technically cheated, but everyone else did. And he beat out ninety nine percent of the riders all using performance enhancement that were all pretty good. He's a good cyclist, and he raised a lot of money for cancer research. More than anyone, and has bought awareness to it. While the enhancements he took could be blamed for his cancer, it's more genetics and the luck of the draw. During the AIDs crisis while many died some behaved the same way and did not get sick because their family had survived a plague along the way and are immune to HIV. Point being, genetics is weird, it's not all behavior.

To me, anyone who makes their career as a pro athlete has my respect because of the dedication and determination it takes. It's almost like being a comedian, except I get hit metaphorically not physically. They need to do what they need to do to stay ahead.

Now let's get back to giving gay people the right to marry and fixing the ecomony rather than inditing people like Roger Clemmens, seriously.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available on Amazon on Kindle
Available on Barnes and on Nook
Portion of the proceeds go to RAINN

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Rainy Day Reflections

It is cold and rainy in New York City which means the snow is on it's way. I have made a bad habit of sleeping in. Partially because January is slow for my job. Partially because since Jan is slow for my job I have been filling the calender with other projects which make me tired. Partially because maybe I am getting sick. Partially because this time of year is so Goddamn depressing.

The other day-which was nicer by the way-I was walking along and saw RC Smith who used to open for Rachael Ray. I remember how kind he was to me when I was a fledgling with no clue. I am no longer a fledgling, but I still have no clue. It's amazing how very little changes. After that I saw my piano player Paul from my Strasberg days. I liked singing with Jan Douglas and the studio itself because I felt so safe in my acting classes. Everyone was so cool and my teachers were wonderful. For the first time in a long time I found myself wanting to go back to acting class.

After graduating NYU and taking a large number of acting classes I sort of felt burned out. I am not the type of person who lives in theory well at all. More or less, I learn by actually being Daniel in the Lion's den or baptized by fire. That's why I took to comedy the way I did. Plus I knew despite all my Checkov and Shakespeare and all the other things in my bag of tricks my claim to fame would be April being April. I knew my puppets would be my ticket as well as my ability to make people laugh and my ability to be myself and create my own work would open the door.

As well as writing self-important blogs where I have my dreams and you don't like a Peter Pan with run on sentences. They said something to that effect about me on Gawker.

I tried going back to acting class a few years ago with a private teacher who had trained with Lee Strasberg and didnt like the guy. But the guy was just an old bitter actor and a dirty old man who wanted to talk about sex more than he wanted me to read my pieces. Needless to say I stopped going after he asked me if I wanted to be photographed naked. It was no problem. Comedy was more my thing and I was on the road every weekend there was anyway, and part of a weekly show at an A-List club. There was no Shakespeare in the Park in my future.

I find myself wanting to act again. I made a movie a year and a half ago where I was a lead and one where I was supporting and I find myself wanting to do that more. I am also writing a Broadway musical. I also find myself missing acting, and the structure and freedom technique gave me. There are acting classes everywhere and some are pretty pricey. Not to mention I am very protective of the Strasberg Method and the teachers who know it and teach it. The rest of the world wants to rip it up. Part of it is because they don't understand it, and part of it is because they are jealous that it works.

Life has been going full circle lately. I booked my first out of town club date in a long time. They are letting me sell my books. I havent done as much standup since being on reality tele and being fired from the club I was so good to. You know the story-I got a job on an internet tele network and made a bunch of videos and blah blah blah. Now it seems I have no choice but to get back onstage.

These days I am writing a musical as well. Which means writing stage directions so I know how to talk to actors.

I am also recording an audio book and go mad ass fast-ask Archie Ekong. So I have been reduced to my vocal production exercises. Erick Buckley, Scott Flaherty, Jan Douglas, Kohli Hessler, Todd Ferreri and the rest of the crew are probably having a gas with John Van Wyden leading the way. I detested those exercises in college but going back to the fundies has saved my ass on this project.

These past two years I have been given exposure and some fame. I now have some followers. My work on film is going to festivals.

However, sometimes you are being called home-to go back to basics. To go back to class and to keep learning. One of my favorite Broadway leading ladies still goes to acting class. There is always more knowledge to be acquired.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as an ebook on Amazon
Available as an ebook on Nook
Portions of the Proceeds go to RAINN

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Cat Coat Fur

Once when I was watching Black Adder there was the episode where Rowan Atkinson got elected to The House of Lords and wore a coat only to discover that it was made out of cat. There were the tags for Mr. Frisky, Mr. Binx and you name it they were there. Cats, dead cats. That is the only kind of cat that is worth anything in my opinion. Just kidding. Maybe it is because I am allergic to the creatures.

I got a kind reminder of that this past summer. A sound engineer I work with was house sitting and we ended hanging out. Anyway, his friend had several cats and there was cat hair everywhere. Suddenly my eyes welled up and all I could do was sneeze and wheeze and look like hell. Mr. Frisky, Mr. Binx and perhaps even Snowball had their revenge for the atrocious joke in the last paragraph I wrote. Damn those cats.

When I came home for winter break I drove past a China King Buffet I frequented as a child with my family when my mother was too tired to cook. Supposedly they served cat. Looking back, I think it was the prevalent xenophobia in my town speaking. But the rumor spread and within a few months they were out of business. But maybe it was true. Maybe I accidentally ate the likes of the House of Frisky, Binx, and Snowball. Maybe this past summer-The Park Slope Incident-was their revenge.

I have to be kinder to animals I suppose. This past summer I went out to eat with my cousin, aunt and uncle to my cousin's favorite eatery in Greenpoint. When we got there I ordered rabbit because I had never had it. I made a joke about my cousin's decease pet bunny and said technically I was eating Midnight. While Midnight had passed long ago, it was a cruel, dark joke but they laughed. Midnight had been only a few months old when she passed from a brain tumor. Poor thing. But still, I have an evil streak. Well Midnight decided she was cursing me from beyond. Brain tumor or not, she had gotten her revenge because I got food poisoning. Serves me right for picking on a dead rabbit. They are slippery creatures. Hence the trouble Bugs Bunny gets himself in constantly.

But I was kind to animals as a child. I had a dog that I so loved named Snapper who got old and died on me. We keep her ashes in the living room. I once asked my mom what would happen if the box fell over. She answered it was sealed so that would never happen. But when someone is cremated how much of them is really there. My brother Wendell once explained it was one third dirt, one third dust, and perhaps one third your loved one.

Still, I was kind to cats too. When I was three years old I played with a stray cat the neighbors took in. After playing with it because I was a child I began to complain of stomach aches and refused to eat my dinner. My mother was concerned after about a week and it was discovered this damn cat gave me worms. They put me on something that made me poop the worms out. But it was all the damn cat's fault. Those fucking feline's had it out for me from day one. The irony of it was later I was grow to be fascinated by Earth Worms.
Okay this is taking a sick turn.

Either way, I discovered the fur I bought the other day was fake which made me feel less guilty. I didn't kill the animal. However, they have a Pet Cemetery conspiracy against me.

Or maybe I am just nuts. Ha ha ha.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as an ebook and paperback on Amazon
Available on as a paperback and Nook ebook
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Rico Mambo (The Breakfast Club)

Today was a big day. It was the screening of my friend Carlos Valentin's film The Lottery. To give you a little bit of  background, Carlos and I have been friends for a while. We know each other through my cousin Bill. Anyway, Carlos and I clicked. A while back he mentioned he was making a film called The Lottery. To make a long story short, The Lottery is a Checkov story. However, Carlos redid it with a gay couple winning the ticket fierce as they could be. Needless to say they pretty much almost killed each other before a surprise ending.

When I first auditioned I just did it because he invited me. I had no clue whether or not I was going to get a role. Either way, since college I had followed the ventriloquism and standup thing and really, aside from a murder mystery and a film cameo in 2009 and a film role a year ago I really hadn't done much acting. Sure, I had moved to the city to act and even have a BFA saying I can, but the comedy doors opened much quicker. Plus standup gave me a way to write my own stuff thus creating my own work. COWing it if you will.

Needless to say I did in the office scene as eye candy. It's not huge but it's nice screen time and I am sort of hard to miss, front and center. The filming was fun. Crazy thing is, when you do a piece of any sort for a friend it is either really good or really bad. Both has happened in my experience. I went to the Anthology Film Archive on Second Ave fresh off of a big week. Not only are the wheels in motion for the audio version of my book, but also I put my book in the library of the LGBTQ Center on 13th Street. In addition, I also got to deliver a singing chicken to Martin Scorsese's assistant. While Marty as they refer to him was not present because he was working due to the millions of dollars they pay him-he said he thought it was funny.

A little background on Anthology, the last time I saw a film there, that of my friend Kate Greer, it ended up making the festival circuit in an impressive way. Needless to say, now my film was being shown there. Anthology is the largest avante guarde film archive in NYC, housing works such as Flaming Creatures by the late Jack Smith. In addition, it regularly shows classics from some of the greatest of our time.

Before the film began I helped Carlos and his crew set up. His husband Patrick was there as well, and they make a cute couple as always. Carlos is very high strung and funny, whereas Patrick is more laid back. Nonetheless, he is supportive as hell. I would be lucky to find a guy that good.

The film screening started with Carlos falling from the director chair. He claims he was tense and it warmed him up, but the thing got a HUGE laugh. Carlos claims he didnt have it planned but I think he is lying. From there we saw a preview of his next film, a documentary about OP-Art, a Puerto Rican arts organization which nurtured Carlos and his creative talents. He had started as a visual artist and then used his storytelling and comedic talents for use on the camera to tell a story. As the documentary rolled and the founder was speaking, several visual pieces with Carlos appeared in crazy masks and wigs which made everyone laugh. After that was a beautiful and deep music video with Dimitri Minucci directed by of course my friend.

Finally the film began. Not only was it good, it was excellent. Work of genius was an understatement. The shots and colors were specific. These days you don't see that handiwork in a film. The filmmaker from our era to even attempt that is of course Martin Scorsese, my new found almost friend this week. Everyone was dressed in certain colors for certain reasons. The camera tones were brighter at some points and more gray at others. There were parts of the gritty New York City landscape. My mouth dropped open. My buddy was channeling Scorsese. While Carlos and his concept were original, it was an attention to detail that was nothing short of genius. Working with Carlos was not only a wonderful experience, but an honor and a privilege.

Afterwards, at the dinner, I spoke with some of the casting people about technique and art and such. From Sense Memory to costume usage to other things, I had not had a conversation that deep in some time about acting. It also made me miss acting. Yes, I had made my lil splash with the standup and ventriloquism. I had been a reality television star and an internet television station talked about talking head. I wrote a damn book. But there has been a hole in my heart lately. It is because I am not onstage using my instrument. And it is because there are too many bitter ass actors in my life and not enough people with fresh ideas who care let alone know about art. And tonight was the beginning to finding that part of myself.

At dinner I mentioned to Carlos that his work reminded me of Martin Scorsese, and relayed the story of the singing chicken. Carlos almost jumped out of his chair. He mentioned when he graduated from the New School Martin Scorsese had given the commencement speech. And he said he admired Scorsese and was flattered by the comparison. Chills ran down my spine. Marty and I had almost met earlier this week. He went to my alma mater. Now my friend Carlos makes a film with the same attention to color and detail. On top of that Marty spoke at his alma mater.

Hmmmm....Something leads me to believe that both of us perhaps will meet our friend Marty again. Not to mention Marty shares a birthday with Joe Cannava, my late friend who got me to write my book. Coincidence, I think not. Or maybe it is.

Either way, this is just the beginning of great things for Carlos, who had people from festivals there.  I was pleased not only to be able to show up for my friend, but also flattered he thought I even had enough talent let alone creativity to be a part of things.

Happy Birthday my sweet friend. To the start of another great year!

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as a paperback and ebook on Amazon
Available on as well as Nook
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN in honor of National Stalking Awareness Month

Friday, January 11, 2013

Time To Pretend (MGMT)

It never ceases to amaze me how comedians and other performers will inflate their resumes to make themselves sound important. The other day I was walking past a place I once performed at on my way home from another show. As the barker shouted the names of various performers he said, "Comedians from NBC, CBS, and MTV."

I nodded and asked who they were because I was curious. Then he said the name of some hack that I know was not on MTV. Oh yes, the hack was on MTV. He was an audience member when Usher performed. My mouth dropped open. As someone who has been on television and who takes pride in her credits being real, this threw me for a loop. Sure, take your credits where you can get them but this was a reach. I had to laugh. We are all a little guilty. I thanked the barker who was working hard and left. WOW. I don't mean to get petty but this was a little ridiculous.

Then again so much about this business is ridiculous. When I log onto facebook I see facebook comedians, the people who talk about what a career they have on facebook. Maybe they do a club or two or three and that is it. But they need to tell the world how they are doing comedy and blah, blah, blah and then they bitch that the industry is not fair. It's not fair to you because you are on facebook and only talk. You don't exactly do.

Then again, what do I know? I only wrote a damn book, am recording an audio book, have had my music get minor radio airplay, have seen national television time with my puppet children. Did I mention I break my ass all the freaking time and was so tired I could barely stand yesterday?

What I hate is when men assume women slept their way to get anything. I remember when people were saying I had gotten some television time because I slept with someone and although it wasn't true it still hurt. The other day I made my way to open mic land and this male comedian was ripping up this woman saying, "Well, she is sleeping with Mr. X. I hope it gets her what she wants." The gosipper isn't even a bad guy actually, but he had just fallen into a trap. I heard this and my ears burned. I told them it wasn't nice to spread lies, especially if they had no basis in reality and this was so ugly it probably wasn't true. I don't know the girl in question but I know how much it would hurt her to hear it, because I remember how much it hurt me.

Even if it is true this chick isn't going to win. I know women who have tried that. On their back, they fucked aiming for the top in this man's world but only got to the middle because they didn't have the goods. Being in the middle and looking at the top is worse than being on the bottom and dreaming of the top. If it is true, I feel bad for this girl because this will not end well. Still, I hate gossip. To me it is a form of bullying.

To me the worst are the wannabes. Yes, the people who want to be. One is the current gal pal of an ex of mine. She can have the ex, he is on enough psych meds to make a battle ship sink, not to mention he doesnt have his hair. But this bitch disses me online. I wouldn't care what she does except she ripped down my posters several times. During this most recent diss I wanted to set the record straight. I wanted to inform her that I got on television shows as a guest that she could only watch. Her only television time was as an extra, something she would probably do forever. Not to mention her home club was one I got fired from, and I put them on television and she would always be there to rot and disappear. Oh and I wrote a book, she probably can't even read. Not to mention while she has a half decent voice she can only sing covers on youtube while my music gets on the radio.

But she's a wannabe. She got a blog entry two days ago and now gets another paragraph. Then I realize how much haters have always motivated me. In middle school a group of girls made my life so miserable that I had to reach into my heart and discovered I could make people laugh. Another group of haters said I looked like a scary movie and I made it my business to be a good ventriloquist. Another group of haters said I was a sucky comedian and would never amount to anything. They are still minor fixtures on the alt scene while I have a cult following. An old acting teacher of mine said I would never be an actor and didn't have it, well she is still rotting in a cramped studio and not only have I been on television and movies but have been told by Broadway vets I have it. Did I mention I have my own musical I am working on?

This is a journey of faith

This is a journey of hope

Sometimes I think I did the wrong thing with myself. I dont have my own sit com yet. I am not where I want to be. This is not the way I planned it. In some ways it is better than my plan.

I reach for the stars.

It is time to pretend.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as a paperback and ebook on Amazon
Available on as well as Nook
Portion of proceeds got o RAINN

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Marty's House

Yesterday I got a call from my boss Bruce. I love Bruce but sometimes Bruce wears himself out. The other day he forgot to turn off the phone and a woman called him at an odd hour requesting a singing telegram. Well Bruce, being woken from his slumber, told her to call back during regular business hours. Being a proprietor and someone who wants the best for his business and his customers, he felt terribly. So he had me call her back.

Before I did it I was like, "Wow Bruce, this is a GREAT way to start off my promotion." On the other hand though, Bruce had probably worked himself to death in a Virgo frenzy and was getting a minute of sleep. Plus he might not have meditated, which sets my favorite high strung show tune singing boss off track. Needless to say when I called the woman she was quite nice though, and excited. I figured everyone was tired and we all just needed to try again. It happens with us all.

She explained the telegram was for her friend and they were on a film set. Yes, film set. I asked which film, and she said Wolf of Wall Street with Leonardo DiCaprio and directed by Martin Scorsese. I was like, "WOW!!!!" She explained they were on location, were set to wrap tomorrow, and the woman would have the next day off so they were celebrating the party that evening. I was like sweet.

I called Bruce back with the news. Bruce was excited it had been booked. No harm, no foul. I explained they were on a film set and had been working all night. I have worked on film sets and have done stand up in the clubs which translates to some late nights. And I always make the mistake of assuming everyone is up. My friend Kelly works as a makeup artist and routinely calls me late. It goes with the territory. When I dated Dimsdale he preferred to hang out later because of his years as a working comedian in the night clubs, he is a night man. We all make that mistake.

I ended up going to Westchester to the White Plains station. A van picked me up. The driver, a man by the name of Ray, was all business. When I went up to the van in a very official tone he asked, "Wolf of Wall Street?" I replied that this was correct and off we went. I thanked him for coming to get me and he just nodded. Usually, I get along well with my drivers. This one was a hard nut to crack however. He asked me why I chose White Plains. I was told there were more trains there. He said that there was another station closer. I knew the station he mentioned but the trains werent as plentiful and plus it ran on the local line, YUCK! Anyway, he asked what scene I was in and thats when I told him my deal. Immediately Ray lit up and informed me that there was food, lots of food, and a nice spread. While he didnt want to get my hopes up the Teamster informed me that perhaps I could sneak some.


When I got to the set I was greeted by my client-Alison- and was camping out in the production trailer. She told me that if we accidentally bumped into Lisa, the woman I was singing to, I was to say that I was her friend from Holy Cross where she went to school. I could live with that. Two assistants entered the trailer. I was ready with my story but then Alison explained I was the chicken. Cool.

We went down to the general dining area where I was hidden in the back. The entire time they were running back and fourth giving gifts to people. Apparently these were rap gifts. "Could you give me a bigger men's size for Jonah?" One of the assistants asked.

Jonah as in Jonah Hill? Yes, it was. Apparently he had left for the day and was coming in the next day. Running back and fourth because they were rapping the next day everyone was in a hurry. Bags were being organized and lots of work was being done. The crew, a nice little community, had all been on the project since the beginning. They had bonded and were glad tomorrow was the last day-they even told me so.

As I was camped out one lady asked, "Is this the singing chicken?" They told her I was and she said, "Oh, did someone tell Marty?"

"Yes, Marty knows about this." Another woman replied.

"Is Marty coming?" The first lady asked. She looked beat from the sixteen hour days they had been putting in.

"No, he has things to do before we rap." She explained. "But he got a kick out of the idea and said it sounded very cute and funny."

My mouth dropped open. "THE MARTY!" I exclaimed trying to hide my utter excitement. While the Marty could not attend, he knew I was coming.

"Yes." The second woman smiled. "The Marty."

I apologized and said I wasn't used to Martin Scorsese being referred to as Marty. He had directed the Godfather, Casino, and Goodfellas, three of my favorites of all time. Not to mention he also directed After Hours, not only one of my comedy films but the most unsung of this genius's work because yes, he could do comedy. Not to mention I had just seen Cape Fear with Robert DeNiro for the first time after seeing the original, and the remake was just as good which is rare. The man was Mr. Scorcese, the man was Martin, or Mr. Martin Scorsese. But Marty? Marty was the guy down the block. Marty was not the name of a genius who's work included Taxi Driver and who changed the face of cinema forever.

On the other hand, Marty gave him a humanity. I guess having been a fan of his work for so long I never equated him wit being a person. And he was a person. My friend Kelly said he was on faculty at NYU but wasn't there as much as they felt he should have been because he was working, and would have a TA teach while he appeared to lecture. They fired him and he went to Columbia where his schedule was better understood. Marty was a person, just a busy one.

As I waited for them to wrap I wikied Marty on my iphone. He had gone to NYU grad school for film. I had gone to NYU Tisch as well. As a kid he had asthma and was terrible at sports so he fell in love with old movies. A fan of Hitchcock, as a homage to his hero all of his leading ladies wear white. I am an old movie and Hitchcock fan. I looked to see his astrological sign. His birthday is November 17th. At that moment I felt myself get goosebumps. The reason being that November 17th is the birthday of my late friend Joe Cannava, the friend who got me to write my book. The friend who reminded me that people listened when I spoke. The friend who reminded me that I was funny and how I needed to chase my star.

I have always been a DIY (Do It Yourself) artist. I have always had the need and drive to create my own work. I work best when I can star, write, and direct my own work. Whether it is performing standup/ventriloquism on stage, making my own videos, writing and performing my own music, publishing my own book, and doing the audio version I am that kind of spirit. So is Marty. I had felt intimidated, a fish out of water. But that soon disappeared when I realized that while this was an old, run down office building with barely any heat I was on great terrain. I was on Marty's film set-in Marty's house-and it was a great honor to set foot in a place that was closed off to the public, even the celebrity photogs.

When it came time for me to sing I went in. Lisa was very sweet. She did the chicken dance and was into it. This had been a long few months for everyone and they needed to unwind. The people had fun. That's what this was all about-fun. I wanted to make it good, especially since I had been waiting quite a while to sing. It wasn't because they were being nasty, oh no. It's because they were  wrapping, there was lots to do, and not to mention Allison explained that they never broke on time so this was a first.

Afterwards, I was invited to eat. The food was delicious, Ray had been correct. Allison, bless her, gave me a little extra something for waiting so patiently. I could see the tired beginning to take it's toll on everyone. Marty apparently does not like to take too many breaks. It's not that he's a slave driver. There are millions of dollars at steak. He has a studio to answer to.

Allison then went the extra mile to put me in a van back to the city-bless her heart double.

On my way back I rode with a van full of union extras. Professional extras are an odd bunch. They are background dressing with medical benefits. Many of them theatre trained actors who never translated to film or never made it, they do the extra work for the money to finance the stage career. Extra work is a slippery slope. While you get money you are always an extra. You never move up and are forever pigeon holed and damned to be the plant or the shrub, never to move up. As these people spoke they talked about the various adventures on the set. Apparently Scorsese, who likes the ladies, wanted to do a T and A shot of a lady. She didnt want her behind shown so they hired someone else and the girl thought they were still using her top shot but the extras concurred that this would not be the case. They also spoke of some scantily clad women doing various things on the set and how despite the fact they made their name as scantily clad women they were quite nice.

One of the extras in particular struck me as a diva. I complimented her necklace and she acted like I had insulted her. A few minutes later I heard her speak, in good clipped American speech, about how she had gone to NYU and still coached kids for showcases. My mouth dropped open. Her coaching? But there is an old saying, "Those who can't do, teach." She reminded me of my freshmen year scene study teacher. Maybe they were close friends. But the irony of show business is, someone like this had an ego the size of Texas. They talked about their "career" and their "coaching." They would probably go by their full name like Henrietta Feline Pussycat and demand to be called Ms. Pussycat. They would then believe the world owed them something because they went to NYU's Tisch School of the Arts and then bemoan their higher education because in her words, "It taught me to be an artist and not a working actor."

On the other hand, the true genius, Martin Scorsese, simply goes by Marty. As a poor kid from Queens he grew up in a devoutly Catholic family. He too went to NYU and unlike the diva extra made a fine career for himself. Growing up he was never the pretty kid or the tough guy, he was the slight sickly boy with asthma. But an original thinker who needed to create his own work and think out of the box, he did and has continued to make a name. Maybe he isn't so good at being married-married four times-but he has nonetheless married some beautiful women. I prefer to think I am more like Marty as I jounce around in my jogging clothes and treat everyone like I would like to be treated as I make my life my art. Or maybe I simply want to be like him, a genius. Don't we all?

Either way, Mr. Scorsese, it was a pleasure to come to your house last night. I want to thank your assistants for taking such wonderful care of me. As the singing chicken, I am such a fan of your work. I understand everyone calls your Marty, and it doesn't ruffle your feathers. And I think that is mad cool.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available on as a paperback and ebook
Available on as a paperback as an ebook on Nook

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Ms. Wannabe

Well I had some shade thrown at me yesterday by a hater. Yes, a hater. A current girlfriend of an ex of mine is a lil obsessed with what this Superfoxxx is cooking in her kitchen. The long and the short of it was, a while back I dated this dude with a lying problem. It didn't end well cause it never does with liars. Needless to say, we went our different ways-thank the freak God. Anyway, he hooks up with this girl who I sort of know but not really. She seemed nice when I met her although she smoked a lot of pot, but pot heads are typically wasted space in the world of drug addicts. My buddy Chacho used to say he detested pot heads because of their smell and because they would never do him sexual favors when they couldn't pay for their drugs. But it was a way to deal to the white kids. I digress.

Anyway, this chick was a wannabe everything. For a minute she was a wannabe comedian. She went to a second rate conservatory and is a wannabe singer and actress. And she used to be a wannabe model before she gained a ton of weight. She is one of those bitches who has no mirror. She smokes pot, gets the munchies, and packs on the pounds. But she still dresses like a skinny bitch when she is a fat bitch.

I had no problem with her until she started throwing shade. I had no idea she was even dating my loser ex. Well it all started Valentine's Day 2010 when I was doing a show at a place that she worked. My posters mysteriously disappeared. One night they were ripped down. As a result no one came to my show. Needless to say I didnt put two and two together. At this point I still liked her because I had no issue with her actually. I saw her and that she had dyed her hair some putrid color like she always did and said hi. I commented on her hair and lied that I liked it when really it looked so bad she should have just shaved it off. Well instead of chit chatting like she normally did this girl couldnt look me in the eye and ran away from me as if I told her I had a gun. I was like, what did I do to this girl? I felt bad actually. Had I did/said something? The whole thing was odd. Then I heard her being reamed out by someone else for her low blow tactics and how "a person isnt worth your energy like that and I really do want you to succeed."

WTF.....And by the way three more of my posters disappeared.

Well six weeks later a then friend showed me my ex's profile and I saw that he and Ms. Wannabe were dating. My mouth dropped open. No wonder the bitch hadnt wanted to look me in the eye. She was the one ripping down my fucking posters! I was beyond livid and called a friend of mine screaming my head off. He said I had no proof but I knew. And then friends of mine told me to calm down but I knew she did. Who else would have had motive?

Then around the time this crap started happening I went to that club to visit because I had something to do and saw Ms. Wannabe and she gave me the big hello. Well she is a big girl and could have been a lumberjack in a previous life. She picked me up and gave me a hug. I was like, "Why are you trying to be my friend?" Basically, she was overkill. I knew she fucked with my posters so I began to talk about a guy I used to date in Queens to make it awkward and get under her skin. I shouldnt have played so low but it was fun to dig it in that her boyfriend was so in love with me at one point. And I also mentioned I cheated on him the entire time, news I knew that would get back to him and would make him freak out and ruin both their nights.

Then the next time she saw me was even freakier. I had just been on television a bunch and had just made a slew of friendemies. When I saw her she dyed her hair my color blonde. She also wore an outfit designed for a more petite, skinny girl. Not someone almost six feet tall and packing on the pounds. The lipstick shade was close to mine. One of my friends remarked all she needed was a puppet and she could be a giant April Brucker. Well I ended up talking to this chick because it appeared she wanted to make peace. Whatever. Life is too short to be mad, plus she was mentally ill clearly. Well she starts quizzing me about my ex and asking why guys have such an issue when you have a past. And then she told me the only way she tolerates being with him is by drinking and smoking pot and popping pills.

The experience freaked me out.

A few weeks later I was fired from said club anyway. And when I was fired and found out on the internet there was a rumor that I was drinking and partying hard and that's why I got fired. It came from the regulars at the club, a circle that Ms. Wannabe is a part of. After that I started making videos. And when I started making videos guess who started making videos? When I started putting music on the radio guess who starts singing again? This all was too weird for me. So weird that when I told my friend Marcus about it he encouraged me to write a rap song about this weird ass bitch. Did I mention she dissed me on several gossip sites as well?

Well after a while this chick sort of cooled off. I think it's because she and my ex moved in and as long as she wasn't bothering me I didn't care. Like the rest of the world she was my facebook friend, too. I mean, plus he was just a guy. He didn't mean that much to me. I figure the loss of a man is nothing compared to the loss I felt for Chacho and Joe, and my heart still aches that Joe isn't here to enjoy my book. Compared to the hole in my heart that left some guy is just a guy and they can be replaced.

I saw she was doing stuff a few times that didn't involve stalking me and actually congratulated her. I mean, she had a life, why not? Plus my ex and his crew like to play games and they found someone feeble enough to feed in, and I can tell you from experience that they capitalize on a person's weakness and exploit it to no end. A few days ago we accidentally crossed paths on a thread and even agreed. I didn't mind. I mean, my ex is just a man. They have the same set of equipment and have the same tricks.

Well yesterday for some reason some link brought me to Ms. Wannabe's page. My ex's mother is insane and tries to cozy up to all of his girlfriends. To give you a background on Mrs. Sicko she is deeply involved in Al-Anon, a twelve step program, and takes pride in almost shooting her alcoholic husband. Everyone in the family is in therapy or on psych meds, and she used to write me detailed letters saying God commanded her to write to me and that her son was in fact my soul mate. Well those two were trashing me!

The exchange went as follows:

Mrs. Sicko: Thank you for sending the New Year's greetings. Is April painfully aware that she is not funny? Seriously, she is not funny.

Ms. Wannabe: I was not planning to run into her on facebook. But sadly I don't think she is aware.

Part of me was like, WHAT? That was just mean and hurtful. I was nice to this girl and all she ever did was harass me and rip down my posters! I did nothing to her.

But then I had to look at the big picture. I have published a book, am recording my book on tape, have been on television a bunch, had a hit song on the internet and am working on a musical. Not to mention as of yesterday I am now working with Jeff Dunham's puppet maker. Did I mention I went to NYU, trained at Strasberg, and worked with some of my idols who even went so far as to speak very highly of me?

This girl is not only eating my sloppy seconds, but her biggest claim to fame is extra work. Not to mention I record original music and she can only do covers. I get to go to events and meet people that she can only watch from her TV, where she can also watch herself being an extra and watch me being a featured person on shows. Oh and she went to a second rate drama program that is ridiculed in most circles.

I thought about making a bitchy video but instead I figured I would do what my friend Joe suggested I do with this bitch when he was alive, live a better life and tune her the hell out.

And when I see her in my travels I will take a page from my friend Chacho. I will ask, "Do I know you?" That will kill her, my stupid ex, and his even stupider mother. Oh, did I mention she has gained more weight and I am close to a six pack?

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as an ebook on Amazon Kindle
Available as an ebook on Nook and as a hardback on

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Odds, Ends, and Goals

The New Year has been a busy one so far. I have started recording my audiobook. Archie Ekong, my former freshmen year studio mate, is my sound engineer. Archie has been a surprising gift so far. With an attention to detail that is lazer sharp, I have a feeling the finished product will be very good and it is no accident. It has been an awesome reunion so far.

Recording an audiobook is work. Everything I have ever learned in Voice and Speech is coming back to use. I used to hate those classes in college. They were my worst classes. My best usually being my acting classes and movement classes. Surprisingly, I did well in singing classes and dance classes. But Voice and Speech, I always got the same notes. You talk like you are from Pittsburgh. You talk nasal. BREATHE, SLOW DOWN!

I talk kind of fast in my personal life. Always have. Always have been told that I am a "firecracker" with a lot of energy. One time I was chilling with some questionable man I was dating and his friend from the joint, a big black guy by the name of Danny said, "Slow down! I am turning blue just hearing you talk and I am black. You exhaust me just hearing you!"

It brought me to back in the day where my teacher Todd told me that if I learned how to breathe I would learn to control my life. And that my range as a performer would actually be rather interesting. My homework from Todd was actually to walk slowly down the street. I did it daily for one semester and it nearly killed me.

My sophomore year I switched to a different studio-more my home. The Method actually made me relax, slow down. It grounded me more because I was forced to relax before class. Needless to say, while my acting work was good my Voice and Speech were still not so much to be desired. Certain sounds tripped me up. While I did better in those classes there they were still challenges. They still gave me headaches. I still didn't look forward to them. Part of it was that I wanted to get to the good stuff, the acting. I wanted to get onstage. Why the hell did I have to waste my time and breathe!

After graduating I went more the standup comedy route and when I did act the characters were off the wall. I toured and actually capitalized off of talking like myself and being myself that all that breathing went out the damn window. I wasn't going to need that crap. I was making my name as a funny lady Goddamn it. Not to mention I always ended up getting on television accidentally on purpose for having puppets and being rather wigged out.

 A few years later-however-I went to an audition for a hosting job where I was told I talked weird and I needed to work on that, that they were trying to get someone who didnt talk like they were from a certain place. Around that time, a not so high point in my life, I started to have anxiety attacks where I would end up blacking out and passing out. I didn't even think they were anxiety attacks. I just thought they were fainting spells. My career was at a bottom after a pilot didn't get picked up and a national television appearance I did blew up in my face. I wasn't the it girl but the shit girl. I knew it and had to fight for everything it seemed. That's when someone suggested I start meditating. I started meditating and started talking about the stuff going on with me. Someone suggested I do breathing exercises.


After that, things heated up with the singing telegram company and my boss started giving me all the high profile clients. When I say that I mean royalty. During cases like that, when nerves enter everything else leaves you and it is so easy to mess it up. So in the end technique is all  you have. It isn't just your friend, it is like the firefighter getting you out of the building when it is burning down and your lungs are covered in smoke. I suppose that is a living amends to Erick Buckley, John Van Wyden, Scott Flaherty, Kohli Hessler, and of course Jan Douglas.

I found all they taught me became even more useful when I began making music. That was during another point in my life when things were kind of crazy. I had been on TV a bunch with my puppet children and fired from a club I did a lot for. But the door opened to make music and I did. Needless to say, hours in the studio singing on your chords is terrible. Not only do you risk getting nodes but also, you LOSE YOUR DAMN VOICE. I say it once and I say it again. Techique is the only thing you got. USE IT DAMNIT!!!!

You think it would have sunk into my thick head, right?

Well fast forward, April goes to record her audiobook. Within seconds in the booth Archie says, "Slow down. You are flying through that thing!"

I did it several times in the past two sessions. Some things never change. And several times we went back and Archie said, "SLOW DOWN! Talk to me like you are telling me this for the first time."

It's funny that Archie and I are working together but not surprising he gets me. During freshmen year Todd did the different brain types of his students. Archie and I were both ENTP, original thinkers. While he may be more laid back and I am eccentric and flamoybant in every way, we both need to have our hands in a million pots at once to be fulfilled, and as a result we know how to talk to each other.

Afterwards Archie and I laughed. Somethings never change. I will probably be told, "SLOW DOWN" until the end of time.

But on the flipside, someone once told me something I will never forget. An older veteran of the theatre gave me a pep talk my first year of college when I was considering leaving school. I felt trapped and stifled because a lot of the things I felt I had to do were wasting my time. I hated Writing the Essay because I could already write and this wasn't helping me. I hated my voice and speech clases because why did I have to fucking breathe when I should be acting. I felt dance was pointless as well as this skipping across the room. And not to mention I was stifled because I knew I was more creative than most of my classmates, and to top it off in an arts school I was being told to calm down my energy and unusual style, total irony.

The advice they gave me was this, "You know who you are and that's what counts. But here is the thing, you need to know the rules before you can break them. Picasso knew how to draw before he did his own thing with painting. The lead singer of Save Ferris is trained in opera. If you have the tool box, you can leave if you need to and can always come back to get another wrench."

That made a lot of sense. When it comes to comedy I know a joke is set up, premise, and punchline. When I get lost or stuck I always go back to that and it saves me every time.

That being said ironically Writing the Essay served as the structure that I wrote my book with. Now I love writing personal essays and can do so and inflict discomfort.

As for Voice and Speech, I use those classes more than any others. So that being said, I know the rules. Maybe I need to start doing my daily exercises again like I did in college. Maybe I need to have my pencil handy and break up the script like Lorca Peress taught me to do with beats. Maybe I also need to read out loud and mark the places I need to take a breath as well. Maybe I need to walk down the street slowly again. Maybe I have broken the rules long enough and it is time to go back and start to follow them again. They must work, after all, why call them rules, right?

There is only one of me, I know that. The rules aren't there to inhibit my freedom. At the end of the day they may actually give me more.

I write this blog as an amends to Erick Buckley, Kohli Hessler, John Van Wyden (I know I confounded you on several occasions), Jan Douglas, Scott Flaherty, and Todd Masterson. Not only were you some of my brightest teachers in college, but you were my most useful. I know you are getting your revenge on me now. So here I am, bottle of water with Alice and her rabbit and ready to breathe.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available on Amazon as a paperback and ebook
Available on Nook and hardback at
Portion of the proceeds go to RAINN January 8-February 8 in honor of stalking awareness month 

Monday, January 7, 2013

Teenage Dream (Katy Perry)

I will admit I am addicted to Harlequin Trash Romance. Since writing a book, I have been booked out and havent really read anything that I havent written. So the other day I decided to have a little fun and bought a book about the legendary Finn Brothers, Australia’s most handsome billionaires. The uptight Elizabeth Flippence is seduced by Playboy Harry Finn. Although he is a flirt and a playboy there is more to his personality like a good heart. In the end they fall in love.

I know it is fiction but I safely believe every word of it as I snuggle up in my bed and read some before having passionate dreams that match the detail of some of the racier scenes. I take what is referred to as my morning constitution with my coffee and read some. And of course there are my bubble baths when they mention flesh into her fold where the good old Catholic girl in me almost drops the book into the water. Match that with Ben and Jerry’s S’mores iced cream and talk about a guilty pleasure.

As I said it is fiction. I know it never happens that way. I fell in love with a playboy twice. The first time I was young and he totally broke my heart, the second time I broke his heart because he caught feelings when I told him the truth. He was nothing but a rebound.

If I were to be a plot figure in a romance novel what would it be? Here are some ideas. Let me know what you think.

                                Love is No Laughing Matter

1.       Dimsdale is a legendary comedian with an illegitimate love child trying to follow into his footsteps. An aged womanizer with a penchant for pretty women, misfit ventriloquist, fledgling comedian, and would be novelist April Brucker crosses his path on a chance encounter on the street. However, what Dimsdale doesn’t know is that April’s gold digging roommate May Wilson is plotting to have him as her own. Will April find true love after lots of heartbreaks, or will the conniving roommate steal Dimsdale away?


Note: Some of this is true. I ended it with Dimsdale being seduced by May Wilson. I lost.


                Blow Torch to the Heart


2.       April Brucker is an overworked writer who just finished her first book that has never had any luck in love. During one day while having her coffee and bagel at the corner store, she meets a mysterious stranger by the name of Joe. He is an iron worker by day and she knows nothing else, except he wants to know more about her. Will April’s baggage from the past make her run away from love, or will the hard hatted stranger sweep her off her feet?


Note: This is mostly fictional. Iron worker Joe and I did meet and exchange numbers, but after a week he made it clear that he was not that into me.



                Love Song For a Street Pharmacist


3.       April Brucker is a singing telegram delivery woman who is looking for love. One day during a delivery, she is nearly accosted by a drug don and almost sold into white slavery. However, a brave man who works in the neighborhood rescues her before disappearing. When she goes to thank him she finds lout his name is Baron Marks and he is a drug dealer. But April is drawn to this bad boy. Will she change him or will he drag her down?


Note: I did almost become a white slave on one of my adventures but the rest of this is purely fictional. The man is a drug dealer. I would never date someone with a job.


                                Cuffs, Links, and Soul Mates


4.       April Brucker is a lonely New York artist trying to make it battling insomnia. One day, while trying to battle yet another sleepless night, she comes across a few articles on the internet about an old case. As a young man Jack Karp was tried and convicted of murder. April is drawn to him and his plea of innocence. The two begin a pen pal correspondence and April is charmed by the convict. Is he really the misunderstood man hurt by the code, or is he just a crook trying to take advantage of a lonely woman?


Note: No comment, but you have to admit I am getting good at this. Maybe I should change it to arsonist. Come on baby light my fire.
Sigh, these are my plots. Either way, Reno's Band is making a cameo. Sigh
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Available as an ebook and paperback on Amazon and Kindle
Available on Nook and