Saturday, June 17, 2017

Open Letter To Michelle Carter

Dear Michelle,

I read your story. I read about your conviction. I wish I could say I was sorry you were found guilty but I am not. Actually, I am relieved you will be punished to some degree because I find you repulsive and disgusting on so many levels. Worthless is more of what I was shooting for. Conrad Roy III was a person who had his whole future ahead of him and you manipulated and coaxed him to throw it away. Shame on you. What gives you the power to do that?

Looking at you, I wonder what kind of power you had over the poor boy anyway. You are marginal looking at best. Your eyes have this dead, soulless look. When you walk by you don't strike me as someone who has one bit of remorse, other than that this might interfere with your life and quest to be popular. Your eyebrows are hideous. Oh, and you look like you escaped from the TV series Girls, but they probably cut you because you weren't the least bit interesting. Just another whiny white troubled teenager with problems.

I will be the first to defend free speech. You cannot make someone do something unless a gun is put to their head. Then again, even in that instance one can choose to die. No one can make you feel any way. I get that. But this young man wanted to kill himself. It was no secret he was struggling with suicidal depression. You didn't call 911. You told him to get back in the car. Night after night he talked about wanting to die. You didn't tell an adult about Conrad's plans. Instead, you told him to stop talking about it and take action.

There is no word to describe your egoism, hubris and outright evil.

You listened with glee as he died.

I get that at times he wasn't the best company. People with psych issues who are not properly medicated never are. But if you called 911 maybe he could have finally gotten the help he needed. Maybe Roy's family would have taken it seriously. Maybe Conrad would have gotten the meds he needed along with the therapy.


Oh and you even told him how much carbon monoxide would kill him. With friends like you along with a severe mental illness, Conrad Roy III had no need for enemies.

FYI, I know how it is to be in a relationship with someone who's mentally ill. I get how painful it is when they won't get help let alone be medicated. I can tell you first hand how incredibly draining the experience is, managing their symptoms on your own and defending your partner to a world that can't let alone won't understand.

I have been in instances where my former partner was not only a danger to himself but me. His breaks with reality were getting worse. To add to the cocktail, he self medicated with drugs and alcohol. Instead of coaxing him to relapse or take his own life, I walked away. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was between him and my peace of mind. If Conrad got to be too much you should have walked away.

Let me tell you, I am no fan of my former partner. Mentally ill people do things that aren't kind. They lie. They steal. They cause chaos and conflict. Unfortunately their sickness is one where they not only bring down themselves but others. While my ex cannot safely be a part of my life, if I found out he was about to kill himself I would still call 911.

It's not because I love him or cherish him. But he is a father. A brother. An uncle. A friend. While he might not be in my life, his life is still worth something. And my hope still is, even as he is homeless and back on drugs, that he gets the help he needs and is properly medicated someday.

On a more personal note, a friend of mine helped me get the nerve to write again after a rough time in my life. He battled bipolar disorder and ultimately took his own life. I am about to release a second book, and my friend is not here with me which makes me sick. You talked Conrad Roy III into taking his own life, and if I could take a time machine I would have talked my friend out of taking his.

My friend meant a great deal and helped a lot of people. Yet he could not help himself. His sister's, years later, are not over the loss of someone who was a baby brother and uncle. Conrad Roy III's family will never be over his loss. They will not forget about it. And now the world will not forget about him either.

Was your sentence fair? On an ethical level yes. On a free speech level, that is still murky. Ironically you wanted to be popular. Well now you are the most hated woman on the internet. We all hate you. Trust me, no one likes you. No one.

There will be plenty of parties in prison where you will be going that you will not be invited to. You're the most hated woman in America. At least they had the nerve to murder people for real there. You were so pathetic you had to do it over the phone. Conrad Roy was sick and desperate, and in you he met evil.

I would tell you to kill yourself because you are worthless. Yet that would be stooping to your level. And if you wanted to kill yourself I would talk you out of it. Not because it would make me feel important or that the world would be lesser without you, but because it is the right thing to do.

It's because I am a semi-decent human being who does the right thing. A lot of us are out there. Hopefully your sentence, however long or short that is, will transform you into one too.


The Lady and President Tramp
Wednesday June 21, 7pm
The Duplex
61 Christopher Street

Monday, June 12, 2017

New and Exciting

I know I haven't blogged in a while. It has been a mix of a lot of things. One is March saw a lot of death. I lost 2 people I knew to cancer in a week. One was a Las Vegas Director friend who helped me shoot a pilot. The other was a comedy club manager who gave me faith and food when I had none.

Then I had the stomach flu and work was insane. I didnt have a morning to sleep in let alone a moment to myself. Not to mention winter was like the party guest who wouldn't leave. You know, the annoying idiot who's boyfriend never lets her talk and now we know why? Oh and she kept double dipping which was so gross.

And then there was the rain. Yes, the rain was the downer party guest who probably worked in publishing that went to a preppy backup school that had a chip on her shoulder that she didn't get into Brown or her parents couldnt afford NYU. She not only just stayed with winter, but just had something negative to say the entire time.


Then of course I have been writing two books. More on that later. When you are writing a book, that mission is your book. It's like you are Rambo back from Vietnam dodging the cops. Except I do not have his prowess let alone emotional problems. Rambo is hot. He would be a good looking mistake.

God I have had too many of those in my life and times. But two books, does that make me more macho than Chuck Norris?

Anyway, I have an awesome show at the Duplex on June 21. It's my show The Lady and President Tramp. We have Donald J. Tramp. We have Kellyanne Oneway, Mexican President Don Juan De Casanova De Gorgita, Mike Dispence, supporters, protesters, and even a weirdo named Vlad that calls.

I have been working steadily on my show and am so proud of all I have done. Two my life was a lot different, and not in a way that was productive. If you want to know what I have been through, read my previous blogs. Either way, I am grateful for all I have today.

(God/Goddess is good, all the time)

The tickets are available here

And if you plan on coming to surprise me, the address is 61 Christopher Street. Stalkers welcome.

Either way, I am closing this post with my photo of the week. Someone said I looked like Belle from Beauty and the Beast before their big outing. Now if I am the beauty, who will be my beast. Tear me up, Buttercup. MWAH!

And before I forget, moment of silence for those lost in the Pulse Nightclub Shooting. One year has passed and it is still difficult. Saw the memorial last year at Pride and I thought I was going to vomit. 

Friday, March 31, 2017

Jesus Freak (DC Talk)

This past election season I have received a lot of hate mail from The Christian Right. These men and women of God have told me to kill myself, that I deserved cancer in some instances, and even that I should die for blaspheming a man of God. (Donald Trump was that man of God).

Yesterday I got into a bit of a twitter war with right wing nut job and blogger Matt Walsh. In case you didn't know, you and Jesus would probably hate Matt. Jesus was a liberal Jew who embraced all people. Matt is an anti-Jewish, anti-gay, and anti-woman bigot. Matt is also pro-life, because why would someone so tolerant hold any other view. He blogs for The Blaze, which is where all bigoted, closed minded, fearful morons like himself flock. Apparently he is popular. That is, popular with those who can't read.

As a matter of fact, some of the brave men and women, especially the ones with the KKK avatars, follow Matt. Color me surprised.

I was first introduced to this ass clown via his facebook page. It was filled with hate of course. His followers believe all Muslims stone women and are traitors. They are all pro-lifers who want to cut social programs for single mothers whilst they terrorize women in crisis. They believe being gay and transgendered are choices, and LGBTQ people commit suicide as a cheap ploy for attention. One even went on a limb to say that rape wasn't real. Nice people. I trolled him a few times because it was fun, but gave up the ghost because it was no use. You can't fix stupid.

So yesterday the controversy began. Mike Pence apparently is not allowed to dine alone with another woman, and his wife is not allowed to dine alone with another man. WOW, Telling your significant other who they can and can't talk to. Looks like unhealthy codependency to me. Take it from someone like myself who has experienced DV.

Matt of course defended Mike Pence. Why would Matt not? He clearly knows how to treat a woman by keeping her barefoot and pregnant on his alpaca farm. Matt stated all healthy married couples didn't dine alone with members of the opposite sex. Nevermind if it was a boss or a work colleague. Or a childhood plutonic friend. Or the husband or wife of one of your friends. No. Sex was going to happen.

I told Matty McMatt Matt he was as qualified to talk about a healthy marriage as I was moon rocks. His followers, who probably chew moon rocks and wonder why they are crunchy, informed me moon rocks were not complicated. I guess that's why we have NASA because space is simple and rocket science, well that's a breeze.

Then I tweeted about combating codependency and Matt told me if I had to combat codependency then it was clear I wasn't good at marriage. Well Sherlock Holmes, while I have been in two LTRs I am not married. I told him I thanked my pagan Goddess for my freedom, because if the men on the market were like him I was screwed. Matt tweeted two asinine tweets back. Because he's stupid like that. I told him by his metric that because he was tweeting to a woman that wasn't his wife, he was having an affair. Others even came to my rescue to tell the sexually repressed Matt Walsh to stop flirting with me.

Needless to say his followers were even stupider than he was. They told me I was unsuccessful because I was single and childless, when meanwhile their marriages are so successful as they aren't allowed to talk to other people without their spouse's permission. Others also defended codependency as a good, loving thing.

Codependency is NEVER a good loving thing. Codependency kept me with a partner who was physically abusive because I believed I somehow deserved it. Codependency kept me with a mentally ill partner who, while he had a heart of gold, was irreversibly broken because of his refusal to comply with a medication regimen. Yeah, I had a role. But codependency is never a good thing. Domestic violence sometimes ends with someone dying. So when someone refuses to take meds, has violent mood swings, abuses drugs or hits you, RUN LIKE YOU SAW GODZILLA.

When I explained to someone I left because a partner was abusive, she told me I deserved to be hit. Yes, a woman of God. A church goer. YIKES!

So I lost it. I told her she was a cunt.

She responded back by telling me that I dissed the sacred institution of marriage and therefore I deserved what I got.

Yes, nice woman.

So I told her that her telling me I deserved DV was like me telling her she deserved a sick child. Needless to say seconds later, twitter blocked me.

I was in twitter jail for 12 hours. Ha ha ha.

Today Matt Walsh posted and called someone a bigot. It was a tale of the pot and the kettle. While fighting with him would have been fun, it is also a waste of time because he will always be a steaming ball of hate.

And one of his followers who reported me to twitter messaged me to let me know he did it. Now is that what Jesus would do?

Needless to say, I had a chat with a buddy who's son has severe autism and is a woman of God. She told me people who quote scriptures like that are actually from the devil and not God, which I found interesting and actually believable on a strange level. She also said evil was cowardly.

Yes, like the Matt Walsh's and his followers, so free to hate behind a keyboard and such mice in person. Cowards.

My friend also pointed out Jesus wasn't a coward. Jesus not only helped the poor, he helped the lepers, the HIV/AIDS patients of the era. He helped the widows and the people on the fringes. He helped those Matt Walsh condemns. Jesus died because he spoke out on behalf of social justice and told the truth. Jesus was brave.Jesus didn't need to hide behind a keyboard.

 These people claim to know so much yet they know so little.

That being said, I hope they all find peace, serenity, and come to know a higher power that loves them as well as anyone else.


Wednesday, March 22, 2017

It Gets Better

A year ago I was ready to quit show business. I was uninspired and just all around burnt out. Life had been one blow after another.

For starters, a living situation I had been with for nearly ten years went up in utter smoke. I had tried so hard to hold on to that apartment and then one day it was gone. As I was leaving I remember feeling this strange mix of relief and failure. Relief that I wouldn't be sick over a living situation, but failure because despite my efforts I still lost.

Then a relationship with a mentally ill partner ended. It was also a mix of relief and failure. It was relief, because his mood swings were becoming more and more unpredictable and I was feeling more and more unsafe. It was failure because the relationship ended because of a lie he told, and therefore I wasn't good enough for the truth. It was failure because once again I lost a man.

The career had been a miasma of successes and disappointments. I lost two national campaigns for stupid reasons. I lost a nomination to a well-respected organization because of my past as a reality star. I lost a grant for a stupid reason too, paperwork.

But I became a union member. I also got press everywhere but the US for my puppets. And a short film I did puppet work for was nominated for a top award. It even looked like I was going to tour Europe and that fell through like a trap door.

Was the universe telling me to stay or go? Hell if I knew.

My new life was like a dark forest where I was alone, unsure, and struggled to find my place. Each step onstage bored the hell out of me. I had paid the ultimate price to follow my dreams. Were my dreams even worth it? It seemed if anything my dreams caused me a lot of disappointment and heartache.

Over the years, I had friends who left the business because they got sick of the bullshit. Many did it on a smaller scale. Some gave it up altogether. They got married and had kids. They told me how much more fulfilled they were. I had some success. I had been on TV. Maybe I had my fun and it was time to be a normal person.

However, you have plans and the universe laughs. This career has a funny way of picking you, and if it's meant it also has an even stranger way of not letting you go.

I was set to quit when I got invited to do a fallout date for a headliner after he had a nervous breakdown and needed to be replaced. I figured I would tank out, get paid,and this would determine whether or not I continued in comedy.

Yes I tanked. It was horrendous. Maybe it was time to quit after all. However, I met a club owner who had different ideas. Not only was he honest to the point of being brutal, but he was helpful. I left the trip not only rebounding for my next two shows (I killed it) but I left feeling like an asshole. My crime hadn't been being knocked down. It was staying down.

So I got back up, ordered a puppet stand, and started working like a real professional. I pounded stage time like I did years before I had any TV credits. I didn't care if it was an open mic or bar show, for the first time in forever I just wanted to be good. I didn't even care what the outcome was, I was just enjoying the journey and the process for the first time in my life.

My puppetry grew leaps and bounds as did my ventriloquism. So did the opportunities. I got to go to Cleveland with Donald J. Tramp and lead a protest. I also got to perform in Las Vegas. I performed a one woman show at a showcase. I covered the debate with my lil puppet president, too.

Currently some good things are in the works. This Sunday I teach my first ventriloquism class. It's at QED Astoria 3/26 from 2-4.

I am also reading Paul Winchell and can tell you that there is more I need to be doing, but again it is a journey.

I am working on a new book.

I feel hopeful about the future.

Sometimes, when life sucks you need to take a bath, get rid of the bad shit, and keep going.

Yes, it gets better. But only if you let it.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017


When I was 22, I was fascinated by bad boys. Hell, I still kind of am. Anyway, what I think looks dead sexy on a dude is a tattoo, but I dug them even more then. That is what led me to Zeke.

Handsome with pitch black tar colored hair that stuck on his head, Zeke looked like he escaped from New Found Glory or one of those emo bands with band boys that talked way too much about their feelings. He was red hot, dead hot, leave you single and pregnant hot. Zeke had arms covered in all sorts of tats that talked about his travels. His body art was incredible. I remember asking him about it when I met him on the street corner.

Zeke was 25 to my 22. We talked about life. He was from Florida. His dad was dead and his mom was remarried. Zeke hated his stepdad. Young, angry, misunderstood. My love and infatuation would change him.

I asked Zeke what he did for money. He told me he was a tattoo artist. I was fascinated and impressed. I used to subtly stalk Zeke, hanging around his tattoo shop. We would usually hang out afterwards, and he walked me home a few times. And then he kissed me.


Okay, it was the kind of kiss that said codependent, terrible mistake. Rumor was that he had a drug habit but they had no proof. They said he had been arrested. That didn't deter me. I was a woman in love.

Zeke and I were getting more serious. At least I hoped because he was HOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT. However, God has a habit of doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves. Zeke had no cellphone because it was expensive, and he had no address. A constant couch surfer, Zeke had to move at least once every other week when his friend who was being generous was going to kick him out. Young and stupid, I was more pissed he never asked me than the fact he perpetually never had his shit together.

Needless to say, because he had no phone or address, it became tough to keep track of Zeke. Finally, he was fired from the tattoo parlor for being himself. Since he had no phone I had no idea of where to find him. He had social media, but was never on there really.

I lost track of Zeke.

Bummer because he was HOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTT.....

But alas, hot isn't everything. 

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Goat Sex: A New York Story

When I was 20, I found myself alone in Midtown near 8/9 Avenues and with money in my pocket. It was from a summer job I worked as a lifeguard where my mother employed me. Up to that point in my life, I was actually a good little Catholic girl from Bethel Park, a small town outside of Pittsburgh. Translated, I didn't talk about sex let alone think about it. Sex was yucky, yucky, yucky.

I found myself in Midtown. My errand was to get sheet music for my singing class. Each week we had to have a new song, and I had class later that day and had dragged my feet on the errand. I got my sheet music and was on my way back to the train when my mind got the best of me lets just say.

Prior to that I made vanilla look flavorful. I was from an area where girls saved themselves for marriage and at that juncture in my life I planned to do the same. Many of my high school classmates even wore promise rings, because anal doesnt count as we all know. Some of my male classmates who took the pledge have come out as gay but that's a different story. They promised not to have sex......with girls. Again, anal doesn't count, right?

Sex Ed at my school was a joke. We had Abstinence Education which teaches you to wait. It doesnt work. My school had the highest instance of teen pregnancy in the area. So fellas, maybe I didn't know how to put a condom on but knew how to put a baby in a dumpster. But it was okay if I hit the Bible Study some religious zealot teacher was having during lunch. Or dodged the Christian youth group leader who wandered my cafeteria looking for fresh blood and lost souls. Needless to say, he was later jailed for having sex with under-aged boys. Big surprise......

My college classmates were much more sexually savvy and were from much more liberal areas. At times this made me feel stupid, insecure, and outright lonely. Was I less sophisticated because I didn't slut around with some boy.......wait that was her steady in the backseat of that Buick. Was I less worthy of being taken seriously because I wasn't as experienced? Did it make me a bad person to tell some guy that I could fuck him and say someday I did when he became a rockstar to jump off a cliff?

Hell if I knew. Either way, there were times I felt like a wandering vestal virgin and the men around me were outright predators willing to torture me and con sex. However, they were just as awkward and unsure as I was looking back. And a lot of people were coming out. No one knew the answers. Funny how hindsight is 20/20.

As I neared the subway on 8th I saw a porn store. I had a few hours to kill but not enough time to go back downtown where my dorm was so I went in. Why not? What could possibly go wrong?

I wandered in and saw racks and racks of porn movies. Some were straight on male/female porn. Others were gang bangs. Then there was the tranny porn. Of course this was next to the Thai tranny porn because some folks are into foreign trannies. An entire section was dedicated to midget porn which was borderline disturbing. Then there was the gay porn. Next to the lesbian porn. Porn was much more diverse than I ever imagined, that was for sure.

The store itself was interesting. The lingerie was actually quite appealing, but I had no where to wear it and no one to wear it for. The shoes were also neat, stripper heals that were at least five inches. I too had no where to wear these and they were $80.

In between was lube, condoms, dildos, butt plugs, and the vibrator. Looking back, a vibrator would have probably been a better investment than the latter. But I had no clue what to do with any of these things.

As I ascended the stairs I came across some peep show booths. Standing near them was an Indian dude who looked at me like I had two heads when I asked if I could enter as long as I paid my fifty cents. He asked me if I was sure and I told him I was. In my utter state of ignorant I didn't realize guys jacked off in there, and as a girl I didn't choke the chicken and get my little Johnny Appleseeds all over the place like they did. Hell, I might have been the first woman he ever saw come in..........What a dubious honor.

He let me in anyway. As long as my money is good, right?

Once I got into the booth there were several screens I could choose from that were being live streamed.

The first screen was a guy and a girl having sex. They weren't particularly good or bad looking. Actually, they looked like ordinary people. No one wants to see ordinary people having sex so I passed.

The next was two girls getting down and dirty with a dildo. They were two hot blondes so you knew this was designed for a straight man. After a few seconds I had seen the whole thing.

The screen after was two dudes having rough anal. This was intense and athletic. But I also felt like the dudes would feel weirded out by me watching. However, some of the promise ring wearing dudes from my old high school are probably watching now but that's a different story.

Then the screen after that was a midget orgy. While this was unique and the midgets were committed to truth in their role of having sex with Gulliver (a Gulliver's travels themed fuck fest) I felt further watching would destroy memories of Santa's Elves, Snow White, and The Wizard of Oz for reasons we all understand.

The last screen was the one that I will never forget. It was a girl having sex with a goat. And the goat was giving it to get doggy style and standing on it's hind legs.


As if that wasn't enough, to add insult to injury, each time her horned horny animal companion thrust his well endowed goat penis into her, she squealed,  "Ee, Ei, Ee, Ei, Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" Okay, Old McDonald was officially ruined. I could never sing it to my little cousins ever again.

Words could not describe this experience. I was horrified. I was amazed. I was frightened. I was intrigued. I also knew if the super Christians from my hometown knew where I was they would be holding a prayer circle for me around my old high school flag pole. It had been bad enough when I said God gave us a brain therefore I was pro-choice. It had ticked them off when I said a blob of tissue was not a person because there were children dying in Iraq. It further angered them when I said the youth group leader wandering the cafeteria was probably a pedophile and he was. However, we could all still be friendly. This, however, would be the last straw. Jesus could not save me now. Abstinence education never covered this let alone planned for it in the curriculum.

Question to the promise ring wearers was, if anal didn't count, did goats? Oh questions, questions, questions.

As girl and goat were going at it, my phone rang. It was my mom. Oh her timing was impeccable as usual. I was alone in New York and she was freaking out because she hadn't heard from me all day. Oh if she could see me now. I could tell her I discovered Old McDonald's wayward daughter had resorted to beastiality and now I had proof when she asked if anything funny happened to me. Or maybe I would leave that story out........

 Finally, my five minutes ran out. I was no longer curious about the peep show. I think at that point I was good for another 5,10, 15 years. When I exited, I called my mom back.  She wanted to know how my day went. I told her I was getting sheet music for class, which was true. It's why I was in Midtown. I didn't tell her about my detour that was still making me blush.

When I got home that evening, I took a long shower and kept the story to myself for many years. It's not one you just tell people without them shaming you or asking a shit ton of questions. Looking back I should have spent my time more wisely that day let alone my money. But young and stupid can be a combination that makes for a good story later on.

And also, having worked in entertainment, I will say this, whoever that director was should be commended. That goat was not only a fabulous actor, but he was VERY WELL TRAINED.

Saturday, March 4, 2017


I was thinking yesterday about life. Everyone talks about where they should be at certain points. I am 32. One of the Academy Award Winning Directors was 32. Eh. Does it make me feel like a loser? Yes and no. Yes, he's my age. No, this might be his first and last Oscar. Life is weird that way. Life is like an hourglass: there are times the sand is on your side. There are times it isn't.

The sand has and hasn't been on my side in the course of a year. In 2015, my story made headlines over the world and it looked like I might tour Europe. Months later, I was forced to move under duress with a broken heart. Point being, is that life changes on a dime for better or for worse for all of us. Granted, my self-esteem took a huge hit and it was like wandering in a dark tunnel. WTF?! Life happened, it just wasn't supposed to happen to me, right?

I am hardly a failure. I have accomplished some of what I wanted. Yet at times I feel like I have fallen short. I think we all feel that way though. Last year I was credentialed press at the debates, a big change from being evicted and having my ex's mentally ill sister threaten me. Then this year began with me showcasing at APAP. I also did my show again, and might be doing a run. I am excited. Big change from last year where I felt burnt out from my ordeal and uninspired.

One thing all this has done is made me more confident. I take the stage in a different way. When I was younger I wanted to be liked. Now I don't give a fuck. It's strange. Then someone has shown interest in repping my show for touring and someone else wants to rep me for other things. Nothing is set is stone yet. Both seem like nice people. Whatever happens happens. I also did some things for some other stuff I am being recruited for. Whatever happens happens. I am not breaking my ass. That's for damn sure. If they want me they know where to find me and if they don't want me they can go fuck themselves. Simple as that.

I am also teaching a ventriloquism class. I am excited. It means I am a master. It means I might be able to teach at conventions. I am excited and honored and love the idea. More on that later.

I am writing another book about my adventures, too.

While sometimes the telegrams are slow, they have been picking up full steam. Rent has been paying itself, God willing. I do not want for much, God willing. Other work will hopefully pick up too, God willing. But whatever I do I will do my best, have fun, and treat each show with dignity and respect.

And as I begin my journey as a Universal Life Minister, I know in some ways the world is ending and we are all fucked because I am Bishop Cardinal Brucker. But I also know I am going to be alright.

I know I am going to be alright

I escaped a bad living situation and a mentally ill partner

I escaped a physically abusive partner and an abusive living situation to boot before all that

I escaped meeting the fate that some of my fellows did.

I was not taken this far to be dropped.

Is life better than I thought it would be at this point? Yes and no. Is life worse? Yes and no. Do I have everything I want? Yes and no. Am I getting what I want? Yes, but no, because it's not as fast as I would like it.

So it's different.

But I am happier and more at peace than I have ever been. No award can put a price on that. Because my mental health is good, I have faith everything else will take care of itself.

Thursday, March 2, 2017


The last two days have been interesting to say the least. My friend's mother's funeral was online yesterday, but I was working and couldn't attend. He's seen me perform twice and has driven long distances to do so. I will watch the live stream.

The big question is, when the freeeeekkkkk did they start live streaming funerals for noncelebs? I guess it's for people who miss the service but......hmmmmm......there are so many things I could say right now.

And then just as I think death has stopped it's wagon train I'm wrong. I saw an old friend who's wife I knew in passing. I asked, "How's your wife?" I mean, I knew her.

That's when he says, "Oh, she committed suicide." At first I thought he was kidding but then I realized he wasn't. I gave him a huge hug when I realized he was serious. It's one of those times where I couldn't believe how unintentionally I had fucked up. It was funny in a dark way that I thought at first he was joking, but then I realized it was pretty fucking terrible.

Today was the funeral mass for my favorite cowboy in Vegas. Yes, the best friend of the mentor who based out there. I sent him a text letting him know I was thinking of him. It's what you do. As I am doing this, I got an invite for another funeral on April 1st. Well the guy's dead but his memorial is April 1st. He was a comedy club manager, it's appropriate.

Two days before was my great aunt's funeral. Her daughter did my hair for years and even did the hair for my little sister's wedding. Heck, she even gave me my first haircut. While she was sick and it wasn't completely unexpected, it was sad nonetheless. My one aunt suggested inviting all my aging rels to my sister's wedding because might be their last event out.

So far this has been the case in three instances. Still all this death lately has been a tad excessive. If I am being callous it's because at this point it is just getting surreal.

But the good news is, I became an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church. Yes, I can perform both weddings and funerals. My mom was pressuring me for a second career and there we have it, kind of. She had been pressuring me to get ordained for years actually and now here I am.

Apparently I can have my own title. I choose Bishop Cardinal Brucker. My neighbor back home has a son that's a priest, and another family friend has a son who's a minister. While I am not quite a rabbi, I could walk into the bar with them. And while it would probably be insulting to them as men of the cloth, I am as legit as they are in some counties. I know, scary. I also figure with a lot of death around me as of late I can officiate some of these funerals.

Work has been plentiful though, and some people are interested in me for things which is good. Yesterday I was a funster clown, gorilla, and hot cop. I sang to a dock master at an art gallery. Then a baby whisperer OB/Gyn in Chinatown. After that I sang to two hot Scots.

Yesterday I also found out from multiple sources an old bf of mine is crazier than ever. He managed to take in a dude who squatted in his residence and then the dude tried to call the cops on him. Of course my ex was squatting as well. This was such a shit mess worthy of the Dukes of Hazard that I couldnt write it. I wanted to say, "Hunty, I live for you. Stay just the way you are, Baby Cakes."

Of course his life is a complete mess. His current girlfriend has a Charlie Sheen like coke habit and a nose like a snow blower. He also ripped off a woman he was supposed to be working for. Oh the gift that keeps on giving. Sounds like they deserve each other. Wowsa. Just when I didnt think he could fuck up more than he already does he exceeds my expectations.

The biggest kick was that he was telling people he dumped me. First off, I threw his shit out on the sidewalk. (Didn't end well because he was a LIAR AND A CHEATER). Second, I dumped him. Third, who cares IT'S OVER. Then I remembered why it didn't work out and wondered why I just didn't tell my source that I didn't want to know and didn't care. I think that's what I'll do next time. I don't know. I don't wanna know. I don't care.

And then as if that wasn't crazy enough, my sister has a friend who was dating a dude who was confuzzled. My sister and cousin, Dr. Ruth and Dr. Phil, told her to make it work. Keep fighting for love. I told her to forget about him, he was confused. She was better off with a dude who beat her. Because this fella was going to waste her time, and by the time he made up his mind it wasn't going to be the answer she wanted and it wasn't going to be her.

Well it turns out he's a vicious sex addict. I was right. Dr. Ruth and Dr. Phil both said as I was blasting her, "You are so bitter April. You never made a relationship work. What do you know?"

Clearly a hell of a lot more than you.......

Then I told my mom about all the death around me. She mentioned people usually die before spring and can't make it through the winter. And then mentioned the anniversary of my Nuni (her mom's) death was coming up.

Dead grandma. Okay, there is no way you can top that.

Well of course that is when I discovered I made a banking error that is mostly straightened out. So I read an inspirational email. A woman spoke about the joy of her pregnancy before miscarrying. Dead baby.....

Dead baby......

Okay that's a mic drop.

As far as inspiration goes, I have officially given up.

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Death and Then Some......

This has been a week of loss. Last Monday started with my friend Bob Cummings in Las Vegas. Sporting a cowboy hat and with a deep velvety speaking voice mellifluous to be exact, he was radio. Bob worked on the mic and off the mic. Sometimes for the heck of it, we would ask Bob to say the weather.

Bob had a gentle nature and was very humble about his talents, on the mic and behind the scenes. He had a good sense of humor. The two of us could not have differed more politically, but Bob and I were able to laugh about it. I can still hear Bob's laugh and see his cowboy hat. He would say, "Hey Big Guy." He called everyone Big Guy, even me.

Well Bob got cancer. He started chemo. It was going to be okay. A lot of people get cancer and recover and go into remission for years. Bob wasn't going to be so lucky. Cancer took him last Monday. He could barely hold his head up let alone speak. He's out of pain but I want to say, "Cancer you are a fucking bitch. You suck worse than the hooker with one tooth at Coney Island who isn't good enough for the Atlantic City Boardwalk where they have top notch trash."

I did my show the night Bob died. It was a success. I impressed the right people. I told myself Bob would have been proud. Bob was part of a group of people who believed in me as I was facing eviction and made the decision to leave my mentally ill partner. He gave awesome hugs. Thought I should have mentioned that.

Of course as I am getting over that loss, I have another dead friend moment. It's my buddy Scott. He's been dead for a few years. Scott was a part of a group of friends I had a few years ago. He knew a buddy of mine who had a house in Astoria. An odd creature, he was the first and only Log Cabin Republican I have ever met. Scott was kind, funny, and like Bob, we could not have disagreed more politically.

Scott was more of a "don't tax me bitch" conservative. When I pointed out he was voting against himself he replied with, "Well don't tax me bitch." We laughed about it. Scott was sort of like a big brother who liked the same clothes I did. Anyway, he lost his job and moved back in with his parents on Long Island. At that point, because he was out of sight out of mind we lost contact. Until I read on facebook he had died. Actually, his sister had checked him into hospice the day before. Facebook can be morbid and unintentionally funny at the same time like that. Either way, apparently he too had cancer and it had progressed quickly.

In any event, I was on my way to the dentist and didn't want to go. Then I realized my dentist was in Scott's old hood. It was like WTF?!?! I haven't been here since Scott.....and then I also realized Scott would have told me to stop being an asshole and go to the dentist. Those would have been his words. But cancer got him too. Seriously cancer, you are a bitch. A stupid bitch. Luckily you are a disease otherwise you probably wouldnt have a face cause someone would rearrange it.

Days later, my ex did something crazy. As I mentioned he's mentally ill. He had the bright idea to find me on Skype. What he hoped he would get I don't know. After the death of one friend and now my dental issues this was just something to further piss me off. I told myself there had been enough death this week. Why pick up a felony charge cause I beat the shit out of his dumb ass?

Anyway, I had another friend die Monday. Also Scott. Scott had been a club manager who was good to me. Scott was amazing actually. At the time, my drinking had raged out of control and I was trying to get my proverbial shit together. Scott was supportive. There were people who told Scott I was mentally unstable. They tried to talk him out of booking me. Scott didn't listen. Instead, he saw my natural talent and decided to give me a shot.

At the time, Scott was managing a flag ship club and his fairness was his best and worst asset to the comedians. It was good because if he saw potential he opened the door regardless. It wasn't because Scott didn't put up with shit from established comedians who thought they could do as they pleased. But Scott was fair.

At the time there was a show producer that was harassing me. Untreated bipolar, he was threatening me and making me feel unsafe. Scott wanted me on his weekly show. I told Scott I was terrified of this person. Scott fired him from his own show so I would feel safe. That's who Scott was.

I got to know Scott and his family quite well. For perhaps being too fair, Scott was forced out/quit the comedy club he managed and moved on to other things. And then he moved to Long Island. Because of the move, I wasnt close to him or his family like I had been.

Anyway, Scott got cancer. He got sick rather quickly. He died last night. I cried buckets. I wanted to say to cancer, "You are officially a cunt. End of story. Make that super cunt."

Needless to say, as the news is being handed down, my mom calls me to freak out about my life. It's her yearly meltdown about my existence. She's being a mom. While the timing is never good for the yearly meltdown about your kid's life, this year it was especially terrible.

To make myself feel better, I watched Milk. I was trying to remember when I saw Milk. Then I remembered it was with my friend Chacho. Yes, one of my besties who died as a result of drugs. It was fucking morbid as all shit when I realized this, more like fucking Christ. Fucking Christ. Fucking Christ.

But then I laughed. At least he didn't die of cancer. He broke the mold. He died after a drug driven orgy. Sure addiction has a stigma but he went out doing what he loved most. What a morbid fucking evening. Chacho would ask me why I wasn't with some nice looking black dude. Addiction is a whore too, only she's cancer's less attractive but more ruthless sister. Are they even related? Hell if I know......

This morning I woke up feeling like I was hit by a truck. I had a meltdown on facebook the night before like an adult. I also saw my mom sent me several emails kind of apologizing. Hell if I know.
I got my coffee this morning and met a little girl who has my same birthday. It was crazy. It was funny. It was happy. It was hopeful. She pointed right at me and giggled. Like stole my birthday. No, I had it 31 years before you. I am that old.

Then it made me think of Chacho's brother. His ex wife had made his life hell, and took his kid out of the country. But then she remarried and was having a kid with her second husband. Chacho's brother went to visit his ex wife in the hospital. I asked him why. He said they were family. I pointed out that this woman made his life hell. Chacho's brother pointed out that it was true, but she was his daughter's mother and life was too short to hold a grudge.

Maybe he's right. The crap with my asshole ex. The crap with my mom's meltdown over my life. The crap that is crap. Life is freaking short. We will all be gone as quickly as we came. And somewhere in the world there is someone wearing a diaper that has your birthday.

And yes cancer, if you haven't forgotten, you fucking suck.

Saturday, February 18, 2017


Yesterday was one of those days. I had a terrible case of the runs-more than you wanted to know-and had a tech run through at Don't Tell Mama for my show. My pianist came and was feeling the burn from the West Coast as he just got off the road. We both had a long week. Me with my telegram deliveries and him with his gigging. Coffee wasn't enough and neither was vitamin water.

The rehearsal went okay but we clearly needed another before the show. As we are packing up I am talking to a friend who's in the space after me. I was running my mouth, thinking I could put my feet up for a tad before my next destination.

Then on the subway I discover I forgot the ipad at the theatre. FUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!

I even screamed it on the train. FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!

It's the 7 so a lot of the train doesn't speak English, but they understood that word. I go home, drop my shit in more ways then one, and run to to the venue. They have my ipad. THANK GOD!!!! The bartender had a good sense of humor, but they all thought I was crazy. I earned it.

I met a buddy for a gnosh and then went to charge my phone in Port Authority. I dunno why I went there, but finding an outlet in NYC is like finding Waldo in a crack den where everyone is dressed like Waldo. So I find a plug and a homeless dude hits on me. Then a dude with one leg comes over and wants to use the outlet. Of course he's homeless so he spills his booze. Then he gets into a fight with an old homeless dude who then begins fighting with a tranny.

That's when I pick up and find another outlet.

At that moment I am approached by a man speaking his own language. He asks me where Chelsea is and I tell him. He then asks what's in my box. When I don't answer he starts screaming at me. I run. He follows. I run. I lose him. What the fuck just happened?!

I get to a diner and kill some time. I drink some coffee. I talk to the mentor. I watch the clock as I kvetch. He laughs at me. The weather is warm where he is. He's paid his dues. He thinks my life is funny. Is it? I dunno.

Finally I get to the last stop on the train. IT's New York Comedy Club. It's the Paid or Pain Show. I know I am gonna get disciplined by the dom. It's fine. Yes, they have a dom. Jay Nog has worked hard and made quite a show and now it's on Sirius. I'm gonna be on the radio. Life is good.

I am first up. I am gonna get pain. I know it. I even tell the audience as much. They laugh. I pull out Donald J. Tramp. I'm doing fine but it's a puppet. I am gonnna get pain. Jordan Carlos does a great Trump impression where he tells me I'm great but the puppet is a liar. The other judge says I'm funny but a puppet act is difficult to kill with consistently. He's right.

And I do get pain.

The violet wand. It's fine. It's the perfect end to this trippy day.

But a producer offers me more spots. I make new friends. I'm gonna be on the radio in 2 weeks. And I shill out a few bucks for the cab ride home.

Come requires dedication. It requires discipline. It requires a violent wand. It requires a brave heart. It requires just relaxing and enjoying the ride. Sometimes we all need a little whipped into shape

Come see my show
The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017 7pm
Dont Tell Mama
343 W 46 street

Friday, February 10, 2017


The last two days have been a maelstrom of shit. An old enemy of mine has come out of the wood work. I won't say too much about her but she is a bitch. Actually, I'm not her enemy. She declared me her psychotic enemy. I wasn't aware I was living in a comic book and we were Hob Goblin and Spider Man but apparently we are.

Without getting into too much detail, she has gone out of her way to slander me and lie about me over the years. It's sad. It's truly sad. She has said nasty things about me and the people I care about. And now without getting into it she has done something where she has really stepped over the line. Even for her.

I don't want to talk about what she did, other than the fact that it gave me a terrible stomach ache and nearly made me throw up. I know she has a drug problem. I know she is sober for less than an hour a day. I know she has issues. I know all of this, but it doesn't mean her behavior doesn't suck.

The sad thing is, this is all over a dude. I was with this guy for maybe six months. She has been with him for a few years now. They own property and have a pet. What the fuck does she want with me? I. DON'T. WANT. YOUR. MAN.

This junior high bullshit still gets me down even after all this time. Yesterday my boss says when he meets people like that he just keeps going. My mentor, an ex cop, says during his time in law enforcement he met people who just are bad. I know she has problems. I know this particular ex is part of a circle where they stir the pot. But Jesus Christ why you gotta be so mean?!

This mean girl shit is what costs the Dems the White House. WOMEN turned against Hillary. WOMEN decided they weren't with her. Yes WOMEN sold each other down the river and now our reproductive rights are in danger. Other WOMEN.

This shit is what has held my gender back. Either way, the beautiful thing about the snow storm yesterday was the children running about and sledding. It made me remember there was a big, wide world outside of this fugly bitch. It made me happy. It made me realize she was just a speck of dust in the world. And it made me grateful that junior high was in fact over.

Come see my show
The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017
Dont Tell Mama
343 W 46 street

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Block Me

The other day someone reported one of Donald J. Tramp's posts to facebook. It was stupid. It was ugly. It was a low blow. I have a feeling it was either an ex boyfriend or someone who wanted to thwart my progress. Or maybe it was a Trumpkin who was offended I was making fun of our president. Maybe it was a liberal who didn't vote for either candidate that just wants to be offended by everything.

Either way, the whole thing was stupid. It pissed me off. I had to fight not to break every blessed thing in the room I was in. Then I was like fuck it. I need a day or two or five off of social media. Away from the right who can't have a conversation but instead want to shove faith down my throat. Away from the left who wants to censor everyone and talk about how there is no God. Away from the Nazis on both sides.

It has become a dangerous world.

It has become a world where when you make a joke, someone gets offended. Someone liberal gets butthurt. Some Trumpkin gets angry and boycotts and whines on twitter. You both need to put on some big boy/girl pants and grow up. You are both worthless. You are both what is wrong with America. If something offends you, change the channel. Don't go to the page. But by God don't censor the person.

If you disagree with someone have a conversation. You might learn something. A lot of gun owners and members of the NRA are not evil people. My sister is a champion markswoman who cares about gun safety. As an ER doctor she treats gun injuries and has given a presentation on gun safety and prevention several times. Others, like my cousin who is a teacher in Alaska, carry a gun to school because he might meet a giant Polar Bear or Grizzly Bear on the road. He has several times. Hey, it's a safety thing. Others are ranchers who live miles away from the actual cops. Many are not evil racist people.

Does abortion offend you? Have a conversation. Many times pro-lifers yell and scream about dead babies. Let me tell you not everyone who has an abortion is evil. Some are cases of rape and incest. Other times the woman is on her own and doesnt have familial support. If the guy can walk away why can't she? Additionally sometimes a woman is pushed into a pregnancy by a partner against her will. Her body, her choice.

Of course they always shut the discussion down by screaming about the genocide and the babies murdered as a result of abortion. How about this. We have the babies, drop them at your door, and tell you to raise them. They kids are gonna be on welfare as are their mamas, and you're gonna be paying for them anyway. Why not? When I have said this a few idiot pro-lifers have sputtered.

However, I know some pro-lifers who will have the convo. There are many who support adoption as do I. I have 6 adopted cousins. I say we need to make it easier for people to adopt. We need more options for single mothers who keep the kids to finish high school. When Pro-Lifers are open to this convo and want to create options, I am all there.

But we have to talk to each other. LISTEN! We have lost the ability to have a discussion. IT was asinine that Mitch McConnell shut Liz Warren down. Let Liz speak. Yes, disagree with her. Don't evoke an archaic statue to shut her down when you don't do this with your male colleagues. Let her speak. Even some pro-Trump freedom of speech peeps agree with me here.

Bottom line, the First Amendment means you have the right to worship and the right to your opinions and to voice these opinions. Someone else has the right to tell you that worshiping a man who rose from the dead is stupid, but they have no right to shut you down. I might tell you Trump is a maniac xenophobe, but I have no right to intimidate you into voting the way I want you to. Just as someone feels divinely inspired to speak out, someone else feels divinely inspired to oppose. That's how freedom of speech works.

So to those of you that do the little bitch thing of reporting someone, you're making me famousssss

Come see The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W. 46 Street

Monday, February 6, 2017

Another Night (Aretha Franklin)

A little over a year ago I ended a relationship with someone I was working on building a life with. It ended suddenly, horrifically actually. It’s hard to talk about what happened, because the words even after all this time can barely form. However, it was due in a large part to my former partner being mentally ill.

After living with a mentally ill partner, you look at life very differently. For starters you get sick when people equate mental illness to cancer. People with cancer don’t lie. People with cancer seldom refuse to comply with treatment. You don’t see untreated cancer patients in prison or on the street. Cancer patients don’t self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. There is not a fucking stigma against cancer. 
People know cancer isn’t a choice, but they feel you are making a choice to be mentally ill. And when a celeb who’s spoken about cancer comes on the screen everyone is all misty eyed. When it’s someone who spoke about combating mental illness, ohh look at the crazy bitch or bastard.

If you have ever dealt with someone who’s mentally ill, you know they lie and act out in ways that are insulting, baffling, and outright immature. When things ended, my ex did a lot of that. I told myself he was sick a million times a day. I had to. It kept me from going crazy. It kept me from breaking something. It kept me from being sucked back into his shit which was what he wanted. Eventually I ran out of fucks to give and moved on with myself.

A year later, I was out of my unsafe living situation and away from my unstable former partner. Instead, I found myself marching with STAT, Donald J. Tramp as spokespuppet, heading the largest Anti-Trump protest at the RNC that year. We were number 8 on twitter, trending that day. People asked me if I was scared. I remember thinking, “I had bed bugs eating me alive, couldn’t breathe, and had an unstable Iraq War vet boyfriend looking for Isis in the windows. All and all, this is perhaps the safest situation I have been a part of in a while.”

In 2015, my birthday was spent scheduling free legal help at my local neighborhood legal. It was also picking up the pieces after my ex’s devastating departure. This past year it was spent at Hofstra, protesting/street performing outside the debates with Donald J. Tramp. I didn’t need a party. Being a part of American history was a better present than I could have ever dreamed of.

One year prior to the debates, my ex’s sister had called to threaten me. A year later, I was credentialed press in Las Vegas with puppet journalist Donald J. Tramp. I was in the spin room when Donald Trump uttered “bad hombres” and “nasty, nasty woman.” I watched it all unfold, and for as much as his idiot sister or any other woman he manipulated could and would say, they weren’t there with me. Nor would they ever be.

This time last year, I was rebuilding my life after a devastating defeat. Now I am getting ready to return to Restaurant Row with a one woman show. I just showcased at APAP. I am a correspondent for a blog. I am getting ready to teach a ventriloquism class.

The lessons were hard. One was that love isn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough to make my ex get help. Love wasn’t enough to make my ex stop lying. Love wasn’t enough to justify the fact his rages coupled with black outs were getting worse and worse, and that it was getting to the point where my safety was in jeopardy. In my heart, I know he was kind and giving. I know he would have never intentionally hurt me. But people who are mentally ill flip and kill people all the time, especially if they have mood swings and aren’t medicated. My ex claimed meds failed him and refused a medication regimen.

When my sister got married this summer, her priest alluded to the fact that a married couple lives for each other. The truth is, that’s codependency. You don’t live for anyone. The other person is a part of your life not your whole life. All relationships come to an end whether one partner leaves or dies or whatever. And guess what, you have to move on.

You also realize that a person is just a person. They have their faults. They will fuck up. They will disappoint you. And at the end of the day, good and bad, my ex was just a guy. Yeah, I cried when he left but then they handed me eviction papers. I had to pick my ass up off the ground and go to court to fight my landlord who was turning off my water because I called the city on him. My ex wasn’t there to support me. My family was far away. Really and truly, I was on my own.

No man was there to support me and none was going to materialize. At times like this, you see whether or not you are really and truly a feminist. Most women yell and scream about it, but when the time comes to step up to the plate they don’t. I had to step up to the plate. I had to deal with their demeaning bully boy male lawyers. I didn’t have time to cry.

As I was deciding to get the on with it all, it became easier to get rid of all the shit of his I accumulated. It became easier to block him on social media. It became easier to block his number. It became easier to block his sisters and female friends who are all horrific harpies who enable him. It became easier to date other guys. It became easier to grow into my new life It became easier to be define by my own self-worth, not that of a relationship.

The week my sister got married one of her friends was sad that she was the last one who was single in the group. Feeling the feelings weddings bring up, she asked me if I was upset my sister was getting married and I wasn’t. The answer was a huge NO. I love my brother in law like the baby brother I never had, and think he’s perfect for my sister. But I know how it feels to be with someone who’s toxic and bad for me. I know it’s better to be alone then to be with that, and it’s alright to be alone.

I know a relationship does not define me, and am reminded that good friends are better than a partner any day. I have two wonderful housemates, one obsessed with UFOs and the other a happier Van Gough who are characters that were there for me last year when I had a cancer scare. (Yes, what wasn’t happening). I have an awesome job where I get paid to make people happy, and an even more awesome boss who puts me front and center whenever I can. I have an awesome mentor in Las Vegas, and his people are awesome. I have an awesome friend who’s a mentalist that awesomely predicted the Super Bowl. I have an awesome friend who was my puppet wrangler and has been front and center through all my madness. I have an awesome family.

So this Valentine’s Day, I wont be getting flowers or candy and that’s alright. My life is full of people who love and support me, and someone people don’t even have one person who loves and supports them……and those people are in committed relationships!

Bottom line, if you are in a rough time, you can rock your way out. If the Pats can win the Super Bowl, you can climb out of your pit of despair. And being alone is better than being with someone who’s unhealthy for you. At the end of the day you can have all the love in the world but you really gotta love yourself. Just saying kids. This is as deep as this bitch gets for now. 

Come see The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W. 46 Street

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

An Open Letter to the Muslim Doctors Who Helped Me

To the Muslim Doctors That Helped Me:

I would like to open this letter with my gratitude. Not only for your service and commitment to science, helping others, and the advancement of technology, but for treating me with compassion during one of the worst personal/medical times in my life.

A year ago, I was in a bad living situation. I was living with bed bugs and mold. Instead of taking care of it, my landlord thought he would run me out. That way he could jack the rent up in my apartment. One which I had lived in without incident for 10 years. When I called The City on him, he proceeded to torment me through the legal system. I was in court once a week with this man. He proceeded to follow me around the neighborhood, until one day he told me that he wouldn't stop until he saw me homeless. While in court, he attempted to burn my apartment down after going through my things. He knew where I was going to be. This was the perfect opportunity for his wish to come true.

Due to the stress I had to endure, my health began to fail. My hair was falling out, and I was so stressed I could not digest my food properly. I could not sleep, and when I did I feared bugs were crawling all over me. Often I was so weak I couldn't make it up the stairs, and routinely fainted/passed out. Not to mention I had problems breathing. Do to the stress and poor diet as well as lack of self-care, a test for cancer came back for a certain virus that causes a certain type of cancer. Often, abnormal tests are triggered by stress and a broken down immune system as was the case in my particular situation.

During my first visit to the doctor, I was scared. You often are when you fear they will find something deathly wrong with you. I told the nurse this. Then you walked in. Yes, my Muslim doctor. You heard I was afraid of doctors, and to put me at ease walked in without your robe. In order to get me to relax, and made me laugh. Then you asked what brought me to you. I told the truth. You listened with compassion, and no judgement. By the way you spoke to me, I could tell you cared. At that point in my life, no one else did. You discussed doing some tests to find out why I was so tired, and you told me regardless of what you found, we were going to design a treatment plan so that I could be healthy again.

My second visit contained my test results. This time I had a second doctor. Another Muslim doctor. This one female. It was because my first was back home to visit his family in his home nation. This young woman was fresh out of medical school, and discussed a treatment plan. She told me I was going to be alright, and suggested vitamin supplements that could help me. She also suggested a higher iron diet, and perhaps moving out of my unhealthy situation. While I didn't walk out of there cured, I had a plan. I was going to be okay.

A year later I am healthy. I am out of my horrific living situation. My hair has grown back. As well, I no longer faint and am running anywhere from 2-5 miles a day, depending. I am also weight training. My diet contains more iron, fruits, and vegetables.

I also want to express gratitude for the fact you saw me as a patient, and did not judge me by the color of my skin. You cared about my well-being as a doctor should. As a matter of fact, I kept my same insurance so I could keep you as my doctors. That being said, I apologize for the closed minded bigotry of the leader our country has picked, and I apologize for the Islamophobia that you have experienced at the hands of others.

I also know that Isis does not speak for all practitioners of your faith, just as Army of God and the KKK do not speak for all Christians, my faith. If you are what we are letting in when Muslims come, I say let more in. You are welcome in the America I know and that I grew up to understand. Thank you for being so willing to contribute, even though so many of us are not so kind back.

This summer in Cleveland I was able to march against Trump when he got his nomination. There were shirts that said, "Muslim Doctors Save Lives." I know this to be true.

Thank you for saving mine.


The Lady and President Tramp
Monday February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W. 46 Street

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Why I Marched

Last week I went to The Women's March in NYC. I was told by some of the white males in my life that the march was stupid and pointless. Trump was already president. What was done was done. I had to work with it.

The white men are part of the population that is never effected. They win every election. They never have to worry about sexual assault or intimate partner violence. Their reproductive rights are never questioned. Since they are not a part of an ethnic group that has been oppressed, they do not know the discrimination others do.

Instead, although we say The White Man's burden is dead, it is alive and well. And it is feeding the patriarchy that is killing us all.

Truth be told I almost didn't march. What was done was done. Maybe the white males in my life were right. Maybe it was time to accept Trump was president even though the woman I voted for won the popular vote. I and many like myself were angry after the election: that our rights were in danger and our vote didn't count.

Plus I had marched this summer in Cleveland with STAT (Stand Together Against Trump) I spent my days in the square street performing and bringing awareness and finally was at the front of the big march. It was Donald J. Tramp, a bunch of doctors, and myself. They never saw themselves being politically involved let alone being next to a puppet. We even trended on twitter that day. We were heard. Loudly, peacefully.
In the Square, a true protest chick and her puppet

I had done my marching, right?

In the words of our Cheeto in charge, "WRONG!"

I have had a lot of feelings post election. There has been the grief. As if something aka our democracy has died and a dictator has taken over. As if my vote didn't count even though I was one of the 3 million popular votes Hillary won by. Then there was the rage at the people who didn't vote that wanted to complain. There was the pure just ire with the Stein people for voting third party and essentially adding to the Trump tally. And then in part I was pissed with the Trump people, but they turned out and voted. They were a part of our broken system like I was.

Yet at the same time, my candidate had more votes and their man was in. Again, it was the system I was raging at. I pitied them more than anything and still do. They voted with sexism, faith, and fear, a deadly combo where they feared a powerful agnostic woman and instead got a madman who will get their sons blown up in his needless war.

I also wanted to know where the people protesting were in Cleveland. Where were they when we needed people to phone bank? Where were they during the voter drives? Oh I forgot, being apathetic.

Yet I was getting angry. Angry that Trump's picks were anti-woman and anti-LGBTQ. Angry at the thought of a wall as I live in a city where we have many hardworking immigrant families eager to contribute. Angry that the ACA might be repealed and that I'll lose healthcare. Angry that as a woman who was abused by an intimate partner that our commander and chief is a rapist and feels there is nothing wrong with sexual abuse.


Angry that my friends who were HIV positive could be denied health coverage if ACA was repealed. Angry these same friends might have their marriages declared illegal. Angry that a race of people is now being profiled. Angry that young black men are killed by the cops.


I however wasn't going to DC. I had been travelling quite a bit and was tired. So when I heard there was a women's march in NYC I was on the fence. I was angry, but I had done my marching.

My mom changed the tide. A Title IX Crusader, she led a sit in so her winning swim team could get letter jackets just like the men. The captain at the time, just 21, my mom was also the media spokesperson for the cause. All they wanted was to be treated fairly. My mom told me she felt it was important I went. So I did.

It was a warm day, and Donald J. Tramp and I made the trip. Through a strange connection, we ended up behind the banner of the NYCLU. There were 500 K people who turned out in NYC alone. There were marches all around the country. There were marches all around the world. There were people saying no loudly, proudly, and peacefully to injustice. It was just as beautiful as Cleveland.

It wasn't just women. Male allies came out too to march alongside us. Men who understood sexism was wrong. Men who reminded us that while the patriarchy was oppressive, men were not the enemy. While the right would call them Betas that could not have been farther from the truth. Because a real man will march alongside a strong, vocal woman.

Being there felt magical. Being there felt important. Being there was making a statement. Not only was I marching for a cause, but I was marching into history. It was saying perhaps the system told me my vote did not count, but my voice and that of many others damn well did.

Look at me march. Donald J. Tramp is there, too

I instantly made some new friends. And we killed time as the march started an hour and a half late. The late start wasn't because of the disorganization, but because more people than intended turned out. Yes, that many people were willing to take a stand. For many, this was their first protest march. Others had been marching since childhood, even attending their first protest in strollers. There were some cases where whole families marched, children included.

The streets were crowded with people, to the point where we couldn't move. The banner and puppet hurt my arms at times, but it was important I was there behind it. Protecting free speech. Protecting satire. Protecting my right to say something is wrong.

And as we made our way, cramped like ants in an ant farm, people played music and hung flags and banners in support. As we were stopped at an intersection near Grand Central, cars honked. They weren't honking because traffic was jammed but they were rather honking in support. At Trump Towers, people protested into the wee hours of the morning.

As we marched, we didn't just march for women. We marched for young black men like Emmett Till, Yusef Hawkins, Trayvon Martin and Jonny Gammage killed by racism. We marched for immigrants so that they would be safe in our sanctuary city. We marched to let Trump know the country was not behind him. We marched to let him know it wasn't acceptable to appeal ACA. We marched to let him know to profile and ban an ethic group was what Hitler did. We marched to let him know sorry, our taxes would not be paying for the wall. We marched to tell Trump his anti-LGBTQ cabinet was also unacceptable. We marched to let him know maybe he was making our lives hell, but as tax payers we were about to make the next four years for him mightily unpleasant.

On a personal level, I marched for my Nuni (Mom's mom), who got her college diploma at age 68 and became a published poet later in life after raising 6 kids. I marched for Mema Ralph (Dad's mom) who worked in the mills during WWII when the men were away and raised 7 kids on her own after her husband died. I marched continuing the legacy of my mother, the Title IX crusader, who was part of a generation who fought against the establishment and was fearless about crushing the patriarchy. I marched for my sister, an ER doctor, who wanted to attend her local protest but was busy working, saving the lives of others. And I marched for my dad, who was also working, that as a lawyer has taken on sexism in the establishment, defending women filing sexual harassment lawsuits against the Donald Trump's of the world.

I can also say that I had other family members who marched in their cities, my cousin in Atlanta and my cousins gf in Pittsburgh. We marched. We showed up. We were heard. We were counted.

My marching is not done, but rather the protesting is beginning. This is America. It is a melting pot. We are a nation of immigrants. Of all colors. Of women. Contrary to what Trump preaches, we all count.

We said so on all seven continents, even  Antarctica. We have support everywhere.

We are starting the movement. To the protesters at JFK, I was unable to come today but you have my support. Lastly, there have been people wanting to shut down my shows because of my message and my political humor. They are welcome to try. But I am a nasty, nasty woman. I am a nasty woman with a message. The message is always given to the one with a big mouth and my puppet's mouth is huge. I will not go gently into this goodnight, and I will not go quietly either.

There was even a Women's March in Antarctica

The Lady and President Tramp
February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W 46

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Another Night (Aretha Franklin)

A while back I was talking to someone I consider one of my best friends. He had the opportunity to have revenge sex with his ex-wife's sister soon after the divorce. From what I gather his ex wife wasn't bad, but they were just two people who didn't belong together. His ex wife also seems like a goody goody who was perhaps too nauseating. I dunno, I can only go off of what he says.

Her sister on the other hand, was a big ole pAArty girl with an even bigger coke habit. His ex had a love/hate relationship with her sister. While she was her sister, she disapproved of her fast moving lifestyle. My buddy admitted that the few times his ex's sister tried to quit partying, she was even more annoying sober. Oh isn't that always the fun case. Fun Bobby and Alcoholic Bobby....sigh McSigh Sigh.

Anyway, I said to him, "Dude, the revenge sex was right there, you should have taken it."

"Nah, that would have meant putting up with my sister in law and she annoys the piss outta me. Trust me." My buddy replied.

"Well it would have hit your ex where it hurt." I informed him.

"No, my ex knows her sister can be a bit fast so the joke would be on me." He said.

"That's what you think. Her sister probably always stole guys from her and was prettier and more fun. Trust me, she would have been breaking everything in the room and shaving her head. You should have done it." I insisted. It was true, his ex's sister was pretty. Granted, she looked kind of nuts but she was beautiful. His ex wife was cute......but her sister was drop dead gorgeous in that I'm gonna cut yo dick off kind of way.

"Why, what would I get out of it?" He asked.

"The bitch broke your heart! She made you miserable. Now it was your turn to crush her self-worth." I told him, thinking I was schooling him.

"Nah. I don't want anyone to be with me that doesn't want to be. My heart is fine now that she's gone. I'd be miserable if she was still here."


Fast forward a few weeks later. I was running an errand and was just about done for the day. Glancing across the street I saw a familiar face. I couldn't place them. Whoever it was gained quite a bit of weight. Then I recognized him. It was an ex boyfriend of mine. One who I loved and one who lied. One who crushed my heart after he ripped it out of my chest and pissed on it. Bad heart break.

It was the kind of heart break where there was a time I would have had to fight not to strangle him. It was the kind of heart break where if there was a food item around, it would have probably flown towards him at one point.

It was a WTF moment because I did not intend to see that ex, and actually hadn't thought of him for a while. The last time I got an update was this summer when I saw an old friend who also hates his guts. But after that I forgot. It was the past. Whatever. He was such a bad memory that when the heart break faded I cringe and laugh. But either way, he kind of just popped out of no where.

He gained a ton of weight, and he was someone who was riding that life ruining Casanova ticket to the moon. Either he was on psych meds or God hates the same things I do. I studied him for a brief second. Damn, time had really not been kind to him. To say the boy got ugly was an understatement.

I remembered the lies he told when we were together. I remembered the cheating. I remembered how he sent his lady friends after me to say nasty things. All of it. And then I glanced at him. He was working a dead end job and he was a loser. LOSER. Oh and he also supported Donald Trump I heard. It's been years since we have spoken. But people told me.


What the frekkkk did I see in him? What was I thinking? AHHHHHH!!!!

Then they say they are an ex because you ex them out of your life. I had the opportunity to get with his best friend who annoyed the piss out of me. He also had a brother who was into me. Hell no. I glanced for another second before walking away before he could see me.

I was glad I didn't end up marrying him. He was still no where. Not to mention he was probably still a liar and a cheater. And he had totally gotten ugly. Or maybe his outsides were becoming his insides and he was now the full blown rat he always was.

My buddy's words echoed in my mind. "My heart is fine now that she's gone. I'd be miserable if she was still here."

Then I realized not only was the break up for the best (I already knew that but sometimes you need to be reminded), but I wouldn't slit my wrists without him. I would probably slit my wrists if he returned.


Monday, January 16, 2017

Seasonal Maladjustment and Other Business

If you have ever walked the tight rope known as 12 Step and self-help, you know about HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. They should highlight Tired. I make all my terrible decisions when I am tired. Once when I was tired I withdrew my rent out of the wrong bank account putting myself almost 2 grand in the red. It was bad. I had to call my mom like an asshole.

Yes, nothing says asshole like calling your mom to tell her what a fucktard you have been as an adult. But moms are moms. They are always there like parachutes to rescue and hot air balloons to lift you up.

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind.

Work was busy before leaving NYC for Christmas. Then during Christmas my mom was sick, so I couldn't rest as much because she needed the assistance. I would have been a complete asshole if I wouldn't have stepped up. How many times has my mom stepped up for me? Plus the docs feared she had pneumonia which is no joke. Needless to say I didn't get much rest during the holiday.

Then I was in Vegas working and rehearsing for the APAP showcase performance of The Lady and President Tramp. It was rehearse, rewrite, rinse, repeat. In between I was getting threats on twitter and the venue was getting threats too. Never a dull moment.

Then I went to APAP, did some reporting for Clyde Fitch, did my showcase.....success.

However, the next few days were spent trying to recover. I got onstage right away and thought I was okay. But then I couldnt sleep. I tried but my phone buzzed, people called. I found a new Lifetime movie. I was too wired to sleep.

Finally Friday I forgot what time zone I was in. I forgot my groceries at the supermarket. I dropped my keys on my front stoop and left them outside. I got into a fight with someone I care about who's my heart in a lot of ways. When I say fight it was a big big I didn't know if they would be talking to me the next day.

Luckily Tylenol PM was to the rescue. I slept until almost noon when my landlord woke me up to tell me he made too much coffee. And then he told me about his latest UFO theory. I managed to complete my errands the next day without dying or falling asleep on my feet. Bonus, I knew what time zone it was.

Yesterday, I managed to patch things up with the person I cussed out who compared me to an infant throwing a tantrum.....ouch, and they were even kind enough to laugh me off.

Either way, I got some decent rest this weekend and put in some self-care. Now to get my show back up again, find a pianist, enter it into festivals, and make some videos. Oh you got to eat that elephant one bite at a time. Did I mention I am releasing a calendar and book?

Sigh, no rest for the weary. 

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Death Threats and Other Things

The Lady and President Tramp had it's New York debut at Don't Tell Mama this past Sunday. LEading up to the show, there had been some fireworks on twitter. A man claiming to be a delegate from Michigan threatened me, and then emailed the venue saying that if they didn't pull my show he would go to the press. This individual who called himself Jack Holmes said he would take me and my message down.

He didn't. The venue didn't pull the show.

However, Don't Tell Mama received several aggressive messages, some death threats, on their facebook page. I didn't know about this until I got to the theatre. To say things were crazy is a complete understatement.

The night of the show was actually successful. At first it didn't look like it was going to be because my tech was a mini disaster. However the show itself was marvelous. The audience LOVED IT! We are even talking about doing a run. Life is good. As a bonus I didn't get shot.

The venue administration was amazing in standing behind me this entire time. When others there were panicked, the owner said the show must go on. It's free expression. It's what America is about.

Now that being said, today I feel a little unimportant. No one is threatening me. I always knew I would be close to a bullet in some way for my outspokenness. This is not the first time. However, it is the first time I could picture the bullet. That in itself was a little scary.

I have a show tonight where I am Lady Gaga. I'm not being political. My mom is relieved.

Someone sent me a message that they saw my show and it wasnt good. This person was a pro-Trumper. Who knows if it's true. People are so tough behind the internet. Either way, it has been an entertaining past few weeks.

Donald J. Tramp and Hillary Clifton debate