tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47325197827721764432024-03-18T21:11:37.939-07:00Miss April Bwww.AprilBrucker.TVMissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.comBlogger1074125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-67697882066063713172022-03-10T17:52:00.010-08:002022-03-11T16:53:52.124-08:00Girl Fight Tonight (Julie Brown)“FUCK YOU! YOU FUCKING FUCKS!” Al Pender screamed from the field on the unseasonably hot October Saturday as The Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks JV Squad faced off against The Centerville Red. Last night we were mercilessly creamed, and today was payback, or least that’s what it was supposed to be.
<P>Mom put her hands over my ten year old sister Skipper’s ears. Al continued his tirade. Dad, along with some of the other fathers grumbled, “C’mon.”
<P>“Five hundred yard penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct,” The referee responded. My brother Wendell and the rest of the JV squad made face to palm motions on their helmets, not even bothering to hide their annoyance.
<P>“Sad thing is, the kid is fast. He could play varsity. He’s just nuts.” Dad said. Pender was notorious for both his hot feet and hot temper, being what Coach Matthias referred to as, “unpredictable like a dog in heat.”
<P>The next play began. Feet away, Al Pender Sr-or Penderhead as Dad referred to him-sat with feet away with his newest wife, Mrs. Pender Number 5. The former Chastity Beddonfield had graduated and cheered as a Lady Hawk three years ago. She was attending the local community college before she got wrapped up with a crook, took part in a check cashing scheme and found herself on the wrong side of the law. After getting convicted, the only place that would hire her was The Jefferson Lodge, the seedy strip joint on the edge of town.
<P>Penderhead, who was a frequent customer, boasted to the down and out dancer about his successful construction business. Looking as if he escaped a casting for Boogey Nights, Penderhead told the young woman what he told everyone who met him, “I make an obscene amount of money.” This was her first trip out of the house since getting her electronic ankle monitor off.
<P>Then Al got the ball. Penderhead yelled, “Go Al!”
<P>Chastity, her bleach blonde hair with black roots showing used her cheerleader voice, “MOVE THAT BALL!”
Behind the Penders sat Dina Almoni. Al’s squeeze of three years, last spring, her water breaking in home room, Dina gave birth to their son Rock, named after their favorite professional wrestler. The long suffering Mrs. Almoni, who had lost her husband two years before in an industrial accident, had her hands full working two jobs and did her best with her out of control daughter. As he ran with the ball and Dina bounced Rock on her lap, Mrs. Almoni said, “That bum is fast. Hope he’s as quick to get a job as he was to saddle you with a kid.”
<P>Penderhead turned around, “Nah, your daughter is the trash who trapped our son forever.”
<P>Dina rolled her eyes. Her jet black hair with peroxide highlights flowing in the wind and clothes so tight it was a wonder she breathed said, “Ignore them Mom, Daddy’s on the field, right Rock?” Mrs. Almoni rolled her eyes.
<P>Then Dina yelled, “Go Snookums Pie!”
<P>Of course this pet name was a never ending source of fodder for the varsity Blackhawks, who had watched game tapes that morning and had come down to support their JV brothers, chowing on hot dogs feet away. Making it the call and response portion of the show they sang, “DINA DA DING DING DING DING DING!” The guys did this because just as Snookums Pie was Dina’s pet name for Al, Dina Da Ding Ding Ding was Al’s pet name for Dina.
<P>Al was running until BAM! He got tackled. The ref blew the whistle. Al, frustrated, threw down the ball, ran over to the opposing player on the Reds, grabbed his face mask and attempted to punch him. The Reds families gasped, but the Blackhawk families rolled their eyes.
<P>The ref, who had given Pender tons of many penalties already, finally ejected him from the stadium. Al, never one to miss a dramatic exit threw down his helmet, grabbed his crotch and screamed, “FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING COCK SUCKING, CUNT LUCKING, DEMOCRAT MAGGOT!”
<P>I was impressed because Al might have managed to offend most if not all people in the stands. Dina yelled, “Snookums Pie, you tell him!”
<P>Mrs. Almoni groaned. The varsity guys yelled, “DINA DA DING DING DING!”
<P>Al stomped off the field and Dina flicked off the varsity guys, nearly dropping little Rock who was now crying because his mother was neglecting his most basic of needs. Luckily Mrs. Almoni caught the little boy and struggled to calm him down. Dina and the varsity guys went back and forth until Coach Stephens, the easy on the eyes dreamboat who coached JV, called a time out, left the field and approached the stands, “Next to say a four letter word has to run. Blackhawk Nation does not roll that way, especially with grandparents and children present. And that means you too, little Rock.”
<P>The stands broke out laughing. Coach Stephens was a treasure who could diffuse any bomb. Mom looked at me and whispered, “Think before act with a boy. I am not going to be Mrs. Almoni, you hear?”
<P>“Yes Mom,” I said. The game continued, we lost.
<P>Skipper and I had swim practice the following Tuesday. As usual, it was uneventful with speed drills and conditioning. What made this day different was our parents were at a house party for one of Dad’s clients so it meant Wendell was ordering a pepperoni pizza from Sal’s Italian Too.
<P>Mom, because she would be at the party with Dad, talked Jenny Hoffman’s mother into giving us a ride home. Jenny was one of Skipper’s best friends on the team, but one of my least favorite people on the planet. Like Skipper, Jenny was a STEM genius beyond her years. Once, the two had an hour long conversation about dead bodies, rigor and the bugs that showed up based on how long the person in question had been deceased.
That’s not why I disliked Jenny though. If she could screw up something she did. Two weeks ago at a swim meet Jenny, after badgering us for days, talked us into letting her anchor our relay because her freestyle was “strong” She finished dead last costing us any trophy. Then there was the incident in CCD where Jenny asked the priest, and she was completely serious, if Jesus did LSD. We had to do extra catechism because our teacher was so appalled. When she talked at Constitution Middle school, we all yelled, “SHUT UP!” It was because it might result in us getting extra homework because our teacher would be so royally pissed. But I could do ten minutes in the car with them. I just had to ignore Jenny like I always did.
<P>In the back of the van as Mrs. Hoffman drove, Jenny and Skipper were talking about a recent study about smells and finding your soul mate that Harvard had conducted. I successfully tuned them out until I heard Jenny say, “Since their smells are so different Mom and I are fixing Meredith up with Al Pender.” Meredith was Jenny’s less academic but more socially skilled and easier to take older sister.
<P>Without thinking I blurted out, “NOOOO!!! STAY AWAY FROM SNOOKUMS PIE!”
<P>As she drove, Mrs. Hoffman said, “I understand April’s point because of Al’s reputation, but he has been my student for years. He’s a nice boy. Just misunderstood and needs the love of a nice girl like Meredith.” Serving as the emotional support teacher at Whiskey Rebellion High School, Mrs. Hoffman had a good heart but now I was beginning to see lack of sense was genetic.
<P>Jenny said, “And the science backs us up. The smells are very different yet compatible.”
<P>I said, “Correction, you mean different yet combustible like fire and gasoline.”
<P>Skipper said, “Ignore April. She’s bitter. Your hypothesis is probably correct.”
<P>As Mrs. Hoffman pulled up, Jenny said, “April, I know you don’t grasp science but the facts and research will prove naysayers like yourself wrong.”
<P>As I closed the door I said, “Naysayers like you don’t grasp reality. Have fun watching your dumpster fire blow up.”
<P>When we got into the house Skipper said, “Why are you so unkind?”
<P>I said, “They said the same thing about the guy who told them to put life jackets on the Titanic. Did you not see Snookums Pie and Dina Da Ding Ding Ding last Saturday?”
<P>Wendell approached, “Pizza’s gonna be here any second. What are you squawking about?”
<P>We told him. The look on Wendell’s face was priceless, “WHAT?! I rarely agree with April but the only thing this smells like a terrible idea.”
<P>Skipper said, “But the hypothesis is on our side.”
<P>Wendell said, “My hypothesis is these two a Red Neck Romeo and Juliet. They might break up today but they are back together tomorrow. Last girl who got in the middle of Dina Da Ding Ding and Snookums Pie had to change schools.”
<P>I said, “And they have a kid which makes this day time talk show complicated.” Mom and I agreed, that despite Skipper’s intellectual supremacy, she was tender and naïve, so when she asked the plan was to let her believe Rock was Dina’s brother, not her son. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
<P>Skipper said, “Rock is their son?”
<P>Wendell nodded as the doorbell rang, “Yeah, treat it like the Holy Grail in Indiana Jones, Squirt. Don’t look and keep going.” We walked to the door and got our pizza. Never a dull moment.
<P>Mom was angry Skipper had found out the truth about Rock, but Wendell came to my defense and told her about Mrs. Hoffman and Jenny’s plan. Like me, Mom tried to stop the bullet train by trying to warn Mrs. Hoffman and Jenny but with no success. Mrs.Hoffman and Jenny, determined to prove everyone wrong, arranged for the date when Al told her he ended things with Dina the day before. Meredith and Al went to the food court, had a great time and Al said he wanted to "do it again." What could possibly go wrong?
<p>Two days later Dina and Al reunited before home room. Al came clean about the date with Meredith but defended himself by explaining that she “meant nothing.” Dina went bezerk.
<P>She found out what Meredith’s first period class was, waited for her to go to the bathroom, and jumped her. Meredith got a fat lip, black eye and bloody nose. Dina was suspended for two weeks and told the principal not to bother because she hated school anyway and wouldn’t be returning. The Hoffmans thought the worst was over. Nope, it had only just begun.
<P>Figuring he could make the new circumstances in his life work for himself, Al told his Blackhawk friends that Meredith could be his “school sweetheart” and Dina could be his “squeeze when the bell rang.” The plan backfired when Meredith, who wanted as far away from all this as possible, rejected the offer. Determined as ever, Al began to follow Meredith around school threatening any guy who came near her. Meredith was not only unable to get a date, but her social life suffered.
<P>Back at the ranch, Mrs. Almoni, who was less than thrilled that her daughter dropped out of school, told her to get a job or get out. So Dina sought employment at The Jefferson Lodge. While they disliked each other, Chasity Pender agreed to serve as a reference. Always willing to stir the pot, Chastity casually told Dina that Al not only planned on seeing both women but bragged about it. Al of course denied any of this, but the friends Dina had at school backed up Chastity’s claims.
<P>Dina, dancing under the name Pebbles, who lied about her age to gain employment, became very popular with the clientele at The Jefferson Lodge. Making many friends in low places who would easily do her bidding, one lonely gent in particular, who lived up the street from The Hoffmans, casually gave her Meredith’s home address after a seductive private lap dance. That’s when Dina began her reign of terror.
<P>After work at The Jefferson Lodge, Dina would show up at The Hoffmans calling Meredith out. Yelling a barrage of insults, The Hoffmans figured the distraught dancer would burn herself out. Soon Dina upped her game though, littering their lawn with tampons, egging their door and lighting a bad of dog poop on fire.
<P>At the end of their rope, The Hoffmans visited Dad’s law office. Dad, who marveled that the Hoffmans willingly let Snookums Pie and Dina Da Ding Ding into their lives persuaded them to seek out a restraining order. It was granted. At school, Jenny was a shell of her former self, quiet and tired. I wanted to tell her my hypothesis had been correct but life was doing a better job of that than I ever could.
<P>Al, in an unrelated incident, punched a teacher and got expelled because why not? Seeing the perfect excuse to get rid of their problem child, Penderhead and Chastity kicked Al out onto the street. With no where to go he showed up at the Almoni’s. At this time Mrs. Almoni had discovered her daughter was working at The Jefferson Lodge and blamed Al, who she told could live in the treehouse, and could come in the house to use a computer to look for a job. When Al complained about the cold she said, “Tough shit.”
<P>Despite all that had been happening, Al convinced Dina this made them stronger as a couple. Once spring came, he planned on marrying her in a proper ceremony at The Whiskey Rebellion Magistrate where Rock could be ring bearer. However, Al still wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He messaged Meredith online, calling Dina “a fat, breeding lump” and said the only reason he was still with her was baby Rock. Meredith let him down easy but when that failed she blocked him. This would have remained a secret but Al unfortunately left the internet window open making it easy for Dina to find. To a scorned woman, a restraining order is a mere piece of paper. Hell hath no fury like that same woman behind the wheel.
<P>Cut to our family dinner that night and when suddenly the phone rang. Dad picked it up and I could tell this was bad, very bad. Dad said, “LOIS! I AM NOT THE LEGAL HELP YOU NEED RIGHT NOW! YOU NEED THE COPS! SHE’S DRIVING A CAR THROUGH THE FRONT OF YOUR HOUSE!”
<P>Mom said, “The Hoffmans are officially The House Without a Brain.”
<P>I said, “Hmm…..and the facts weren’t on my side, right guys?”
<P>Wendell said, “The fact is, these people are like Melrose Place except with missing teeth.”
<P>Skipper said, “How can you two laugh? This is horrible. Al and Dina weren’t ready for the responsibilities that came with having a child and now little Rock is going to pay.” Whether she knew it or not, Skipper had summed up teen parenthood in all of it’s glorious splendor.
<P>The cops arrived and Dina was arrested. She was charged with destruction of property, attempted vehicular homicide, harassment and violation of a restraining order. As an added kick in the gut, upon her arrest, Dina tested positive for oxy and crack cocaine. She faced up to 30 years in prison.
<P>It was Meredith Hoffman though, who advocated on Dina’s behalf, insisting she had been pushed as Al was determined to pit both women against each other. With the help of Mrs. Hoffman, the mother daughter duo insisted that the prosecution seek treatment, not punishment. Dina was sent to a long term facility for women with mental health and substance abuse issues for two years.
<P>Mrs. Almoni was awarded full custody of Rock, moved several hours away with the boy, and told the lad his father died in the war. Turns out Mrs. Almoni was almost correct. Al died in a police shoot out at the age of 25, but being the gift that still keeps on giving he left behind six different children to six different women, none of which he ever supported. By forever tainting the genetic pool it can be argued he lived a short but full life.
<P>Meredith finished high school quietly, attended a local university and married a boy she met there. She moved back to Whiskey Rebellion, has three kids and like her mother before her teaches emotional support at the high school. Jenny abandoned her smell theory but not science. Admitted to West Point and inspired by the events of her childhood, Jenny decided to become an FBI criminal profiler. Her senior thesis was on the Al/Dina/Meredith love triangle, and Chastity, who had long since divorced Mr. Pender and returned to work as a stripper, agreed to be interviewed as witness to the events for a reasonable fee.
<P>In treatment, Dina earned her GED, got extensive counseling and realized that Al, not Meredith had been the real problem. Determined to get her life on track, she worked to regain custody of Rock. Once released, inspired by the people who helped her, she got a license to become a drug and alcohol counselor. After getting her son back, she moved to West Virginia, met her Mr. Right in an NA meeting who not only loved her but agreed to adopt Rock and married him. The two would eventually have two more kids.
<P>On facebook, Dina The Recovery Coach as she calls herself now looks so good she is almost unrecognizable. Standing in a family photo with Rock, who resembles his father minus the bad decisions, Dina bragged that her oldest has accepted an athletic scholarship to Wheeling Jesuit University to play football. Hugging her grandson, Mrs. Almoni has a big smile. Finally, something in this sordid saga smells good.
<P>Like my writing, buy my books available on Amazon, and visit me at www.AprilBrucker.TVMissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-55050791059559200552022-01-27T17:30:00.002-08:002022-01-27T17:41:14.757-08:00Dirty Laundry (Don Henley)It was a dark and stormy night. Dad was working late. Wendell studied for AP Biology in the Florida room, Skipper did her spelling in the dining room and I glued stickers onto a geography poster with my mom paying bills feet away. Then the doorbell rang.
Mom said, “April, could you get that?”
<P>Knowing I was chosen because I was closes to the door, I got up to get it. The doorbell rang about ten more times. Either they were selling something and there was a prize involved or this was a lunatic. Standing on the front porch, soaking wet was the prized lunatic herself, Mrs. Tolanco, the most obnoxious of all the Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawk Football Booster mothers. A former Whiskey Rebellionette twirler, her senior class voted her ‘Most Divine.’ These days, she resembled the late drag queen Divine.
<P>Opening the door I said, “Hi Mrs. Tolanco.”
<P>Barreling past me and knocking me over like her son Frankie did an opponent on the offensive line, she said, “Wendelin, Gracie, I need a lawyer!”
<P>As I got up, she still ignored the fact she knocked me over. Mom came running out ruing the day she asked me to answer the door, “Judy, I understand you are upset, but Wendelin isn’t home right now.”
<P>Mrs. Tolanco said, “Grace, no can do. We need to sue in big court!” She held up a copy of The Hawk Wing, The Whiskey Rebellion High School newspaper. The headline read, “Blackhawks, Lady Hawks and Rebellionettes Get A Failing Grade by Sandra Angelina.”
<P>Under the article was a picture of a girl who looked like Emily Dickinson The Belle of Amherst joined Sonic Youth with a by-line read, “Sandra Angelina wants to snuff out the patriarchy and write the great American novel.”
<P>Mom said, “Okay Judy, I know you are extremely upset but I need you to calm down and take a few deep breaths. She’s an angry teenager. You know how tough it is to be that age.”
<P>Mrs. Tolanco said, “Well wait until you read what she wrote. The Whiskey Rebellion Women’s Club asked me if it was true. It was about a boy shoving a baseball bat up another boys…”
<P>Mom held up her hand, “Judy, please calm down.”
<P>Mrs. Tolano said, “My Frankie plays football, works part time at the plant store and volunteers with our church to help the shut in at the end of our block with her grocery shopping and yard work. We have a few Rebellionettes and Lady Hawks who are a part of the youth group too. These are good kids and I won’t have them slandered!”
<P>Wendell came running out, “Mrs. Tolanco, you okay?”
<P>Letting it spray like Tammy Faye she said, “NO! Do you know this rotten Sandra Angelina?!”
<P>Wendell said, “Yeah, she’s a weird chick who wears all black and writes death poetry.”
<P>Mrs. Tolanco said, “A ha! The motive here is bitterness and revenge. She couldn’t make The Lady Hawks or the Rebellionettes. Maybe one of the guys wouldn’t date her. Or better yet, she’s a LESBIAN!” The way she said lesbian was louder, angrier and more punctuated than anything else.
<P>Skipper poked her head out of the dining room, “Mrs. Tolanco, I don’t mean to be rude but I am trying to study.”
<P>Mrs. Tolanco screamed, “ I AM BEGINNING TO DOUBT YOUR FAMILY’S COMMITMENT TO BLACKHAWK NATION!”
<P>Mom walked over to the door and opened it, “Judy, I think you need to go home, get some sleep and if you still have legal questions call Wendelin in the morning.”
<P>Mrs. Tolanco threw The Hawk Wing on the ground and made a dramatic exit out the door. When she was gone we let out a collective laugh. I said, “Wow, Dad’s gonna love that.” Dad hated Mrs. Tolanco.
<P>Wendell said, “Oh I’ll bet. Frankie’s a nice guy, too bad his mom’s a freakshow.”
<P>Mom said, “How do the guys feel?”
<P>Wendell shrugged, “I’m ignoring it and the more level headed ones are too. But some of the others are pretty pissed. Anyway, I got to get back to studying.”
<P>Later that night, I read the poison pen piece. Despite the hype it was a badly structured angry skree. Sandra Angelina alleged The Blackhawks and The Lady Hawks and Rebellionettes by extension were bullies who engineered a cheating ring and subjected underclassmen to violent hazing.
She was correct. The previous year there had been a cheating ring involving some football players and a few Rebellionettes and Lady Hawks serving as inside people. And bullying had been an epidemic on the football team too. The violent hazing incident where the baseball bat was shoved up the butt happened as well. The only problem, it was last year. The players, cheerleaders, and Rebellionettes involved had graduated, and the coaches were fired so aside from a fact checking issue, there was nothing to be done. Matthias, while far from perfect, was zero tolerance for bullshit on the field or off.
<P>Sandra did have some points I agreed with. Yes, the women’s sports and smaller teams fell to the wayside with little to no publicity for their events, but Whiskey Rebellion was in Steeler County so football was king. The glossy program sold at the home games raised enough money for a new weight room. Sandra claimed the football team kept other athletic teams out. Under the previous coach, the football players intimidated smaller, weaker students out of using the weight room. As far as I knew, Matthias’s squad didn’t behave this way, but Wendell and his teammates were the ones who primarily used it.
<P>When I was finished, I handed Skipper the article. As she read it Skipper said, “Two words: spell check.”
<P>Skipper, despite being grade levels ahead in math, was a terrible speller. I said, “That means a lot coming from you.”
<P>Skipper shrugged, “Only someone of limited intellect would get mad at this like Mrs. Tolanco.” We both burst out laughing.
<P>For the next week, Mrs. Tolanco blew up Dad’s phone demanding the boosters take The Hawk Wing to court. When Dad told her she had no suit, Mrs. Tolanco started a petition demanding The Hawk Wing be shut down. Gaining traction, she began to put pressure on Coach Matthias to approach the administration about disbanding The Hawk Wing.
<P>Coach Matthias, who didn’t like Mrs. Tolanco but wanted to do damage control, approached Mrs. Callahan, The Hawk Wing sponsor, to clear the air. Smooth as sandpaper on a bed of nails Coach Matthias said, “I have no problem with the rest of weird kids that write. But that filly that wears black ain’t no good.”
<P>Mrs. Callahan was indignant, “She has a name and it’s Sandra Angelina. Remember it.”
<P>The two began to shout at each other. Hawk Wing staffers jumped to Mrs. Callahan’s defense. Blackhawks that were in the vicinity saw a Blackhawk down and aided their embattled coach. As the air filled with insults, threats and profanity, the school security guard tried to break up the shouting match gone wrong but failed. The long suffering vice principal Mr. Johns had to assist. When he was ignored, Bo the Janitor, a Vietnam vet with PTSD, jumped in.
<P>As they were being separated, Coach Matthias vowed, “This is a day that will live in infamy! Blackhawk Nation has declared war!”
<P>Mrs. Callahan replied, “Good! Because we not yet begun to write!”
<P>That was the start of what would go down in history as The War of Words. The day after the first shots were fired, Mrs. Tolanco arrived at Principal Cicero’s office with her petition. What she didn’t count on was that Mrs. Angelina, angry her daughter’s locker had been vandalized with the word “CUNT” written in red nail polish, was also waiting to talk to Principal Cicero. The mothers got into a screaming match. When they tried to punch each other, school security had to separate them, escort them out and ban them from school property. Meanwhile, The Hawk Wing, previously ignored, was now flying off the shelves as sympathy for Sandra Angelina and her cause grew.
<P>In what became known as The Battle of Dodge Ball, some Lady Hawk cheerleaders had informed Sandra that she cease and desist, “or else your time at Whiskey Rebellion High School will be hell.” Sandra refused. These same cheerleaders, who were in her gym class, this was Aztec Ball Court where it would be a fight to the death. Dodge balls became deadly weapons. However, what the cheerleaders didn’t count on was members of the women’s volleyball team, who were glad Sandra spoke up for them, would jump to the unathletic girl’s defense. Spikes were fired, resulting in several bloody noses. Volleyball players and cheerleaders were taken to the office, and in all six people were suspended.
<P>Next was The Battle of the Band Room. What started it is not known, but a Rebellionette twirler and a flutist fought over the truth of the Sandra Angelina article. The baton gave the Rebellionette an advantage, but wielding a flute proved to be far more dangerous. The band director, aghast, separated the girls who continued to fight even as the principal suspended them both.
<P>The penultimatum was The Battle of the Stairwell. Several Blackhawk football players had taunted Sandra in the hall with the usual round of insults that included, “Bitch,” “Rug Muncher” and “Tampon Eater.” The hockey team, which Sandra’s cousin Rudy belonged to, were lying in wait in the stairwell ready to pounce to defend her honor. When the time came they jumped three guys in Blackhawk letter jackets. The only problem was, these weren’t the three Blackhawks who had been taunting Sandra but three different guys who were not only at the wrong place at the wrong time, but were actually trying to stay out of The War on Words entirely. Seeing their fellow Blackhawks in trouble, others close by jumped in. Size wise, football guys had the advantage, but the hockey guys lived to get bruised, bloodied up and would not go down. In a match that was a draw, twenty students were suspended.
<P>The War on Words soon spilled down into Constitution Middle School. It made clique divisions more divided and poured salt in wounds that were fresh, especially since several of my classmates had siblings who were suspended because of their participation in the conflict. Like Wendell, I was trying to stay as far out of this as possible, but it was becoming harder and harder as everyone demanded you pick a side.
Trying to dodge the draft, I was on my way to lunch when Coach Douglass, my reading teacher and Coach Matthias’s second in command, poked his head out of his classroom, “RL Stine, do you got a minute?” That was his nickname for me because I was always writing something.
<P>I said, “Sure Coach, wassup?”
<P>Coach Douglass, who towered over me said in his thick West Virginia accent, “I don’t know about you, but this War on Words has gotten out of hand. Coach Matthias doesn’t want to call a truce which I think is a mistake. Where do you stand?”
<P>I said, “I stand by the side that wants to stay out of it. No offense.”
<P>Coach Douglass said, “But this is why I need your help. You’re kind of one of us because of Wendell but you are one of them because you are a weird girl who writes. Any ideas?”
<P>I was being backhanded but I was being called to service, “Coach, you got to meet them at their level. Get a player to write a respectful rebuttal.”
<P>Coach Douglass said, “How about Wendell? People like him and he’s smart.”
<P>I said, “Ask him.”
<P>Coach Douglass said, “Matthias is pretty adamant on this war. RL Stine, make him think it was your idea. Remember, Blackhawk Nation is counting on you.” I was charged with saving a country that didn’t exist. To quote the great Nancy Kerrigan, “WHY ME?!?”
<P>That night, as Dad was working late again and Mom was running errands I pitched the idea to Wendell. He said, “Absolutely not! In the War of Words I am a conscientious objector.”
<P>It was a reach but desperate times called for desperate measures, “Wendell, Blackhawk Nation is counting on you.” Then I told him about my conversation with Coach Douglass.
<P>Wendell said, “I was afraid he would do something like that. A lot of the guys are getting into trouble. It sucks because some of them are really nice but people are just so angry that they are starting stuff or getting sucked in by other people starting stuff. It’s not fair. Yeah, some of us were jerks but a lot of us study, make the honor roll and just want to mind our business.”
<P>I said, “Then put that in your editorial.”
<P>Wendell said, “Eh, you know I hate writing.”
<P>Skipper, who was feet away suggested, “Wendell, you like to draw, do a cartoon.” Wendell was a great artist and doodled frequently when he was bored.
<P>A smile crossed his face, “Great idea, Squirt. I’ll do it in study hall tomorrow.” Then we both gave her a fist bump.
<P>Wendell created a cartoon entitled "Don’t Box Me In." On one side it had the stereotype of a Blackhawk football player bullying kids, cutting class, cheating and partying until the wee hours with his friends. On the other side it had the same Blackhawk football player and his teammates helping special needs students, studying hard and having both his coach and mother remind him about work/sports/life balance.
<P>"Don’t Box Me In" was a hit with everyone. Impressed, Mrs. Callahan offered Wendell the gig as Hawk Wing cartoonist which he glady accepted. He also got an unlikely new fan, Sandra Angelina. Away from the front lines she confided in Wendell that she was sick of The War on Words but some of the more overzealous Hawk Wingers were pressuring her to keep fighting, even though at this point it was a giant shitshow.
<P>The two decided to negotiate an armistice. Wendell approached Mr. Napier, his guidance counselor who moonlighted as the football announcer about plugging the women’s sports and the smaller teams during the home games. Mr. Napier not only thought it was a great idea, but was embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it himself. The women’s volleyball team especially enjoyed the new publicity, and during their championship season found the stands packed. Smaller sports also took out ads in the glossy football book to show their appreciation, but also to let the town know that football players weren’t the only Blackhawks.
<P>In return, Sandra talked Mrs. Callahan into apologizing to Coach Matthias. As an olive branch, Coach Matthias offered to do an exclusive sit down interview with Sandra where he consented to being recorded and didn’t dodge the hardball questions. Coach Matthias didn’t deny the cheating and hazing incidents happened, but they were under the former coaching staff. He explained because the former players had been so out of control, the team had gotten a deservedly terrible reputation that he was working to change. Coach Matthias explained that unlike the coach who came before him, he stressed that both athletics and academics were equally as important. And while the previous football teams had excluded people from the weight room this wasn’t going to be the case when he was around. Yes, the football team had raised the money to build the new weight room but all students, regardless of what sport they played, and even those that did not play a sport, were both welcome and encouraged to come work out.
<P>Several Lady Hawks and Rebellionettes wrote editorials apologizing for their roles in The War on Words, but felt dragged in because they resented being stereotyped, but also the boogeyman of peer pressure played an active role. Hawk Wing staffers and people who were on the other side respectfully rebutted, saying they too were sorry, but they resented being ostracized and treated like a second class citizen in their own school. Together, the different voices had an honest conversation about bullying, peer pressure and labels. The Hawk Wing issue, entitled Cliques, won state wide Quill and Scroll prize.
<P>Sandra Angelina went on to attend Sarah Lawrence. After she graduated she freelanced with Mother Jones reporting on crisis pregnancy centers and the conditions of women’s prisons ruffling even more feathers before she opened a socialist bookstore. She recently self-published her opus, “Toppling The Patriarchy.” While not quite the great American novel, it is a hit with the social justice crowd. I’m glad she’s finding her muse. I just hope she uses spellcheck.
<P> Like my writing, check out my books on Amazon
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-8356041162404511882022-01-17T16:51:00.001-08:002022-01-17T16:51:06.361-08:00Stagger Lee (Lloyd Price)Sal’s Italian Too was ready for the annual Blackhawk Banquet. Decorated in black and orange, a long table was set with a buffet and next to it was a cake that had a Blackhawk decked in a football uniform and a Lady Hawk dressed in a cheerleader outfit. Usually held before the first scrimmage in the high school cafeteria, it was the first time the event was a white tablecloth affair.
<P>Our dad, the Whiskey Rebellion Football Booster treasurer, was responsible for this magic. Using his background as a tax lawyer, he balanced the budget and used his power of persuasion to get Sal to close the restaurant for the evening and let The Blackhawks use the space for free. In return, Sal’s Italian Too got a courtesy full page ad in the glossy football program and a mention by the announcer during every home game of the season.
<P>Unfortunately my dad was late because a deposition had gone longer than expected. The food was going quickly, so my mom pre-fixed a plate and sent my younger sister Skipper and I get some tin foil to cover it from the kitchen staff to keep it warm. (Really it was a one person errand but Skipper decided to tag along).
<P>After obtaining the tin foil, we passed Suzette Winklebleck, the varsity cheerleading coach. Her jet black hair swooshed as she walked along swinging her hips. Suzette, as she insisted on being called by her girls, had been head cheerleader at Whiskey Rebellion herself. Try outs for the squad were a mere formality as she always selected girls who who’s family members she shook pom poms with.
<P>There was one loophole for anyone who didn’t have The Old Whiskey Rebellion connection. Every summer, Suzette conducted a week long clinic at the high school where she taught “Lady Hawk Fundamentals.” Like a good role model, she could be seen smoking by the bleachers before camp. Our mom had put Skipper and me in it a few summers before in case we wanted to cheer. At the end of the week, Suzette explained to our mom that Skipper and I weren’t “Lady Hawk material.” We were relieved.
<P>Suzette passed us on heals that were too high to walk on and in hot pink outfit so tight that she hung out like a Pillsbury biscuit waiting to pop. Greeted by her husband Cort, a long suffering and non-descript man, she gave him a cringeworthy kiss.
<P>Skipper, who was ten and tested genius level said, “Those shoes defy the laws of physics. She could fall and seriously injure her head.”
<P>I said, “That would imply there was a head to injure.”
<P>Skipper said, “Maybe she already has. That would explain impractical outfit.”
<P>We arrived at the table and handed our mother the foil. Suzette swooshed by, swinging her hips so wide she nearly hit our brother Wendell in the head. Wendell said, “What an obnoxious safety hazard.”
<P>Mom said, “I’ll tell you what’s obnoxious. The Lady Hawk Boosters don’t donate, don’t plan and yet we have to invite them.” The controversy at the planning meeting for The Blackhawk Banquet had been the budget. My parents, who were doing most of the foot work and realized that they could cut the cost significantly by not inviting The Lady Hawks who never made a monetary donation. The Old Whiskey Rebellion faction was up in arms because this was the way it had always been. Mom and Mrs. Renninger got into a shouting match with my dad and Mr. Renninger had to separate them. After seeing he wasn’t going to get much support, Dad caved. Mom was still bitter.
<P>Suzette swooshed by again. Mom said, “She’s Old Whiskey Rebellion alright, because she is too old to be wearing that outfit.”
<P>Our dad arrived. Feet away from our table, Suzette was hitting on several Blackhawk football players. She flipped her hair and laughed as Cort stood helplessly by her side. Between bites my dad said, “Jesus God almighty! Doesn’t she know this is a family event? Even the girls at The Jefferson Lodge have more sense and decorum.” The Jefferson Lodge was the local strip club in town. Some of the more illustrious Whiskey Rebellion alums danced there.
<P>The lights dimmed and the banquet began. Coach Matthias began to speak in his thick West Virginia accent, “Thank y’all for coming tonight. A special thank you to Wendelin Brucker for gettin’ Sal to cater this event!” Dad proudly stood up like an actor who had won an Oscar and the room rewarded him in kind.
<P>Matthias said, “GO HAWKS! LET’S GET FIRED UP!” Like a tent revival, the room was in a frenzy.
Coach Matthias said, “Now I ain’t a thinkin’ man or a talkin’ man so I will bring Coach Stephens.” Relief hit the room as the tall, dark and handsome dream boat of a JV coach approached the mic. The women all silently drooled.
<P>Coach Stephens said, “Now, I would like to introduce the first award, Hardest Worker. This young man only became a Blackhawk this year. He didn’t know the game but he learned it and over the summer improved his bench press and speed. I am pleased to present The Hardest Working Blackhawk Award to Wendell Brucker!”
<P>Tears of joy streamed down Mom’s face as she took photos. Dad beamed with pride. The Blackhawk players chanted, “BRUCKER! BRUCKER! BRUCKER!”
Bashfully, Wendell took his award. Speaking softly behind the mic he said, “Thank you Coach, my teammates and my family. Go Hawks!” The room applauded, kindly acknowledging this shy kid who didn’t expect to win.
<P>Wendell got fist bumps from his fellow Blackhawks as well as The Lady Hawks. When he sat down, Skipper and I flashed him a thumbs up. Dad said, “Son, your public speaking skills suck.”
<P>Wendell said, “Dad, I didn’t know I was going to win.”
<P>Dad said, “Growing up, I didn’t have the same advantages as you. Remember that.” Wendell angrily shoved food in his mouth and looked away.
<P>Coach Stephens then said, “Now I present to you, team captain of this year’s Blackhawks, elected by uniamous vote by both his teammates and coaches, Kyle Latham!”
<P>Kyle ran up to the stage with his blonde ringlets bouncing. Like a rapper at a concert, he stood onstage and made the raise the roof sign with his hands. Then he yelled, “Go Hawks! WHOOT! WHOOT!”
<P>Unmoved by the fact Wendell was intentionally ignoring him, Dad pointed to Kyle, “Wendell, now that’s how you command a crowd.”
<P>Kyle jogged back to his seat. Mrs. Latham, who was at the next table, took my mom by the arm, “I don’t know what the hell that was. We made him practice his speech at home!”
<P>Mom shook her head empathically and said, “How about this, we combine Wendell and Kyle and create the perfect kid.” The two women laughed.
<P>Coach Stephens said, “This next young man has been a leader on the field and off. He also overcame adversity but kept going. It is my pleasure to present The Blackhawk Spirit Scholarship to Matt Eichenbrode.”
<P>The room cheered loudly for several minutes. Matt Eichenbrode was inarguably the nicest kid on the team. He had gotten to know Wendell because they both volunteered with Circle of Friends, a group that had lunch once a week with special needs kids at school. On the fence about whether or not to play football, Matt swayed the tide and talked Wendell into becoming a Blackhawk.
<P>This past spring, Mr. Eichenbrode, who drove a truck for Steel City Beer got into a fatal auto accident during a flash flood. Mrs. Eichenbrode worked as a book keeper and Matt worked part time as a landscaper, but that wasn’t going to be enough as he had three younger siblings at home, one which was special needs. In response to the tragedy, The Blackhawks had a fundraising drive for The Eichenbrode’s. Our family, as well as every other Blackhawk and Lady Hawk family, donated.
<P>Because he had lost his own father as a teenager, our dad had gave the Eichenbrode’s a free legal consult. He didn’t practice accident law, but a shark of a colleague owed our dad a huge favor because he had gotten him out of a jam with the Feds. The shark, grateful he wasn’t in prison, got the Eichenbrode’s a huge settlement. The money, while it did not bring back their father, helped solve other problems like paying Mr. Eichenbrode’s burial costs and saving their home from foreclosure until the life insurance kicked in. To thank him, The Eichenbrode’s had sent a huge flower arrangement to our house last week.
<P>As Matt walked to get his award Dad said, “Part of the reason I was late was this kid stopped me to shake my hand and thank me personally, AGAIN.” Then Dad yelled, “GO MATTY!”
<P>Giving Coach Stephens a man hug and taking his award, Matt said, “While my dad can’t be here tonight, I know he is looking down thanking each and every one of you for helping us out. Being a Blackhawk is being a part of a family. Every time I lace up my cleats and step on the field, there is always an obstacle but I always have my team behind me. That way, I can turn a negative into a positive.”
<P>Matt went on, saying he was inspired by his work with Circle of Friends, the team trainers and the hospital staff who tried to save his father after his traumatic accident to help others. With the $500 reward from the Blackhawk Spirit Scholarship, Matt aspired to go to St. Francis University, major in physical therapy and continue his playing career with The Red Flash. When Matt finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house and he got a standing ovation. Dad beamed. The Blackhawk Banquet was as close to perfect as could be.
<P>After Matt went back to his seat and the applause died down, Coach Stephens introduced Suzette. Wobbling in her too high heels, Suzette said, <P>“Hi Everyone. Quick story. This summer, I saw Matt at the beach.”
<P>I whispered to Skipper, “Beach?! After the last few months he’s had? Is she insane?!”
<P>Skipper shrugged, “Maybe she got her summers mixed up.”
<P>Suzette said, “So there Matt was, shirt off, pecs out and a huge bulge coming from his speedo. And then all of a sudden a potato fell out and landed by his feet.” Mom put her hands over Skipper’s ears. The room gasped in WTF horror.
<P>Al Pender, who was perpetually on JV yelled, “HIS DAD’S DEAD! LEAVE HIM ALONE AND PUT SOME CLOTHES ON, YOU SAGGY, FUGLY BITCH!” Usually no one liked Al, but now he had become the conscious for the room as jeers and obscenities filled the air. Mom’s hands were glued to Skipper’s ears as she shook her head in annoyance. Dad’s eyes were fixed in their infamous death stare. The Blackhawk Banquet had gone off the rails.
<P>Suzette laughed and did a tone deaf hair flip, “C’mon, it was just a joke!”
<P>Wendell said, “Sal’s probably not having us back next year.”
<P>A big, bass voice thundered, “GET OFF THE STAGE YOU FREAKIN’ MORON!” Glancing over, we realized it was Sal himself! Taking his large arm, he threw a piece of half eaten Blackhawk cake that landed several inches from Suzette just missing her. Panicked, Suzette screamed.
<P>I said, “Yeah, because Sal will be in prison for killing her.” Dad gave us both the shut the hell up look and we did.
<P>In an attempt to save the evening, Kyle sprinted to the stage and took the mic from Suzette, “Blackhawk Nation, my first duty as your captain is to order you to stop the violence now. We are better than this!” When we became a country I did not know, but slowly the room began to quiet down.
<P>Matt walked up to the stage joining Kyle. He said, “Guys, thank you for having my back. Until now it’s been a great night. Let’s step over this and make it a great night again. Go Hawks!”
<P>Coach Matthias stood up and took a turn at the mic, “Latham, Eichenbrode, thank y’all for making sure the Titanic didn’t hit the iceberg. Now sit down.” Kyle and Matt obeyed. Coach said, “Next to heckle, I don’t care who y’all are, will have to run. That’s not a threat that’s a fact. And Winklebleck, don’t go out for Saturday Night Live.” The room broke out into a much needed laugh break that lasted for an entire minute.
<P>When the laughter died down, Coach Matthias smiled, “Now that’s comedy!” Then he gave the mic back to Suzette.
<P>The evening went on with the Blackhawks giving The Lady Hawks a mix of hostile silence and weakened claps. Embarrassed, The Lady Hawks grabbed their awards and ran. When she was done, Suzette grabbed Cort by the arm and quickly wobbled out the door.
<P>As we left, Mrs. Renninger approached us. Having been a Lady Hawk cheerleading captain herself, she now had three sons who were Blackhawks. Her blonde hair in a bob and her pearly whites flashing she said, “Wendelin, Gracie, you’re right. This is for the boys. The Lady Hawks can embarrass themselves on their own dime.”
<P>Dad said, “Cindy, what she did to Matt tonight was appalling.”
<P>Mrs. Renninger’s said, “Yup. They’re our neighbors. Skip and I organized the meal train for Nadine and the kids after Walt was killed. Between us, Suzette was never really Lady Hawk material. The only reason she got to be captain was because mother was coach. She couldn’t even do a straddle jump.” As we digested this useless information, Mrs. Renninger turned to Wendell, “Congratulations sweetheart. Welcome to the Blackhawks.”
<P>Wendell said, “Thank you, Mrs. Renninger.” Then the perpetual busy body marched away.
<P>When she was out of sight Mom said, “I still don’t like her.”
<P>Dad said, “The night she got into it with your Mom I thought Skip was gonna have to give her a rabies shot. So much for Old Whiskey Rebellion.” Then he took Skipper’s hand and off we went.
<P>Mrs. Renninger took her marching and circulated a petition demanding Suzette Winklebleck be removed. Suzette, in order to save her job got her mother, friends and former Lady Hawks to write letters in support explaining it was just a joke that was taken the wrong way. Suzette was soon to learn the key to good comedy was timing, awareness and knowing your audience. The schoolboard agreed she was batting 0-3 when they sided with the petitioners and fired her.
<P>Suzette Winklebleck was replaced with Senorita Marianne Jonestum, a Spanish teacher from the middle school with a fake tan, fake eyelashes and a brief career as a swimsuit model in West Virginia. Reforming The Lady Hawks from within, Senorita Jonestrum selected her squad based on merit rather than politics. Eager to make amends , Senorita Jonestrum and The Lady Hawk Boosters helped plan The Blackhawk Banquet the following year and made a sizeable donation to cover costs. Sal, happy that Suzette would never be returning, gladly invited the team back where they have been holding the annual event ever since without incident.
<P>Matt Eichenrode had a standout senior season with the Hawks and was admitted early decision to St. Francis. He continued to make magic on the field with The Red Flash and off where he graduated with honors. Moving back to Whiskey Rebellion, Matt now owns and operates the very successful Eichenbrode Physical Therapy where his wife is the office manager. Carrying on family tradition, his twin sons both play for the Mini Blackhawks in the Pop Warner league.
<P>Eichenbrode Physical Therapy takes out a full page ad in the glossy football program every fall. In the center of the ad is a picture of Matt, Coach Stephens and Coach Matthias from that infamous Blackhawk Banquet. Getting the last laugh, Matt has this message for perspective clients, “Physical therapy is turning a negative into a positive. An injury might feel like you just found a potato on the beach. It’s unexpected, but once you peel back the layers, with the help of your team you can do anything.”
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-34368653298344943712022-01-10T18:05:00.002-08:002022-01-10T18:09:37.690-08:00Ray of Light (Madonna)
Pre-season training for the Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks meant a strenuous August. Two weeks before scrimmages, the team spent the week at California State University of Pennsylvania, aka Camp Hell. Staying in bunk bed style dorms, the Blackhawks had three practices a day plus conditioning and strength training. As Coach Matthias explained to the Boosters in his thick West Virginia accent, “It separates the men from the piglet’s on their mama’s teet.”
<P>The week before Camp Hell was roommate selection. My brother Wendell was an outsider having not played Pop Warner, and most of the guys had talked about rooming with their buddies at Camp Hell since the age of five as pee wees. Despite being new to The Blackhawks, Wendell’s easygoing manner and hard work earned him many fast friends so our parents werent worried.
<P>It was four days before camp hell and our dad was out of town in Harrisburg working on a class action lawsuit. This meant a trip to the pool, take out from Sal’s Italian Too, and sleeping in front of the TV. Mom parked her mini-van and we walked to the practice field to retrieve Wendell. Standing next to Coach Matthias, Wendell’s dark brown hair was matted to his head and the expression on his face was hard to read. Matthias said, “Mrs. Brucker, the lady I wanted to see.”
<P>Mom looked at Wendell, “What’s wrong? Is it another concussion?” My ten year old sister Skipper and I stood there hoping Wendell was alright. He had gotten a concussion the week before.
<P>Coach Matthias laughed, “No. We like Wendell a lot because he works hard, keeps his head down and is respectful of everyone. He’s what it means to be a Blackhawk. So I was wondering if it was okay if he roomed with Ragni. The kid’s a little odd. Now I am asking you because Bobby and his mother don’t quite fit in if you know what I’m sayin.”
<P>Wendell said, “It’s okay with me. We’re just sharing a room.”
Mom said, “Coach, the kid seems harmless. We’re happy to help in any way we can.”
<P>Coach Matthias said, “Good. Then it’s settled. See you tomorrow, Brucker.”
<P>To say Bobby Ragni and his mother didn’t quite fit in was an understatement. Often mumbling to himself, he was a loner who cried at the drop of a hat. For career day, Bobby had done a report on being a terrorist. The last line of the paper was, “Timothy McVeigh really doesn’t seem like a bad guy. And following Tim’s lead, I want to put The Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks on the map, even if I have to blow up a building.” Needless to say he got an all expenses paid trip to the school psychologist.
<P>Bobby’s mother, when asked her name, explained, “my chosen name is Devorah.” My mom, seeing the bleach blonde Devorah who carried healing crystals and worked at Sheets was shunned by the rest of the Booster parents, tried to befriend her. My mom asked where Bobby’s father was, to which Devorah said that Bobby had never met him and he never came around. When Mom asked if he paid support Devorah explained, “He can’t, because Bobby’s father is a ray of light.” My mom laughed but then regretted asking when she realized Devorah was completely serious. Bobby was born with a bullseye in the middle of his forehead.
<P>As we pulled into the pool I said, “Since he is half ray of light, maybe he can levitate, think of the stories.”
<P>Skipper, who had tested genius level and was reading Greek myths all summer said, “But he might be Icarus.”
<P>I said, “Nah, Icarus fell to his death and was too young to breed.”
<P>Mom shut off the ignition to her mini-van, “Wendell, next week are Bobby’s only friend. Coach asked you because he trusts you. You need to eat with him and have his back. Being a leader isn’t easy. You understand?” Wendell nodded as we all got out of the car and headed to the pool for a refreshing dip.
<P>The night before the team departed to Camp Hell, the Latham’s had their annual pre-season kickoff celebration at their house. Everyone on the team was invited as well as their family members. The food, cooked by Mrs. Latham, the head of the remedial reading department, was served buffet style. The desserts, cooked by Mr. Latham, head of the math department, had a table of their own and were worth the Type II diabetes one might get. Their blonde haired son Kyle, a starter on the offensive line, was the shining star for having his parents host such a glorious event. While he was still new to the Blackhawks, it helped Wendell’s standing among his peers that Kyle had adopted him as a surrogate baby brother, possibly because Wendell had been one of Mr. Latham’s favorite students of all time.
<P>As we stood in the buffet line to get Mrs. Latham’s trademark lasagna, Kyle said to Wendell, “Little Buddy, tell Coach you can’t room with Ragni. He’ll understand. Millweather and I will figure out some way to squeeze you in. I would get into it what happened last year but we’re about to eat.”
<P>Before Wendell could reply Mom flashed Kyle an I will cut you smile and grabbed Wendell’s arm dragging him to the side. Seeing Mom at barely five feet pull Wendell was a site in itself, “I raised you to include, not to exclude. And the bullying you just saw is why poor Bobby didn’t turn up today.”
<P>I would have pointed out since the ray of light was his father maybe he had weekend visitation, but my mom would have also slapped me. Wendell said, “Mom, I said I would and I will. Can I get some food now?” Wendell yanked his arm, rolled his eyes and got back into the food line.
<P>Mom said, “Good. Because I raised you to be a man of your word. Remember that.”
<P>After getting some lasagna, Skipper and I took our food outside to the picnic tables in the Latham’s back yard. As the sun set and the lightning bugs hit the air, Wendell had taken a seat next to Casbar Renninger. One of three brothers named after The Three Kings, he had two brothers. Balthizar was in pre-season camp at Waynesburg College and Malkiar was in my grade. All of them bragged that they could get any woman they wanted and often did. Their father, who was an annoying blowhard who oversaw the local Pop Warner League, was head of the exercise science at the local community college and fancied himself an expert on everything.
<P>Casbar shoved a piece of bread in his mouth and chewed as he spoke, “Brucker, I know you are bound and determined to be roommates with the freakshow but don’t let Ragni take the top bunk.”
<P>Wendell said, “Do you ever get tired of being an asshole?”
<P>Casbar continued to chew with his mouth full, “Call me an asshole but I am just stating the facts. I’m trying to warn ya. Balthizar let Coach talk him into it too so just do as I say.” Balthizar was an obnoxious loud mouth so whatever Bobby did Balthizar probably deserved.
<P>Wendell said, “Since you are bound and determined to chew when you talk I will let you choke and won’t perform the Heimlich.”
<P>Casbar said, “Good, cause that would be totally gay.”
<P>Wendell said, “That’s mouth to mouth you idiot. Why am I even talking to you?!”
<P>Casbar said, “Fine. Be his butt buddy.”
<P>Wendell got up, flicked him off and walked away. As he did, Casbar, who still had his mouth full began to sing, “Quicker than a ray of light he’s flyyyiiinnnngggg!!!!”
<P>The next morning the players gathered for camp. As per instructions, they showed up to travel in a suit and tie. Since it was Sunday, Wendell had just finished being a junior usher at church so he was dressed and ready to go after a McDonald’s dive through breakfast, or what he referred to as “the last meal” before Camp Hell.
<P>After we pulled up, Wendell kissed my mom and popped out of our dad’s Buick and on to the bus with the rest of his teammates. My dad said, “Matthias had Wendell room with Ragni so no one else would kill him. You know that, right Gracie?”
<P>My mom said, “I know Wendelin.”
<P>A minute later, Bobby Ragni and Devorah pulled up. Getting out of their sedan, she wore a red sari with a red dot painted in the middle of her forehead. Years later, I would learn that was called cultural appropriation. Skipper said, “Why is she dressed like that when she is not Indian?”
<P>My dad said, “Because she’s a Goddamn goof. That’s why.”
<P>Devorah attempted to follow Bobby, who looked like a morose scarecrow in his wrinkled suit. Matthias said, “Son, did you get that off of a bum or a corpse?” Bobby said something and stood next to his mother, holding her hand. Devorah attempted to follow him and Coach Douglass, Matthias’s bigger assistant blocked the way.
<P>Devorah screamed, “I’m not leaving! The kid he roomed with last year gave my Bobby a black eye and a bloody nose!” Devorah, although extremely eccentric, was telling the truth. Balthizar and any of the Renningers were about as understanding as concrete.
<P>Coach Matthias said, “Ma’m, we put him with Brucker. He’s a nice kid. Ain’t nothin gonna happen.”
<P>Devorah said, “Oh, another random assignment with a sociopath! GREAT!!!”
<P>Coach Matthias said, “No. Brucker agreed he would do it. C’mon, Bobby. You comin or not.”
<P>Bobby boarded the bus when all of a sudden the guys began to sing in an out of tune cacophony, “QUICKKKKEERRRR THAN A RAY OF LIGHHHHHHTTT HE’S FLYYYIIIINNNNGGG! AND I FEEL LIKE I JUST GOT HOME AND I FEEEEEEEEELLLLLL!!!!”
<P>Mom said, “What on Earth is that song?”
<P>I said, “Ray of light by Madonna. You know, because Devorah keeps telling people Bobby’s father is a ray of light.”
<P>My dad rolled his eyes and rolled up his window, “That woman is one hundred percent the reason her son gets his ass beat.”
<P>Devorah, after another minute of arguing, accepted that she would have to trust that Bobby was in good hands with Wendell. Then Matthias and Douglass boarded the bus, the doors closed and the team drove away. After the bus left our Buick joined the caravan of cars leaving the parking lot. As we pulled onto the street my dad said, “With a mother like that the kid is damaged goods and he hasn’t even started life. Wouldn’t be shocked if he grows up to become a skin head.”
<P>Wendell called every night around 7:30 PM on the dot from Camp Hell. It was after dinner and lights out was at nine. For the most part, he sounded exhausted since he was doing three practices a day: one at 7 AM, the second at noon, and the third at 3 PM with strength and conditioning twice a day in between. Wendell talked about his teammates, the other teams and the new kids he was meeting. When asked about how rooming with Bobby Ragni was going he gave the same answer, “Fine,” and then changed the subject.
<P>The following Saturday, Wendell returned from Camp Hell. Instead of having dinner with the family he asked to go to bed early. It was unusual for Wendell to miss a meal. The next morning, Wendell went to church while he usually was upbeat and affable as a junior usher, he moved like a zombie. At breakfast, he barely touched his food again. Mom said, “Eat, Matthias said you need to put on weight.”
<P>Wendell rolled his eyes and ignored her. Dad said, “Come on, Son. Did Bobby levitate? You can tell us.”
<P>I said, “Nah, he turned into a werewolf.”
<P>Wendell said, “Shut up! All of you! Camp Hell was pure hell!”
<P>Mom said, “Just what I was afraid of. They bullied Bobby and they bullied you too.”
<P>Dad said, “Son, today was the gospel of Job. You are a lucky kid. God has given you a lot and could take it away.”
<P>Wendell said, “Well God never roomed with Bobby Ragni!”
<P>Mom said, “Your ugly teammates brainwashed you. Another thing I was afraid of.”
<P>Wendell said, “Balthizar Renninger is a jerk but he beat Ragni up for a good reason.”
<P>Dad said, “Son, the kid’s got issues, you know that.”
<P>Wendell said, “He doesn’t have issues, Dad. He has a subscription. When we got to our room, he called the top bunk. I didn’t care because I was only going to be sleeping there and we went on and on about seeing his father who was a ray of light. So we go to practice where he gets his ass beat and then I sit with him at dinner because he has no friends and the guys just lay into him with that stupid Ray of Light song and Bobby starts crying. So I defend him and get into a fistfight with Casbar Renninger.”
<P>Mom said, “Did you get him? I hate that kid and his family.” We all nodded as most everyone found the Renningers hard to stomach even on a good day.
<P>Wendell said, “No, Coach broke us up and made the whole team do an extra run. And then Bobby started crying during the run so it was extra conditioning. And we got to bed at 11 and had to be up at 5. At this point I just want to sleep and all of a sudden I feel this dripping and soon it’s like a waterfall and it smells really bad. Then I realize…..HE’S WETTING THE GOODDAMN BED!”
<P>We sat there shocked for a whole minute because we were not expecting this. Skipper raised her hand, “Wendell, did you speak to Bobby about seeing a doctor for his bladder issues?”
<P>Dad said, “Skipper, be nice, he prefers Mr. Peabody.”
<P>We all burst out laughing but Wendell did not find the humor in any of this, “SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU! THIS ISN’T FUNNY!!”
<P>Dad said, “Son, you’re wrong. It’s hysterical.”
<P>Mom said, “Enough, Wendelin. Sweetie, you should have told us. How did you get through the week?”
<P>Wendell said, “You couldn’t have done anything. Besides, as a peace offering Renninger let me sleep in his room between practices because he figured I had learned my lesson. Latham and Millweather let me slip in after lights out and I slept in the bottom bunk with my feet facing Latham so it wasn’t weird. And I snuck in before Bobby woke up so you wouldn’t give me crap, I wouldn’t get in trouble with Coach and I wouldn’t make it on the hit list he told me he keeps in his dresser drawer at home. And I still ate with him. HAPPY?!”
<P>Mom said, “Well I am still very proud of you.”
<P>Wendell stood up and said, “I HATE YOU ALL!” Then he stomped out of the room.
<P>Dad called, “Son, don’t be a pee brain!”
<P>Skipper said, “That story was quite disgusting. But it would have been better if he levitated.”
<P>The season came and went with Bobby barely saw any playing time. Some of it was the fact he was a mediocre player to begin with but then there was the fact he told several of the other seniors about the hit list he had in his drawer. Like every senior regardless of skill or position, at the end of the season Bobby was awarded a Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawk Letter Jacket that he wore everywhere regardless of the weather. One day as we were running errands and the temperate was a record high, we saw Bobby walking in his letter jacket and beeped. As Bobby waved, my mom said, “That kid will wear that thing every day until the end of time.”
<P>After graduation, Bobby worked for a while at Sheets and then was fired for creeping out a female coworker and then fell off the map completely. That is, until one day I was eating pizza while watching Live PD and saw the department in Arizona had pulled over a soverign citizen. <P>As they ordered the suspect out of the car I heard a familiar voice say, “I am a citizen and I only adhere to Maritime Law.”
<P>Wearing what looked to be a beaten up Whiskey Rebellion letter jacket with a military style crew cut I said, “Holy shit! That’s Bobby Ragni!”
<P>Bobby ultimately got seven years for resisting arrest and assaulting a cop. He put Whiskey Rebellion on the map and didn’t even need to blow up a building. Behind bars, Bobby has become a hero in The Sovereign Citizen movement and his girlfriend who he met on a facebook group for other sovereign maintains a blog about Bobby’s incarceration and dedication to his cause entitled, “Ray of Light.” The blog recently reported three kids did a paper on Bobby for career day, so he is finally becoming the cool kid he always wanted to be. As an added bonus, prison is filled with people who hurt children, and you know there is some sadistic CO who puts them in the same cell with Bobby knowing he will call the top bunk.
<P> If you like my writing please feel free to check out my books on Amazon.
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-80168089661295560102022-01-04T17:19:00.004-08:002022-01-04T17:21:52.135-08:00Bad Boys (Inner Circle)My dad was away working on a class action lawsuit in Harrisburg, which meant take out from Sal’s Italian Too, the classic Italian eatery in town. Wendell limped towards my mom’s van and slumped in, tired and hot from a long day of pre-season practice.
<P>My mom said, “What happened to your leg?”
<P>Wendell said, “Can I get the bread zucchini?” Changing the subject was his way of concealing the truth.
<P>My mom said, “What are you not telling me?”
<P>Before Wendell could answer, Nunzio Venchenzo waved to my mom. A buffed would be Antonio Banderas, Nunzio was one of Coach Matthias’s senior shining stars on the offensive line. Flashing his pearly whites he said, “Hi Mrs. Brucker. You are looking beautiful today.”
<P>My mom smiled, “Why thank you, Nunzio.”
<P>Nunzio said, “Well I have some news to make you feel swell. My dad offered to cater the pre-season banquet free of charge.” His dad, Fabrizio owned a pizza parlor on the edge of town aptly named Fabrizio. The pizza rivaled Sal’s Italian Too.
<P>My mom said, “Great. We will discuss it at the next booster meeting.”
<P>Nunzio said, “Oh, and if you ever want a slice it’s always on the house for your family, especially Wendell.”
<P> “You are so very sweet, Nunzio. God bless you.” Then my mom rolled her window down and drove away.
<P>When we were out of the parking lot Skipper raised her hand. Despite being out of school the ten year old was always studious, “Didn’t Sal agree to do it and isnt he signing the paperwork tonight?”
<P>I said, “Yup. And dad also said there’s no way in hell Fabrizio will cater a Blackhawk dinner ever.” Earlier in the year, Fabrizio had come under fire for refusing to serve a biracial couple. Many in the community, my family included, responded by refusing to patronize Fabrizio’s.
<P>Wendell said, “Mom, the next time you see Nunzio dont talk to him. He put a dirty hit on me.”
<P>Skipper said, “Maybe it was an accident.” While book smart, she always saw the best in people.
<P>Wendell said, “No, it was a dirty hit. I’m next in line for his position and I am benching as much as he is. My speed just needs work Coach says.”
<P>We pulled into Sal’s. My mom said, “Next time I see him, I’ll just run him over.”
<P>Two days later, my father, home from Harrisburg and informed Fabrizio that Sal was catering the event. Fabrizio responded by trying to cuss my dad out, to which my dad responded by hanging up the phone. Nunzio reupped his campaign against Wendell by putting a dirty hit on him attempting to reinjure his leg. The bad behavior didn’t go unnoticed though.
<P>Coach Link, a longtime fixture in the Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks, saw what Nunzio was doing. Warning him to stop, Nunzio ignored Coach Link. In response, Coach Link benched Nunzio for the rest of the practice and told him that he would suggest it was Wendell, not he, who should be starting. When Nunzio tried to say it was an accident Coach Link responded with, “Bullshit, Pal. Save your Eddie Haskell routine for another sucker.”
<P>That Saturday was the first scrimmage against Penn Forest, a mostly black team we would again face off with later in the season. Nunzio’s parents sat away from the rest of the fans, possibly because anyone else would punch them. Fabrizio shouted, “C’mon Hawks! Get those ink blots!” Next to Fabrizio sat Nunzio’s mother, who wore a black funeral veil and prayed the rosary, never looking up to speak otherwise. Most people looked at the odd couple, rolled their eyes and looked away. The show was free but after two seconds you saw the whole thing.
<P>Skipper said pointing to Nunzio’s mom, “April, who died?”
<P>I said, “No one just her hopes and dreams.”
<P>Wendell played well, getting some varsity time and the whole JV scrimmage. While he executed a good campaign, he got a concussion which meant Skipper and I would have to retrieve him from the trainer while our mother waited in the car. As we approached the training room, we saw we saw Coach Link and Nunzio shouting at each other. Coach Link said, “Nunzio, give back Jason’s money. NOW!” Both of Coach Link’s sons played for the district. Jason, the youngest, was the fastest running back coming up.
<P>Nunzio said, “Coach Link, c’mon. That’s not true and we both know it. I would never do that. Jason’s confused. He knows how much I looked up to JT.” Link’s older son, JT, was the most fearsome center to ever play for The Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks. He was currently in his third year at US Naval Academy where he was a starter.
<P>Coach Link said, “Son, we all make mistakes and lying only makes it worse. Give it to me now and this ends. You hear?”
<P>Nunzio laughed, “Man, your bookie must have hit you extra hard. Or did your latest girlfriend from the Jefferson Lodge stick you with something that’s eating your brain? This is nuts and we both know it. Even for you.” Coach Link had a horrible gambling problem that cost him his marriage to his kid’s mother. He had two other ex wives, both who were strippers that he met on the job at The Jefferson Lodge. Coach Link was currently dating Bambi, dancer of the month, who had actually been JT’s high school sweetheart.
<P>Coach Link grabbed Nunzio and said, “Listen here you smug sonvabitch! You steal from Jason, you steal from both JT and me!” His trademark cigar flew out of his mouth as Coach Link swung at Nunzio barely missing him.
<P>Nunzio laughed again, “Pops, lay off the cigars. Smoking kills.”
<P>Coach Link swung again, but then Coach Matthias grabbed his hand. In his thick West Virginia accent, Matthias said, “Both of you, my office. NOW!”
<P>I looked at Skipper and said, “Now this is cinematic gold.”
<P>Skipper said, “You mean this very disappointing adult behavior?” Wendell then walked out of the training room with a hell of a headache but was even more bummed that he had missed the action.
<P>That Monday the news over the wire was Nunzio had turned on his Eddie Haskell charm and got Coach Matthias to believe the alleged theft was just a simple misunderstanding. Because he had tried to punch a player, Coach Matthias suspended Coach Link for two weeks. Over the weekend Coach Link interviewed and accepted the equipment coach job at Clairsville, our most bitter rival. While the position was a significant pay decrease, the carrot on the stick was that Jason, who wanted to join his brother at Navy, would be a part of the starting squad. The news stung, but anyone close to the situation knew that if “The Nunzio Problem” was addressed this all could have been avoided.
<P>The Nunzio problem continued to flourish with Nunzio bending the rules and Coach Matthias being a sucker for the Eddie Haskell routine. Able to get away with it once, Nunzio continued to steal from underclassmen. Using his size and strength to intimidate them, they feared speaking up because either they would get beaten up or Coach Matthias wouldn’t believe them anyway. Unchecked by Coach Link who despite his faults operated out of fairness, Nunzio continued to put dirty hits on players he saw as competition, especially Wendell. While he didn’t say it, whenever I saw Wendell limping I knew why. When my mom bought it up he just changed the subject because there was nothing anyone could do really. The reality was, Wendell’s speed and strength were improving, two things that didn’t sit well with the team bully.
<P>In the middle of the season, Nunzio began what he referred to as “lucrative side hustle.” Moonlighting for a local drug dealer, Nunzio served as muscle if a recalcitrant customer refused to pay. Using Fabrizio’s as a front, Nunzio pushed weed and mushrooms, but as he explained, “My real goal is coke and heroin because that is the future.”
<P>The law and Nunzio’s entrepreneurial spirit soon clashed. While cruising in his best friend Kyle Latham’s car, the two were pulled over for having a broken taillight. Kyle, who’s dad was head of the math department and who’s mom was head of remedial reading, was clueless that his friend was on his way to drop off vicadin that had been ripped off from a local pharmacy to a dealer. When the cops searched the car, Nunzio, who had dropped the bag turned on his Eddie Haskell charm and claimed the drugs were Kyle’s and he was drug free.
The act worked and a confused and shocked Kyle was booked, cuffed and taken to the station. Panicked, Mr. and Mrs. Latham called my dad at 2 AM to get their son, who had never even gotten so much as a detention, out of trouble.
<P>Kyle was a good kid with no record, so my dad was able to work his magic to get probation with the charges getting espouged after a year. But the Latham’s wanted blood. One night at a game, they kvetched about but their Nunzio fatigue. As usual, Skipper and I sat there attentively pretending not to listen.
<P>Mr. Latham said, “He sleeps at our house. A LOT. I don’t like to see a kid put out, but Coach Matthias is now treating us like his freaking answering service.”
<P>Mrs. Latham said, “I told Kyle to just quit. He doesn’t want to play in college anyway. That way it’s less time with Nunzio and that enabling jagoff Matthias. But his girlfriend Lexi wants him to play and you know how that goes.” Lexi McCandless, Kyle’s girlfriend, was a cheerleader and they were the quintessential Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawk couple.
<P>Mr. Latham laughed, “I don’t know what kind of power Nunzio has over him. He’s a dufus. And I know he’s a dufus because I had him as a student!”
<P>My mom said, “It’s the Eddie Haskell thing.”
<P>Mrs. Latham said, “Eddie Haskell was charming. Nunzio is just a pig. He eats the whole container of ice cream and puts it back in the refrigerator. We said help yourself but come on.”
<P>My dad motioned his head towards Nunzio’s mom, “Women stopped wearing those to church in the 1960s. That’s just weird.”
<P>Mrs. Latham said, “So much good God is doing here. Her son’s a thug and her husband starts spouting his racist garbage in my house. I told him to get out. We don’t talk like that and we don’t tolerate that. And he told us we couldn’t handle a joke. I told him we can, hate just isn’t funny.”
<P>Mr. Latham said, “Speaking of veils, we told Kyle that that we are putting the Nun in Nunzio as in no more of that jagoff in our son’s life. I follow him between classes to make sure Kyle isn’t hanging out with him. Sometimes I’m late to mine. But let me tell you, I can get another job but I can’t get another kid.”
<P>Mrs. Latham said, “And I am eating lunch with him which he hates, but it keeps Nunzio away because it’s uncool.”
<P>My mom laughed, “Good for you.”
<P>The ref blew the whistle. My dad looked at Mr. and Mrs. Latham, “The law is going to catch up with him and that charm’s about to run out. It always does.”
<P>My dad called it. A week later, Nunzio graduated to armed robbery. With a ski mask and a gun, Nunzio camped out late at night after a game at The Whiskey Rebellion Shops, our local strip mall. He held an old woman at gunpoint. Frail and afraid, she handed Nunzio the money to save her life, but slipped and fell as she hurried away, breaking her hip. From her hospital bed, she was able to give a description of the assailant as wearing a Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawk football letter jacket.
<P>Ever the criminal mastermind, Nunzio bragged to anyone who would listen. Lexi McCandless, who was angered Nunzio had jammed her boyfriend Kyle up but was also the granddaughter of the old woman he robbed, called the police and gave them the hot tip. Nunzio was promptly arrested and identified by the old woman in the lineup. Coach Matthias could no longer ignore the Nunzio problem and kicked him off the team. Fabrizio began an aggressive campaign to get Nunzio reinstated. After phone calls failed, he made a visit to Coach with his disgraced offspring by his side.
<P>Skipper and I saw it in person one Thursday as we ran into the high school to fetch Wendell from practice. Standing beside his son, Fabrizio made his pitch, “ Coach, this is a misunderstanding. Nunzio is a good boy. He was just playing a joke.”
<P>Coach Matthias said, “Well the old lady and the cops ain’t laughin. My players understand they are to behave like warriors on the field and gentlemen off. Son you are a disgrace to your team, your community and your letter jacket.”
<P>Nunzio hung his head as his father continued to plead his case, “Nunzio ain’t like those blacks from the city who are destined for jail. He made a mistake. He’s from a good family. Coach, you were young once. You gotta understand, boys will be boys.”
<P>Coach Matthias said, “No, punks will be punks. And I don’t care what color he is. You are livin’ proof that if you plant rotten corn you get rotten corn. And if I had a belt, I would put you both over my knee right now.”
<P>As Wendell rounded the corner, Coach Matthias said, “Son, tonight is Thursday. I want you in by 8 PM cause I need you rested for tomorrow night because you are starting. Don’t study too late, y’hear?!”
<P>Wendell’s eyes flashed with excitement, “You got it, Coach!”
<P>Nunzio said, “Coach, you can’t have that runt replace me?”
<P>Wendell said as he walked off, “Nunzio, he just did and that’s Starter Runt to you.”
<P>Nunzio screamed and kicked a trash can. The mask had finally dropped and Nunzio was showing his true self. When we got outside, Skipper, Wendell and I burst out laughing. Then Wendell looked at his watch, “Ohmigod! We need to get home. It’s six already and I have to eat dinner and have a big chemistry test to study for!” The three of us then sprinted to our mom’s van. Of course, she reveled in this latest development and regretted missing Nunzio’s meltdown.
<P>That Friday, Wendell made his debut on the offensive line as a starter. Impressing the coaches and teammates, Wendell not only secured the spot for the rest of the season but for the remainder of his career at Whiskey Rebellion. Starting in the last four games, he earned the coveted Blackhawk letter jacket and would go on to become a fan favorite and was eventually elected team captain.
<P>Nunzio had his day in court. Once again, Fabrizio argued that it was “a joke” and “boys will be boys.” In pleading his son’s cause, Fabrizio also informed the court that his son was “not a problem black.” As usual, his mother prayed the rosary complete with funeral veil. Unfortunately the judge, who during sentencing revealed she was part black, did not share their sense of humor and sentenced Nunzio to five years in prison. When Coach Matthias learned of his fate, he cut Nunzio’s face out of the team picture and made it a rule that Nunzio was never to be spoken of again.
<P>From prison, Nunzio earned his GED, earned an associates in business and became the shining star of Western Penitentary’s Intermural Football Team. Using his Antonio Banderas good looks, he began a prison pen pal relationship with Bambi, who gone through a tumultuous breakup with Coach Link. Sick of her job at The Jefferson Lodge, she was now working part time as a Reikki Practitioner and Wiccan Tarot Card Reader. The day he was released, Nunzio and Bambi married at the same magistrate where he was first arraigned for armed robbery.
<P>Putting his prison business degree to good use, Nunzio took over Fabrizio’s and managed it for years with Bambi. The two lived and worked quietly for years until COVID-19 when Nunzio took to the business’s facebook page and called Black Lives Matter a terrorist organization and referred to Dr. Rachael Levine as an ugly man in a wig. He also refused to close for the pandemic because Bambi’s tarot cards told him it was a hoax.
<P>Locals, appalled by the racism, transphobia, and COVID denial organized a boycott. Health officials hit them with fines and sanctions. Fabrizio’s was forced to close it’s doors. Shocked, Nunzio protested on facebook that his community was “a bunch of pussies that couldn’t handle a joke.” While the home audience is always the hardest, Nunzio is still determined to hone his comedy routine. He now has a youtube channel where he makes racist, sexist, transphobic, homophobic and otherwise cringeworthy videos. The upside is he has ten subscribers. Sigh, he finally found some people who share his sense or humor.
<P> Like my writing? Buy my books available on Amazon.
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-85362045624571904642021-12-12T09:23:00.005-08:002021-12-12T09:30:05.877-08:00Little Red Corvette (Prince)Thursday nights were my favorite nights for two reasons: I got to scoop of the week and it was porkchop night. My dad took a lemon pepper covered chop, “How’s the team shaping up, Wendell?”
<P>He passed the plate to my brother who took two, “Mike Shirley has been promoted to back up.” The sophomore showboat had been training for a starting spot since Pop Warner.
<P>My mom snatched a chop, “I hate that kid!”
<p>The ill feelings went years back. In sixth grade during lunch, Mike Shirley challenged Wendell to a fight. It was the first year all the kids from the town’s elementary schools were in the same building. Wendell didn’t know Mike, but didn’t stop Mike from walking up to Wendell in the middle of gym class and challenging him to a fight for no reason whatsoever. Wendell told Mike to name the time and place. Mike said after school in the parking lot. When the hour of the duel arrived, Wendell came to the parking lot but Mike did not. The clock ticked. Still no Mike.
<P>Believing that Mike would eventually materialize, Wendell waited two hours. When it began to rain, Wendell realized Mike wasn’t coming and walked home. Back at the ranch, our mom, fearing Wendell had been kidnapped, called the police. She was on the phone with the cops when Wendell walked through the door. While the fight didn’t happen, Wendell got an ass whooping from our mom because, “That kid could have come with a gun or a knife.” Her true ire was saved for Mike Shirley, “If I ever see that kid I will beat him up myself. I hate that kid!”
<P>Truth is subjective, and Mike told anyone who would listen that he won the fight. Unfortunately for Mike, he was heard by Wendell bragging to class heart throb Annabella Stabler by the lockers. Incredulous, Wendell walked up to Mike, tapped him on the shoulder and decked him. Mike fell to the ground, weeping pitifully. Annabella responded by laughing hysterically which made Mike cry harder. Mr. Snodgrass, an art teacher and Vietnam vet who heard Mike wagging his mouth and had doubts about his story, separated the lads and told them to be on their way. From that day onward, when Mike even sensed Wendell, he hot stepped it.
<P>My dad said, “Well his dad is an overgrown coolness dude who comes to the booster meetings and shows up on his playbaby motorcycle with his new wife. And then his ex wife comes with her new husband and they all sit together. And then he has siblings and half siblings and step siblings and that kid’s life is one giant math equation that never gets solved. No wonder Mike has issues.”
<P>What my dad was referring to was that Mike Shirley’s parents were high school sweethearts. His dad had also been quarterback and his mom had been head cheerleader. Mike’s mom had gotten pregnant with him her senior year, and the two married on prom night after the last dance at the magistrate. They had two more kids before getting divorced. Mike’s mom remarried the head of the bus garage and Mike’s dad remarried a lady who was a receptionist at one of the elementary schools. Both his parents had children with their second marriages, and their new spouses brought children from their previous marriages and lived within a three block radius of each other.
<P>The happily divorced blended family sat together at all the games both varsity and JV, and the parents, stepparents, siblings and whatnot seemed like great friends which was both good for the kids but generally an anomaly considering we knew our share of blended families where things were nothing short of acomonious. It was incredibly confusing to determine who was related and how, especially since the cast rotated weekly. To make matters more complex there were also aunts, uncles and cousins. Wearing shirts that said, “Mike Shirley Fan Club,” they had two rows of reserved seats. Those who regularly attended the games nicknamed the section Shirley Village.
<P>Wendell passed the plate of chops to Skipper, “Mike groupies stay to watch him at practice and he drives them home in Maxine.” Mike, for his sixteenth birthday that summer, got a red corvette after the members of Shirley Village put their money together that he named Maxine.
<p>Skipper, who was ten and just tested genius level, took her chop, “Don’t they have homework?”
<P>I bit my chop, “Girls like that don’t do homework.”
<P>Wendell took a third chop, “Mike and his Pop Warner friends are joined at the hip. If you arent one of them they don’t talk to you. I just avoid them, go to practice and get out of there before their stupidity can infect me.” What Wendell was referring to was the kids who came up playing Pop Warner were notoriously cliquish, and unlike them Wendell was on the honors/AP track.
<P>My dad said, “Son, you should try to make some friends on the team. My mother never let me play football.”
<P>Wendell said, “You told me how many times.” In a snit, Wendell pretended to count on his fingers, “One, two, three, four, five…”
<P>My dad said, “Just saying, Son. If you are going to be on the team make some friends. You are going to be playing with Mike for the next few years.”
<P>Wendell said, “Friends?! It was your idea I play!” What Wendell was referring to was after the soccer coach told him he was “too big,” at the urging of my dad Wendell switched to football.
<P>I said, “Your friends with Bobby Ragny.” Bobby Ragny was a wide receiver with behavioral issues that Wendell had roomed with over the summer at the team’s pre-season camp. Coach Matthias matched the two up because neither boy had any friends on the team.
<P>Wendell said, “Shut up, April.”
<P>Skipper said, “Did you ever speak to him about getting his bladder checked?” At camp, they had bunk beds. Bobby took the top, but that’s the way Wendell discovered Bobby also wet the bed.
<P>Wendell said, “Screw you all, I have friends. Just not Mike Shirley!”
<P>My mom angrily bit her chop, “Good! Because I hate that kid!”
<P>The Friday of the game came arrived, and it was the first cold night of the season. Skipper and I made our way to the visitor’s concession stand to get hot coca. There was not only less of a crowd there, but the home stand was operated by the soccer parents. Despite the fact that football was better for Wendell’s build and temperament, the soccer parents felt Wendell sold out and wouldn’t hesitate to let us know. In reality, it was more salt in the wound because not only were their games underattended, but varsity football was the parent that really paid their bills.
<P>The visitor’s stand was operated by the JV parents, most of who we knew from the Saturday games. Each family took turns, and during the second home game of the season Skipper, my mom and I had taken ours. We got up to the window and a woman with big red hair that we didn’t know took our order. This came as a shock to Skipper and I because usually we knew everyone that worked concession. Big Red called it into the back and a little boy who couldn’t have been more than eight walked forward with our cocas.
<P>The little boy said, “Mom, they’re Wendell’s sisters, right?”
<P>Big Red flashed an embarrassed smile, “Yes DJ, those are Wendell’s sisters.”
<P>DJ poked his head out and yelled, “BAD CALL REF!”
<P>Big Red laughed, “Sorry about that. DJ knows most of Mike’s friends because they have been around since Pop Warner and even held him as a baby. Mike was even saying the other day he wishes he knew Wendell a little better. Oh, by the way, I’m Mrs. Higbee, Mike Shirley’s Mom.” Apparently Mrs. Higbee hadn’t gotten the memo that Mike wasn’t on Wendell’s Christmas card list.
<P>Glancing at her I saw the Mike Shirley Fan Club T-Shirt, go figure. I said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Higbee. I’m April and this is Skipper.”
DJ poked his head out again and yelled, “GO HAWKS! HOLD THAT LINE!” DJ then handed us our hot cocas and we each gave him a fist bump for a job well done.
<P>Mrs. Higbee said, “He plays every Sunday with the Pop Warner guys now, but this is the highlight of his week.”
<P>DJ turned to us, “They made me quarterback. Just like Mike!”
<P>Seeing the line forming Mrs. Higbee said, “Oh, and tell your dad that we will have the concession money ready after the game. He just needs to come over.”
<P>What Mrs. Higbee was referring to was at the end of the night the people working the concession gave the treasurer, the position my dad held in the boosters, the money from the sales and he logged it. Last week Mr. Pender and his much younger girlfriend had forgotten resulting in some Saturday JV drama. To add insult to injury they also took a bunch of free food for themselves and their friends.
<P>Back in the bleachers we had to pass Shirley Village to get to our seats. A woman with big blonde hair who I guessed was the New Mrs. Shirley held a video camera. The second string was in.
<P>A man who I knew as Mr. Higbey from the bus garage that was chewing tobacco on the low, “Thank you by the way. LuAnn has had to work the last four weekends at the hospital and missed the JV games, she would be heartbroken if she didn’t get to see this.”
<P>The ref blew the whistle and the collective screamed, “GO MIKE!!!!”
<P>Then the whistle sounded again, half time. Mrs. Shirley got up along with a well bundled up girl who had Pop Warner pom poms who was probably a little older than DJ. Upon seeing us, Mrs. Shirley said, “Girls, hi! I’m Kim, Mike Shirley’s stepmom. We will have the concession money at the end of the night.”
<P>Mr. Shirley, who was probably hot in high school said, “No fuss. No muss. We ain’t the Penders.”
<P>I said, “Mrs. Higbey already told us. But WILCO.” Mrs. Shirley looked relieved.
<P>Mr. Higbey handed her a $20, “Tell LuAnn to bring me some popcorn and DJ has earned his milkduds.”
<P>Mr. Shirley handed her a $20, “And some nachos cause it cold and I am starving like Marvin.” Then he turned to us, “As you can see, we pay for our food, too.” The band hit the field and the show began.
<P>Mrs. Shirley said, “Come on, Jenna.” As the music from the half time show filled our ears, the little girl danced across the track waving her pom poms behind her mom as the two made their way to the visitor’s concession stand. Shirley Village was a great many things, but they were doing their part which is more than I could say for a lot of the JV families. Mike apparently also wasn’t still angry about a dumb ass sixth grade hallway fight.
<P>After the game, which we lost, my dad successfully got the collection from Mrs. Shirley. We got in the car to pick Wendell up from the locker room up the hill. As we drove out of the parking lot, there was a red corvette in front of us which I had a funny feeling was Maxine. As my mom pulled out of the parking lot, a busty blonde ran out in front of our mini van. My mom slammed on her brakes and blasted her horn.
<P>The blonde stood outside the corvette with a nervous smile on her face but was not getting in. Then my dad rolled down his passenger window and yelled, “Come on!”
<P>Wendell said, “Dad, Mike has to open the passenger door. He is the only one allowed to touch the handles on Maxine.”
<P>Skipper said, “That makes no sense.”
<P>I said, “His family seemed nice enough and Mike told his mom he wishes he knew you better.”
<P>Wendell said, “I know him well enough to know there’s a village missing it’s idiot.”
Maxine’s passenger door finally opened. Mike Shirley stuck his head out the window, flashed his million dollar showboat smile, waved and Maxine drove off into the night.
<P>My mom drove out of the parking lot and said, “I hate that kid.”
<P>Monday came, and Skipper and I were setting the table before our dad came home from work. As I finished putting the plates on, I heard the beeping of a car horn. Looking out our window in our driveway was none other than Maxine. I called, “Skipper! Mom! Get in here. NOW!”
<P>Mike, who was seated next to the busty blonde my mother had nearly run down, saw us at the window. Flashing their million dollar smiles as if Friday night had never happened, both waved as Mike beeped his horn and Maxine drove off into the sunset. Seconds later, Wendell jounced through the front door. My mom said, “Wendell, what was that?”
<P>Wendell said, doing a little dance as he talked, “I got to ride in Maxine.”
<P>My mom said, “WHAT?! You hate that kid.”
<P>Wendell said, “No Mom, YOU hate that kid. He apologized to me today at practice for what happened in sixth grade. He didn’t want to fight me, he just wanted to impress Annabella Stabler who turned out to be kind of a jerk. Then he saw me walking home and offered me a ride. So now we’re friends.”
<P>I said, “Friends with him, okay. But not the bimbo mom nearly killed.”
<P>Wendell said, “For your information, her name’s Erica Kaninski, she’s nice. And she has some hot friends who need tutoring.” Due to his stellar academics, Wendell had recently been selected as a peer tutor.
<P> I said, “The first lesson should be looking both ways before crossing the street.”
<P>Wendell rolled his eyes, “Forgive and forget. Our fight happened four years ago. Friday was an accident. JEEZ!”
<P>As Wendell walked up the stairs Skipper called, “Whoever you are, and wherever you have taken him, please bring Wendell back!”
<P>That night at dinner, Wendell glowed about his new friend Mike. My dad said, “Glad you’re making friends, Son. That’s important. Mike’s mom and stepmom did a bang up job on concession and it’s the best it’s ever run. And they volunteered to do it again. It’s a hard job. God bless ‘em.”
<P>Wendell said, “And his girlfriend’s hot friends need tutoring.”
<P>My dad said, “That’s an olive branch and a friend for life.”
<P>My mom said, “I still don’t get it.”
<P>My dad said, “It’s the way guys are. We fight and then make up.”
<P>Wendell said, “Maxine is a slick car.”
<P>My mom rolled her eyes, “Is he a good driver?”
<P>Wendell said, “Actually, yeah. He doesn’t want to hurt Maxine.”
<P>My mom said, “Good. I still hate that kid, but I will hate him more if he kills. And if he kills you I will kill him and then I will hurt Maxine.”
<P>Mike Shirley would become one of Wendell’s best friends on the team and Wendell rode many a time in Maxine. Erica’s friends, who were all failing math, were regulars in Wendell’s tutoring room. While the romance only lasted until Christmas, Erica and her hot friends turned their math scores around with Wendell’s help and also spread the word about his skill as a tutor. Wendell’s client list grew, and was one of the most impressive parts of his application to Brown.
<P>Maxine died after six years, but Mike’s love for cars, especially corvettes, is still alive today. Good looking, personable and knowledgeable, Mike would go on to open his own successful car dealership. Shirley Corvettes is run and operated by most of Shirley Village, so while most outsiders don’t understand their business practices it somehow works. DJ, who now is a third string quarterback for the Miami Dolphins, is their celebrity spokesperson. Mike divorced twice before eventually marrying a showroom model and having three kids with her. Next to DJ, the happy family is on all the Shirley Corvette TV commercials. When my mom saw their first ad she said, “Good for Mike! I always liked that kid.”
<P>Like my writing? Buy my books on Amazon or visit me at AprilBrucker.TV
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-68329018232912808522021-12-05T17:27:00.002-08:002021-12-05T17:29:58.944-08:00Gangsta's Paradise (Coolio)The JV game was a bloody grudge match. A win in triple death overtime in the freezing rain redeemed the fallen The Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks who had lost the night before. The fire, my mom’s chili and Van Damme in Blood Sport with our newly purchased cable were a well earned Saturday evening reward.
<P>Wendell was in his glory because his last minute sac cemented the victory. Coach Stephens, the easy on the eyes head of the JV guys, was so impressed by Wendell he called Coach Matthias and the two agreed, Wendell was worthy of a promotion to varsity punt return. This was the cherry on top of a great week where Wendell, who had been training his body for two years now, broke a squat record in the weight room, one held by powerhouse junior Vince Davis.
<P>Then the doorbell rang. Skipper and I, the only ones even remotely awake, jumped up to get it. Standing at our front door, good looking with the inflated sense of self to match was Mac Buzzinski otherwise known as Buzz. At the beginning of the season, Buzz, like Wendell, had been on JV. When a senior starter broke his leg during practice, Buzz, who was next in line for the wide receiver spot, took his place by default. While he was talented, Buzz’s ego was already bigger than the state of Texas.
<P>What made this visit even more bizarre was Wendell and Buzz hated each other’s guts. Aside from the fact Buzz was a chronic jagoff, about a month ago at a Booster Club Meeting my dad the treasurer, and Buzz’s dad the secretary, got into a shouting match over the budget that would have escalated into a fist fight had their rather embarrassed wives not pulled them apart. Memorable insults include Mr. Buzzinski calling my dad, “An out of touch shit head in a suit,” and then my dad responding by saying, “Oh yeah, well you’re a Goddamn cement head yum yum asshole,” in reference to Buzz Senior’s work as a contractor. Little Cement Head, my dad’s nickname for Buzz, tried to even the score by jumping Wendell in the locker room. Wendell, who wasn’t as fast as Buzz but was much stronger, gave him a bloody nose and knocked him down. While Buzz was the clear cut loser, Coach Matthias acknowledged it was a punk move on Buzz’s part and made both parties run after practice.
<P>Looking out into the driveway I saw Buzz’s car was running, Biggie blasting from the stereo. Knocking on the window like a prisoner was his younger brother, Jeremy, who was autistic and barely verbal. Their parents, after IEPS, court dates and other actions, were victorious in getting Jeremy mainstreamed into public school, and were especially successful in advocating for him to get speech therapy. While the success of the speech therapy for Jeremy was limited, Mrs. Buzzinski, who was a salt of the Earth woman and had gotten to know the system all too well, wanted to help families like theirs. Attending law school part time and graduating last year, she recently opened a legal practice where she advocated for the rights of disabled children. How she lived with Big Cement Head and Little Cement Head was a mystery.
<P>Coach Matthias, despite his gruff nature, taught adaptive gym and was actually good at it. Seeing Jeremy’s hyper focus and attention to detail-side effects of being on the spectrum-as assets, he promoted the young man to equipment manager. Loud noises and too bright lights sometimes made Jeremy meltdown on the side of the field, but the pads and cones had never been so organized. Coach Matthias rewarded him with a Jersey that said Baby Buzz that Jeremy wore with pride. For all his faults, Buzz took Jeremy just about everywhere he went, going out of his way to make him one of the guys.
<P>I opened the door. Buzz said, “Wassup?! Wendell in da crib?”
<P>Skipper and I exchanged a glance as we both visibly tried to translate. Buzz lived on the other side of town, and usually the varsity starters watched game tapes on Saturdays at the high school which we lived three blocks away from. That would explain why he was in the area, but Saturday practice would have wrapped hours ago. Skipper pointed to his rolled up pant leg, “You run the risk of hypothermia.”
<P>Ten years old, Skipper had recently tested as gifted and with good reason. I not only noticed that but the pink bandana which was beyond explanation just like everything else. Buzz said, “Lil Shawty, it’s for my dead homies.”
<P>I said, “No man rocking a pink babushka should use homies in a sentence, ever.”
<P>Buzz said, “Strawberry Lane Crew in da house! Did I stutter?! I ain’t playin yo. Get Wendell.”
<P>I could tell Skipper was as dizzy as I was from this brief encounter with Buzz. We called for Wendell, who was at the door within seconds. Skipper said, “I know you punched him but he is clearly still experiencing head trauma.”
<P>Wendell said, “No, that’s the way he always talks.”
<P>Skipper and I ran back to the TV room, but my mom, now awake, ran upstairs to investigate. Within a minute, Wendell yelled, “Stay away from my house and my sisters you fucking idiot!” Then he slammed the door.
<P>Walking down the stairs, my mom, who was barely five feet tall, said to Wendell, “You stay away from him. He’s a bad kid. It took me nine months to form you. Then twenty four hours of labor. The fetus was in distress so it was an emergency C-section with two weeks recovery. It has taken me nearly 16 years to get you to this point. I will not let a moron with too much leisure time screw up your life in 16 seconds!”
<P>My dad, now completely awake and pissed off said, “What the hell was that?”’
<P>Wendell said, “Nothing, can we just watch the movie?”
<P>My mom said, “Tell him, or I will.”
<P>Wendell said, “Buzz got into it at Eat ‘n’ Park with some of the players from Joyce Kilmer last night after the game. They challenged him to a rumble and he wants me to act as an enforcer because he’s impressed with my strength. And he’s calling his gang The Strawberry Lane Crew because that’s where he lives. They couldn’t even throw down with the Sesame Street Gang.”
<P>I said, “They wear pink bandanas.”
<P>My dad said, “ No doubt Little Cement Head’s mouth got him into this.” Kilmer, one town over, was poorer and more rural than we were and their kids were always getting into fights.
<P>My mom said, “I don’t like him. If he comes here again, I am calling the police.”
<P>My dad said, “His mother’s gonna put a stop to all of this, you just watch.” Then he turned up the volume just in time for the Kum Met Te.
<P>The following Friday, Skipper and I were selected to give the team food after the game, a plumb gig for younger siblings. That night was especially sweet because The Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks had defeated Clairsville, our most bitter rival in an away game, for the first time in over a decade. Wendell had also made his varsity debut on punt return and impressed Coach Matthias.
<P>Vince Davis, the team’s only black player, a bigger quiet kid, approached. Just as he was getting his food we heard, “YO! YO! Wassup my brotha!”
<P>Vince groaned, “Buzz, you are worse than a concussion and I am not your brother.”
<P>Buzz said, “I am just speaking the language of your people, Homie.”
<P>Vince shook his head, “That is really racist and ignorant, even for you.”
<P>Buzz said, “Hear me out. The Strawberry Lane Crew could use your services as an enforcer and I could act as an agent for your talents. You see, we thought of Wendell Brucker for the role but as we know he is a WWIIIIIMMMPP!!! You are much stronger than he is.”
<P>Vince said, “He broke one of my records and I still have three. What’s your point? Besides, I was there. Your big mouth got you into this, and now you are gonna have to dig yourself out.”
<P>Buzz looked like he had been hit in the head with a hard object, “Man, don’t be a fool. Unlike Brucker you can roll legit my brotha!”
Vince laughed, “Your dumb ass pink do rag wearing crew is about as legit as MC Hammer after bankruptcy. Ken Doll, I hear Barbie wants to throw down. Oh, and Brucker’s sisters are here. Keep talking…”
<P>Vince took his food and made his exit. Buzz turned to Skipper and I, “Shawties, I was just playin….just so you know.” My dad, who coordinated the food distribution, gave Buzz a look of death which made him run to the bus. So much for being a real OG.
<P>Buzz was determined though. The following week, he recruited three other players for the Strawberry Lane Crew. They were Franco Diamond, a third string lineman who dreamed of being a cage fighter; Jim Hanks, a big lug who often was a bench warmer due to academic ineligibility; and Al Pender, a JV wide receiver known for his profanity ridden outbursts usually cost the team yards. Buzz’s recruits, meeting in his parents garage, received initiation, aka being punched in the face by Jeremy who was surprisingly strong. Buzz assured, “Yo, the speech therapy failed so he won’t talk about official gang bizzznizzzz.”
<P>The Strawberry Lane Crew dawned their pink bandanas, causing anyone who saw them to roll their eyes. My mother and Skipper were horrified at <P>Jeremy’s role, but my father, Wendell and I found a strange comfort that Buzz was including his learning disabled brother in his illegal aspirations making him an equal opportunity employer.
However, laughter ceased when a date was set for the rumble, Friday night after both Whiskey Rebellion and Joyce Kilmer had their perspective games. Al Pender, the most unbalanced of the group, blabbed that he had access to guns and was bringing a few to the fight. My mom, now extremely distressed told Wendell he was to stay away from Buzz, and if The Strawberry Lane Crew tried to approach him in any way to let her know so she could call the police.
<P>The Friday of the rumble steadily approached. Wednesday morning, two days before the main event, I found myself running late to third period as my social studies homework had fallen to the bottom of my book bag. Sprinting to the door, I saw Coach Douglass, Matthias’s second in command and my reading teacher poking his head out of his classroom door, “Brucker, you got a minute?”
<P>The bell rang, “Coach Douglass, I am already late. Can I talk to you before lunch? It’s in three periods.” Mr. Regent, my social studies teacher, was a stickler and hated tardiness. A lecture would be coming if I didn’t step it up.
<P>Coach Douglass said, “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Old Regent and I’ll write you a hall pass.”
<P>Entering Coach Douglass’s class, I wondered what was wrong? Was my Charlie Skadaddle diorama not up to snuff? That had been last weekend’s project and Coach was very particular when it came to our dioramas. I said, “Coach, I tried my best. I write, I don’t draw.”
<P>A mountain of a man, Coach Douglass said, “Brucker, your diorama was fine. Did Mac Buzzinski visit your brother two weeks ago and ask him to be in his street gang? I need you to be honest.”
<P>My heart began to pound. I didn’t want to answer because I feared any answer might get poor Wendell, who was working hard, in trouble. Coach Douglass said, “Mrs. Davis came in here this morning pitching a fit because she heard Al Pender running his mouth and asked Vince who told her everything, including the fact that Wendell had been approached, too.” Mrs. Davis was the middle school nurse. A no bullshit woman, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that one.
<P>I said, “Yeah, it was last Saturday after the JV won against Jumonville where Wendell had the sac. Wendell told Buzz to buzz off and that he didn’t want to be involved. Is Wendell in trouble?”
<P>Despite the fact Wendell had told Buzz no, I didn’t know what version of events Coach Douglass got, “To answer your question, no. Wendell is in no trouble at all. Look, I don’t know all of the details, but Jeremy went with the guys to Eat ‘n’ Park after the game and something triggered a meltdown. Apparently Buzz had words the week before this went down with the kids from Kilmer and they said something about Jeremy that night. That’s how this all started. You know how Buzz is when it comes to Jeremy.”
<P>Buzz was unlikeable most of the time, but the fact he was willing to become a gangster to preserve his brother’s honor said a lot. So I had to give credit where credit was due, “Well they should have left his brother alone. That wasn’t right, Coach.”
<P>Coach Douglass said, “I agree, but a street fight isnt the answer. Now I appreciate you being honest. Here’s your hall pass. Not a word about this to anyone, okay RL Stine.” RL Stine was Coach Douglass’s nickname for me because I was always writing something. I took my hall pass and off I went.
<P>That night, my dad had a function for a Democratic candidate he was endorsing at Sal’s Café, the upscale Italian eatery in town. We were meeting Wendell after practice, who would be showered and dressed, and then planned on heading over and meeting my dad there.
<P>Pulling up in the mini van in front of the high school, we waited for Wendell. On the practice field across from us was Buzz running along with Al Pender, Franco Diamond and Jim Hanks. Coach Matthias supervised from the hill while Coach Douglass assisted down below on the green. My mom rolled the window down so we could listen. Coach Matthias yelled in this thick West Virginia accent, “Well if it isnt the Pink Ladies of Whiskey Rebellion High!”
<P>Franco Diamond threw up. Jim Hanks screamed, “Coach, let him stop! He’s sick and stressed!”
<P>Coach Matthias said, “Not as sick and stressed as he’s gonna be in prison when Big Bubba is coming for him!”
<P>Al Pender screamed, “Fuck you! Fucking Buzzcock! You said your retarded brother coudnt talk!”
<P>Buzz went to punch Pender. Coach Douglass pulled them apart. Coach Matthias said, “Y’all better believe he talked well enough to tell me about your stupid street gang! Pender, that is thirty more laps for you for speaking disrespectfully about a member of my staff who contributes more than any of you maggots! And Buzz, thirty more for exploiting your brother!”
<P>The now defunct Strawberry Lane carried out there sentence when suddenly, Mrs. Buzzinski materialized. Dressed in the power suit and heals that had lawyer written all over it, Mrs. Buzzinski said, “Malcolm Alexander Buzzinski, you and I are going to have a little talk.”
<P>In the truest OG move over, Mrs. Buzzinski marched on the field, grabbed her son by the ear, and he let out a high pitched scream that broke the barrier of sound. She said, “I had a very important deposition today, and I was interrupted when Mrs. Davis paid me a very angry phone call.”
<P>Buzz pleaded, “Coach, I have thirty more laps, right?”
<P>Coach Matthias let out an evil laugh, “Boy, there are some things worse than prison or hell. That is why I am releasing you to the custody of your mama!” Sadly, the show was interrupted when Wendell emerged from the locker room in his suit ready for dinner.
<P>On our way to Sal’s, Wendell said that Coach Matthias noticed bruises on Jeremy’s hands during gym class. Concerned, Coach asked what happened. Apparently the speech therapy worked better than anyone thought, because Jeremy revealed the existence of the Strawberry Lane Crew, the date and time of the rumble, Al Pender’s plan to bring a gun and how he was afraid his big brother would get hurt.
<P>Coach Matthias, incredulous, called his colleague at Joyce Kilmer who was not only outraged about the planned gang fight after his game, but that his starters had bullied a learning disabled student. They too were being punished in kind at that moment. Needless to say the rumble was cancelled. Of course my dad loved the fact that he had called it all along.
<P>Aside from living with the fact his mother busted up his street gang, Mrs. Buzziski said no more gangsters paradise and decided mama would knock him out. In an effort to put her son back on track, she signed him up for a Scared Straight Program and Campus Crusade for Christ. Inspired by the minister he worked with and the inmates he encountered, Buzz went on to become a football star at a Division II school and then entered the seminary. Getting a dual degree in social work, he ministers to at risk youth and he is assisted by none other than his brother, Jeremy. The good news is, Buzz got out of the life. The great news is, he gave me an epic story.
<P> Like my writing? Visit me at AprilBrucker.TV or buy one of my books on Amazon.
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-68858360871543109122021-11-28T15:41:00.005-08:002021-11-28T15:48:59.458-08:00A Country Boy Can Survive (Hank Williams Jr.)It was Monday night, the first official tailgate of the season. Friday would be the first official game of the season. The late summer air buzzed with insects as country music blared from the stereo. Down the hill, the marching rehearsed their half time show.
<P>Enjoying the sights and sounds, my younger sister Skipper and I loaded our plates with ribs and other fixins from The John Wayne Diner-a western themed restaurant that always catered the booster events. Decked out in our black and orange-the school colors of the Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks- we were in our glory as we were among the cheerleaders and football players. Wendell had begged our mom not to dress us up as he was a mere undersized sophomore and didn’t want to be picked on by the upperclassmen. All was forgiven when a busty blonde cheerleader named Tracee Yanowski said to Wendell, “Your sisters are adorable!” It was official, Skipper and I had arrived. We were on the A list with the rest of the heroes of the fall.
<P>The event had one villain, the new coach, John Ezekiel Matthias. An import from West Virginia, he was already butting heads with the boosters and the season had not yet begun. A lot was riding on this tailgate. Everyone seemed to be ignoring the drama and having a good time.
<PP>That is, until Coach Matthias decided to turn off the country music to make an announcement. We all breathed a sigh of relief because we couldn’t hear a song about a broken heart or a broken pickup one more time. Standing by coach were Douglass and Stephens, two former players of his that served as Matthias’s assistants. Both were gigantic boulders and Matthias stood in front of them, half their size, like a red neck mob boss.
<P>Douglass was my reading teacher down the hill at the middle school. This in itself was ironic as Douglass had misspelled several words on the blackboard-public school education at it’s finest. Stephens was a tall, dark drink of water that all the ladies lusted after. I whispered to Skipper, “I get first dibs, I’m older.”
<P>Skipper, three years younger and often light years smarter said, “With the advancements in cloning we could both have one.” We both high fived at this compromise as the cheerleaders silently swooned and the lonely, long married booster mothers snuck a peak.
<P>Then Coach Matthias began to speak in his thick West Virginia accent, “I just want to say I am proud of these boys for all the work they have done this summer when they could have been going after fillies, sitting on their butts or playing those doggone video games. We are going to win this Friday. Now let’s get fired up!” Everyone clapped. This was nice.
<P>Confused, Skipper said, “What’s a filly?”
<P>I said, “I think it’s a female horse.” The look on Skipper’s face was priceless, but I had a copy of Black Beauty to back me up.
<P>Coach Matthias continued, “I realize things have not been so good with the boosters. And I know I ain’t the most diplomatic of fellas, but I got a fundraising idea everyone can be excited about cause we need new equipment. It’s called Cow Pile Bingo.”
<P> My dad, who was elected booster treasurer because of his taxation background raised his hand, “Coach, what is Cow Pile Bingo?” Everyone nodded, relieved my dad had asked because out of all the parents, he got along the best with Coach.
<P>Coach Matthias said, “Wendelin, glad you asked. Cow Pile Bingo is when you get a cow in the middle of the field and bet on where it is going to poop. It’s a lot of fun and the winner gets a lotta money. Now let’s get fired up!” Coach Matthias raised his hand expecting applause but instead what he got was dead silence.
<P>Rochelle Kelly, the beautiful red headed cheerleading captain and current senior class secretary said, “Eww Coach, that is animal cruelty!” The cheerleaders nodded in agreement.
<P>Douglass said, “Now ladies, I know it sounds gross, but it’s how I learned my numbers growing up. It’s an effective teaching tool.” Last week, Douglass had told our class in addition to reading he was also certified to teach math. The visual as well as that other information made me worry for the future of the youth of America.
<P>Mr. Latham, who’s son Kyle was on the starting line, was head of the math department in the district. A former football player himself, he tried to be diplomatic, “Coach, I admire the enthusiasm of you and your staff, but this is not how the kids learn math in this district.”
<P>My mom raised her hand, “Coach Matthias, I think it’s great you want to raise money for the team and we know you care, but in our district we have a grounds staff that our tax dollars pay for that manicure the fields. We don’t even let dogs go on there because it destroys the green where the boys play. Cow poop produces trichinella.”
<P>Douglass said, “Trica……waaa?!”
<P>My brother Wendell, known as the brain of the team, raised his hand, “Coach Douglass, it’s a bacteria from animal poop…..”
<P>Kyle, who acted as Wendell’s surrogate big brother/guardian angel on the team made the sign for Wendell to stop talking. Wendell shot a look of anger at our mom. It was official, she had ruined his tailgate after all and his nightmares about being on JV forever were about to be a reality.
<P>While my mom and Mr. Latham tried to be supportive with the no sandwich, Mrs. Andrekis who’s son Tom was starting kicker, went in deep, “This is Whiskey Rebellion High School, not the film Deliverance.”
<P>Mr. Andrekis, who was clearly whipped by his overbeating wife said, “Coach, c’mon, where would we get a cow anyway?”
<P>Tom, wanting to keep his starting position said, “Mom! Dad! PLEEAASSSEE!!!”
<P>Mrs. O’Shea, who’s son Ryan was the starting quarterback, rolled her eyes, “Coach, can we discuss this when we aren’t eating?”
<P>Mr. O’Shea, who was an intolerable blowhard said, “Coach, Whiskey Rebellion is a blue ribbon school. Most kids here go to college, they don’t work in the mines like you did growing up.” Ryan, horrified and also wanting to keep his starting position, let out an audible groan.
<P>Coach Stephens, with his million dollar good looks decided to help out, “I understand ya’ll are alarmed because this is out of ya’lls comfort zone. But this is an event that could help the less fortunate. When it’s over, we can kill the cow and donate the meat to the families that need it.”
<P>Mr. Capalano, who was booster president, famous for his vanity plate CAPS and had a son Bobby who was second string center said, “Coach, the boosters and the coach always worked together. You have no interest in that. You have completely gone rogue.”
<P>Bobby, ever the suck up who wanted to get off second string said, “I am all about cow bingo or whatever this is. It sounds great!” Then his cheerleader girlfriend Ashely Grant punched him in the arm and Bobby bowed his head in defeat.
<P>Coach said, “I have no idea what rogue means but Cow Pile Bingo is a hit where I come from.”
<P>Mrs. Andrekis said, “Where you come from is West Virginia where our church’s kids went on their last mission trip.”
<P>Coach was now furious, “Y’all think I might be crazy, but when I came to this district ya’lls boys were about as prepared for action as Bambi’s mother was in the first ten minutes of that movie!”
<P>Suddenly, all hell broke lose. Mrs. O’Shea, blitzed out of her mind, took her plate of ribs and threw it at Coach, “YOU ARE A DISGUSTING BARBARIAN! GET OUT OF OUR TOWN!” As the ribs hit him in the face, Matthias stood shocked. Cow Pile Bingo might have been a hit in Coach’s old district, but it was sure as hell a miss here.
<P>For the next few days, everyone in all of the grade levels talked about what was known as Bambi-Gate. The story morphed so many times that in one version the coaches and parents even got into a food fight. Skipper and I, because we had been witnesses, became minor celebrities for the week because we saw the train wreck up close and in person. Later that week, as I was telling the umpteenth person that there was no coach/parent food fight, Coach Douglass asked to see me. I said, “Am I in trouble?”
<P>Coach Douglass said, “No. I just am curious, where do you live?”
<P>The question was weird, “Why, Coach Douglass?”
<P>Coach Douglass said, “I always see Wendell walking home after practice and figured it had to be somewhere close.”
<P>I said, “Up the hill on Foxtail Road three blocks from school. Ours is the one with the ivy and flowers.”
<P>Coach Douglass changed the subject, “You know Coach Matthias didn’t like it when Bambi’s mother got shot. His daughter always cries at that part.”
<P>I said, “Yeah. But I also get what he was trying to say. The team was pretty unprepared and we got eaten alive last year. Welcome to The Whiskey Rebellion School District where parents are drunk on themselves.” Coach Douglass laughed. Cow Pile Bingo had been a horrid idea, but we both agreed that seeing some of these booster parents who were hard to take lose their proverbial shit was entertaining.
<P>That night, I rushed to complete my homework while helping my mom and Skipper cook the porkchops when the doorbell rang. Skipper, who was setting the table was too far away to get the door, and Wendell, who took double math that fall because he had tested up a year, had not one but two big tests. My mom said, “April, would you like to get that?”
<P>I said, “Do I have a choice?” This was a running gag between my mom and me.
<p>She said, “No.”
<P>I said, “Dad is gonna be home in a few. We can just pretend we aren’t home?”
<P>The doorbell rang again and now it was followed by an urgent knock, “April, if it’s a band kid tell them we will take two hoagies. If it’s a religious nut tell them you are Catholic. And if it’s a serial killer, scream.”
<P>Making my way to the front door, I didn’t see a serial killer but saw the next worst thing, Coach Matthias. Standing there, despite the rain and the typical cold snap of early September, he was still in his gym shorts and t-shirt that said “Coach.” While I pitied the man for being in the inclement weather, I also didn’t want Bambi-Gate under my roof.
<P>Grudgingly I opened the door and said, “Hi Coach….”
<P>Coach stepped into our foyer, “Your daddy home?”
<P>I said, “Not yet.” Then I called to Skipper and my mom, “Coach Matthias is here!”
<P>My mom ran to greet coach with a smile like she wanted to kill him, my dad for volunteering to be booster treasurer and then herself, “Hi Coach, what can I do for you? Sorry the house isn’t a little cleaner.”
<P>Coach said, “Don’t worry Grace, I grew up on a hog farm and live with a two and four year old. But I’m glad I found the place. Coach Douglass told me April said the one with the flowers and the ivy.” I turned bright red. Maybe he couldn’t spell but Coach Douglass had totally just punked me hillbilly James Bond style.
<P>My mom shot me a look of death. I shrugged, running up the stairs and pulling Skipper with me who said, “I wondered how he knew where we lived.”
<P>Wendell, who had circles under his eyes from studying, emerged from his room, “Girls, am I hallucinating or is Coach Matthias downstairs?”
<P>I said, “He’s downstairs. Want to go and say hi?”
<P>Wendell rolled his eyes and shook his head no, “Not really.” After Bambi-Gate, the team had been forced to do an ungodly amount of physical exercises as punishment for the unbecoming conduct of their parents.
<P>Skipper said, “April told him where we lived.”
<P>Wendell said, “You’re stupid. Big surprise. Because of Mom, I had to run extra laps and had a week that made the Hanoi Hilton look like a dream vacation. Now we have Bambi-Gate under our roof because of you!”
<P>Angered, Wendell sneered inches away from my face. I said, “Hey jagoff, Coach Douglass saw you walking home. He asked if we lived close to the school because he always saw you walking. He’s my reading teacher. What was I supposed to do, huh?!”
<P>Wendell sputtered, “Oh yeah…..you still brought Bambi-Gate under our roof.”
<P>I said, “No, you did. He’s your coach. You’re the one who wanted to play.”
<P>Wendell rolled his eyes, “No, Dad wanted me to play!” It was true, our father was living vicariously through Wendell, another reason he accepted the position as booster treasurer, “This is all his fault and I hate Mom, Dad and YOUUUU!!!!!!” He then walked in his room, threw his math book across the room and began to punch his pillow. So much for studying.
<P>The garage opened. Dad. Skipper said, “Dad’s home. Now you both stop it before we all get in trouble.” Wendell and I sighed. She had a point.
<P>From upstairs we listened. My Dad said to coach, “A beer?”
<P>Coach said, “Nah, the wife would kill me and mine wears the pants when I’m home. Wendelin, I ain’t no Einstein like your boy Wendell, but I know we need to raise money and I know I need to work with y’all. I want to make this right. I moved my family up here for this job.”
<P>My dad said, “I think you meant well, but cow poop and food and Bambi’s dead mother werent a good combo, especially for some of these folks.”
<P>Coach said, “Clearly they ain’t hunters.”
<P>My dad said, “Coach, I know it looks bad but you need to see the forest for the trees. You have a lot of strengths, like Coach Stephens. He’s single. Why not have an auction where women can buy a date night with Coach Stephens?”
<P>Coach said, “I like that. He likes the fillies and the fillies like him.”
<P>My dad said, “Would he be up for it?”
<P>Coach said, “He will be. I’m still his coach.”
<P>It was settled. That Friday night, the auction for a date with Coach Stephens was a success. Not only did it raise five thousand dollars, but it was one of the highest grossing events in booster history. Miss Renreski, a lonely science teacher who had just gone through a terrible divorce, was the winner. The two would have a tumultuous cuffing season romance and would break up the following spring when Mrs. Renreski left him for Mr. Topper, a tech ed teacher who had lost his left thumb in an industrial accident.
<P>The team would win that Friday night as well as the rest of the season. Coach learned to work with the boosters which made him the ultimate hero of the fall. And no one spoke of Bambi-Gate or Cow Pile Bingo ever again.
<P>For more on me go to AprilBrucker.TV,and to buy my books go to Amazon. xoxo
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-50855486240386390782021-11-15T15:54:00.002-08:002021-11-15T15:55:26.651-08:00All Fired Up (Pat Benatar)When fall comes in Western Pennsylvania, it means one thing, football season. In the rest of the country, football is a sport but in Steeler Nation it is a religion. The South Hills, my particular area, known as “The Quarterback Cradle,” produced some of the greatest stars the gridiron ever saw such as Joe Montana, just to name one of many. Behind ever great player is a great coach, and often that coach comes with a great big personality. Case in point, our very own John Ezekiel Matthias.
<P>For years, I saw Matthias’s antics up close and in person as my brother Wendell played for him throughout high school. My mom cursed Matthias as Wendell slaved, training his body to get faster and stronger only to be continually banished to the hell of JV on Saturday mornings and then promoted to the purgatory of Varsity special teams his junior year. As revenge, my mom put Matthias’s picture in her ice cube tray in an attempt to freeze his soul to make him a more compassionate human being. Things changed Wendell’s senior year when he was finally awarded a much deserved starting spot on the defensive line. Happy he finally had the chance to prove himself under the spotlight, Wendell became one of Matthias’s best players that season, shattering strength, speed and tackling records.
<P>Wendell shined in the classroom, too. His top notch academics and athletic prowess earned him a spot at Brown University as a chemistry major, but also on their Brown Bears football squad. The local paper did a story on the future Ivy League athlete. Coach Matthias was quoted as saying, “The kid is an example of a role model that never gives up. Always worked hard in that weight room. He was real smart but I thought he wouldn’t amount to much a player. I’m just as surprised as you are that this is happening.” My mother was thrilled. NOT!
<P>You see, our district got Matthias by accident. Before Matthias, Coach Stoltz had been our town’s long time head coach and long time embarrassment. Stoltz, who’s signatures were his beer belly and his clipboard, gave an interview to a local news outlet where he said several questionable things about Jewish people. After getting a letter from the Anti-Defamation League, the district was forced to publish a public apology in not only that news outlet but every one in the area. In addition to being a bigot, Stoltz was an asshole who bullied players, favored the kids of booster officers going as far as to take bribes from said parents so their kids could start, dating several mothers of players at a time and bragging when these women got into fights over him. While this was all terrible, the racism, sexism, anti-semitism and xenophobia was not what did him in with the administration, but the fact we were one of the lowest ranked teams in the conference. After a no win season, the school board decided it was time to put Stoltz and his outdated opinions out of a job.
<P>Many of the active booster parents, happy with the nepotism despite the team’s poor record, hoped one of Stoltz’s lackies would succeed him as head coach. Candidates included such classics as Coach DiCarlo: Super Catholic who had his photo taken with Mother Theresa and mentioned it in every conversation ever, Coach Marian: Remedial math teacher who waxed nostalgic about the days when public school teachers could beat their students and of course Coach Link: Loveable cigar chewing gambling addict who spent time either dodging a bookie, any one of his three ex-wives or any of the strippers he was currently dating. The school board was between a rock and a hard place, they wanted fresh blood but there was none to be had. So they resigned themselves with the fact this was the best they could hope for.
<P>Then a dark horse entered the race. Hailing from small town West Virginia, Coach Matthias arrived at the interview in a loud pick up truck. Stepping out in a suit and tie, Matthias pitched himself to the schoolboard in his trademark back country twang, “I aint the handsomest man or the smartest man, but I will work hard and get these boys to win! Let’s get fired up!”
<P>Fired up they were because Matthias was hired on the spot. Matthias immediately got to work, cleaning house and replacing the old staff with his former players. (The running joke became that Wendell and the players started a West Virginia to English dictionary to understand what their coaches were saying to them). The days of booster nepotism went too, as Matthias started the players he felt earned it by hard work and talent. When parents protested, he told them how he felt of their offspring, favorable or not. When Matthias heard of players not doing homework or behaving badly in class, an epidemic that had gone unchecked in the days of Stoltz, he made them run laps until they puked. Needless to say, academic eligibility and behavior were no longer a problem. Suit and tie became required wardrobe to school on game days as well as for travel to away games and off season camps. Skeptics soon became believers when our town had it’s first winning season in about a decade. Together, as a community, we adopted Matthias and his battle cry, “LET’S GET FIRED UP!”
<P>Always high octane, Coach Matthias was prone to superstition, especially during football season when we were playing Clairsville, our most bitter rival in the conference. One brisk October day, on the week of the game that determined which teams advanced to the first round of the playoffs, the door to my gym class burst open. Standing there, as if he crawled out of Army of Darkness with something cradled in his hand, Coach Matthias declared, “CLAIRSVILLE DID THIS! THEY WILL HAVE BLOOD ON THEIR HANDS FOR KILLING OUR BELOVED MASCOT!”
<P>As our teacher Mrs. Mason turned down our aerobic dance music that served as a strange soundtrack to see what the fuss was about, several of the female students shrieked. Glancing towards Coach Matthias, I saw he was holding the carcass of a dead black hawk! Coach stood, undaunted that the corpse of our school mascot was crawling with bugs. Mrs. Mason, the tall beautiful, universally liked former swimming star who had several records in our school’s pool that had yet to be broken said, “Coach, while I realize you are upset this is extremely unsanitary. You should really consider washing your hands!”
<P>The class nodded in agreement at her attempt of sanity in this insane situation. However, Mrs. Mason’s best efforts were an epic fail as Coach said, “I aint gonna wash my hands of the blood of our slain mascot! Clairsville is goin’ down! This is MURDER!”
<P>Mrs. Mason got a FML look across her face as she struggled to maintain her diplomatic smile. Colleen O’Grady, a red head who attended regular meetings of the anime club said, “Coach, I think you should look at all the facts before you accuse Clairsville of murder. In AP Bio, our teacher was saying sick animals die in nature all the time. The hawk could have very well died of natural causes.”
<P>What Colleen said was probably correct and was extremely well meaning, but she didn’t know Coach Matthias which meant she didn’t know when to shut up. Coach Mattias said, “THAT IS BIBLICAL BLASPHOMY RED! ONE MORE WORD AND YOU’RE ON THE CLIMBER!” The climber-an exercise machine in the weight room-was Coach’s favorite form of punishment. He would make offenders go for an indeterminate amount of time depending on the infraction but also his mood.
<P>Justin Gurrecca, a skater boy who had a very visible crush on Colleen said, “Coach, it’s just a game. It’s not about winning but about having fun, right?”
<P>Coach screamed, “Wrong answer, boy! Are you STUPID?! TO THE CLIMBER WITH THE BOTH OF YOU!”
<P>Colleen, who had never gotten a detention let alone a tardy ever, began to cry. Justin glanced at Mrs. Mason for help. Coach continued to hold the dead black hawk undaunted. Mrs. Mason said, “Okay, no one is going to the climber because we still have 15 minutes left of my class. And you know what the principal would say about sending someone who’s not on the football team to the climber. You agree, right Coach Matthias?”
<p>Coach seldom listened to anyone, but Mrs. Mason’s father and husband were his hunting buddies and she was his wife’s best friend. Coach knew if he went any further it would be a very unpleasant evening at home. It was common knowledge Mrs. Matthias wore the pants once Coach stepped foot off the field. Grudgingly, he nodded in agreement. However, he was not ready to give up just yet, “Brucker, you’re smart. What do you make of this! What is the cause of death of this animal?!”
<P>Seeing the desperate glance from Mrs. Mason and knowing the balance of the situation rested on my shoulders I approached Coach Matthias and the dead black hawk, “Coach, while my findings are inconclusive without a complete autopsy, I feel based on the evidence, timing and motive that the hawk was murdered by Clairsville.”
<P>Coach nodded, “See Brucker, I knew I wasn’t crazy. Tell Wendell hello from me when you talk to him.”
<P>“Will do,” I said heading back to my spot as Mrs. Mason flashed me a thumbs up sign.
<P>Coach jogged out the door, dead bird in hand but none in the bush, “SEE, I KNEW IT! WE'RE GONNA MAKE CLAIRSVILLE PAY TOMORROW NIGHT! NOW LET’S GET FIRED UP!”
<P>Mrs. Mason attempting to restore order said, “Alright everyone, this has been an exciting class but now it’s time for our cool down.”
That night, I relayed the story during Wendell’s evening phone call to the family from his dorm room. Via speaker phone Wendell said, “Wow, guess it’s good to know some things don’t change. I’m just glad he wasn’t trying to keep it in the locker room to surprise the team with like he did the dead rat.”
<P>We all made the silent agreement to move on because some stories are best left untold. My mom said, “I will admit it took a while, but I love Coach. He’s right, Clairsville murdered that hawk. I know it!”
<P>My dad said, “Come on, Grace. That’s just crazy. I’m sure the animal died of natural causes, or maybe one of his assistant coaches shot it by accident.”
<P>Wendell said, “Could be. Coach Douglas always told us because he had a farm as a kid, when there was nothing in the refrigerator he sometimes killed dinner.” Coach Douglas, one of Matthias’s assistants, taught English at the middle school down the hill. The irony was he was barely literate himself.
<P>Skipper, my impish 13 year old sister who was regarded as a young Sheldon before there was such a show said, “While his enthusiasm is to be admired, Coach Matthias could have come in contact with bacteria that could not only caused severe neurological issues that led to impaired cognitive function but ultimately killed him. The Blackhawk was in a state of rigor which means the post death pathogens were present.”
<P>My dad said, “I don’t think that’s an issue. Cognitive function is limited for Coach Matthias as it is.”
<P>My mom said, “But April is the hero for giving the right answer. Props for that.”
<P>I said, “Nah, the hero is Mrs. Mason. She kept two people off the climber. She deserves a metal.”
<P>That Friday, Coach and his squad battled Clairsville on one of the coldest, rainiest October nights in Western Pennsylvania history. Going into triple death overtime, our mud caked boys beat Clairsville by a surprise touchdown earning them a spot in the playoffs. That Monday, as Coach did his victory lap in our gym class he said, “That black hawk wasn’t murdered. Just like Jesus, he died for our sins but granted us salvation with that final touchdown and gave us a victory!” We just nodded and agreed. No one likes the climber, right?
<P> Coach went on to have the Blackhawk, who spent the weekend in his deep freeze, stuffed and mounted in his office. Until his retirement, he was the winningest coach in school history and one of the most respected in the conference.
<P>I had forgotten about Coach and this story until years later, I was trying to clear up some writers block while drinking my coffee on my back porch. Out of no where, I saw a Blackhawk fly overhead and squawk loudly in my direction. He was saying, “GET FIRED UP!” So in I went to write…….
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-65385696471265580722021-11-08T17:48:00.004-08:002021-11-08T17:53:29.140-08:00Goldfinger (Shirley Bassey)In ninth grade, right before Christmas, Mr. Angle decided to take the theatre arts class on a field trip. We were going downtown to The Byham Center to see the matinee of “a real play.” After that, it was back to school. For weeks, my friend Mikki and I had been plotting our adventures, but alas, true to form she picked that week to get mono. As I dreaded the long, friendless trip I thought, “Damnit, Mikki, your timing sucks.”
<P>Aside from being the coldest day of the year so far, the play was a real bust. The acting was great, but the plot was unremarkable. It didn’t help that I sat near David Gehring-lacrosse co-captain- who spent the whole play snoring. Not only was it annoying, it distracted from the theatre going experience for the rest of us.
<P>Last year, my brother Wendell had been forced to tutor David at the behest of the lacrosse coach. Wendell described the lost cause by saying, “When I look at David, I know somewhere, a village is missing their idiot.”
<P>The reason the Theatre Arts Curriculum had inherited David was his parents-painfully aware their souffle didn’t rise to the top-were trying everything they could to change their son’s friend group. This past summer, David had been busted smoking weed with the lacrosse team in Simmons Park-where all good things happened in town. After a trip to the magistrate and probation, David’s parents, worrying for their son’s safety and salvation began their mission to save him by bringing him to their mega church’s youth group. The Teens For The Testaments had a conversion program. For every new convert, Teens For The Testaments got a point and with enough points got a pizza party at the end of the month. Helping this cult fill their quota, Teens For the Testaments welcomed their newly converted wayward reprobate with open arms.
<P>Another reason David was in theatre arts was his girlfriend, Bethany Kensington: Abstinence Queen Bee. The reason being was The Teens For the Testaments did plays and concerts to teach people about Jesus and she wanted David and his “movie star good looks” to be ready for his big role. Bethany was hard to take even on a good day with her big, vacant smile, scarecrow skinny frame, brown hair pulled back into a bun and crucifix front and center. Making it her mission to convert her classmates regardless of how much it made them uncomfortable she said, “Jesus has called me to save people and save people I will.”
<P>Unlike David who risked not graduating, Bethany already knew what she wanted to do with her life. She had already applied early decision to Grove City, a Christian college where students had to sign a pledge not to have pre-martial sex, could be expelled for homosexuality and the parents of perspectives had to be interviewed to make sure they came from a Godly home. Bethany said, she wanted to, “Bring Christ to the pagan children of Africa.”
<P>While Bethany, who viewed David as a project, could not have been more different than her boyfriend they agreed on one thing, instead of celebrating Halloween, the devil’s holiday, they had exchanged promise rings. Taking the abstinence pledge in front of their pastor and youth group, they swore to wait until they were married to have sex.
<P>As we walked out of the theatre and boarded the bus, snow fell. I was being introduced to a new sensation, being genuinely pleased to return to school in time for math. Taking a seat close to the front of the bus I thought, “Damnit Mikki, your timing sucks.”
<P>Turns out Mikki wasn’t the only one with craptacular timing. Taking the seat behind me was Alyssa Clayton, school super tramp. Alyssa had badly dyed jet black hair and skin that was an alien orangish color courtesy of Alta, the local tanning salon that was the home of the rest of the super tramp crowd. I could tell Alyssa dreamed of Miami Beach on this Pittsburgh winter day where the mix of snow and rain fell from the sky, but was she aware those dreams could give her skin cancer? Alyssa wore jeans that were three sizes too small, a shirt that could have probably fit one of my baby cousin it was so tight and frosty lip gloss. I felt a smell hit my nose and began to cough. Then I realized it was Alyssa’s perfume. Before we got on the bus she had snuck a cigarette and this was how she was going to disguise it, a scent so strong she could have killed a small animal. Alyssa’s sexual exploits were always the subject of rumor and intrigue. Or as it was said, “Alyssa Clayton was in bed all weekend but didn’t get much sleep.”
<P>It would only make sense that Alyssa was a super tramp as her mother was known as the most super, duper tramp of the town. Mr. Clayton, a former school administrator, was known as a conservative hard ass. Her mom was the opposite. Darlene, who had her children and their friends refer to her by first name, a questionable parenting decision that negated all boundaries, taught yoga and pole dancing, carried healing crystals and made her children meditate daily. While the coupling was strange, their older son Eric was a star swimmer and got a full scholarship to Ohio State. When Eric went away to college, Darlene began to feel the pangs of empty nest and realized that she had fallen out of love with Mr. Clayton and had been in love with her son’s swim coach, Mr. Rendell, all along.
<P>Apparently Mr. Rendell, the twice divorced men’s coach with a winning record and even more winning toupee collection, felt the same way. The two began an illicit affair that went on for months. However, they were busted when they were discovered after hours when Bob the Janitor, afraid the school had been broken by unruly teens, followed protocol and called the police. What Bob the janitor and the cops discovered was not unruly teens but Darlene and Mr. Rendell doing some very X rated dry land exercises closeted in the kickboard room.
<P>Angered that he had been cuckolded, Mr. Clayton was merciless during the divorce. Darlene, citing what she termed years of emotional distress, attempted to retain my father so she could begin her life with Mr. Rendell. Darlene and my father had creative differences: he wanted paid and she wanted him to work for free. Suffice to say, it seemed the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
<P>As the last of the students came on the bus I heard a voice say, “Is this seat taken?” It was David Gehring, my most unfavorite theatre ruining peroxide bottle blonde.
<P>Alyssa said nothing as David slid in. When the bus pulled away David said, “What you think of the play? I thought it was lame.” How would you know, Sir? You slept through the whole thing!
<P>Alyssa said, “It was alright, I got out of my math test. I’m failing anyway.” Eye roll, of course she was. Wendell was tutoring her now too. While she was another lost cause she was a better student than David. Then again, who wasn’t?
<P>David said, “The entire show, I kept dreaming of you on top of me.” David remembered his dreams, nice. Too bad he couldn’t remember to dream quietly.
<P>Alyssa said, “What about Bethany? Didn’t you exchange promise rings? You can’t have sex or even talk about it and stuff, right?”
<P>David said, “Nah, that’s more her thing. My parents just make me go to that weirdo cult because I got busted smoking weed with the guys. But you see, the Promise Ring…..we haven’t been keeping the promise if you catch my drift.” Holy mother of God, Jesus take the wheel!
<P>Alyssa said, “That doesn’t sound like Bethany.”
<P>David said, “Nope, the God girl is a front to keep her parents happy. Bethany’s a nympho. I went to her house when her parents were gone and she answers the door naked. Before I can talk, she just tackles me. We did it in every room of her house. She even nicknamed my dick 007 because he’s the spy that loved her.” I faced front pretending not to listen but wow, this was some good scoop. Bethany Kensington, the ultimate God girl, was a slut on the low. Move over, Super Tramp, you have been dethroned.
<P>Alyssa giggled, intrigued. David continued, “We didn’t just do it there but in the pew of the church one day after youth group and in the hot tub.”
<P>I didn’t want to bring up the episode of Seinfeld about shrinkage as Alyssa giggled again with that familiar, super tramp giggle. David said, “Those church chicks are off the chain. I am telling you. But I am sick of her and those church weirdos. I want someone like you. I am settling for someone with a flat chest but what I really want is someone like you because a man needs something he can grab on to.” Bethany Kensington was irritating, Alyssa was a super tramp who was currently suffocating me and David had destroyed my theater going experience. I wanted to vomit.
Alyssa giggled again as David said, “I could just eat you out if you so desire. Do you want my digits so we can get down?” Sigh, now I knew who and what she would be doing this weekend. David and Alyssa then exchanged numbers.
<P>Cheating was trashy but so was Alyssa. David deserved garbage. These two were a perfect match. However, Bethany being a slut on the low was something I couldn’t keep to myself for too long. Gosh, I could not wait to tell Mikki! The promise ring had been promised, and the promise had been broken. Oh what tangled webs we weave. As I exited the bus I thought, “Damnit, Mikki, your timing sucks.”
<P>The next day on my way to third period, I saw a crowd gathered in a circle in the hallway. This could only mean one thing, a fight. The day was young and had been rather uneventful and Mikki was not back to school yet. Risking a tardy but wanting to see what dumpster fire was taking place, I inched my way in to get a peep.
<P>In the center of the circle was Bethany Kensington. She had tears streaming down her face, and David on the defensive, “Baby, you know Alyssa is a lying slut just like her mom.”
<P>Bethany said, “Maybe Alyssa hasn’t accepted Jesus Christ into her life and her mother broke the commandment about adultery but she was one of my best friends in middle school and is still a good person which is more than I can say for you! And lying is against the Bible too!!” While I didn’t agree with Bethany on practically everything, it was clear those tears streaming down her face were real and the tales David told about her being a slut on the low were vicious fiction.
<P>David said, “Baby, c’mon….you know I love you and took that abstinence pledge for real.” Sigh, as a silent witness I knew he had not.
<P>David moved into hug Bethany but she swatted him away, “Liar! I told you how important this was for me, for us, and you agreed! When you tried to pressure me, I told you I wanted to wait until we were married because that was what God would want and you said you loved me and understood! Instead, you lie and tell everyone I had s-e-x with you because you were mad I wouldn’t put out as you guys say. And what…..you claimed I named you THING!!!! 007! You broke a promise to God and now you will have to think about where you want to spend eternity!”
<P>I disliked Bethany most of the time, but I understood her anger because David’s behavior had been wrong. As revenge for her not putting out he had lied about them breaking their abstinence promise to sound cool and then tried to cheat with Alyssa. When Alyssa turned on him, he tried to use Alyssa’s sexual history and her mother’s infidelity as weapons. Bethany was right. David was a jerk face.
<P>Bethany was now angry. Her voice being replaced by that similar to the possessed Linda Blair from The Exorcist, “MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL!”
<P>David, trying desperately to control the situation said, “C’mon, Baby, you sound crazy.”
<P>David was about to learn the 13th commandment, thou shalt not call an upset woman crazy. Winding up, Bethany decked David right across the face with the hand that had her promise ring and knocked him down. Impressed by her right hook, the crowd applauded. The promise was broken, and now the promise ring had become a weapon. David fell to the ground knocked down by Goliath sized rage. Hell hath no fury like a God Girl scorned.
<P>As David lay whimpering on the ground it became apparent that Alyssa might have made some mistakes but she was never trash. He was. Instead of sleeping with David and creating a situation that resulted in a catfight she told her former middle school friend the truth and now the real villain lay on the ground suffering. However, I felt like trash for judging Alyssa as badly as I did, especially without knowing her. The peanut gallery of our peers had determined her reputation, but her character was pure gold.
<P>Bethany, victorious, wiped her tears away and made a dramatic exit like a boxer who had just won a prize match. Sure, her beliefs were outside of the realm of my understanding, but she wasn’t letting David pressure or humiliate her which I respected. On her victory walk, Bethany received high fives from people who shared my sentiment and were also surprised she had that much of a swing, myself included.
<P>The bell rang and the portly history teacher, Mr. Donotelli, who doubled as the JV football coach said, “Okay everyone, break it up. Get to class. Show’s over.”
<P>David, who was still on the ground said, “Mr. Donotelli, she cold cocked me on the hand with the promise ring. That thing is gonna leave a scratch. Send her to time out or my parents will sue.”
<P>The students who were dispersing booed David, and Mr. Donotelli said, “Son, you are lucky that is all you got. The way you have been running your mouth if this was my sister, you wouldn’t have any teeth. Get to class.” David and his injured pride picked themselves off the ground and skulked away.
<P>I finally spoke to Mikki that night who’s health was on the mend. She said, “Damnit April. Is it just me or does my timing suck?”I told her it did, but she could make it up to me by getting back to school pronto as our was more rife with drama than an English countryside on a BBC murder show.
<P>After Bethany dumped David, she received the happy news she had been accepted early decision to Grove City. Not only did she thrive at Grove City, but met her future husband and married him shortly before graduating. The two became missionaries that traveled around the globe before settling in Texas. Bethany voted for Trump, is pro-life, anti-vaxx and Christian home schools her four kids. I would tell her that her views suck on facebook but I have seen her right hook.
<P>Alyssa, with the aid of my brother Wendell’s tutoring, brought her math grade up from a D to a C. She graduated from high school, got her cosmetology license, moved to Ohio and married a biker. Alyssa, by all appearances on facebook, looks like she mastered hair dye and the proper use of the tanning bed, now owns a full service salon that is highly rated. She looks happy and I am glad, because it makes me feel good when okay people are happy.
<P>As for David, he ended up playing lacrosse at a party school who’s name escapes me, flunked out and pretty much fell off the map. I don’t know if David still calls his dick 007, but unlike David, Bond was a true gentlemen. Taking his martini shaken and not stirred and always getting the girls even at the peril of the security of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, he knows a true spy never lies let alone kisses and tells.
<P>That’s all folks.
<P>Visit me at AprilBrucker.TVMissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-89729585788852697032021-11-05T16:59:00.008-07:002021-11-06T16:14:23.284-07:00Brenda's Got A Baby (Tupac)<P>I grew up in a school district where we had abstinence education. Unsurprisingly, we also had the highest teen pregnancy rate in the area.
Every fall, the local crisis pregnancy center was a guaranteed sale for the school’s football program. Council For Life ran a commercial on our televisions for years where an actress, portraying a woman who had gotten an abortion as a teenager, apologized to her ghost son who was riding a bike and catching a baseball. The commercial ended with, “Life is a beautiful choice.”
<P>Off screen, teen motherhood had reached a near epidemic to the point where the high school home economics class set up a day care center so that not only could students receive childcare while they completed their studies, but their classmates could receive credit for taking care of their offspring that were probably conceived in the backseat of a Chevy.
<P>In addition to cheerful advertising and subtle enabling of the pro-life message, we always had that girl who was the trend setter, the first to get knocked up in the class. We all had ideas of who it might be but never said out loud because we were Rust Belt Folk, hardworking and honest yes, but never rude.
<P>At the end of eighth grade, it appeared we had a candidate. It was the last week of school, and my friend Kat Lovic-the local boy crazy gossip-told me her mom could give us a ride home. As we got into Mrs. Lovic’s station wagon, Brenda Capelli swooshed by with her caramel mane, bust that made her jailbait and short skirt that treaded the guidelines of the dress code. Seeing Andy Patrick-the class clown-she flipped her hair and giggled as if she were auditioning for a Pantene Pro-V ad. Kat, in a breathy faux Marilyn Monroe voice, imitated Brenda’s career day pitch to her guidance counselor, one that had become comedy fodder among our peers, “I want to dye my hair blonde, get breast implants, move to Hollywood and become a big, big star.”
<P>Kat and I burst out laughing as Mrs. Lovic-a straight shooting trauma nurse from McKeesport who worked at Mercy Hospital with my Aunt Margaret-lit a cigarette, “Nah, ain’t gonna happen. My next paycheck bets she graduates from high school with a baby.”
<P>Despite the fact it was mean, Mrs. Lovic’s cynicism always made me laugh. I said, “How about this, if it happens I will personally collect your paycheck, Mrs. Lovic.” We all burst out laughing, because it was year end and it was fun to take a shot at the junior high honey trap.
<P>When the fall came and high school started, Brenda and I found ourselves in theatre arts class with Mr. Angle like every other wannabe thespian. On the first day of school Brenda said, “The only way my Hollywood aspirations can become complete is if I know the basics of acting.”
Unfortunately Brenda didn’t understand that meant reading about the beginnings of theatre aka Greek Tragedy. Wanting to learn as much as possible, I did the reading and always eager to participate in class. Brenda made it clear this did not sit well with her as she rolled her eyes whenever I spoke. Of course-mind you-I rolled my eyes in return-especially as she bragged about not doing the reading.
<P>Instead of rewarding my hard work, Mr. Angle would say, “April, cool it. You are over anxious, obnoxious, somewhat robotic and had to swallow.” Then he would turn to Brenda as she batted her fake eyelashes, “Brenda, darling, you might not believe it, under there is an artist and performer waiting to come out.”
<P>While it hurt that my talent and hard work were doing cast aside in favor of the lesser sister of Jessica Rabbit, I redoubled my efforts outside of class because I was determined to make being a multi-disciplinary artist my life path. As my mom often assured me, the Brenda Capelli’s of the world would peak in high school, and my efforts now would assure a victory later when it actually mattered.
<P>Brenda, a self-assured femme fatale because of Mr. Angle, began to date Matt Richards-the proverbial boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Matt’s dad was serving a lengthy sentence in prison, and his mom often worked double shifts bagging groceries at Foodland. Following family tradition, Matt was in regular trouble with the law himself. Brenda’s friends felt Matt was bad news, but she would coo, “You might think so, but you don’t know him the way I do.”
<p>Brenda’s father, Marine Colonel Capelli, had recently been deployed to Iraq, her brother was at boot camp and her mom worked long hours as an office manager downtown. Since Brenda lived blocks from school, that meant the lovers could “get drunk and get fucked,” at her house during lunch, as the mullet wearing Prince Matt so eloquently described to his friend group. Brenda often returned to school smelling like a distillery and disguised it by wearing drug store perfume. Matt cheated often, and it was no surprise to anyone except Brenda when she got jumped outside of the Eat ‘n’ Park by a rival paramour one town over.
<P>The following Monday, as she arrived to class with her newly wizened battle scars, Brenda randomly announced to everyone, “Jessica can run her mouth all she wants but Matt said he wants to be with me!”
<P>Gina Bongiovani-who sat behind me said , “Say what you want, Brenda, but what chose you was a burning bag of shit!” Her boyfriend, Vito, who went one district over and was known as a universal asshole, had cheated with Brenda over the summer at a party in the South Park Grove therefore there was bad blood.
<P>My friend Mikki Donato, a transplant from Long Island, and I laughed because Gina’s delivery was so good. Brenda turned and glared, “Shut the fuck up, April Brucker!”
<P>I ignored her figuring she had another one of her liquid lunches. Gina said, “Yoo hoo, dumb bitch, it was me. April’s loud but she’d be too nice to tell you you’re a super slut who got what she deserved.”
<P>Brenda said to Gina, “Could you please refrain from this, Gina. I was talking to April….”
<P>Mikki said, “Ummmm……why are you going off on April when it’s Gina who insulted you? Are you drunk again or did that girl from South Park hit you in the head that hard?” Gina and I were now nearly peeing ourselves because Mikki was always so sweet and soft spoken.
<P>Brenda said, “That’s it, April! Let’s go!”
<P>I said, “Big talker for someone who just got reconstructive surgery performed on her face and probably couldn’t pass a field sobriety test.”
<P>Brenda let out a loud squawk, and then Mr. Angle entered killing the climax of the scene. Mikki whispered, “She has really gone psycho. I have third period with her and you should have seen her then.”
<P>Mr. Angle began the class, “Brenda, why don’t you just come to drama club and make better friends and nurture your talent? Try out for the fall play. You could be a leading lady.”
<P>Rob O’Rouke, the local loudmouth and shit starter said, “April Brucker’s your leading lady. She’s already on public access, and the only place I hear Brenda could ever be a leading lady is a porno cause Matt told us you got those skillz!” This was followed by a him making a gagging sound and all of us breaking out into hysterics. I appreciated Rob’s endorsement, but it was coming not from a place of friendship but because he liked the pre-class cat fight. Mr. Angle sentenced Rob to time out and Brenda flicked him off as he left. End scene.
<P>Over the next several weeks temperatures started to drop. Brenda’s short skirts and low hanging shirts were replaced by sweats and other baggier selections. This didn’t register as odd as everyone was wearing warmer clothes, especially as we were a Los Angles style open campus just outside of Pittsburgh where it rains and snows.
<P>It was now cold outside, but Brenda and Matt’s romance was red hot. Unfortunately, Cupid had other plans for the lovers when Matt was arrested for burglary. Brenda, began missing class with “the stomach flu.” It was okay with us because she had regularly become moody and argumentative. When she was at school, she was barely present, complete with vacant zombie stare. As her looks vanished and she became more morose, Brenda, unsurprisingly, began to drop off Mr. Angle’s favorite list.
<P>After Christmas break, Brenda came to school in a snow white dress with new makeup, a present she claimed was from her deployed dad. She glowed, but there was something that stood out like a sore thumb, her weight gain. Mikki, Kat and I passed her in the hall and Kat said, “Wow, I knew Matt going away was hard but talk about eating your feelings.”
<P>Walking into Mr. Angle’s class later that day, Brenda entered. We all exchanged a side stare afraid her too small outfit on her too large body would rip. Seemingly oblivious, Brenda chowed down on a bag of Cheetos. Mikki leaned in and whispered, “This is her third bag today. Should she be doing that in white?
<P>Dan Long, Mr. Angle’s unofficial senior teaching assistant that was headed to Penn State in the fall learned in to join our gossip, “Guess she’s not getting a date to snow ball.”
<P>Jake Kebs, a snoody jerkoff who was the assistant to the assistant student director on the fall play said, “No date for the next few years, Matt is looking at being charged as an adult.”
<P>I said, “And how do you know?”
<P>Jake rolled his eyes, “He’s my neighbor, Dipshit.”
<P>As we were getting to the meat of the story, Mr. Angle walked in. He said, “Participation is a huge part of this class and a few of you are really not cutting it. April-while hard to stomach-gets an A. Mikki you get an A minus. Gina, A minus. Dan you always get an A in my book. Jake, B plus.” We all nodded at each other pleased we were endorsed.
<P>Mr. Angle said, “But I believe in second chances and extra chances, so why don’t get some folks who are failing up here.” Sure, this was a violation of The Buckley Amendment, but Mr. Angle was unaware that I knew that.
<P>“Dylan, get up here.” A skater boy with his hair in his face, Dylan was notorious for smoking weed and falling asleep in class. Yawning, Dylan made his journey to the front of the room. Mr. Angle said, “And you Brenda.” Rolling her eyes and throwing her empty bag of Cheetos down, Brenda joined Dylan.
<P>Mr. Angle said, “We are going to do an improv. You two are a couple, and Brenda, you have to tell him you are pregnant. GO!”
<P>To begin the improv Dylan said, “Yo shawty, wassup.” The class laughed because everyone liked Dylan and he was a character.
<P>Saying nothing, Brenda turned bright red, began to tremble, looked at us, burst out into tears and ran out of the room. Slamming the door, we all sat in stunned WTF silence. Dylan, visibly confused said, “Mr. Angle, dude, she messed up the scene.”
<P>Mr. Angle rolled his eyes, “Dylan, you have raised your grade to a C. She is still failing and gets a time out.”
<P>Dylan made his way back to his seat. Then it clicked. The weight gain, the cheetos the mood swings, the stomach flu, the baggy clothes, the fact she ran out upset, Brenda wasn’t depressed because Matt was in jail but because she was having his kid and was keeping it a secret! SHIT!
<p> We all were sex obsessed, but Brenda was the pregnant girl, the negative consequence, the monster no one wanted to acknowledge but everyone wanted to pillory. Class proceeded and no one mentioned it again, it was as if we were all afraid a mirror would shatter.
<P>I kept my suspicions to myself, but they were confirmed the next day after gym class while Kat and I were changing in the locker room. Brenda was talking with her bff, Danielle Mills. I didn’t know Danielle well, but I was on the literary magazine with her sister Shelly. Brenda said, “Mr. Angle is such a dick. I mean, do you think he knows?”
<P>Danielle said, “Um, everyone knows. I mean hello! Look at you!” Kat and I learned in to listen.
<P>Brenda said, “I have been trying to keep it a secret because people talk.”
<P>Danielle said, “Um…..they are talking. Did you tell Matt?”
<P>Brenda said, “Yeah, and he says when he gets out in two months, he is gonna take me to live with his uncle in California and we are gonna get married.”
<P>Danielle said, “But…..why don’t you tell a guidance counselor or something? You need to go to a doctor and get vitamins and stuff. You are pushing a person out of your vagina. My stepmom just had a baby and there’s a lot to it.” Kat and I nodded in agreement. While Danielle was known as the dumber Mills sister, this was probably the smartest thing anyone was saying to Brenda right now.
<P>Brenda said, “Nah, Matt is gonna be out in two months, we’ll go then.”
<P>Danielle said, “Brenda, why don’t you just tell your parents? I mean, c’mon.”
<P>Brenda defiantly said, “I am never telling my parents!”
<P>Danielle said, “What are you going to tell them when this kid pops out of you?!”
<P>Brenda took her things and rolled her eyes, “By that time I will be in California with Matt and they won’t have shit to say.” Exiting with Danielle behind her, Kat and I exchanged a glance that seemed to last until eternity.
<P>Finally Kat said, “Well April, looks like you’ll be collecting my Mom’s next paycheck.” Kat, knowing her, would make the rounds with Brenda’s misfortune. I didn’t need to, Brenda’s life, in many ways, was effectively over as she was now a walking cautionary tale.
<P>Brenda continued to live in her cloud of denial that she could keep her pregnancy secret long enough for Matt to be acquitted and rescue her, and Mr. Angle redoubled his efforts by making her the butt of his mean spirited roasts. In turn, Brenda became a shell of a person in class when she showed up. The fact Mr. Angle didn’t support me no longer came as a disappointment but as a relief. Instead of helping Brenda, he was bullying her for sport, that wasn’t just cruel but predatory. His behavior, to say the least, was extremely disappointing.
<P>Matt fought the law but the law won. Due to his lengthy juvenile record, he was sentenced as an adult to five years at Western Penn. The downside was that Matt and Brenda’s California dreams had died, but the upside was that he was reunited with his father who was doing a 40 year sentence in the same facility.
<P>That summer, Brenda’s father returned from Iraq. At Colonel Capelli’s welcome home celebration, Brenda went into labor. Brenda was shocked as she never had prenatal care so didn’t know when the due date was, and her family even more so because they had no idea she was even pregnant. Continuing another generation of good decisions Brenda named her daughter Destiny Beyonce.
<P>Colonel Capelli, angry that all had imploded while he was away serving his country, decided it was best to get his family out of the place where his daughter had become “that girl.” Upon hearing Matt was in prison for five years, Colonel Capelli hired a lawyer and was victorious in pressuring jailbird baby daddy to give up his parental rights. Brenda, now living three hours away in the town her father grew up in, began attending an online cyber school under his supervision. Her mom and grandmother helped her learn to care for Destiny Beyonce. When not in school, Brenda worked at the family’s bakery where she could earn money and be productive in a way that didn’t result in the creation of another human being. Eventually becoming a medical assistant, Brenda married a firefighter who adopted Destiny Beyonce, bought a house, had two kids with her new husband and seems to be living happily ever after.
<P>I laugh now and think if MTV had 16 and Pregnant then, Brenda could have made it out to California with Matt after all. This story also makes me cringe, too. As lawmakers legislate how women use their bodies, I know a Planned Parenthood and trusted, non-judgmental adults were what Brenda really needed. I hear the Christian Right talk about abstinence education and know first hand how not only is it harmful to women and children, but ultimately ineffective. While I am no fan of teens having sex, if Brenda would have known about proper use of birth control her life would have been drastically different. Bottom line, just because you can have a kid doesn’t mean you should. Or in the immortal words of Tupac, “Brenda’s got a baby, but Brenda’s barely got a brain.”
<P> Check out my comedy and merch at AprilBrucker.TV
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-66920319536589935232021-10-25T18:45:00.009-07:002021-10-25T19:08:45.138-07:00Feed My Frankenstein (Alice Cooper)
<P>It was a dark and stormy night when I answered a casting call for a low budget, non-union music video for “a well known metal band” in Brooklyn. As my umbrella completely broke and the rain drenched me, I approached the Bushwick warehouse where either I would meet my big break or end in a snuff film.
<P>Entering, I saw the remnants of broken glass and nails beneath my feet. Looking around, I saw a white piece of paper taped up with the stuff kindergarten teachers use with the words, “MUSIC VIDEO CASTING.” An arrow pointed upstairs. Excited, I pounced to destiny.
<P>Opening a heavy door that felt like it weighed more than I did, I was greeted by the sound of loud music where the vocalist screamed with the most small dick rage I had heard up to this point in my life. As my ear drums were being assaulted, so was my nose as the amount of cheap perfume made me choke and cough. Wall to wall, women were scantily clad in next to nothing. I felt out of place in my jeans and t-shirt, and even more out of place because the rain made me look like a wet dog. I would find a bathroom to clean up, but before I did I needed to find a sign in sheet.
Looking around, I saw no proctor.
<P>Approaching a young woman with short hair, tattoos and enough piercings to make a magnet have a seizure I yelled over the loud music, “IS THERE A SIGN IN SHEET!?”
<p>The girl yelled back, “WHAT’S THAT?!”
<p>This was bizarre. Every audition had one. It was an unwritten law, “HOW DO THEY KNOW WHO IS THERE AND WHEN TO SEE YOU!?”
<P>The girl shrugged, “I WAS JUST TOLD TO SHOW UP!”
<P>“DO YOU GIVE YOUR HEADSHOT AND RESUME TO ANYONE!?”
<P>“WHAT IS THAT?”
<P>I held up mine. The girl said, “OH YOU’RE AN ACTRESS! I’M JUST A GROUPIE. I MET THE DRUMMER LAST WEEK AND HE TOLD ME TO SHOW UP!” As she spoke, stars in her eyes flashed and a big satisfied smile of a dream come true crossed her face.
<p>“WHO IS THIS BAND?!”
<P>Now she looked at me stunned and puzzled, “DEATH BY RAT POISON, THE GREATEST BAND TO EVER LIVE!!!!”
<P>Death By Rat Poison, interesting. While the rat poison wouldn’t be my death, their music was certainly killing my hearing. Then there were the Rogers and Hammerstein gems such as, “You broke my heart, farted in my chest, but you still are the girl who FUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKEDDD THE BESSSSSSSSSTTTT!!!!” In short, they were Metallica minus the talent.
<P>As I digested this information along with clever lyrical musings a girl with jet black hair, a bunch of tats and more piercings than the groupie approached. She said, “MONICA, I WAS LOOKING FOR YOU!”
<P>“JENNY DEMON, YOU ARE MY FAVORITE CAM GIRL! I AM SOOOO FAN STUCK RIGHT NOW!” Monica and Jenny were now shouting over the music and very quickly Monica forgot about me. Aww shucks.
<P>Jenny said, “BOB SAYS YOU WANT TO GET INTO PORN, I CAN HELP!”
<P>While fascinating, I decided to exit the Lifetime Movie star I had accidentally wandered into and found the bathroom to freshen up. This way I could clean up and rescue what was left of my auditory senses. Opening the bathroom door, I caught sight of a busty peroxide blonde and a girl with jet black hair and a tacky fake tan applying makeup.
<P>The blonde-who spoke exactly like Kelly Bundy said, “My husband was so nice to pay for my breast implants and tummy tuck after two kids. But he says once I get the Playboy centerfold we are having a third one.”
<P>The bad tan-who was a Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll said, “My boob job was seven grand and no one is undoing that.”
Taking paper towels to dry myself off, I listened to this brilliant bon vivant. Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll said, “Tonight, I am getting into this video and fucking Frankie the lead singer.”
<P>Kelly Bundy said, “It’s great you are bouncing back from DeShawn.”
<P>Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll said, “DeShawn paid my rent for about a year, took me to Miami and I got a bunch of jewelry. He just wouldn’t leave that pregnant bitch he was engaged to.” Sigh, every rose has it’s thorn.
<P>Kelly Bundy said, “That must have really broken your heart.”
<P>Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll said, “I decided to let her know about me. I sent her a DM and she ignored me. I called her and she told me she knew about me, I was a whore and she got the house and the man so she didn’t care. This is what I get for sleeping with someone from the New York Jets.” I agreed, she should have gone with someone from a winning team like The Cowboys.
<P>I continued to dry myself off. “You know, he turned into a real dick. He was being way melodramatic with that restraining order,” Poor Man’s Pussy Cat Doll said.
<P>I finished drying off, fluffed my hair, and applied my lipstick. Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll said, “Who invited you? Yeah, I’m talking to you.”
<P> “Oh….” I said, shocked she would come from her self-centered star fucker bubble to talk to yours truly, “craigslist.”
<P>“Our photographer who shot us for Playboy tipped us off,” Kelly Bundy said. She had a sweet, vacant smile. While I could tell she wasn’t the sharpest tool at least she was nice.
<P> “You got into Playboy, congrats,” I said.
<P>“I did, she’s still waiting,” Kelly said, completely oblivious that her jealous friend stood feet away, “I’m not a centerfold but my spread was really good they said. You see it?”
<P>Looking at Kelly Bundy, I realized she looked familiar and then it hit me, Girls Next Door had a talent search and she had been on TV. I said, “You were on the Girl’s Next Door Talent Search.”
<P>“OMG! I cant believe you saw me!!!! They said I had the goods and I wanna be a part of the Playboy family sooo soo bad,” Kelly Bundy said.
<P>“You should be, you definitely have the goods,” I said. She did, I mean she paid enough for them, right?
<P> “I hope so. I am going to be 26 in two months and time is running out. If you don’t get it by then it’s not gonna happen,” Kelly Bundy said. “And having two kids didn’t help.”
<P>“I hope I look as good as you after two kids. And I am twenty four and just killed a plant so you are light years ahead of me,” I said. Kelly Bundy laughed and Poor Man’s Pussy Cat Doll glared.
<P> “What do you do?” Kelly Bundy said.
<P>“Comedy and acting…..”
<P>“Oh, you should. You are funny,” Kelly Bundy said.
<P>“Yeah, you are.” Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll said glaring at me. “We have to go, excuse us.” Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll dragged Kelly Bundy out the door. As the door closed, Kelly shot me an apologetic look and Poor Man’s Pussy Cat Doll sneered.
<P>My head still spinning from the encounter, I needed to find someone who knew what was going on and fast. After leaving the bathroom, I saw a table with water bottles. Maybe the sign in sheet would be there. No such luck. Eyeing the water bottles, I realized I was thirsty and took one. Just as I was about to open it a kid with a backwards ball cap who looked about 19 and seemed like he belonged at the nearest methadone clinic said, “If you want one it’s a dollar fifty.” Call me clairvoyant, but when I heard this I had the sinking feeling this video was going nowhere and this was not going to be my big break.
<P>“Do you have a sign in sheet?” I was still hoping to salvage the evening by networking.
<P>Ballcap said, “What’s that?”
<P>Just then I heard a familiar voice say, “APRIL BRUCKER!”
I turned around and it was my pal Johnny Leonne from college. A Five Towns kid, Johnny’s family was wealthy and supposedly mobbed up. Johnny was a character, but at least this was a friendly face. “How are you?” I gave my old chum a hug.
<P>“April, I am AD on this. Frankie is gonna love you. Come on, I want you to meet the band!” My questions were unanswered but at least I was getting a resolution, right?
<P>I followed Johnny down a dark hall that looked like it was out of some condemned asylum in a B grade scary movie. As we walked, Johnny and I talked about old classmates of ours that we both knew but barely cared about because that’s what you do when you see an old school chum. Making our way down the hall I swore I heard the sound of high heels.
<P>“Is someone else coming?” I said.
<P>“Nah, the way we are calling people is if I see someone I like I am taking them to meet the band. Why?” Johnny said.
<P>“I hear footsteps.”
<P>Johnny laughed, “Yeah, this building is creepy like that. I know some of those girls can be intense but I wouldn’t worry.”
<P>After what seemed like an eternity, we entered a room where the members of Death by Rat Poison were hanging out. It was damp, smelled like mold, and was lit by a few amber hanging lights. One who looked like Pinhead from Hellraiser texted rapidly and didn’t even bother to look up. Another, a long haired lad, stared into space and didn’t acknowledge Johnny let alone myself. Then a spikey haired kid who looked like his mode of transport was a skateboard said, “Fuck you, Frankie. Suck it!”
<P>As he pushed his way out he nearly knocked me over, not caring let alone apologizing. A guy who was tattooed from head to foot with black contacts yelled back, “Oh yeah, well fuck your ugly girlfriend! We can always get a new bass player!”
<P>Undaunted, Johnny, complete with big cheesy grin said, “Frankie this is April. She went to college with me. She’s a comedian and ventriloquist.”
<p>Instead of exchanging pleasantries Frankie said, “Fuck you, Johnny, this has been a waste of my Goddamn time. How many of these bitches are we paying? I don’t want a video with all bitches, I play guitar!”
<P>Not only was Frankie eloquent but he respected women, it was definitely time to take him home to Mom and Grandma. I wasnt a fan of Death by Rat Poison and didnt need to be, after all, Frankie knew where he was going, what he was about and most certainly didn't need my support.
<P>Then the door flew open. Standing there was Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll. My mouth dropped open in shock. This had not been my imagination, she had been following us! I looked at Johnny, who half smiled and mouthed, “Sorry.”
<P>Poor Man’s Pussy Cat Doll elbowed past Johnny who stood speechless. Walking up to Frankie she said, “I am such a fan of your music and I just shot for Playboy. Let me know if you want a signed copy of my prints.”
<P>Her issue had not come out yet, and when it did I was sure she was going to be on the back pages used for bird cage lining. Sitting down on Frankie’s lap, a smile of satisfaction crossed his face. Death By Rat Poison would never be the Beatles, but they had just met their Yoko Ono.
<P>Johnny said, “As I was saying, April is a comedian and a ventriloquist.”
<P> I said, “Yeah, I perform around the city and tri-state. If you want to check out a show let me know.” I had a bringer show-a show that requires you to bring audience to get onstage-coming up. Frankie was revolting but you never know who will show, and I was three reservations away from making my seven person quota and desperately wanted to break into that venue.
<P>Poor Man’s Pussy Cat Doll looked at me angrily. If her eyes were bullets I would surely be dead. In a voice that sounded like she had crawled out of Salem’s Lot she said “And why are you still talking?!”
<P>I looked at Johnny and Frankie, “You know what, I think it’s time for me to go before my head turns to mush and Frankie, you can save your money because I am willing to leave for free. Good luck with your video.”
<P>Frankie's mouth dropped open, incredulous that anyone would walk away from Death by Rat Poison let alone his small dick male charm. Johnny, visibly embarrassed, walked me out, “Sorry about the groupie.”
<P>“ Good luck with the Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll,” I said, thinking only Johnny could hear me.
<P>Apparently, she could hear me because Poor Man’s Pussycat Doll screamed, “FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU, YOU FUCKING COW!”
<P>I turned and said, “Good. Moooo!!” Then I closed the door.
I got outside and the rain had stopped.Clinging the what was left of my hearing and braincells, I sprinted to the train.
<P>When I got home I was thankful this shitstorm was not my big break and even more grateful it wasn’t a snuff film, although I had come close to DBG: Death by Groupie.
Kelly Bundy, Poor Man’s Pussy Cat Doll, Monica, Jenny the Cam Girl, Ball Cap and Johnny disappeared into the black hole of obscurity, but I got a great story out of the whole deal I still tell to this very day. So in the end we all won, so that’s all folks
<P>April Brucker
<P>AprilBrucker.TV
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-38516059629533735302021-08-13T13:18:00.005-07:002021-08-13T13:18:51.805-07:00Crazy (Patsy Cline)<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Several years ago I dated George Washington. His mother
named him after a founding father hoping he would do great things. At first, I
thought the name was appropriate as George was a rising star criminal lawyer
who quoted Thomas Paine, loved the opera and prided himself on his knowledge of
Shakespeare.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The name was where any similarity ended. George Washington
the president could not tell a lie, but my ex George could not tell the truth.
While I could not speak to George’s abilities in the courtroom he had the lying
part down pat. Classics include but are not limited to: telling people he went
to The University of Michigan when he went to Michigan State, claiming he was a
studio musician with The Violent Femmes and Detroit Cobras, waxing nostalgic
about a storied semi-pro boxing career, sleeping with three famous actresses
(famous outside of the US but too famous for the worldwide web), and finally,
telling people Jimmy Hoffa was his dad’s godfather. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After three months, while I was willing to give him half
credit for the boxing career as he wore boxing shorts, George’s vivid imagination
became too much to handle. After a huge fight because he told yet another
fibaruski, George and I broke up. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was sad as George was sweet, smart and looked good on
paper, but being with a compulsive liar was kicking up every trust issue I had.
The lies still continued to reveal themselves after we broke up. George had
claimed to have written a song about me. One day, while listening to the radio,
I had discovered Snow Patrol had actually recorded it. Feeling I deserved someone
who could tell the truth and who’s constant garbage didn’t stink up my life, I
put George’s memory on the curb. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Enter Lizzy Nebowicz. Tall and angular, Lizzy was a musical
theatre drop out and aspiring standup comedian who worked the door at a venue
where I was a regular. A long Islander who still lived with her parents and
took the train to the city, Lizzy wore flannels sans makeup, smoked pot, and performed
a pale imitation of a Carlin-esque act where she boasted of a teenage
shoplifting conviction and drug experimentation. While her jokes got laughs,
the content was hardly original and blended in with every would be edgy lady comic.
If anything, Lizzy’s street persona was a mere put on for the 21 year old lost
follower. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Offstage Lizzy was affable, friendly, and was a welcome
sight at a venue riddled with behind the scenes drama. One day I said to Lizzy,
“Find me on facebook and let’s do coffee. I like you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You too,” Lizzy said, “It’s tough to find girls that arent
petty bitches.” After that, we high fived rocking out to Nirvana as the club
janitor put up the chairs. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lizzy never found me on facebook and I let it slip from my
mind as life became a busy mix of singing telegrams, other survival jobs, road
dates doing comedy, first drafts of manuscripts, lovers coming and going, roommates
coming and going and my brother’s wedding. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That is, until Valentine’s Day when I got to the club and my
$100 poster and $50 post cards were gone. I worked three jobs to pay for those
things, and had worked even harder to promote the show running my immune system
down. My posters also helped with foot traffic which was at times fifty percent
of my audience. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Kirk, the club manager, who was usually a hard ass, contrary
to his nature reimbursed me for my stolen posters and post cards in cash.
Uncharacteristically apologetic, Kirk not only promised it wouldn’t happen
again, but as a good will token booked me in the big room where the national headliners
performed, an honor for a little fledging who looked up to those folks. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As my show for my five audience wrapped, Lizzy arrived at
the club. Instead of her normal self, Lizzy looked like a shell of a human.
Blotchy face and puffy eyes, Lizzy looked like she had been crying. Valentine’s
Day was the day for love but the day for loss, so I decided to say hi and to
comfort my friend. Lizzy responded by letting out a yelp and running away as if
she had seen Godzilla. I scratched my head, what the hell had just happened?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the back I could hear Kirk tearing into Lizzy who sobbed like
an injured animal, “I don’t care if you are dating an asshole. You destroyed
property and cost me money! I want to see you succeed. Do it again and you are
fired, understand?!” No wonder she was upset, she was having a crappy day.
Yeesh.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t connect the dots as Kirk was usually melodramatic, and
painstakingly planned my March show. The show date arrived, and I saw my post
cards and posters were stolen yet again, and Kirk apologized and reimbursed me for
a second time. I also heard Lizzy had been fired, but Kirk fired people constantly.
Shortly thereafter he hired her back, but this was typical Kirk. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I decided to take a break from producing the next month as
not only had my things been thrown away by an anonymous hater, but busting my
butt to perform for five people two months in a row was disheartening,
especially when I was being sabotaged. Plus I had scheduled a trip to the beach
with my family. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I got back from vacation, I ran into Benny, a mutual
friend of George’s and mine. Truth is, until I saw Benny I hadn’t thought about
George in so long that I barely remembered his last name. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Giving me a long hug on the street that seemed to last an
eternity, Benny said, “April! What a pleasant surprise! Hannah and I would have
loved to have had you at our wedding!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then why didn’t you
invite me?” Benny had talked about his wedding to Hannah, his NYU Law School
sweetheart, constantly. Even to strangers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Benny struggled to form the words, “We thought it would be
too hard.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We’re friends and I want to see you happy. Why would it
have been too hard?” Now I was confused. Although we hadn’t spoken in sometime,
Benny and I had remained friends after I parted with George.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“George said you were so distraught over the breakup that
you tried to kill yourself,” Benny said. Shocked and flabbergasted at this ridiculous
claim, I burst out laughing. Sure, the year and a half leading up to this was
filled with struggle and getting my teeth kicked in more times than I could
count, but I would be Goddamned if I gave up. It was also a relief to leave
that relationship. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I said, “Benny, honey, sweety, tell George the only place I
was distraught was his dreams. So while I did not try to commit suicide,
George’s credibility just did.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Benny said, “April, just so you know, George has a new
girlfriend?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Is she real or made up just like his cancer was?” Shortly
after we broke up George was facing discipline from the legal board for trying
to punch a colleague. He told everyone he had cancer, but in six weeks he had
been cured, curiously in enough time to save his legal license.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“April, no need to get bitter….”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Bitter! The ass hat lied about having cancer and just tried
to kill me off!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“True, but the girlfriend is real. I met her and she’s also
a comedian and she knows you,” Benny said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What’s her name?” I said, curious to know who this broken
creature was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Only met her once. I think it’s something like Julie but I
know that’s wrong. She’s real young, like 21 or something….” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While I knew I should have cared less, morbid curiosity had
gotten the best of me. Going home, I logged onto facebook and went to George’s
profile. He was in a relationship with guess who? Lizzy Nebowicz. I thought my
head was going to explode. First he has to rebound by dipping his dick in my
pond. Second, I knew I was looking at the girl who ripped down my posters. Now
everything made sense. Maybe George had lied about me trying to kill myself,
but if I saw these two in person I swore to God I would murder them both!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was livid, but my friends tried to talk me down. One
pointed out perhaps George had changed, but if so why was his girlfriend
destroying my property? Others told me I had no proof, but sometimes a woman’s
intuition is all the proof you need, especially when the man involved is a
walking shit pickle. The majority of my social circle assured me that Lizzy had
George which was punishment enough and I should just work hard, ignore the ass
hats, and soldier on like I always did. Instead of picking up a felony I chose
to do the latter. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wanted to move on to a bigger venue, but Kirk reeled me
back in by pleading that he needed content and by personally promising that my stuff
would not be stolen. Kirk, despite his flaws, was a man of his word. Not wanting
to risk Lizzy’s moods, I invested in a simple $20 poster in case it ended up in
the trash. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I arrived at the club to drop off my poster, I discovered
Kirk had sent me a text. His father, a movie theatre mogul, had a heart attack.
Kirk needed to drop everything and head to Jersey. Like Cerberus at the gates
of Hades, Lizzy there to greet me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not in the mood, I eyed the back entrance. Too late. Smiling
like she was about to kill herself and take six people with her, Lizzy ran up
to me and gave me a long hug. Picking me up, Lizzy twirled me around giving me
the easily some of the most terrifying ten seconds of my life “April, I missed
you!!!!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Missed you too,” I said, as Lizzy set me down, my head
still spinning from the unwanted twirling and surreal experience. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We need to have that
coffee and talk about boys!” Lizzy said jumping up and down, her unwarranted
excitement coming from no where. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Speaking of boys, you seeing anyone?” I knew the answer to
that. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lizzy now swayed nervously, “Yes, a lawyer in Queens!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I was seeing one of those too. Lied like the sun came up.
But it’s probably not the same guy,” I said, hoping to plant it in her head the
next time she felt like destroying my things. While I could tell she knew she
had been caught, I also pitied her as George was the best she thought she could
do. I didn’t want George back, but I wanted to work and mind my own business so
right now I had to stand my ground. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah. But seriously,
we need to get that coffee and talk about boys!” As she spoke her tone mellowed
which made me second guess myself. Maybe I was overreacting and George had
changed after all. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It was weird, you never hug your man’s ex,” I said to
Sally-my palm reader friend-as we both shared a cigarette on her stoop.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sally said, “April, she was hugging you because she wanted
to strangle you. And she trashed your posters because he still talks about you.
And she is going to take them again.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Kirk promised…..”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hell hath no fury
like a jealous woman. You don’t have to be a psychic to see that,” Sally took a
puff of her cigarette, “April, you want out of there anyway. This place annoys
you and pays you shit to begin with. You have better things coming. Just cancel
the date now and move on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m tired of
hearing about those assholes.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sally was right. Two days later, I found out from an inside
source my poster had been trashed again. I scratched the date fibbing about being
double booked. Kirk however had seen the poster in the trash and fired Lizzy.
While the hands of justice made me happy, I had also gotten another opportunity
that would serve me better in the long run. All and all, this was for the best.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">George and Lizzy became an after thought until one night I was
walking down the street. George looking shriveled and tortured like a gremlin
who had given up on life, skulked behind Lizzy who was wearing a dress that
resembled a garbage bag. Pulling him along as he dragged his feet, the coupling
resembled a man being marched to the gas chamber rather than two people in love.
I tried not to snicker, but this was karma in all it’s splendor. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Later that year, I filmed for <i>My Strange Addiction</i>
with my puppets. As a result I got a job hosting a web show, was cast in a
horror movie, got the chance to model, record music, and had international
magazines interviewing me. As fan mail from all over the globe poured in, I had
my pick of future ex husbands and ex wives from all over the world. George
again became a blip on the radar. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That is, until I logged onto facebook Lizzy appeared on my
feed. Instead of the mousy brunette or badly dyed whatever, Lizzy was my exact
color of blonde, which would have been a lot of expensive salon visits to get
to. Unlike the woman I had known previously, Lizzy who never wore makeup, was
now wearing Sephora shades similar to mine. This didn’t strike me as odd as
performers change their look, especially at the urging of managers, all the
time. Lizzy was also kickboxing and auditioning for reality TV, again
performers go on trendy fitness kicks and reality TV was a quick way on TV. Then
I I saw Lizzy signed up for a puppetry class. This was single white female come
to life!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Whenever I posted a video on facebook, Lizzy would post one
of her own within the hour. One day I posted two and Lizzy did the same. While
her singing voice was better than mine, it creeped me out that she was watching
my every move. She had her own talents, why couldn’t she just focus on those? When
the platinum was growing out of my hair, I low lit. Within a day, Lizzy
proceeded to low light her hair, too. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some friends thought I should be flattered and told me my “psycho
girl stalker” officially made me famous. Others suggested I strip naked, shave
my head, smear myself in chocolate, and run down the street screaming to see if
she would do the same. I needed the laughs, but it was also apparent Lizzy was
deeply disturbed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Through the grapevine, I heard George, was telling people he
was the infamous fiancé from <i>My Strange Addiction</i>, the one who made me
choose him or the puppets. George would lament that my love for ventriloquism ruined
our relationship, but he was proud of me and had become a fan. My friend Rick
said, “April, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t your ex-fiance a different
asshole?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yes, Rick was right. My ex-fiance was a different asshole,
but asshole George was gaslighting Lizzy and now she was sucking me into their codependent
abyss. More sad and pathetic than anything, I gradually got better at ignoring
her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Shortly thereafter, George moved Lizzy into his Queens pad
and got her a cat. Once cohabitated, Lizzy announced on facebook aspirations to
teach high school English, and then plans to attend law school and clerk for
Justice Ginsberg. While this was shocking for someone who bragged of never
attending college, studying or reading, Lizzy was focusing on positive goals
and leaving me alone and that’s all that mattered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That fall, I released <i>I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a
Singing Telegram Delivery Girl.</i> This meant being profiled by Mensa, signing
at Brown University, and pitching my ideas to network TV. These opportunities
were hard won after writing the first draft the two summers before in an
apartment without air conditioning coupled with endless hours of revising that
I thought would surely kill me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One day, after submitting a writing packet to an editor, I
got a call from a blocked number. I ignored it figuring it was spam, but the
number called again and again. Figuring it might have been in regards to my
writing packet, I picked up. A woman’s voice on the other end screamed, “STAY
AWAY FROM MY BOYFRIEND, POLLY POCKET!” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Immediately recognizing the voice I said, “Better Polly
Pocket than Lizzy Borden, Lizzy.” CLICK. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like the alien monster the crew thought they slayed, Lizzy
had not in fact died but was back for the sequel. Recommitted to her resentment
towards me, Lizzy created a blog of her own. Using her virtual blank canvass, Lizzy
penned angry poetry directed at me. According to Lizzy, I was her sworn “psychotic
enemy.” She ranted about how I was mean, told lies about her, tried to break
her and George up, lacked talent and was delusional in regards to my goals. I
would say the poetry sounded like it was written by Lex Luther, but Lex Luther’s
understanding of rhyme would have been better, metaphors more original and he definitely
would have used spell check. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lizzy, not wanting to limit herself merely to poorly written
poetry, branched out into the personal essay. Opining about the pain of being
bullied as a teenager, struggling with her weight and battling cystic acne, the
words sounded so familiar it was as if they were mine. Then I realized they
were, because Lizzy had plagiarized my work! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Part of me wanted to beat the hell out of her, as plagiarism
is a capitol crime in the writing world. I also wondered why she couldn’t write
about her own shitty life, I mean she did sleep next to George every night.
Ranting about her as I always did my friend Sally said, “April, block her now,
she is making you as crazy as she is. And you are becoming just as obsessed
with her as she is with you, and you are making yourself sick over this
bullshit person and that’s what she wants,”my friend Sally told me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But that bitch is trying to pass my work off as her own!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Let her. She can’t write, she’s a marginal singer, and she
looks terrible trying to be you. Lizzy is better than any joke you could ever
write,” Sally said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Taking Sally’s advice I blocked Lizzy. Redoubling her
efforts to cause chaos, Lizzy told anyone who would listen that I was “a
mentally ill drama queen” who cyber bullied her because I was jealous of her relationship
with George. Lizzy also claimed that I had plagiarized her work in parts of<i>
I Came, I Saw, I Sang. </i>Those who knew me knew this was ridiculous as I was
guilty of being married to my work and had little time for flimsy flame wars.
Even people who disliked me would give me that. However, Lizzy successfully
managed to manipulate those who had either only known me in passing or had
never met me at all. I had people confronting me in person or sending me nasty
messages online, and each time I said, “I have no idea what a Lizzy Nebowicz is.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was going high, but Lizzy, being the ultimate succubus,
was determined to drag me right down to her hellish level. Posting a comedy
sketch she had filmed with her friends on a site she knew I trafficked, a
character named April, described as “a fame whore,” had was jumped and beaten
up junior high style by Lizzy and a group of girls. I reported the video and it
was taken down. However, Lizzy had crossed the line from shrill annoyance to
dangerous stalker. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had repeated nightmares that Lizzy broke into my apartment
to kill me. My stomach began to have issues and I could barely keep food down. On
the street I feared running into her, so I found myself snapping at strangers. Focusing
at work became a challenge because her harassment was sucking all my mental
energy. I was being bullied, it wasnt fair and I was honestly scared of this
woman. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had worked hard and was reaping the rewards, yet I was
always having to apologize to this real life gorgon who’s mental state was
threadbare. Instead of ending her dysfunctional relationship with George, the
thing actual causing her pain, I had become the scapegoat. Sick and tired, I
took to my blog, a place I knew she compulsively visited, and let this boundary
allergic chicklet know the next time she tried to contact me for any reason I
would make sure she broke out into handcuffs. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I found out through the ever open gossip channels what triggered
Lizzy’s latest burst of fury was George was growing unhappy in their relationship
because Lizzy refused to work, drank all day and terrorized him nightly when he
got home. As a result of the stress from Lizzy’s behavior, George developed migraines
and a twitch. I couldn’t feel bad for him because he had created this monster.
Desperate for better times, George was vocal, saying he wished he had been
better to me because maybe his life would be different. An avid reader, George purchased
a copy of <i>I Came, I Saw, I Sang</i>. Lizzy of course found it and went ape
shit. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly enough,
I was not the only ex of George’s that Lizzy harassed either. One-a law school
sweetheart of George’s who at the time was clerking for Ruth Bader Ginsberg-wrote
Lizzy a cease and desist letter. Another, a high school English teacher in
Lansing, was so upset that her husband called George angrily and threatened to
drive to New York to shoot him if Lizzy ever contacted his wife again. While
Lizzy’s ability to multi-task was impressive, it sucked to know I was no longer
special. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Shortly after I put my foot down via blogosphere, George decided
to commit to Lizzy for real in a surprise wedding ceremony at the courthouse. This
took Lizzy off of all of our collective hands thus ensuring peace and quiet in
all the land. As an added bonus, Lizzy abandoned all of her literary endeavors which
was a victory for all humankind. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lizzy and George left NYC and moved to his uncle’s pig farm
outside of Dallas. He no longer practices law and plays guitar while Lizzy
sings live in bars local bars. George manages Lizzy, so George might just get
the music career after all, and Lizzy gets to use a gift that her own. To pay
bills between gigs they shovel manure on the farm, which means they are both
knee deep in mutual shit, but the most important things is these soul mates are
doing it together. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">THE END<o:p></o:p></p>MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-69666276970287301352021-03-08T16:30:00.006-08:002021-03-08T16:45:40.873-08:00Bizarre Love Triangle (New Order)<p class="MsoNormal">There are some people you meet in life that are in the chorus
of your story and they remain there indefinitely. Such was the case with Mikki
Luckinbill for a time. I didn’t like her because she was irritating and was
clearly shtuping her way to the middle, but didn’t dislike her either because
that would involve caring. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mikki was the quintessential divorcee who’s therapist
suggested she try comedy. It was because Dr. Finkelstein, her Park Avenue
shrink, was tired not only hearing about her successful Columbia psych
professor ex who was bopping a TA, but about the crabs she got afterwards.
According to her “act,” after the affair Mikki moved out of their Riverside Drive
apartment and back into the home of her parents: a doctor father who emigrated
from India and a debutante mother who went to Radcliffe when it existed and was
“rather disappointed” when Mikki was rejected by all the schools she applied to
and could only get into her safety, Skidmore. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Whenever she graced the stage, Mikki’s act was a monotonous
monologue that couldn’t even pass as tragedy, because alas, tragedy is
interesting. Listening to her after one minute made you consider slitting your
wrists, and after five minutes you wanted to draw up a warm bath and then throw
in the toaster. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sucking onstage is one thing, but sucking off stage is
another, and Mikki was the master at both. A student of Jed Kemp, a one time
rising star who coked his comedy career away, he assured Mikki she would be the
next great female comedy superstar next to Chelsea Handler. It wasn’t because
Mikki had talent, it was because she was sleeping with him and would tell
anyone who listened. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As his star student and paramour, Mikki was all over Jed’s
website, giving testimonial videos clad in low cut dress that her melon breasts
hung out of. Acting as his ambassador, she tried to recruit other comedians to
be a part of this “school.” Then Mikki would try to get these students to sign
their friends up for a discount, thus creating a pyramid scheme that exploited
hopefuls. After a while, she said she wanted to dump Jed because he could only
get her so far and wanted a bigger fish.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mikki was hard to stomach, but we also never had a bad
encounter. When I could I avoided her because she was annoying. If I saw her on
the street we would exchange a quick hi and kept it there, because that’s how you
treat a chorus person in your play, right?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">However, Mikki was soon to be upgraded to guest star in a
dramatic arc lasting several episodes. Enter Isaac Rabinowitz, my on again/off
again flame who I had recently decided burned me for the last time. After a
series of events the complicated relationship had lost it’s luster and appeal. Finally,
to the relief of everyone around me, especially my mother, I ended it with
Isaac once and for all. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Isaac did not take it well. After a text where he accused me
of being “cold”, we had a long two hour phone conversation where I was forced
to hear about Isaac’s feelings, and I kept telling him to eat shit and go to
hell because I was sick of his mind games. Isaac said he wanted to be a part of
my life as my friend because he liked me as a person, and I believed him
because I felt some of the same. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Despite our differences, when it came to my comedy and my
puppets Isaac was always in my corner. As a comedian, every joke writing instinct
he had was completely and utterly wrong, but he had a sixth sense as to what
bookers would like my act, how to approach them, and ideas on how to guide my
career. In return, I was always gung ho to guest host his shitty open mic if he couldn’t make it. All and all, it was an
awesome development, or so I felt. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Don’t get me wrong, Isaac could be a pick but at least he
was an honorable one. Extending the olive branch, he invited me to do the guest
spot at his open mic which meant I didn’t have to pay $5 to perform. Arriving
at the club on that sweltering August day, it was a record breaking high. Not only
was the place jammed with sweaty hopefuls, but the air conditioner was broken
and the fans were going at full blast. To add to the ambiance, the place, which
usually smelled like rotten urine, had an extra pungent odor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was icky and grungy, because in addition to the smelly scene
the subway had broken and I was forced to trek thirty blocks with May Wilson in
tow. My makeup was messed up and my clothes were stuck to my body. If that’s not
a way to greet your most recent ex I don’t know what is. That’s when in walks
Mikki Luckinbill with her jet black hair styled just so and wearing a low cut white
dress, generous bosom bouncing with each step looking better than ever. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As his eyes caught site of her, Isaac ran over and was stuck
to her for the rest of the night like Gorilla Glue, leaving his usual hosting
corner so he could sit next to her. Smitten with his new squeeze, Isaac auspiciously
placed his hand on her leg. I wanted to vomit. Why did it have to be her? On
the other hand, it was making me realize I had done the right thing by ending
it. I knew better than anyone how Isaac could be. Now he was Mikki’s problem. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sunday Isaac texted me to have brunch as friends. My
instincts told me not to go because the breakup was not only still fresh but I had
just started seeing a new guy, Sean, two days before. Isaac and I were just
friends, and if I wanted this friendship to work I had to give it a try, right?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I met Isaac at a diner in Murray Hill around the corner from
his apartment that his millionaire father financed. As we ate, we talked comedy
and our favorite mutual subject, The Marx Brothers. Bruch turned out to be more
fun than I thought it was going to be. I said, “I forgot how much fun you were
to hang out with.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Isaac said, “Me too. I
am glad we are friends, April. It’s weird because we used to date.” My
instincts had been right after all, “Come on, April, you can’t just pretend we didn’t
used to date.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I am doing it right now. It’s not that hard, Isaac,” I
said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“How can you say that? I still care about you.” Isaac said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Just stop with the games,” I said, angry at myself for not
seeing this was the usual Isaac trap of him reeling me back in, me taking the
bait, him hurting me and then the cycle repeating. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Just so you know, I don’t want to get back with you anyway.
I am seeing Mikki Luckinbill. We were talking about you. We both agreed you are
self-absorbed, immature and are completely ruthless when it comes to your
ambition.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now I officially had enough, “I think Mikki is a better
match for you. She’s not funny and neither are you. And as for immature, I am
looking right at him. So I am going to be the adult and end this once and for
all. Have a nice life, Isaac because you are sure as hell dead to me.” I got
up, threw my napkin down, and walked out onto the busy New York City Streets
free of Isaac and his bullshit. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two weeks later, Sean and I became engaged because why
settle for a love triangle when you can have good old fashioned soul crushing codependency?
Upon hearing about my engagement, Isaac became more determined than ever to win
me back. He began texting furiously, telling me he was only with Mikki because
he couldn’t have me, and if I said he the word he would dump her for real and
we could be together. I ignored him and even went so far as to block his number.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To no ones shock except my own, Sean turned out to be a
terrible fiancé. Even on it’s best day, the relationship was text book dysfunctional.
Controlling and jealous, Sean made me choose between him and my puppets, and I
chose him feeling it was time I forget my dreams and become a good wife. When Isaac
heard about this development through mutual friends, he confronted Sean and the
two nearly got into a fistfight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Isaac blamed himself for this development in my life. He
told anyone that would listen that had he been a better man to me I would never
be engaged to Sean. Of course as usual, Isaac was making everything about
himself. My bad decisions were my own and my own alone goshdarnit. Meanwhile,
Isaac was still seeing Mikki who was growing to steadily resent me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Back at the ranch, Mikki was not only becoming increasingly
jealous of me, but tired of Isaac and his wandering eye. Sloppy as usual, Isaac
left his laptop open. This led Mikki to discover that in addition to trying to
win me back, Isaac was also seeing two other women: one was Emily, a childhood
sweetheart, and the other was my former friend Sharon, who he would later go on
to marry, and referred to her in their exchanges as his “girlfriend.” To compound the drama, Mikki had introduced Isaac
to her family at Thanksgiving the week before. If this is making you dizzy
reading this, try living it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mikki’s frustration came to head when she was onstage one
night at a show Isaac had produced. Unable to contain her age any longer, Mikki
exploded at Isaac confronting him about me, Emily, and Sharon. In front of a
free comedy show audience, Isaac denied the accusations. This infuriated Mikki
further as she laid into him about his epically small penis size. When her
verbal assault was finished, she hopped off the stage, slapped him across the
face, burst into tears and ran into the night. While I was not there to see it,
witnesses claim this was the funniest thing either had ever done. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I eventually dumped Sean, picked up my puppets, and recommitted
myself to becoming a professional ventriloquist. Fortunately I was able to shake
that mistake, and it got me a Daily Mail UK article that went viral before
COVID made it cool. Each of the other players in this dramatic story faded into
the background. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That is, until years later when I saw Mikki at an audition. At
first I was shocked because it had been so long, but I was also glad to see she
was still in the game. She still looked the same, except the low cut clothing was
replaced by an all black motif that most first year drama students wear to look
tortured and emotive as they wax nostalgic about Shakespeare and Chekhov. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Because time plus distance equals comedy, I had developed a
sense of humor about those painful early days and regarded them as coming of
age follies. When I gave her the big hello, she looked at me as if I was the Baby
Ruth that invaded her pool party. She said, “I will have you know that I am
doing well. Really well. I have an MFA in Acting.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Before I could respond back she snarled and stomped off. For the heck of it, I went to her facebook
page to see what she had been to later that day. In a five paragraph rant, she
talked about seeing “the ghost from her past who was the succubus who seduced
her boyfriend once upon a moon.” Then she called me “fame hungry” and said I was
used, “as a regular Method substitution for an evil person.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In honor of the completion of Mikki’s MFA in Acting I will
quote he late, great William Shakespeare, “Life is a tale told by an idiot. The
sound and the fury signifying nothing.” With that, I logged off the computer
and relegated her back into the chorus of my story.<o:p></o:p></p>MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-37789718774230118442020-11-06T16:01:00.002-08:002020-11-06T16:01:48.952-08:00Election Fatigue<p class="MsoNormal">Flashback: Little April, age 13. It’s a fall Friday night in
Western PA and it’s been a late one. My brother Wendell’s football team is
playing against some other team who’s name escapes me but you get the picture. It’s
the fifth overtime, and one of the coaches keeps stalling the clock. The temperature’s
dropping, the fans can see their breath and it’s starting to rain. The fans are
apathetic, the cheerleaders do a half assed herky, and the players are running into
each other for the sake of shoving someone. Finally one side cares less than
the other, a final touch down is scored and the game ends. The victor is a
blur, but we have all lost because these are hours of our lives we will never
get back. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cut to TV room. We eat Wendy’s as we watch the scores and
late night TV, my dad switching the channel every time it gets too dirty. Wendell
looks like he has just escaped from dramatic torture. My younger sister Skipper
and my mom nod off. I scribble down some angst ridden death poetry that sounds
as if Mystic Spiral wrote it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The room is silent because there are things unspoken.
Wendell is on special teams, which means while he will be on the starting
lineup in a year or two he is not there yet. This means he will head out with
the JV squad tomorrow bright and early. Instead of the stadium they will play
on the muddy practice field and it will be even colder and even rainier. As a
bonus, the rest of the family will be forced to come. Will it never end? The
horror! The horror!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fast forward several years. This is how I feel about the
election. Instead of a high school football coach, it’s Trump yelling,
screaming and trying to stall. Rather than a never ending Friday night under
the lights it’s 2020, and specifically a very charged election season. I look
at Yurick, my pet skeleton on my book shelf. We will look like him when the election
results are finally revealed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I voted for Biden. Really and truly I wanted Liz Warren. I didn’t
get Liz Warren because sometimes you don’t get the pony you want to get. I
spent a lot of the election season explaining this to fellow Democrats who
swung for Sanders and/or Warren and were disappointed. When I wasn’t doing that
I educated Trump supporters who couldn’t pass a basic civics test giving them
free history lessons on social media. To quote Shakespeare, “Life…..is a tale,
told by an idiot. The sound and the fury signifying nothing.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I watch CNN for updates although at this point I feel as if
they are just the pretty person teasing all of us. John King is at his magic wall,
but I think he pulled a finger muscle because last night they had his JV
replacement who’s name escapes me because no one cares about the JV at the magic
board. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dana Bash looks mad as hell at her ex, John King, everytime
he is at the magic wall and thinks, “Damn that magic wall. He cared more about
it than me and it ruined our marriage!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Anderson Cooper thinks, “I am the son of Gloria Vanderbilt.
I could have ridden my bike, lived off my fortune, and Rick Santorum would have
been forced to be my butler.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Van Jones thinks, “Well, I haven’t slept, and I am sitting
next to this racist Rick Santorum. The first time he met me he thought I was
Anderson Cooper’s butler.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Gloria Borger thinks, “I picked this week to stop smoking, I
hate Rick Santorum, and I wish I had a butler.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And then there is Rick Santorum, the shart in the pants of
my home district who’s greatest hits are talking about man on dog sex and sex
with his mother in law. Prior to being a talking head on CNN, Rick was out of
work politician and father of 8. The idea of being Anderson’s butler was pretty
good until the network offered him a gig. They told him it was to bring
balance, but really it was to do what he does best, say crazy hurtful things
and wear high top shoes, a secret revealed when the camera gives a wide shot. Rick
is as tired as the rest of the panel because now he is making sense. The world
is in fact ending. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If Trump wins I get four more years of bad jokes with Donald
J. Tramp. If Biden wins I get four years of new bad jokes with Joe Bidentime. I
got a puppet. This girl is ready. My mental health and sanity, maybe not. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As a collective, we have had it. Twenty-twenty has been the
high school football match up from hell with too many overtimes and time outs.
At this point, I am done vote shaming. No one is on a winning streak. No matter
which team you are on, I am reaching my hand out like the players did after the
battle on the grid iron was complete. To you, I say, “Good game.”<o:p></o:p></p>MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-86121355197404254132020-03-28T12:22:00.000-07:002020-03-28T12:45:11.339-07:00Alana Petridge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone has encountered one in their lives, someone you
need to watch your back around. I was still new to comedy when I met mine. Alana
Petridge was the real life version of Reese Witherspoon from Election, except
she had pitch black hair. However, it was the same manic smile and the same façade
that secretly bubbled with evil underneath.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the unairconditioned basement of an open mic where most
dreams go to die, Alana was convinced hers were being made. Sweat dripped all
over our bodies as terrible punchlines were being slung from the stage. This
was in fact the first layer of hell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were soon transported to the second when Alana Petridge
marched onto the stage. Her huge smile showing off rows of pearly whites, she
stated she was from Oyster Bay, graduated from Boston University, and was working
at MTV with dreams of being on SNL. Translated, she was a nauseating cliché and
she hadn’t even started her act. Next she began what was her act, a series of
jokes that involved drawings on a poster board. Some jokes were okay, others
were lame. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As she did her bits, I noticed the first signs of laughter
from the catacombs. Looking over I saw a tribe of people dressed in white, WASP
refugees from the Hamptons. Then it clicked, Ms. Desperate had brought her
entire family. Yes, it was mom, dad, a reluctant brother and sister, and her
grandparents. Mom was filming this disaster. I told myself not to be so hard on
her. My parents were far away and maybe I was just jealous. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the show, I decided to introduce myself as she was
another woman, and maybe very lost. I walked over to her and the WASP refugees
and said, “Hi, I’m April, good stuff.” It was a half-truth, some of it was decent.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Alana,” she shook my hand in a way that felt like she was
snapping it off, “Listen, do you book shows?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No…..”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It was nice meeting you,” she said, big fake smile
flashing. This encounter confirmed my instincts, steer clear. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the next month, I crossed paths with Alana at least
twice a week. She brought her WASP refugee entourage dressed in white, and they
always sat through the shitty open mic sitting silent until their princess took
the stage. Alana always did the same routine, never varying, which meant she wasn’t
writing. Each time she always re-introduced herself hoping I was booking shows,
and each time I would curtly remind Alana we had already met. Finally, she got
the message, I had nothing for her therefore I was no use to her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alana was vocal about wanting to find management and soon
found it in the arms of none other than my ex Isaac Rabinowitz. A trust fund
kid, Isaac was fulfilling his lifelong dream of opening a comedy club he
christened The Universe. His father, a real estate mogul, spent a small fortune
on billboards to attract big name talent. Isaac, a self-proclaimed impresario,
was dipping his fingers into talent management, his first client being “the
beautiful and talented” Alana Petridge.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I saw the social media post, I marveled at both Isaac’s
hubris and the ability to think with his dick. The fact she thought he was going
to make her a star and the fact he thought he could were the funniest thing
either of them had ever done. In the time I had dated Isaac, he had run a theatre
company into the ground, managed to alienate every woman he ever encountered,
and every joke writing instinct he had proved to be completely and utterly
wrong. Isaac couldn’t even manage himself, oh what a gas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Universe opened, and despite the musing of big names the
only headliner was Alana Petridge. Each night, she did 30 minutes, 5 which
contained the tired bit with the picture board, and 25 written by Isaac.
Comedian friends of mine told me tales of the utter horror and bloodshed that
occurred onstage. I will say part of me delighted in this trainwreck, because
these were two people I disliked immensely. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the early fall I got my chance. Isaac, eager to make
amends for all the crap he pulled when he was busy messing with my head, and as
an olive branch offered me a spot on a show at The Universe. Despite our tricky
past, Isaac had always cheered me on when it came to reaching the next level with
my comedy. Plus again, I wanted to see the trainwreck for myself, so I
confirmed the spot. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The night of the show The Universe was packed. Planets
painted on the walls with glowing decals of stars lined the room. Sure, Isaac
was Isaac but I had to admit I was impressed. The emcee was a skinny Jewish kid
named Bobby Greenbaum who warmed the room up and they were ready to go. He sat
in the back with my friend Paul Thompson, a cynical divorcee turned comic, and
myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They are great,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, crowds here are always.” Paul said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Overhearing us, Bobby interjected, “That is until…..” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The three of us tried to muffle our laughter, “That bad?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I would rather spend time with my ex wife than see her do
comedy,” Paul said. Wow, that said a lot. Paul’s ex wife had tried to run him
down with her car.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I call her Tel Aviv because it’s the only place where
anyone could bomb that bad,” Bobby said, as he then turned to give the comic
onstage the light. As Bobby ran to the edge of the stage, I could see Alana on Isaac’s
arm like a Dollar Store Christmas Ornament, glaring at us. I flashed her a fuck
you smile in return. After all, I wasn’t the whore no one could stomach.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My name was called, and the set was insane. May Wilson went
off script and flashed the audience. They were drunk and off the wall, but it
was helluva fun. Bobby gave us the light and we were sad to go. He gave me a
pat on the back and whispered, “Get ready for Tel Aviv,” and then made an
exploding sound.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reluctantly, Bobby took the stage, “Ladies and gentlemen,
your headliner has been on MTV. Please put your hands together for Alana Petridge.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Paul whispered, “MTV. I didn’t know it became a TV credit
when it was just your foot.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Then you could use that Subway Commercial,” it was true,
Paul’s foot was in a Subway Commercial. It helped get his SAG card. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alana started her set. It was 5 tragic minutes of the poster
board and drawings. Without her band of WASP refugees dressed in white, the
jokes got pity laughs. From there, she went into the material Isaac wrote and
then was greeted with awkward silence. I didn’t know what was worse, the fact
she was tanking or the fact it wasn’t even with her own material, “If you’re
going to blow someone, blow someone funny,” Paul said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As this big wet abortion went on, several audience members
began to leave, always a bad sign. Finally, one super drunk dude who I loved
during my set yelled, “Hey Baby, show us your tits like that puppet did! That
would be funny!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I had no idea the puppet tits were funny,” I said to Paul.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Puppet tits are always funny,” We both tried to muffle our
laughter. Upon hearing this, Alana looked at the audience, tears in her eyes, and
then burst out crying and ran offstage. Everyone looked at each other, baffled
as to what the hell had just happened. Then suddenly we all burst out laughing
because we were apparently sick and unsympathetic fucks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The drunk yelled, “Now that’s funny!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barely out the door Alana countered with, “FUCK YOU!” which
made us all laugh even harder. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As Darlene the waitress was dropping checks she passed us
and said, “Good, that girl’s such a pain in the ass.” Damn, when the waitstaff doesn’t
like you that says everything. Stick a fork in her, she’s done.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Walking out at the end of the night, I heard Alana screaming
to Isaac, “You promised to write me jokes! Your jokes suck! Just like sex with
you!” Damn, Isaac was who he was but this was way harsh.As she continued her assault on Isaac, I passed.<br />
Alana, full of venom screamed, "And fuck you April Brucker! You and your unfunny puppet drained the crowd and ruined my night! If it wasn't for you, I would have had a good set!"<br />
Looking at her, May Wilson in suitcase, I said, "Tomorrow, I hope to be funny, but you Sweetheart, will still be shrill and obnoxious." Then I gave her the bitchy smile matched with the bitchy wave and departed into the night.<br />
As I walked away Alana yelled, “I HATE YOU APRIL BRUCKER! I HOPE YOU DIE!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning I woke up with a message from Isaac apologizing
for Alana and telling me he had severed all ties with her. I told him not to
worry, things happen, and I looked forward to performing at The Universe again.
Days later, the buzz on social media was that Alana’s big time lawyer father
was suing Isaac for both sexual harassment and breach of contract. The suit was
ultimately thrown out of court, because Isaac’s brother was a big time lawyer,
too. While The Universe Comedy Club would stay open a while longer, Isaac retired
from personal management forever which was for the best. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After that, Alana went off her birth control, entrapped a
successful writer, and tricked him into marrying her. Everything went bust after
that, and the divorce was a shitshow. From there it was radio silence until I
decided to look her up on facebook.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alana is living with her parents back on Long Island. The
aging stick didn’t just hit her hard, it beat her to a bloody pulp. She, her
family, and her son are all dressed in white, smiling as a group of WASP refugees
happy in their hive. In another post she announced after a long break and a lot
of therapy she wants to return to comedy. Part of me wanted to encourage this, because
I wanted a sequel to the shit show she had given me for free so many years
before. Than I thought nah, the world has enough depravity and sadness as it
is. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-2758264132856288472020-03-23T16:01:00.000-07:002020-03-23T16:29:00.925-07:00Dan Smith<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A minute before COVID-19 made it cool, my Daily Mail article
went viral. The headline went from The UK, to Iceland, Italy, Slovenia,
Slovakia, Lithuania, Russia, Estonia, Latvia, China, Thailand, Cambodia,
Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Australia, Ethiopia, Nigeria, Kenya, Colombia,
Puerto Rico, Brazil, and finally Guatemala. Yes, I am a celebrity in Guatemala.
The headline read as follows, “Ventriloquist Who Splashes Out $20,000 on Her
Puppets So That They Have Their Own Bedroom Dumps Her Fiance After He Says It’s
Them Or Me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it happened, I discovered the headline hit I was on a
vacation with my family. It was a surprise, and while a pleasant one I was
simply a lone ventriloquist who supported herself and her puppets by delivering
singing telegrams. My apartment was so filled with puppets, puppet clothes, and
costumes I could barely walk. Weeks before I had spoken to The Daily Mail, but
I had no clue this was going to happen. In my bed, lights out, I yelled to my
mom, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“MOM! Get in here now!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Everything okay?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just look,” I said
pointing to a page where they were talking about me in Hindi. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mom didn’t raise an eyebrow nor was she as mystified as I
was, “And?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And I’m everywhere Mom!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, and you worked hard and people are catching on. This
is what we wanted, remember? Send me the links so I can print them out and put
them in your memory box. And start to look for quality management that can get
us to the next level too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mom is often the smartest person I know. For years she
had quasi-managed me. While she believed in my talent, she was the first to
admit she didn’t know the industry and we were both near sighted one eyed
people in the Valley of the Blind, constantly reinventing the wheel. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For years, I had no luck with agents and managers for a myriad
of reasons. Some were well intended, promising the moon and being unable to deliver.
Others had no idea how to represent me, submitting me for things I was wrong
for. Then there were many who said they couldn’t make money off of me for whatever
reason. After enough drama I endeavored to represent myself. Unlike many of my
friends who had the name of an agent or manager on their resume, I was
constantly on television and being booked for events. While I did a good job of
hustling, I knew as enquiries were coming in from outside the United States I
would need someone to help me. I distrusted these beings but knew they would be
a necessary evil. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I began to post my press clippings online a fellow by the
name of Dan Smith (name changed to protect the guilty) reached out. He claimed
to be a “Big Fan,” and he said he managed ventriloquists. Dan was effusive with
his praise, which stoked my ego, already glowing from this press coverage. I
looked on his page to see where he was. Dan was based in Missouri. He was a
self-proclaimed “Christian” and “Man of God.” The warning lights went up as I
saw scripture quotes, but a lot of puppeteers are Christians and many are quite
nice actually. I figured it didn’t hurt to listen, so I told him what I wanted,
to tour outside of the US as that was where I was getting most of my publicity.
Dan said we could talk about that, and we set up a time to talk. I was excited,
but because I was burned so much before I also wanted to see what he could do
for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dan called the next day, and I was excited to talk to him. After
exchanging pleasantries he said, “I have been a fan for a long time and it’s an
honor and privilege to be talking to April Brucker let alone be working with
her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks,” this wasn’t just flattering, but sounded like
everything I wanted. However, there is an old line in scripture that the devil
hides in flattery as the devil was a snake in the Garden of Eden. Still, what
if he was the one who was going to push me ahead?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I worked with a well known ventriloquist. She was a beauty
queen. I made her. She still owes me big, but she wasn’t focused and burned me for
a lot of money.” As Dan spoke, he was reminiscent of an abusive ex of mine,
everyone always screwing him over and playing the victim. That’s when a red
light went off, but I told myself to stop being so paranoid before I got more
information. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who else have you represented? Have they been on TV shows?
Are they touring?” Maybe I could get some names of some clients to cross check
him. Any agent or manager worth their weight could answer that, and it was a
fair question. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead, I was greeted by the very curt, “I have worked in
all facets of the industry and know what I am doing and let me tell you I don’t
choose to work with just anyone.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The non-answer was answer enough, but I pressed a little
harder, “Who are your clients exactly?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dan said, “Just so you know I am a good Christian and a
soldier of God. If this doesn’t work out we can be friends. Remember that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shocked by his evasive replies I decided to change the topic
to our DM, “My press coverage is outside the United States and I want to tour.
I need management that can make that happen. Are you my guy? In our DM you said
that could be discussed.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I already had a feeling the answer was no, so I waited for
Dan to respond, “Let me be honest, anyone telling you that you are good enough
to tour just wants to sleep with you. And let me tell you what people say
behind your back. They say I am wasting my time by making this phone call. That
you are a terrible ventriloquist, an even worse puppeteer, and a horrendous
comedian. Right now, you are on the road to no where, but I am the man who can
change that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You are a man who can’t even name his clients,” I said,
shocked by this change of tone. All I had done was press him for his
credentials and he had turned on me. My instincts were right. This man was an
abuser, he was luring me in and it was already starting. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well if you decide to become one of my clients, which would
be smart because I am a genius, I can’t have the head of the cruise ship
calling and saying your lips move. My reputation is already on the line making
this call.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This needed to end and now. I was a fool for letting it go
on this long and I would be a bigger fool for letting this continue. The only
way Dan was getting near my career was if I had a taser and a restraining
order, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Cruise ships aren’t the place
for me. I get sea sick. I don’t think you are the person to help me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought I was being nice by ending what was clearly becoming
toxic, but just as Dan was incensed I questioned his credentials he became more
incensed when I rejected him outright, “You know, you think you are famous, but
you are like Sonny Bono. Everyone made fun of him. He was the butt of all the
jokes. You know what happened, he became a Congressman. FACE IT, YOU NEED ME!
YOU NEED ME! STOP FIGHTING GOD AND DESTINY!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If now was not a time to abort mission I didn’t know what
was, “Listen dumb ass, Sonny Bono wrote those routines. He wrote the songs.
Congressman is a great job. I need you like I need a positive PAP Smear. Fuck
off Felicia.” CLICK. While it was disappointing to still be my sole advocate, I
was also relieved I didn’t let Dan near me because he would have only ruined me.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dan wasn’t done. He sent me a DM that read, “You are a lousy
ventriloquist, terrible comedian, and a wench. No wonder your ex hit you, you
deserve it.” Note, this was in reference to a post I did advocating against
domestic violence where I shared a candid post about abuse I suffered at the
hands of a former partner. The message didn’t upset me, if anything it was an
indicator my instincts had been correct and I had done the right thing. Of
course Dan blocked me so I couldn’t reply back, because that’s what Jesus would
do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three months after The Dan Smith Disaster, my waiting paid
off. I ended up scoring a manager who is not only knowledgeable about the
variety arts, but has gotten me to work at a much higher level than I ever
dreamed possible. While I didn’t end up touring Europe, under his guidance I
put together a Vegas show, which is a building block towards a European tour.
April Unwrapped is on hiatus because of COVID-19, but I remain hopeful about
the future. In case you are wondering, my current manager is not a Christian
but a spiritual agnostic. Not only is he a better mentor than Dan Smith, but he’s
a better person as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My issue with Dan was never the feedback, I feel we can all
benefit from constructive criticism. It was his abusive streak when questioned.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. About a year after the
fated encounter, I heard through the grapevine that he was to be avoided in the
vent community and was being sued by a former client who was also pursuing a
restraining order. Dan apparently blamed the lawsuit on Satan, Barack Obama, and
COVID-19. Dan missed his chance to represent me as I was never a terrible
comedian and ventriloquist. I’m mediocre. Get it right. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-43693534184895555642020-03-17T13:16:00.000-07:002020-03-18T13:24:02.876-07:00Miss Google<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was about the 4<sup>th</sup> or 5<sup>th</sup> time I
was ever onstage, and it was in one of those dank basements that smelled of
mildew, and the nights I spent there and in other establishments like it
probably made me immune to coronavirus. There was a young woman crouched in the
dark corner of the back of the room where the comics hung out. The show had not
started yet, and I had met everyone else but her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had brown hair that was so greasy it could have been
dipped in a vat of olive oil, and was twisted in an uneven something or other
that made it look like she went to the Helen Keller salon. Her face had minimal
makeup, and while the lip gloss was okay coverup would have helped hide the
patch of stress acne. While of average build, she wore a potato sack that masqueraded
as a dress, an outfit that would have flattered no body shape. The expression on
her face was one of a person tricked into swallowing an entire patch of Sour
Patch kids. Despite the fact she looked crazy and my gut told me to run like I
saw Godzilla, I went over and said hello. I said, “Hi, I’m April.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first what seemed like a minute passed, I didn’t know if
she heard me or was ignoring me. When she finally did look up she rolled her
eyes as if she merely tolerating my presence, “Where did you go to college?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first this didn’t strike me as an odd question, as maybe
she was in Cinema Studies or some other department I didn’t interact with as
much. Or maybe she had been a graduate teaching assistant in one of the lecture
classes I attended, and this was her big trip out of the library, “NYU. Do I know
you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No. I went to Barnard. But I suppose NYU is almost good
enough.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This person with substandard hygiene who looked like she stole
her outfit from an Idaho potato field was letting me know I was almost good
enough. So I just said, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And your name
is?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Cara Seymour. I am an expert on complicated things someone
like you would have to Google.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nice to meet you,” I said before just walking away. Shaking
my head I felt angry. Sure, I was educated but I would never dream of talking to
someone the way she did to me. I also wanted to tell Cara Seymour that while
Barnard was a wonderful school and while it was across the street from
Columbia, they were not Columbia, her shit still stank. The rest of the lineup
seemed tethered to the Earth in a meaningful way, so at least that was a relief.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The show began, and the kid emceeing was a dorky would be
Seinfeld who’s claim to fame was being passed for late night at The Comic Strip.
The next was a angry white kid who ranted about his ex girlfriend who nearly
made me pee my pants. After him was a really funny black woman. Then after her
was a middle aged white divorcee dude talking about dating again, and he too
was funny. Then came Cara. The host introduced her as having been on MTV and
Comedy Central, so while she was a complete canker sore my hopes were high. She
began, “Hi, I just want everyone here to know I graduated from Barnard and I am
smarter than every other comic you have seen tonight and am probably smarter
than you. If you don’t know my references, Google it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The crowd gave her that light laugh, a mix between nervous
and pity. I hoped what we were seeing was Andy Kaufman inspired performance,
and this was all just an eccentric overcommitted to her craft. Cara then began
to talk about War and Peace. The pity laughs quickly vanished and turned into
uncomfortable silence. This had turned into a pathetic PhD thesis defense, and the
free comedy show these people were lured into had morphed into a priceless shit
show. Five people, unable to stomach the comparison to the Cherry Orchard, left.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The comics in the back were biting their tongues as not to
laugh at this car wreck for all the wrong reasons. The emcee said, “Wow, what
the fuck is that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The angry white dude said, “I don’t know, but shoot her and
put her out of her misery.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The black woman said, “I was a literature professor. I
taught War and Peace and the Cherry Orchard. She’s not even close. Let her
live. It’s a bigger punishment to have someone wander this world an idiot.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The divorced dude said, “She reminds me of my ex wife that
tried to stab me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, the emcee decided to take action and after five
grueling minutes ended the bloody torture that was happening in front of us.
From there it was the Herculean task of trying to revive a room that had the
energy sucked out of it. Then my name was called. The rest of the comedians
gave me a look of sympathy for having to follow that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Going up with May Wilson, my longtime ventriloquist companion
on my arm I began, “We’re a ventriloquist act.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May said, “If you don’t know what that is, Google it.” The
crowd let out a huge laugh, and the comics in the back nearly fell over. In
retrospect, it probably wasn’t that funny but there was so much bizarre tension
in the room everyone needed relief. While the whole room laughed for what felt
like an entire minute, the one who found no humor in this was Cara, who scowled
and stormed out of the room, loudly slamming the door. From there, the rest of my
set was a rung above horrible as I was still very green, but May Wilson will
tell you how amazing she was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As everyone left for the night Cara stood outside pouting,
saving the biggest snarl of the evening for me as I passed. It wasn’t just a
snarl, it was something akin to Cerberus but alas, even Cerberus was more
likeable than she was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I was thinking of this story, I decided to look Cara up
on facebook. Apparently she is no longer doing comedy, which is an act of God.
Instead, she is now a counselor for troubled youth and is actually quite
successful. I can only imagine her approach. Her teen clients walk in and see
her with her unwashed hair and potato sack dress and she starts to talk about
War and Peace and they run out screaming, “Yes! Not only am I cured of my Daddy
issues, but you have showed me life can truly be worse!”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-9079295838673220932020-03-16T17:19:00.000-07:002020-03-16T17:19:19.835-07:00May Wilson Tells You To Wash Your Hands<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-16720809513870606712020-03-15T19:03:00.000-07:002020-03-15T19:42:46.419-07:00My Corona<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coronavirus. She is on your TV new station. It’s all everyone
is talking about. The coronavirus is closing this, that is cancelled, life is
cancelled, even the coronavirus conference is cancelled. Coronavirus is getting
some serious press. Climate Change called, “Bitch, who’s your publicist?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not a fan of Miss Corona at the moment. April Unwrapped, my
one woman show, previewed in Las Vegas last month. I had worked my entire life
for this and we were getting ready to open my regular run for my residency and
BAM! Coronavirus hit and everything has been postponed indefinitely. This is a
surreal kick in the heart to say the least, as my line of work is filled with
hustle and rejection even when doomsday is not looming upon us. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More than anything, this has been irking me as a long time
HIV/AIDS activist. As someone who has many friends in the long term survivor
community, I appreciate the stress and fear surrounding Miss Corona. However, I
would be remiss if I didn’t mention more people were dead within the first month
of AIDS, and it took the CDC THREE YEARS to assemble a task force. It was only
after activists who came before me took radical action. Or as Mark S. King of My
Fabulous Disease explained, that it was convenient to ignore HIV/AIDS because “the
right people” were dying, meaning LGBTQ, addicts, and POC. Unfortunately, only
something becomes a crisis when it hits the straight, white, cis community. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While the privilege of the dominant culture and double
standard around who matters have reduced me to screaming matches with people, I
also do not believe anyone regardless of who they are should perish by coronavirus.
I have been raging against the like of Katie Jo Williams aka Corona Katie who
believe coronavirus is manufactured myth not to get Trump re-elected, or as she
said on Twitter, “I am going to get a burger at Red Robin because I am an
American and that is what I do.” So as an American you do not care about the
immunosuppressed like long term HIV survivors who consider flu season hell,
people with COPD, cancer patients going through chemo, children with asthma and
others at risk? Look, I know it sucks but we have to do what is necessary until
this is under control.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is most disheartening is not only the selfish panic
buying but racism I am seeing against Asian in the form of tweets, memes, and rhetoric.
There is a story circulating that a guy ate a bat and BAM, we have coronavirus.
(Okay, maybe coronavirus’s publicist needs a new spin on this). This is reminiscent
of the racist myth during AIDS that some African in the forest had sex with a
money and BAM, we have AIDS. (I hope AIDS fired her publicist after that one).
Crappy jokes aside to lighten the mood, as an activist I find this ignorance
disgusting, but a waste of valuable time and energy that could be used not only
to educate others about transmission about coronavirus, but how to prevent that
transmission not only to themselves but to others around them, especially the
most vulnerable. Add in the disregard for science by our president and vice
president and wow, I am like a drag queen who just lost the pageant on a technicality.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I was marinating in my resentment that the world sucked
and we were all gonna die last week, I was involved in a minor car accident when
my car was struck by a vogue taxi cab. After seeing my life flash before my
eyes, dealing with the drama that comes with an accident and Metro PD, I was
star trekking in the Twilight Zone. When I got home and saw the coronavirus
coverage on TV I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t do it. Yeah Miss Corona might get
me, but that rogue taxi cab did a much better job of nearly getting me. Bye
Felicia.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since that time I have been focusing on myself, but most
importantly self-care. Like Shakespeare did when the theatres closed during the
plague, I have been writing more prose, and perhaps I will take a stab at a
sonnet. I have been practicing more with my puppets, perfecting our routines so
we are not just ready for the opening whenever it comes, but sharper than ever
when things get back to normal. I am going outside, enjoying the sunshine, and
enjoying the dogs. In a few weeks, it will be warm enough here to plant
tomatoes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A quote from another long time AIDS activist friend comes to
mind, “Pace yourself.” My rage is okay and well placed, but right now, I just
got to do me. I see a bath bomb in my near future. When things get back to normal,
I want to call Miss Corona, “Bitch, I’m opening in Vegas. Who’s your publicist?”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-76209624761701030512020-03-13T13:20:00.000-07:002020-03-13T13:20:43.608-07:00Ghosted<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Isaac Rabinowitz had just broken my heart again. Enter
Preston Hutchinson, the angry, white, chain smoking import from Dallas, Texas.
Before moving to New York, Preston had toured Texas and even opened for Ralphie
May. This meant he was a big deal in Texas, but like every other transplant hoping
to make it in a big market he was relegated to the role of open micer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Preston’s comedy was raw, edgy, and funny, easily eclipsing
the competition, even the so called “pro” comedians with TV credits. To add to
his appeal he was very good looking in that bad decision kind of way. The
thought of talking to him produced sweat under my arm pits and butterflies in my
stomach, so I just avoided it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After about a month of playing the role of bashful schoolgirl,
I found myself flyering for stage time with him at a watering hole that’s now
closed. Preston was getting grief from Will, the producer, about his drinking.
When we joined me on my corner I finally got the guts to introduce myself, hoping
I wouldn’t puke on his shoes. Although it might not seem the case now, in those
days I was extraordinarily shy. As I struggled to even say my name Preston
stopped me, “You’re that girl with the Bride of Chuckie Doll!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May Wilson thought this was just as funny as I did in case you
are wondering. I laughed and said a ton of stupid things as Preston did make me
weak in the knees. Then the show began, and I worried I blew it because I talk
too much when nervous. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When May Wilson and I went up, we were marginal at best as
most barker comics are. May will say she killed, I know we were substandard.
Note, she will blame it on me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Preston went up two comics after me, and killed it right
away. Part way through his set he said, “Okay, Bride of Chuckie, I see you.
Come and get me with your devil doll!” He then pointed back at me, leapt
offstage, and then began to chase me around the room. I had no idea why this
was happening, but I was having fun and the audience was dying with laughter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the show, Preston and I shared a cigarette as the late
March night surrounded us, trying to warm up while still seeing our breath.
Preston let me share his glove as I took a puff from his menthol pack. We talked
about comedy, punchlines, and what a dick Will the producer was. When 1 AM hit,
he walked me to the train and kissed me goodnight. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the train brought me home, I dreamed nasty dreams where
Preston and I had lots of wild monkey sex. Waking up, I had a serious case of
the giggles. Just as I was about to walk on air, I saw Isaac Rabinowitz had
texted me. Curses, could he sense I was happy? The text read, “Sorry about last
week. I made a mistake and miss you. Can I have another chance?” DELETE. Sorry
cowboy, there’s a new romantic obsession in town. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day, Preston and I crossed paths again in the same
dingy watering hole for another show. He motioned for me to join him in the
back of the room. Splitting a glass of Jack Daniels straight, we shot the breeze.
Preston lamented that he was tired from working so much. When I asked where he
worked he said he was a waiter at LaGuardia. I said, “Oh,” as I had never met
anyone who worked as a waiter at the airport. I didn’t think anything about the
response as the liquor was starting to hit my system. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Preston apparently viewed my response as an affront because
he said, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What, am I not good enough for
you?” Shocked by his reaction, I quickly apologized puzzled as to what the hell
had just happened. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All was quickly forgotten as we ordered another glass of
whiskey and Preston chased it with a beer. After my substandard set, Preston
was very encouraging, telling me I had the goods to go all the way. This was flattering
as he is still one of the funniest people I have ever shared a stage with. It
was nice to meet a guy who wasn’t threatened by my drive. After our second
drink and shared cigarette, we went back to my place to hook up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the train ride back to my place Preston said, “I want to
dress you up in a clown suit and kiss you all night long.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laughed, but Preston again didn’t find this funny. He
said, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I share my feelings and this is
how you treat me!” He was near tears. Quickly I apologized again, puzzled as to
what I had done. I shook it off, no one was perfect, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What happened between the sheets was hot. Then again,
mentally unstable people are always top notch in that department. Laying around
afterwards, Preston and I talked about people we had dated. While I didn’t want
to talk about what wasn’t even a comparison, I mentioned Isaac. Preston told me
his ex, who was ten years older than he was, pushed him to quit comedy and get
married. When I called her a crazy bitch, Preston said, “Not really. We were
living together and she was paying my bills.” I went to laugh hoping this was a
joke, but Preston gave me the look, he was telling the truth. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only thing to do after sweating it up in bed is to get
some food. While we ate greasy diner food, Preston dropped the ultimate truth
bomb, “Do you ever get a rush off of stealing something small, like a pack of
gum?” That is when he told me he had not one but two shoplifting arrests, and
gave me a small trinket he had stolen from a store in the airport. In law enforcement
they call these clues, and Preston had been dropping them. Something told me to
run out of there as I had just been given stolen property as a gift, but I was
still stuck by being hit with his loser love wand that I stayed put. (Yes, they
wanted to charge me as an adult). My spider senses told me not to accept the trinket
and when I refused it, he told me he didn’t take it personally and wanted to buy
me something nice when he had the money. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After he left, Preston kissed me goodbye and promised to
call me but never did. At first I assumed he was busy and didn’t want to be “that
girl.” A week later I saw him flyering, and when I tried to talk to him he was
short, cold, and avoided me. When I saw him he was in the back of the room
sharing a glass of whiskey with a rachet would be female comedian who had no
punchlines but swore for shock.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The subway ride home was spent crying. One week before
Preston had made me feel hot, now he made me feel cheap, dirty and used. What
did I do? Was it not accepting the stolen trinket? It was stolen property for
Godssakes! Was the rachet girl the one he wanted all along? Was I not pretty
enough? Was he still in love with the woman who paid his rent? Granted, I knew
I had dodged a firing squad but the heart wants what the heart wants. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Days later I made the decision to stop flyering with said
show. Will, the producer, called me to give me inane notes and acted like it
was some sacred duty to flyer for his shitty bar show. Plus I was visiting my
family for two weeks and wouldn’t be around anyway. Then there was a move and a
new job where I would no longer be available. While Preston wasn’t a factor in
the decision, not seeing him would be a relief. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I got back from the visit to my parents and was making
my way through the airport, I saw Preston working at his waitering job. I
waved, he ignored me. It hurt, but it was also a lesson that if I kept
expecting him to act like a human he was only going to keep hurting me. I didn’t
want to know why he did what he did and I no longer cared because figuring out
someone who makes no sense was a waste of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>time. That’s when I filed him under, “Jack Daniels: This Was All Your
Fault.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course Isaac texted me again wanting another chance, and
I jumped right from the fire back into frying pan because I had to get burned one
last time. After one last humiliation from Isaac, I found myself doing another
shitty show in the same venue. Outside I heard Preston’s voice and felt as if the
universe was mindfucking me again. It was getting late and I needed to get
home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sneaking out, I tried to skulk past Preston when he said, “Bride
of Chuckie, how have you been?” Before I could keep it short and exit he gave
me a huge bear hug as if he hadn’t been a complete asshole and dogged me the
way he did. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was polite, telling him I was fine. That’s when he said, “You
know, I had a great time with you. I want to hang out again, do you still have
my number?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, we should totally hang out,” I said crossing my fingers
behind my back, fighting off every nerve to tell him he was a useless fuckwad
and loser. Part of me wanted to tell him to get tested for amnesia, but I
marveled at the this straight, white, cis male who thought I should just fall
to the ground and worship him. After giving him another hug, one which I wanted
to strangle him really, I walked into the night. Before I got on the train I
got my phone out and deleted his number. Maybe you ghosted me, but I am about
to disappear yo ass! BAM!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Days later, I met Sean, the shitshow who would become my
former fiancé, giving me 5 good standup minutes and a viral headline. While I
lost track of Preston, I found out he was banned from the watering hole for his
drinking problem and got fired from his job at LaGuardia for stealing. He moved
with friends to LA to try to do comedy, but the drinking problem morphed into a
drug problem, getting him kicked out of his apartment and living on Skid Row. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ultimately, it was the same old girlfriend who put the burn on
him to get married that ended up being his savior, driving to LA not only to
rescue him but put him in rehab. She took him back to Texas where he got clean,
they got married, and now have a 6 year old. Preston no longer does comedy,
works at a car lot his wife’s brother owns, and his chain smoking angry white
boy bod has been replaced by an out of shape dad bod. All that could have been
mine. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t hate Preston, but rather I pity him. To this day I
will admit he is probably still a better comedian than I will ever be, but
through bad decisions, addiction and self-defeat he squandered his gift and the
opportunities he could have had. I truly hope he has found peace and happiness
in his new life and is holding his demons at bay. While it hurt at the time, Preston
did me a favor. If he stuck around, he would have only ruined my life. Getting
ghosted sucks, but trust me, it’s always for the best. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-5697664436411335602020-03-10T14:20:00.001-07:002020-03-12T14:47:12.704-07:00Desert Rat's Lament<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My tip to Laughlin is reminiscent of the landscape of an old
Western film. As I see the Joshua trees, cactus, mountains and arid terrain, I am
reminded of my Pop Pop-my mother’s father-who loved cowboy movies. He watched
them religiously because they had a moral, the good guys always won, and there
was no nudity or bad language. There is a part of me that half expects Clint
Eastwood or John Wayne or Will Rogers to ride into frame after some stagecoach robber,
bank robber, horse thief or other bad guy. Just as I am picturing the gun fight
in my mind, I hear the director say, “………..And CUT!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While there is no Clint Eastwood or John Wayne in Laughlin
let alone a Will Rogers, the place is trapped in time. It is a miniature version
of the Las Vegas Strip, half the size and with the old kitsch parts of old
Fremont Street still have. Sure, there is even a chapel if you want to elope,
avoid a shot gun wedding, or do a Britney Spears 2005. Here, the clientele is
not young and hip, but older. Note, you don’t need to go to a museum to see
fossils, you can just go into any of the casinos here. Charley Pride is on a
billboard. I don’t know who that is but they apparently do. However, I can do
one thing the fossils can’t, Google.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I get into Googling Charley Pride I should say I barley
avoided an accidental twitter war with Clint Eastwood. It was a retweet gone
wrong where Mr. Eastwood tweeted at me and let me tell you Dirty Harry wasn’t happy.
When challenged I backed down because you never bring a retweet to a fight with
a cowboy, and I replied, “Mr. Eastwood, it is an honor and a privilege to get
into a twitter war with you.” Clint Eastwood liked and retweeted. Does this
useless story that helps no one get me a bigger billboard than Charley Pride?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The casino goers who aren’t fossils are wearing mullets,
proving they are just reading a magazine entitled Rust Belt Hair Styles From The
Late 80s, Early 90s. Growing up in the Rust Belt during that time I saw my
share of mullets from out and about at the Giant Eagle and Toot ‘n’ Scoot to
more formal locations like church and PTA meetings. To match this multi-purpose
hairstyle, the mullet wearing casino patrons had the rather predictable American
Flag t-shirts, Stars and Bars t-shirts, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Harley Davidson t-shirts, and NRA t-shirts. One
mullet wearing gent even had a t-shirt with the caption, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fuck your feelings snowflakes.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Translated, this is Trump country and I am probably the only
Democrat who dared set foot in this slot parlor. As the dim lights, cigarette
smoke, and smell of old whiskey set the scene, I can see the guy, probably in
the Stars and Bars t-shirt bellowing, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Shut
up! No Blondie, we werent talking to you! We were talking to your Commie
Puppet!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s when a lone cowboy boot would kick the door down and
a fast hand would take a pistol out and begin to twirl it. The room would stop and
I would look up, and standing there to challenge me would be Clint Eastwood. Looking
me dead in the eye, he would say“Are you feeling lucky, Ventriloquist Punk?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Note to viewer, the Gaming Commission nixed that scene. So
now let’s get on with the narrative, you know the one where I win money. No
more time for politics, there are slots to play. DING! The satisfaction of the
numbers going up. DING! DING! DING! WINNING! WINNING! WINNING!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
DING! The numbers go down. DING! They go down again. DING!
DING! DING! Now I am in a death spiral. LOSER! Glaring at the slot machine I say,
“I hate you!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking over at me are the fossils, the mullets with the
American Flag t-shirts, the Stars and Bars, the Harley Davidson t-shirts, and
the NRA t-shirts. Their look is not one of condemnation but rather one of
sympathy and understanding. We are all in the same win/loss cycle with these
machines. At this moment, politics aside, we are all losers. The machines taunt,
“Fuck your feelings snowflakes!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This picture was supposed to be a Western, and the talking
machines are more a surrealist twist and production is not sure how they feel
about it. Translated, time for some fresh air. Looking over the horizon of the
River Walk, the sun sets behind the mountains overlooking the Colorado River,
flowing wild and free as the history and people who made this region. I am now
a desert rat, the lawless landscape (okay they have some laws) around me my playground
and the sound of slot machines my lullaby. As my monologue concludes either Will
Rogers, John Wayne, or Clint Eastwood ride into that same sunset to end the
final scene. That’s when the director yells, “…….AND CUT! OKAY, THAT’S A WRAP
FOR APRIL’S OVERACTIVE IMAGINATION!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-83276844751115753262020-03-06T16:01:00.000-08:002020-03-09T18:28:11.250-07:00Getting Married In The Morning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Several years ago I was in a push, pull with a
self-proclaimed “nice Jewish boy from Bay Shore” who dubbed himself “Isaac The
Incredible: International Playboy of Mystery.” Isaac wanted the benefits of
being my boyfriend without having to listen to me cry at 2 AM on the phone or
kill a spider. The long and the short was, he wanted a booty call. At first I
did the dumb girl thing of eating the love crumbs hoping he would change his
mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Needless to say, I showed up at his house drunk, professed
my undying love and puked on his floor like a true woman of grace and dignity.
Despite my state, I had the sobering moment Isaac wasn’t worth it and the next
day gave him what he deserved, a breakup via text. Isaac never got over being
dumped in what he described as a “cold” fashion. He cried all night on his
teddy bear that he secretly still slept with (yes) and whined to his mother who
called him at 1 AM every night just to kvetch. Normally, Mrs. Rabinowitz was
the bane of her son’s existence, but in this case he drove her off the phone.
(Note, as I write this I acknowledge my extensive puppet collection and my own eccentric
overbearing mother). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As things were winding down with Isaac and I was finding new
and better looking bad decisions, I made a new friend named Sharon Northwood. Originally
from Dallas, Sharon had come from old oil money. She went to boarding school in
Europe and some top notch liberal arts school where she did cocaine on the
weekends. After one night of partying landed her in the hospital, Sharon’s
family bought her an apartment on 5<sup>th</sup> Avenue, doorman and all. She
also wanted to reinvent herself as a standup comedian and actor, but really had
aptitude at neither. Sharon’s hair was either black, blonde or red depending on
her psych med and she defended her too expensive taste in clothing by saying
she had “a passion for fashion.” Despite all that, she seemed like a nice person
and was a ready drinking buddy so we hit it off, swilling booze after either
bad open mics or even shittier bar shows. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About two months after it was over for good with Isaac,
Sharon started seeing him. She knew my rather complicated history with him, and
asked my permission. I wished her luck, he was her problem now. Right away,
Sharon’s struggles with Isaac were nearly identical to mine, mind games and
all. Isaac and his modest sexual prowess became a running joke between us. Sharon
admitted Isaac had become too much and she wanted to break it off for real. In
a crowded swanky Upper East Side Bar, drunk off her umpteenth Cosmo, Sharon
proclaimed, “I AM DONE WITH ISAAC RABINOWITZ AND HIS ERASER DICK!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After that night, I didn’t hear from her again. I didn’t think
much of it as I had just moved, was starting a new job, and was starting to hit
the road on most available nights and weekends to do comedy. After a few months
I texted her to see if she wanted to catch up. Sharon always juggled guys. I
was curious to see who replaced Isaac. Radio silence. I saw her walking Toby,
her lap dog, around the neighborhood. Barely a hi. What had I done? Was she mad
at me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just for the heck of it I went to her social media page. In
the three months I hadn’t spoken to her not only had she moved in with Isaac,
but the two had gotten engaged. Isaac certainly had an eraser dick, because he
certainly erased a lot out of her mind. Now I understood why she had cut me
out. I was the inconvenient piece of ass that had come before her. If she
wanted to play that dirty the bodies would be hitting the floor because Isaac
was not only a giant man child but an even bigger man whore. (His social media
handle was lovemachine). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To capture the engagement, Isaac had hired a photographer.
He had proposed to Sharon on his knee outside of Tiffany’s. Under the photo Sharon
put the caption, “S + I = Forever.” However, it hurt. Not because I was
mourning the loss of Isaac, but because I felt a friend had betrayed me. She hadn’t
wanted Isaac but when she got him for real, Sharon was willing to kick someone
who was a good friend to the curb for a walking dildo. It was official. Those
two deserved each other. Bye Felicias. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fast forward, a year later I was enjoying a quiet rainy
Sunday in my pajamas, those two imbeciles the farthest thing from my mind. It
had been a long week of singing telegrams and shows, and I decided to spend the
day in bed as I was feeling really drained when I heard my DM ding. It was
Isaac. Something said answering this was akin to Indiana Jones and the Nazis
looking at the Holy Grail, but I was bored and will admit curious as it had
been sometime, “Hey, what you up to?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Chilling, you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m about to get married in a few minutes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Congrats. That’s great!” I really meant it, and might I add
that it would be even more great if he would go away because this was just
getting awkward. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know I still
care about you, April.” When I said Indiana Jones, Holy Grail, now my skin was
about to melt and my eyes were about to pop out of my head. So I just said absolutely
nothing hoping Isaac would take a hint. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Isaac being Isaac of course didn’t get the hint, “I know I
am marrying Sharon, but there is a part of me that wishes it was you today,
April.” If these words were supposed to make me storm the chapel a la Dustin
Hoffman in The Graduate, they surely failed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I think you are doing the right thing marrying Sharon. She
is perfect for you. BYE!” I logged off. If it was possible, Isaac had made
himself an even bigger dufus than I could have ever thought. Fortunately I wasn’t
the one waiting at the alter for him, Sharon was. This clusterfuck in a cummerbund
was her problem. I rewarded myself by watching a Snapped marathon. After all, I
made sure two soulmates got married. I deserved something nice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A kind of friend Juliana, a would be actress, attended the
wedding. She messaged me the next day saying Isaac had left the messenger
window open on his computer in The Honeymoon Suite and Sharon had discovered our
conversation. According to Juliana, Sharon had a meltdown and ran out of the
hotel screaming. To get her to return, Isaac promised never to speak to me
again. I was glad it worked out. S + I= Forever, and who am I to deny the math
of true love? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Update on S + I = Forever. They moved to Texas be closer to
her family and they now have 2 kids. Recently, another old friend went to visit
and posted a photo where Isaac looked like he was beaten down and defeated and
Sharon looked like she was ready to buy a life insurance policy and make it
look like an accident. It gave me hope for my future. No, not the love part
dorks, but that these two will pop up on an episode of Snapped. I can say I
knew them when. How else can I get people to my blog, duh!<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-36207395501742056532020-03-02T12:04:00.000-08:002020-03-02T18:15:39.676-08:00Live From Las Vegas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I live in Las Vegas now, which makes me a Las Vegan even
though I am hardly a vegan as I had bacon earlier at the buffet. For over ten
years, I was a New Yorker. My colon and my mouth were as dirty as the subways I
rode. I would call the subway quick and dirty, but when the trains are being rerouted
it’s slow and dirty. The thing about New York that most people don’t understand
is millions of different people from different backgrounds are crammed so
closely together it’s a miracle folks don’t flip their shit and kill each other.
In the summer when it’s sweltering, it’s not just a mere miracle but rather an
act of God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being a Las Vegan, I now take a car. No, I don’t drive.
Hell, I don’t even have a license because ten years in New York I didn’t need
one. Instead I am the mooch who gets rides from other people. I’ll do them a
favor in exchange for the ride. The thought of learning how to drive is scary and
exciting. I haven’t been behind a wheel in a minute, but New York has made me
testy. Someone cuts me off and I just go on a blue streak. People out here don’t
swear as much as New Yorkers though. Maybe they will have a bleep button handy.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am used to the subway. When it’s crowded there is the
downside of the germs of strangers all over you. Upside, when it is cold those
same germs and halitosis keep you warm. In New York there is constant
entertainment on the subway, from folks practicing their craft to homeless
people with a creative hustle to get a dollar. We have street performers in
Vegas, but the homeless out here aren’t nearly as creative. Not knocking
someone’s right to exist but the homeless in New York work on those pitches and
they know how to deliver. If I had my druthers, I would bring some of them into
a network meeting with me to sell my ideas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The subway is also a good place to reset. I have cried on
many a New York City subway after a bad audition, bad set, and bad breakup and
I have had more of all three than I want to admit. Most people leave you to cry
alone anonymously with the circus inside your head. Every once in a while
someone says, “I know you are having a bad day and I hope it gets better.” That
moment of kindness makes you realize your misery is temporary and mostly
self-brought, and if you stop being such an idiot it will get better.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back in the day when I lived downtown I would jog across the
Brooklyn Bridge and the subway would rumble next to me. The Throwback at Noon on
Hot 97 blaring out my ears. My feet would hit the pavement and the angst would
leave my system. Angst that I would never be a good ventriloquist comedian,
angst that people would always laugh at me and shut the door in my face, angst
that I couldn’t conquer New York or do this adult thing for real, angst over
some moron I had the hots for. Yes, and they wanted to charge me as an adult.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The subway next to me always brought me back to reality, the
reality that the bridge could collapse and I would die upon hitting the East
River. Neuroses aside, it made me take a breath. It made write notebooks filled
with bad jokes after my run. It made me shower and hit an open mic where I
often bombed, but kept getting up to eventually craft a routine and my hard
work started to shut a lot of idiots up. I channeled some of my angst into an
online blog on a now defunct site for comedians where I overshared and
sometimes lacked humility but was never without brutal candor when it came to
myself. People read it and complimented my writing. They also let me know the
adult thing is overwhelming forever and it is. You just learn not to take it
personally. As for the morons I thought I had the hots for, all were bullets I
dodged that were dumb enough to marry women who make them miserable. Hey, we
all get what we deserve. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now here I am in a new city with new challenges. So far
there is no place I have found where I can cry anonymously. Sure, there is no
one on the sidewalk and that dream can become a reality, but then there’s
sunshine and scenery and so much for the anonymous cry. Then I can’t anonymous
cry at my house because I live with four other people. Sure, I could shut a
door but then two dogs come and sit by me, forcing me to pet them and then give
me doggy kisses filled with love. Then I realize it’s useless to anonymous cry
because I am feeling a sensation I don’t think I ever felt in New York City……..happiness.
So then I decide to scrap the anonymous crying and focus on the future that
feels as bright and warm as the sunshine surrounding me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have gained 6 pounds since moving here, the buffet and
bacon not helping. However, I feel better than I have probably ever. I had fun
debuting my new one woman show, April Unwrapped, and am ready for more
adventures. Driving is scary but it might also be fun. It will be a new way to
see the world and if this happy thing wears off and I need an anonymous cry,
the car might be a good place to do it. But as I mentioned this happy thing might
stick. I did a show last night and no curse words. Maybe both happy and Las
Vegas are going to stick. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Regardless, the sun is out for a short time and two doggies
wanna play. While I’ve had fun talking to you, I gotta go play with my four
legged friends and be HAPPY. No anonymous crying today. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4732519782772176443.post-49733223068895816722019-11-29T19:16:00.001-08:002019-12-03T05:52:20.018-08:00Teenage Dream (Katy Perry)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was the year 1998. More than
anything I wanted to be a champion diver that made it to the Olympics. This was
one dream that wasn’t going to come true. It wasn’t a matter of wishing upon a
star, because no matter how hard I wished I still sucked. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A gymnastics injury had put this
bizarre dumb ass teenage dream into my head. I had actually been a decent
gymnast so I thought that meant I was going to be a great diver. My mom thought
so too which is why I found my way to the Steel City Aquatic Club. My mom would
gush with pride, “My April is learning to be a platform diver!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then I would belly flop on cue
disappointing her. My mom, always my biggest fan, continued to edit the truth
in my favor. I am not exaggerating my suckage as I have witnesses that will testify
to it on a Bible in a court of law. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One girl who was a good diver as
well as everything wrong in the world was Jennika Paker. Granted Jennika was
never mean to me. Then again, being mean would constitute thinking that person
was worth the effort and I didn’t even make that cut. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Jennika was everything I wasn’t. Aside
from being a good diver, she was sleek and looked like Barbie. Her face didn’t suffer
the scarring cystic acne mine did and her perfect white teeth werent cursed
with braces complete with rubber bands. I struggled with my weight and Jennika
seemed to keep that off effortlessly as well. In contrast to the tiny compact
beings who call themselves divers, Jennika stood five eight and looked like a
beautiful ethereal being every time she left the board. Whenever she landed in
the aqua colored water, everyone would stop and stare. There was always a young
lad that would offer to get her a towel. It was like something out of
Caddyshack. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Adding to the Caddyshack reference,
Jennika’s family was super loaded and belonged to the local country club where
Jennika golfed when she wasn’t training at the pool. When she wasn’t golfing, Jennika
was appearing on the brochure for the Steel City Aquatic Club looking perfect
as ever. Her looks caught the attention of a local sporting goods store owner
who not only had Jennika model in a fashion show but model on a poster for a
swim suit line as well. Seeing her every time I walked in made me wish she
would get to close to the board, hit her head, have her brains splay everywhere
and die. What wasn’t there to hate about this bitch really?<o:p></o:p></div>
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When dirty old men saw the poster they
probably dreamed of doing so nasty they would end up on an online registry and not care. When teenage boys saw the poster they probably had wet dreams where
she was diving naked into their pool. Women and girls secretly wanted to be
her, but she made me gag. My mom saw me wince when we walked in to buy me
another bathing suit. She said, “Don’t worry about her. This won’t age well.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“How do you know, she’s perfect.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yeah, but I’ve seen her mom. The
sand is going to the bottom of the hour glass once she turns 30.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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My mom was trying to make me feel
better-God bless her. But the Jennika Pakers of the world just made my blood
boil. I was a shitty diver, a good student in some subjects, and gained weight
when I looked at a cookie. Jennika was a great diver, bragged that Yale was
recruiting her, and ate a Twix regularly at practice. I was only 13 and she was
16, thirty was an eternity. So if this was even true there was an eternity of
pain and suffering to go. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I tried to dump my resentment
towards Jennika, I really did. However, it lasted a short while before I overheard
Jennika talking to Kelly, another diver we knew. Kelly was always neck and neck
with Jennika for best in show. Jennika said, “I’m being recruited by Yale, and
it seems like a lock because both of my parents went there.” (Of course they
did you elitist bitch).<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Really, I’m being recruited by
Notre Dame. Working on getting my SATs up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Notre Dame approached me but my
parents didn’t think it was a good enough school.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kelly said nothing. Instead, she
went back to the diving board and threw an insanely difficult dive better than
Jennika. In response Jennika got up and did the same dive but not as good but
everyone stared and gawked in wonder. I hated this world and hoped it blew up.
Or at the very least I hoped Jennika got too close to the board, hit her head
and her brains went everywhere.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As Kelly got out of the pool I
said, “Notre Dame is a good school. Good luck.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thanks. I've been working hard. It's my dream school,” Kelly said. She was sort
of shy but I could tell she needed the compliment after being ripped down by
Princess Jennika.<o:p></o:p><br />
"You'll get in."<br />
"I hope," Kelly said as she went back on the board and executed another near perfect dive. </div>
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While the Jennika’s of the world
make you wonder if life is fair, in a way it is because shortly after that I
quit diving. I sucked and it was way too much money my dad said. This was not
only a victory for the diving community but a victory for all mankind really. Shortly
thereafter I discovered I could talk to puppets and the puppets could talk. I
also realized that I wrote funny essays that others not only enjoyed but that
won awards. I found my thing and my mom could gush without exaggeration. It was a
win, win.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jennika faded from memory as she
was out of sight, out of mind, and I really didn’t care. That is, until an old
friend from Steel City Aquatic Club friended me on facebook. For the heck of
it, I wanted to see what happened to Kelly. She did end up diving at Notre Dame
and was All American at one point. She now coaches at a small college in
Florida and has a husband and a baby. I was happy as I always liked Kelly and unlike Jennika she had to work for the things she had. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For the heck of it, I went on
facebook to find Jennika Paker who was now Jennika Seymour. The woman looking
at me on social media was almost unrecognizable. She was pushing 40 and looked every bit of it.
The aging stick didn’t just hit her hard, it beat her to a bloody pulp. A body
that once was all lean muscle and buxom now was loose skin and fat, possibly a
mix of genetics and the baby weight she had failed to lose. While it comes
across as body shaming and I apologize, I am writing out of shock because there
was no trace that an elite athlete let alone model was ever present. My mom had
been right. No only did this not age well but the sand was now at the bottom of
the hour glass. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Jennika had a husband who wore a
Stanford ball cap and looked like a nondescript milquetoast white dude. I
wanted to caption it, “White, Republican love.” They had two kids under the age
of 5 who of course had their own facebook pages because why not? And they lived
in Orange County because it’s a good place for them really and truly. They took
a family photo on a yacht because where else would white Republican love and
their spawn hang out? The name Jennika also aged horribly too. Can you imagine
a Grandma Jennika. Oh the horror! The horror!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just as I was about to hope her yacht
crashed I read a post of hers. It was dedicated to her husband Paxton Gaylord
Seymour IV (true fact). The name alone made me want to troll as she began by
talking about what a lifesaver Paxton had been for her. As the post went on
though, she spoke about how during her sophomore year of college her mother,
who was apparently bipolar, committed suicide and how the rest of her
biological family was toxic. However she met Paxton during study abroad and the
two clicked. Not only was it love at first sight but his family welcomed her.
The post was about not only how this new chosen family changed her but how she
treated Paxton’s mother like her own mother. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I hated reading this post. I hated
that I had to feel sorry for Jennika, but more than anything I hated myself for
hating someone who was actually wrestling with real shit. Jennika hadn’t been a
celestial being, we had treated her that way because she shined for a moment in
time. Maybe she had been an asshole when we were kids. I was an asshole too. We
were all little assholes. And maybe Kelly knew to get on the diving board and
ignore her ass because that’s how her asshole dealt with Jennika’s asshole.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I found myself glad Jennika had a
constructive outlet and more than anything, glad she didn’t get too close to
the diving board, hit her head, and had her brains splatter everywhere. Her
home life only made her want to do that every day. For what it was worth, I was
happy she was happy and was happy she was keeping herself busy managing the
facebook pages of her small fries. As for her body losing it’s shape, she has
two small kids and doesn’t do the workouts she used to. I’ll have to remember the
shaming parts of this post if and when I have kids as it will be my kharma.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sigh, she wasn’t perfect but the
good news is I don’t hate her. Won’t be doing any rides soon on the yacht though.
Aside from it being creepy if a facebook stalker asked, I suck at boats worse
than I did at diving and we’ll just leave it at that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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MissAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02358306731810812680noreply@blogger.com10