Hole in My Heart

This week marked the two year anniversary of the passing of my dear friend Roger. At this point I thought I would handle the death of a drug addict friend a little better. But when the day of the anniversary came, it was like receiving the terrible news all over again. Watching drugs kill someone is like watching someone dig their own grave making sure the corners are just perfect because they are getting ready to jump in at any second. For days leading up to his death I found myself mad as hell. I just wanted to deck someone or something and didnt know why.

The thing about losing a friend to death is that they are dead. They aren't coming back. It's not like you were kids and their dad got a new job and they moved to a new city. No,they are dead, gone.

Roger in many ways was that friend you wanted to strangle. Someone once called him a negative friend. I told Roger this and he quipped, "I am positive. Tell them that the next time you see them," referring to his HIV status.

I found myself missing him calling me at two in the morning with his bizarre antics. Whether it was some man who broke his heart, fighting with his brother, or the fact he scruffed his Gucci. Losing a friend is hard. A lover is easy. They can be replaced. Friend on the other hand, it's like losing a part of your heart. Sure I wanted to strangle him around the time he died. The self-destructive behavior had gotten to me. In between the drug use, the wanting to sell drugs again because he was broke, the taking his HIV/psych meds when he felt like it, the noncomplicance with his Hep C treatment, sex with strangers and the black market plastic surgeries that weakened his heart I was through. Not to mention he always demanded I was with him when his behavior landed him in the hospital. While he always made me laugh as he held his nail file and said, "You are lucky I like you," and then viciously gossipped about people we knew hitting all the marks truthfully I had enough. Then he left this planet. I didnt get to say goodbye. I didnt get to tell him that I loved him, but didnt love the disease of addiction and the things he did as a result.

Because of my friendship with Roger I am knowledgeable about ball culture and the different houses as well as many things LGBTQ. I know my labels, and I am better at putting on fake eyelashes. I can also know the value of a rich, older man with money and am not ashamed to sometimes order the steak. I also know not to get a prison pen pal because they demand you send them money, something Roger discovered when he found the murderer of his dreams online. I know all about Cuba too, Roger's home country. I know the meaning of reading and throwing shade.Not to mention I could understand his anger management issues and drive to seek revenge. While they say leave kharma up to God,sometimes it is best to see your enemies suffer. Admit it. Roger and I were the same type where we would follow you to the North Pole if it meant getting even.

Since his death I have dropped that part of myself, the revenge. Still, sometimes I just want to break a thousand windows when things are unfair. Roger got that.

Yesterday was sketchy and tenuous. I had to change my act for a show I was front and center on. They told me I would be ready for the next date, not this one. Fine, but why the hell am I front and center on the poster? Normally it would have been an annoyance. However yesterday it was a freaking ice pick to my ego. But the changes they suggested were ones I needed to make. I found myself wanting to work on my act, get out of the house. I did and ended up doing well debuting my all clean set with May,not one swear word. When it went down I said, "Damn, every freaking day should bethe anniversary of a dead friend's passing." After I did my thing someone said something dumb to me about my lips moving slightly. Normally I would have let it go. But since I was in a weird mood it took ever fibre in my being not to snap back. Not to mention everywhere I went was Halloween and death, death, death. Enough death, I was thinking enough about that. It seemed every comedian wanted to talk about the zombie apocalyse. Being that I was in a weird place I didnt want to hear about it. Yes if it happened my friend would be rising from the grave. While I would be glad to see him he would probably go to eat my flesh but then scream, "I can't eat your flesh. You don't use moisturizer and it would hardly be good for my skin." Sure it made me laugh but damnit, I was thinking about death as it was. Couldn't we talk about bunnies and candy?

I was glad I went to Cha Cha's though. Dave and Heather did a great job. The room was great. I met lots of good comics, company I have needed to keep. Plus I felt safe, something I dont feel everywhere. I thought about staying for the second show but felt drained, plus I wanted to kick box the next morning because I desperately wanted to hit something. Sure, my friend made his choices but knowing he left this planet at thirty four years old would make anyone want to hit something.

I left and ended up at the house of a friend who's like my mom. She wasnt home. Walking by a headliner club I saw the names of some friends and copped a resentment. Sure, my career is nothing to sneeze at. I am on national television more and have been. Why the hell did it kill me, especially since one of my shorts is in a big festival in NYC and the other is in a festival in LA? Why did I have to constantly prove myself in a world where I was never smart enough, never pretty enough, never funny enough, never male enough in an industry where many a male headliner views a female comedian as just a pair of open legs. And maybe I was wasting my time on stage. Other doors were opening for me. Then I remembered I was tired and this was the anniversary of my buddies death. It was time to call it a night before the chip on my shoulder became a cinder block. Yes, cinder block. Roger had one on his shoulder and it weighed him down quite a bit.

I got a cab home because I was too drained to take the subway. When I got home the woman who was like my mom called me. We talked and I told her I knew I was a good friend to Roger when he lived. Roger, despite the fact we had a falling out, knew that. She explained that he did know and probably did watch over me from time to time, which I do believe to some extent. She also cited that it is a rough thing losing a friend, no matter what kind of pain in the ass he was. We both laughed. I also mentioned that if Roger had kicked the drugs and the bad decisions he called a Tuesday afternoon he would have been someone different, and perhaps I wouldnt have gotten a kick out of that person the way I got a kick out of Roger. He made his decisions, he lived his life the way he wanted to, he was a friend, and now he was up to his usual mischief in the next world.

Just then I remembered Roger telling his sister about my shoot in the Italian Marie Claire and about some other comedy thing I did. His sister asked where I performed and Roger told her all over and talked about how hard I worked. I also remembered that in the wake of his death it had been a catalyst for me to have a new life. This included chasing my goals in a way I never had before. All the things I had done since his passing would have been important to him. He would have wanted for me to have a long, happy life where I did well. Despite the fact we both liked the wrong kind of men he hated when I dated losers. He would have also wanted me to perfect my clean set. Roger would have told me it would help make me a big star and make me big money and then I could wear big diamonds. The crazy thing is, sometimes whenever a fan stops me for a photo I can hear chatter from another world, a familiar voice hissing in my hear, "Strike a pose. And why did you wear that outfit from Walmart on the street?"

I also could hear the chatter in my mind from another world where he was telling some hot mixed guy in his Chanel that his friend back on Earth published a book and had movies going to festivals,and that she was on TV last week with her puppets.And that while she was weird and her hair was a mess she was a good person and the good kind of crazy. And he also took credit for everything. Of course this was half because he was proud, but half to get the guy in bed and possibly get presents. If he were on this planet he would be telling me all about it after hours, so I would allow it. Death only changes so much, so I'll allow it. Besides, he has probably given God enough of a headache so this will distract him for a bit.

Still, the loss of a friend,especially from addiction,always leaves a hole in your heart because not only is the death preventable but people think it is a character defect rather than a disease.

Don't take all the hot boys. Save some for me when I get to the other side.

Rest in peace dear heart.

Love April

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

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RIP Mikey D.

This past week the comedy community lost a true hero, Mr. Mike Destefano aka Mikey D. Who was Mikey D exactly? Well he was one hell of a funny comedian. He talked about what was real and close to his heart. So many comedians in this day and age care too much about making it and being liked. Okay, I am guilty but ninety eight percent of us are. Somehow, Mikey D was one of the few who wasn’t. Unlike most of the finalists on Last Comic Standing who have an act that please the housewives and their boring husbands, Mikey D didn’t have that. He talked frankly about being a heroin addict and being from the street as well as the things that pissed him off. If someone didn’t like it, oh well. He didn’t get his panties twisted about losing bookings and people he might offend. That’s what made him true and beautiful, and that’s why do many people loved him.
I myself only met Mikey D a few times and only spoke here and there because well, that's just the way it turned out. But he always holds a special place in my heart because he was in the first standup comedy show I ever saw in NYC. I remember it was a rainy night and I was considering leaving NYC. I hated school, my teachers, my classmates and of course it just wasn’t getting better. On a night that I forgot my umbrella and someone fliered me into a free comedy show for students at the Boston Comedy Club. I thought, “why not, I could dry off.” Well needless to say I saw some comedy. The host of the show was unremarkable. I kept telling myself I could do that. The first guy was okay. And then came Mikey D. He just took the stage with such energy and fearlessness. I remember suddenly it didn’t matter that I was cold and wet because I was laughing my ass off. Actually, this was harder than I had laughed in some time in my pathetic life. After he got off stage the next few guys were half decent, but not as good as he was. Something about the energy and spirit of that evening changed me, and that’s when I decided I was doing two things: staying in NYC and doing comedy.
However the thing that was truly captivating about Mike Destefano was his backstory. He was raised in a tough neighborhood in the South Bronx and had a less than spectacular home life. Not to mention he started drinking at thirteen and soon after met cocaine and heroin. He overdosed nearly dying at eighteen and finally got clean at twenty two after being diagnosed with HIV, something that was then only new to the straight world. Being an ex junkie and HIV positive he found himself isolated from his tough guy friends and the world itself. Of course in there he had his friends die from drugs and others from AIDS, including his beloved wife Franny whom he talked about from time to time during storytelling events. Then after her death he relapsed one more time before deciding enough was enough, did an open mic night, and did standup comedy and chased that like he used to chase his spike and junk.
Mike Destefano could have kept these things a secret but instead he chose to be open about being both a former addict and someone living with HIV as a comedian, activist, and educator. By no means am I putting a man on a soapbox but this was important. Why? Because when someone is trying to get clean from drugs and alcohol, they feel like the world is ending. Most of the time their life is a wreck. Each day is a challenge because in between wanting to crawl out of ones skin and explode it seems like just twenty four hours without it is an eternity. Even though people tell you getting clean and sober can be done it feels like it is an impossible task. Hercules moving the boulder would have been easier, or better yet cleaning out the stables , lets take that one. However, when someone in early recovery sees someone like a Mike Destefano doing well with their lives, making a career out of something they love, and being able to laugh, a light bulb goes off. “This recovery thing might be hard right now but it is possible. It can be done.”
Although I didn’t know Mikey D well in real time, I got to know him through his writing. I too have been involved in some grassroots HIV activism because I have had a few friends who were positive in my lifetime. Although HIV is not the killer it once was, the stigma still is alive and well. Mikey D made himself visible as someone living with the virus and used to write for Poz Magazine, a publication for HIV positive individuals. Through his writings he was funny, reflective, introspective and most importantly real. He talked about being an LTNP (Long Term Non-Progressor), someone living with the HIV virus who has not developed full blown AIDS let alone taken meds and talked about how lucky he was. He also spoke about coming to terms with his positive status, losing his wife, and getting himself on track. In addition he was also open about his love of motorcycles, something he never made a secret of.
When I heard about his death I thought the HIV took him after all this time. Then I thought it was an overdose. I have heard stories of people with extended recovery relapsing and dying. Or was it a bike accident? Then I heard it was a heart attack. He died in his sleep. Mikey D had just started taking off. The whole thing was very sad.
However, as the comedy community mourns his loss we must also remember to celebrate his life. When he was on Last Comic Standing, he was the a-typical contestant. Mikey D was fearless, but somehow we all loved him, and he got many people who would have not ordinarily cared about the show to watch. Not to mention he was on Conan, White Boyz in the Hood and Howard Stern and was a hit on each. His Comedy Central Special was awesome. The tragedy here is that the wheels were only getting started on the road to superstardom and this man had so much more to say.
On the other hand, he inspired a great many comedians to be themselves onstage without apologizing, whoever that person may be. In addition, he served as a positive power of example to many people in recovery from addiction and that were living with HIV. Mikey D showed many a recovering addict that not only was recovery possible, but there could also be fun and laughter after drugs and alcohol. He also touched the lives of many people who were HIV positive by being vocal and helping to remove the stigma the virus brings to the minds of people who are not educated about it. Since he died, the internet has been buzzing. Ordinarily I would be pissed because when someone dies so many people make it about themselves. However, Mikey D touched a lot of people’s lives. Punchline Magazine, cnn.com, TMZ and many others have made mention of his passing. In addition, In the Rooms, a site for recovering addicts that offers online meetings, made the mention.
While the NYC comedy community and recovering addicts of the world feel his loss from an unexpected heart attack, his spirit still lives on. When we think of Mikey D we will think of a guy from the South Bronx who had fallen into heroin and all the evils it brought but turned it around to be one of the greatest voices ever to come out of the New York Standup Comedy Scene. Thank you Mikey D. Thank you for showing us how it is done.

Vogue (Madonna)

I am sad to announce the death of my friend Roger Ferrer. A few years ago when I met him, I remember being arrested by his huge laugh which could light up the room. Roger in one word was a character. He always had the scoop on everyone. Back in the day Roger had been a part of the ballroom scene. He had walked with the House of Revlon and won in the Butch Queen category several times over. Roger and his faux hawk even made a cameo in one part of How Do I Look? To me Roger was that friend who always had tales of the fast life. He had been in the midst of that nucleus where the motto was live fast and die young.

One thing I loved about Roger was his honesty. Whenever we would see someone he had beef with he would tell me right out about the beef he had with them. Or when we saw someone he knew from back in the day Roger would tell me what had transpired. I once told Roger about someone I knew who was a pathological liar. Roger laughed and said, “I could never lie like that. I am such a jerkoff I would probably screw it up.”

Roger would always tell me about the Voguing he did back in the day as a member of the ballroom scene. In addition he would also tell me about all the scams those queens used to pull. One in particular was that the ball children as they were called would lift the credit card numbers of people they knew, use them in stores, and then order the stuff they needed for their little balls. Of course the merchandise would be delivered when the rip off victim was at work and the thief and company would pick it up when the trucks came. Yes, drag queens are the reason you need photo ID when you buy things at stores with a credit card.

It wasn’t just the balls for my friend but it was the drugs as well. Roger not only sold crystal meth when it was beginning to rear it’s head in the underground ball scene, but he also used it. I remember Roger would tell me the crazy stories of the places he had been and how at one time he was even a drug connect to Angel Melendez, the victim to Michael Alig. He also told me about the partying at the Limelight before the whole bloodbath happened, and how when that transpired he switched his drug selling spot to Kinkos. Walking through Chelsea with Roger was always a trip. Someone would wave to him and he would tell me what a freak they were back in the day. Or he would tell me the dirt about the gay porn store owners because he knew them personally. Roger also knew a few gay porn stars, and one thing about him was that he was the real deal. Once a guy was running his mouth about how he was some hustler back in the day. When he left Roger turned to me and said, “Hustler huh? Uptown at Paris Duprees huh? I never saw him once and I was there.”

Unfortunately Roger also paid the ultimate price for his drug use and drug selling. After being busted, Roger spent eighteen months in prison and got released on parole. Around the time he left us Roger was about complete with this part of his sentence. He also had contracted HIV and Hep C as a result of sharing needles and the unsafe sex associated with the crystal meth lifestyle. In addition he also had a heart condition which plagued him until he passed away. As a result Roger was always in and out of hospitals. Usually, he would lose his phone again, he was always big on doing that for some reason. However, no matter where he was hospitalized Roger would always, always, always ask for me. I never knew why but he always said to someone, “Please give April my number if you get a chance. Please tell her I am here.”

It was never a problem to visit Roger in the hospital. When I did he would usually have me smuggle him in food because he detested hospital cuisine. That’s when we would gossip and often I would sneak out long after visiting hours were over. Once Roger and I were so busy talking that I stayed well after midnight and the night security guard simply chuckled and let me out. Being Roger’s friend I got to know St. Luke’s quite well. Those hospital visits were always fun in a way. Once we had a mini Vogue off where he completely creamed me. Sure, he may have been sick but once a gay man always a gay man.

Roger was indeed a gay man and always had the best advice too. Once I was seeing a guy who was becoming clingy and annoying. Roger looked at me, put his glasses to his nose and said, “Ditch the bitch and make the switch.” I still quote him to this day and always will.

One person Roger loved more than anything in the world was his little step nephew named Pumpkin. Pumpkin was the son of his brother’s girlfriend. Roger’s brother was basically acting as the child’s father though. At the time that Roger was living with his brother his task was to babysit this little boy. Every night Roger would call me on the phone rattling about how Pumpkin had said some complex word or made an association. Glowing with pride, Roger would tell me about how the child had a bright future and about how little Pumpkin was destined for great things. Roger was one who also suffered from extreme nightmares and would call me in the middle of the night panicked. Mind you he was the only one allowed to do this without me taking my hands through the phone to choke him. I would ask Roger about Pumpkin and immediately he would light up and everything would be alright.

Though Roger was gay, no question about it, he still had the macho manly streak in him. When I was with him typical of the Latino male he would walk on the outside of the street. Not to mention Roger almost always paid when we went out. He would always tell me with him women never paid. Roger would be quick to inform me unlike a lot of gay men he had dated women and also had sisters therefore it wouldn’t make him feel like a man to have me pick up the tab ever. Not to mention Roger always had an opinion about who I dated as well. Usually when Roger didn’t like the sound of them there was a reason for it. The truth of the matter was, Roger was the real deal and he could spot a fake a mile away and made no bones about it. Sometimes I wish I would have listened more. The crazy thing was at the end of the night he always got all big brother on me walking me to my door or telling me, “There are a lot of bad people out there sweetie. Get home safely.”

For as crazy as Roger could be he also was insightful and had more clarity than anyone I ever encountered when it came to speaking about what he was going through. Not to mention while even at the end Roger could not avoid the bad boys and men who were wrong for him, same as yours truly, Roger didn’t want me to share the same fate. Once I was talking shit and Roger stopped me. Gripping my hand he looked me dead in the eye and said, “See how sick I am. You don’t want this sweetie.”

Towards the end of his life Roger was a regular brunch buddy of mine in between hospital visits. We would sit outside and check out the boys rating them on a scale of one to ten. We would giggle and gossip like, or as Roger put it, “a fag and his hag.” For as ill as Roger was he dreamed of doing better things with his life. He talked about going to Aveda to become a colorist, something I thought he would have been excellent at had he lived. He also wanted to go to Paris to live for a while. When I would talk to Roger I always spoke to someone with a good head on his shoulders and a mind like a steel trap. He was someone who was much smarter than he knew he was.

One of my last encounters with Roger I had met him and we were hanging out. He had just gotten out of the hospital and was having chest pains. Being in between houses he was currently homeless and was scared to go back because he thought they would discharge him because he was faking it. The way he was clutching his chest let me knew he wasn’t. After having sushi I insisted that he go to the hospital. So I threw him in a cab, paid for it (he insisted but I told him he had bought me sushi, this one was on me) and then dropped him in the emergency room. A few hours later I got a text from him, “I had a minor heart attack. You saved my life. Thank you.”

Roger was supposed to begin cardiac rehab but he didn’t want to because instead he wanted to go to Puerto Rico. Of course he also wanted to see Niagara Falls before he died as well. We were supposed to go to the Hamptons one weekend and that didn’t quite happen. When I chastised him for being such a bad patient, and Roger had his moments trust me, he said something so profound. He said, “I am always in and out of hospitals and am sick of it. The doctors will always be there. The sunset over Niagara  Falls might not be there tomorrow.” At the time I remember being angry with him for not taking care of himself, but looking back I think he knew he was going to leave us soon and wanted to make the most of his last days. The guy was right. Doctors will always be there same as the hospitals. Go Roger.

I heard my dear friend had a massive heart attack last week and something told me to check on him. When I don’t hear from him it is never usually good. Anyway, I was busy with the career and all so it slipped my mind. But when I heard the news it hit me like a ton of bricks. For as cliché as it sounds I felt like a piece of me had gone. Being Roger’s friend made me more careful with how I handled men because when you see a friend sick with HIV and other complications you wake up quickly and become very careful. Roger also made me want to stay clean, sober, and continue to fight the good fight. His body gave out long before his spirit did. I know he was proud of me for turning my life around and he basked in the glow of the fact that I was starting to make something of myself.

Once during one of my visits to the hospital  I told him I had been a part of Fashion Week with Betsy Johnson. As I was telling the story he stopped me and said, “You always  dress like you are broke. Stop dressing like you are broke when you see me.” Before I could even protest he waved his hand like he always did. As a result I started experimenting with new looks and followed his advice and the only reception I have gotten has been positive. People ask me what happened to me as if I grew a horn or a third head. Instead it was none of those things. A kick in the ass from a gay angel made me self aware and now not only do I look better but feel better.

Today as I dawn my makeup and dress in an effort to look like I am not broke I think of my dear friend Roger Ferrer. I think of a man who was always sharp, on point, the real deal, and never hesitated to call it like it was. I also think of someone who made me look within myself and not only made me dress better, but made me a better person. As I continue my climb up the ladder called life I will always remember my friend. Just because he is dead doesn’t mean that his story should not live on.

Roger sweetheart, I know you are in heaven. I know God took you because He needs angels. While we are on the subject don’t get into too much trouble with them because like me, you always want the ones that you can’t have. On the other hand, my only request is you save me one as well as a seat in the back. That way we can gossip about people like the old days. Just do me one favor, don’t get into a fight with a drag queen. This being Earth and you being in the sky I don’t know if Verizon is ever going to cover that one.

Rest in Peace Dear Heart.