Tuesday, February 18, 2014

I Wear Cowboy Boots

I haven’t blogged lately because I have been busy. Valentine’s Day is crunch time with the telegrams. It’s the day of the year that basically pays the rent. Plus I had a few that needed redelivered because of the snow and got more money for those. Oh and then I had some stuff I had to do for my writing. Basically, I have been busy. Yeah, I said that. Busy and tired.
Valentine’s Day was certainly busy. I ended up delivering four deliveries which was supposed to be seven but three were moved because of the snow. I did my first and got a nice tip. Went to the second, dude was in a meeting. Sprinted to Brooklyn, and then went back to LES to complete the third. All three of these folks threw money at me which was a surprise. Then delivered to a girl for her birthday as a cake. Later I sprinted to perform with La Familia, a multicultural collective I belong to. I finished the day with five good shows. I was so tired I forgot about it. And then I went home.
After which I rolled out of bed and went to another delivery. Yes, I went to Westchester, Larchmont, and walked up a snowy ravine. For some reason I never tire of adventure even when it almost kills me. Hell, my life almost kills most people but nevermind that. For the record, I spent the rest of the day in bed.
Sunday I recorded a podcast with Matt Bailey, a young ventriloquist living in the city that attends Pace University. I am on the episode after Terry Fator. At the moment, it is tough to see who is king of the Ventriloquists, Terry Fator or Jeff Dunham. I respect them both. Terry and I have a strange relationship. We have never met, but people compare us. They either ask me if I like him and say we are both good, or tell me how much I suck and how much more superior his brand of humor is. I’m happy for the man. He’s making money and has a hot wife.
Monday was spent running errands and doing a favor for a friend. Today I had three redeliveries. One was a lesbian secret admirer. The woman on the receiving end was a little confused, the contact was in Milan, and everyone was like Ohhh la la. I think she thought it was from a man, she said so herself. But my instructions were to slow dance with her. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay, but this woman might be a little surprised when she finds out her knight in shining armor is Joan of Arc. Who knows? Maybe this might be the love of her life. Then I did another that was awesome and got a hug from the client. Third was downtown to an AIDS crisis center.
Then I had to fight crime on my facebook friends. One of my followers put up several avatars on my thread spewing white power with photos of Hitler and with the sayings “If it ain’t white it ain’t right.” So I had to block him. Then I sent my writing off to some people and blah blah blah.

Either way this is all possible because I wrangle and wrestle with the best of the cow pokes. Yes, I am talking my zebra striped cowboy boots. I got them in Nashville with my sister. They have been the footwear that has seen me through all these adventures. As I said my life would kill most people. But my cowboy boots keep me in line and keep me kicking ass and taking names. 

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

Saturday, February 8, 2014

Beating the Blues

The winter has been bitchin to say the least. While the weather has been depressing, it seems that death has been in the air. I lost a friend earlier this year, actually two. One was a hair dresser buddy shortly after New Year’s. The other was someone I had lost touch with, a young man whom I quite liked that had gotten cancer that progressed quickly. Oh and then there was an acquaintance I met once known as Phil. You have been reading quite a bit lately. He talked me down from a literal ledge I was in during the hot New York July where it seemed the heat sweltered to the point where dogs could talk.
On top of that work has been slow. It always is in January. Translated, the demon of financial insecurity has come to April’s home. On top of that, people have been approaching me for shows and jobs. When I ask if they pay they skirt the question. Turns out they want me to work for shit or work for free. I am not being greedy, I want to eat and pay my rent. Or people act like they are doing me a freaking favor all the time by paying me shit or having me work for free. It’s fucking torture to be recognized on the street or to get a fan letter and know that your rent check may have bounced. On top of that, I would say fuck it and get a good day job but I have two problems. One is that people know who I am and I will have jealous coworkers harass me. Or better yet, I won’t get hired because they know that I will leave once I get a TV show. I like the telegram thing, but in January I sweat.
On top of that there has been some career angst. Someone who was supposed to get me paperwork took their time. When this happens it means the project has been shelved or you have been dumped. They got it to me, but waiting was making me ill. On top of that, a literary agent rejected my book. Basically, I did what he could do for me on my own, and he didn’t feel the sales were robust enough for a bigger publisher to nab me up. Translated, I had done his job and he didn’t have the juice to further me. I should have been somewhat flattered because he wrote the letter of rejection keeping the door open. But I was like fuck being a capable, smart, intelligent, woman. Fuck it all. Being a smart woman sucks sometimes it really does. Then I submitted a few pieces to some magazines. I have been writing more because most of my show dates have been cancelled. One chick mag rejected me flat out. What, I didn’t bitch and moan enough? Mcseriously.
Monday as I debated killing The Ground Hog I had a show. I was stopped by a man on the street. He had looked at my calendar and my shows weren’t listed. He asked why. I didn’t want to tell him I was wallowing in self-pity and depression. That would make me look crazy. At that moment it clicked. It was selfish to be depressed. The show ended up rocking. I felt better. The next day I still felt good, high from the show. Wednesday it started to hail and I thought, “The only thing stopping me from killing myself is that I don’t have the perfect outfit to die in.” Then I had a thought. January was over. The ugly sister of all the months was leaving the party. I could press restart.
And so I did. My rent somehow got paid. I also had a novel idea to improve my surroundings, clean my house. In addition, I am also taking a different approach to my writing and going a different route. While I don’t know the result yet I am letting go. Instead of asking God for answers I am letting Him direct me. I am also not letting self-pity fester in my veins by living in inaction. I am taking action. While the results might not be instant I know that they will come. There is a temptation to rest in that I don’t know the outcome so why bother? The answer is sometimes in life, you aren’t supposed to know, that’s what makes it so spectacular. That is what makes a surprise so special. That is why when I enter someone’s office or home as a singing telegram people are happy. No one expected it. And if a crystal ball predicted it, the experience wouldn’t be so exciting and amazing on both ends.
The future is uncertain and dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It is uncertain and dark because we do not know. I have been the fledgling starving artist. I have been the reality star. I wrote a book. In the fear based gut that I was given because I am a woman there is the part of me that says it’s over. My fame is fading. My fans will forget me. I will die a fat, ugly, cat lover eating ice cream with her bare hands in government housing. Truth is, I am not fading. I am just getting started. Maybe I am temporarily down from my mountain top. However, it is because I am getting ready to climb another one.
When I am angry and depressed, I cannot spread my message of peace, love, tolerance, and equality. When I yell and scream, people do not hear me. No one wants to listen. Anger is bad for you. I wish I could remember my own advice.
The other comfort is that everyone is tired of the winter. We all can’t wait for it to be over. Maybe I can’t control the weather. However, I am responsible for how I feel. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. So therefore, I must feel grateful.
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl


Monday, February 3, 2014

Roasting Punxsutawney Phil

I hate winter more and more every day. It is turning into a canker sore on my soul. I hate this season. January sucks, February is better because work picks up but still sucks. Either way, when I think of winter, I think of death. Sometimes it gets so depressing why not die?

There is nothing like dying in the winter. Then again, a lot of people do it so the notion is kind of hack. Of course in the winter you are more likely to be alone so death is more likely to occur. However, death never comes when you need it to or want it to. So you are suck in your bed looking like a miserable fool. Then there is the thought of killing yourself. Yes, one could use the Sylvia Plath method but they made gas ovens in those days. We have electronic now, so scrap that. As for the overdose, everyone's done that too. Jumping out the window, so tempting but useless if you have the wrong outfit. Truth is, while winter sucks you are better off living.

Still, the little fat bastard Phil has sentenced us to six more weeks. So far this winter has been very dark for me. I am sitting in a lot of career uncertainty. Basically, I don't know what's next for me. Hey, with death at least you know you're gonna die. With uncertainty it's this dark tunnel. The outcome might well be wonderful, but then it might end in a barren desert. Of course, when you try to relay this to people they try their best/worst to help.

"You had a good run April, but it's a time for spiritual growth."

"You know, you could always do my project. You've gained exposure. I mean, I can't pay you but...."

"You're young, you have time."

I wish I could point to some path that looks like there is light at the end of my tunnel it feels like I am travelling in only the darkness. The fall/winter was kind of dark. Things got busy with work and I found myself poised to save Christmas. My grandfather died, too. It seemed all I did was work my fingers to the bone. As for this winter I was hoping to get a break but no. It's the slow time of year for my job. Money is tight. It's cold. My writing has been rejected from a few places. As a smart, ambitious, capable woman I am once again kicked in the face and forced to settle for crumbs.

Then those around me cannot wait to take cheap shots at me now that my chest is open. Whether it's washed up women showing uterus pictures on facebook or men seeking to oppress me because I have opinions, I feel as if I can't win. Oh and Phillip Seymour Hoffman died. We met once when I was having a bad day, but I needed a friend and he comforted me. I didn't know it was him until he rode off on his bike. What hurts the most is that he didn't realize how wonderful he was when we had him. Oh, and the Broncos sucked. While Bruno Mars did rock out a good half time show, it is proof America celebrates men who hate women, and women in this country don't have a voice. The only good thing is Amanda Knox might be going back to jail.

The only thing I have on my side is that it has to get better because it can't get any worse. Winter sucks for everyone. I have six more weeks of this cursed shit and so does everyone. Instead of dying I think I will just find the nearest groundhog and make groundhog burgers.

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