Alana Petridge

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“Alana,” she shook my hand in a way that felt like she was snapping it off, “Listen, do you book shows?”

“No…..”

“It was nice meeting you,” she said, big fake smile flashing. This encounter confirmed my instincts, steer clear.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“They are great,” I said.

“Oh, crowds here are always.” Paul said.

Overhearing us, Bobby interjected, “That is until…..”

The three of us tried to muffle our laughter, “That bad?”

“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.

“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.

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.

Reluctantly, Bobby took the stage, “Ladies and gentlemen, your headliner has been on MTV. Please put your hands together for Alana Petridge.”

Paul whispered, “MTV. I didn’t know it became a TV credit when it was just your foot.”

“Then you could use that Subway Commercial,” it was true, Paul’s foot was in a Subway Commercial. It helped get his SAG card.

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.

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!”

“I had no idea the puppet tits were funny,” I said to Paul.

“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.

The drunk yelled, “Now that’s funny!”

Barely out the door Alana countered with, “FUCK YOU!” which made us all laugh even harder.

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.

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.
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!"
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.
As I walked away Alana yelled, “I HATE YOU APRIL BRUCKER! I HOPE YOU DIE!”

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.

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.

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. 

Teenage Dream (Katy Perry)

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.

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!”

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.”

“How do you know, she’s perfect.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen her mom. The sand is going to the bottom of the hour glass once she turns 30.”

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.  

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).

“Really, I’m being recruited by Notre Dame. Working on getting my SATs up.”

“Notre Dame approached me but my parents didn’t think it was a good enough school.”

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.

As Kelly got out of the pool I said, “Notre Dame is a good school. Good luck.”

“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.
"You'll get in."
"I hope," Kelly said as she went back on the board and executed another near perfect dive.  

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.

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. 

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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. 

Mean......

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mean Girl Etc.

I have something that has been weighing on my mind. A few years ago I had a friend and now ex friend who was super supportive of me and my efforts. We had a lot in common. It's hard for me to have female friends because I am a very independent woman. A lot of girls need a clique and I don't.

I wasn't a Beta Female who was spineless and needed a man. Then again, I wasn't an Alpha who had to be ahead of the wolf pack either. More or less I am and have always been an Omega Female. I don't need the company of friends, but they are good to have. I can keep up with the guys while preserving my female side. Not to mention I love my alone time, and often out perform an Alpha any day of the week.

Anyway, in my experience my better friends have been males, gay and straight. But occasionally I make a good female friend and I do keep them. I thought this girl was gonna be one. She was ballsy. She was a good writer. She was funny. She was helpful. She was happy for me.

And then one day she blocked me on twitter.

I didn't know she had done this until I saw her on the street acting all shady. At the time she had a wonderful freelance gig and I figured I would drop her a line on twitter. That's when I found out she blocked me. Yeah, I would be shady to someone I blocked on twitter too.

But what had I done?

Had I said something bad?

Had I offended her with my actions?

Did her fragile ego, one who's writing was constantly being rejected, get hung up because my book was published and her's wasn't? But she was happy when my book went to print.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Anyway, I found out through the grapevine that she met a total creep and her whole world has become about him. This idiot she married was accused of sexually assaulting a girl when he was in college at some small school. Instead of just letting it die because the girl dropped the charges and changed her story, and maybe it was a drunken encounter where a conversation wasn't had, she proceeds to destroy this girl on social media. When I say destroy she attacked her on twitter, facebook, instagram.

As if that wasn't enough, her husband didn't like her dog. So I also heard she poisoned her dog. This dog had behavioral issues, but I remember she loved it. Well when her man came into the picture she started locking Mr. Pugs in the bathroom.

Needless to say, I feel like I dodged a bullet with this girl. I do believe I will find solid female friends and good female friendships are possible. Just not with this bitch. She's a mean girl, one who never got out of high school. She's about empowering other women until they get to be a threat. She's about being confident until there's a man. She's about destroying anyone or anything who gets in the way of her relationship.

She's nothing I want in my life. That's for damn sure. 

WW2: If The Main Players Had A Sleepover

If the main players in WW2 were high school girls and had a sleepover, this is who the players would be. Yes, imagine that. It would be one big old atomic pillow fight.

America-The most popular one in the room, you love her and you hate her all at once. She’s perky, perfect, and never has a hair out of place. America was born beautiful (bitch). Not to mention all the boys like her and want to talk policy as an excuse to get into her ports. Did we mention her teeth are perfectly straight and white? And she is the captain of The Debate Squad (of course she is), Powder Puff Football and became Student Body President because she felt it was unjust to be called queen. (Don’t hate her cause you ain’t her). Yeah, and she’s first in the class. It’s nice to see she messes up and gains weight…..in her feet. And she is a vicious gossip, always stirring the pot whenever she can, especially between Germany and Russia because she can’t help it, it’s so much fun. But even though you love to hate her, if she invites you to eat lunch at her table you are so there. As a matter of fact, you are cancelling all your other plans because when else is this going to happen for you?

Yeah, and she totally won debate, did a standing back tuck at cheerleading, and has the best grade in calculus. But she is so inflated right now......

England- America’s total bff. The two snap chat like you wouldn’t believe, and I mean all the time. Not to mention they are all over each other’s facebook, twitter, and Instagram. If you didn’t know better you would think they were speaking the same language! England is like America except more refined. However, England is not a gossip. She will put you down straight to your face. England wanted to be Queen of Student Government because it was her divine right but America took that away. And she was Queen Bee before America said it was unconstitutional. But after that dust up they became friends. England is an awesome soccer player. Not the best but really enthusiastic. But don’t go shopping with her. She takes over an entire dressing room like it is her empire, and she believes the world rises and sets on her time there. While England never bad mouths America behind her back, she does get a kick out of when her gossip bites her in the ass, when she messes up, and when she gains weight…….in her feet. That is, when she isn’t being a total friendemy to France.

America's bestie and the one who thinks the world rises and sets on her empire. It's like we all speak English?!

France- The first friend America made when she moved to town and totally introduced her to the in-crowd, inviting her to eat lunch with them. At first, England and America didn’t get along, and France was becoming America’s bestie. That is, until England got her rotten claws in America. Ungrateful bitch, when America moved to town no one would give her the time of day. However, America is friends with them both, and just as England is a friendemy to France, she totally returns the favor. When the two aren’t around, France totally bad mouths and gossips about them both. Moreso England than America though, because America is totally popular and France totally needs that friend. England is equally as shady to France. When they had the sleepover party, England was supposed to tell France but “forgot” to message her. So America mentioned it because she thought England told her, and France got pizzzzzzzeeeeedddd! But let it be known, France has the best hair and the cutest dog out of any of them. They can say all they want about her, but any lie is simply just Vichy.

Friend to America and Friendemy to England, she easily has the best hair out of the bunch and Germany always manages to ruin it!

Canada- Okay, kind of had to invite her. She’s England’s first cousin and America’ next door neighbor to the North. Although she hangs out with the pot smoking environmental hippie group and wears flannel, she’s loyal and kind. Canada is easy going and doesn’t care about the popular stuff. Plus she’s cool enough to be friends with everyone, including France in all fairness who is kind of a snob sometimes and totally is too obsessed with her hair. Oh and she gets along with Russia, and no one likes that shady biatch. In any event, Canada always brings great snacks and funny stories, and it offsets Russia and her depressing tales of winter and death. Canada’s Instagram handle is mapleleaf.

Quirky and a little out of the box but not totally a total obnoxious know it all demanding world domination. We like her. 

Poland- Oh this poor girl…..poor, poor girl. Poland is so beautiful but so dim witted. America’s 

mother made the bet she would graduate high school with child. And America’s mother suggested she do a nice thing and invite her. Poland isn’t a bad girl, just a hair twirling ditz on the lower track always cracking her bubble gum. But she is completely nice and works hard in school even though her marks aren’t high. Her outfits are always cute though and she is totally sweet, which is why England, America and occasionally France sticks up for her. (But France totally makes fun of her when she isn’t there). Germany and Russia are totally mean to her because they can be, but always shut up when America puts them in their place.

Nice and sweet, but everyone is always rolling over her like a war zone. 

Russia- Full name USSR, but she prefers her teachers call her Russia. She doesn’t like America, England and France and they do don’t like her. These eternal, spiteful friendemies have never said a bad word. However, they know Russia is totally shadily two faced. She is so your friend to your face but behind your back she is a different story. She’s not a gossip, but she’s always got some plan and it involves her getting over to get ahead. During the race for Homecoming Queen, Russia attempted to stuff the ballot box but lost. And then Russia started a coup to run for student government, but America wouldn’t recognize her campaign because her symbol was the hammer and sickle with the slogan Bolshevek, therefore making believe Russia didn’t exist, and Russia has never gotten over that. On occasion Russia, America, France, and England have been forced to work together on various school projects, and always with the highest grade in the class. But they are all so glad when it is over. Russia totally hates Germany, and no one likes that girl. Those two hate each other so much and go at it in every class because they want “world domination” and want to prove the other is “more superior.” Once in gym class the two got into a total catfight over Poland’s territory aka, Poland’s boyfriend. You see, Germany had invaded him first but then Russia had the same idea and it turned out they were both all over the same guy! Russia is a total downer, even though she is kinda pretty she tells depressing stories about winter and death at every party. And America had to invite Russia, she overheard America telling Poland about the party and you know how Russia can be.

Driven and intense, she just won't stop telling weird stories about death and world domination. 

Germany- Pretty, obnoxious, and athletic, Germany is a wannabe popular girl and like Russia will do anything to get ahead. Germany is more brazen than Russia, and has a chip on her shoulder that the popular girls won’t invite her to hang out, especially America. She thinks America is out of touch and knows nothing about high school politics. Germany wants to take over student government and believes in ridding the school of certain students, deporting these inferior beings to lesser districts, and even has said so when asked. She has a disturbing number of supporters, and even tried an unsuccessful Root Beer Hall Putsch to take over student government. Germany thinks she is better than everyone and even says it, something about her being “the master race.” The captain of the soccer team, she likes England, but England really doesn’t like her and promises her they will hang out but loses her number. Germany also kicks the ball in France’s face during gym class taunting her about always surrending, holding her hands up as she does so, and France always cries. Germany and Russia are total enemies as I said. Total enemies. They even had a twitter war last week. Germany said something about being a lesser being, and Russia said you are dumb enough to invade my personal space in winter. God those two never stop. Oh and the only reason she’s here tonight is because Germany totally invited herself.  

There she is, all about being athletic and Aryan

Austria- Germany’s first cousin, even though she only lives one town over the two are joined at the hip. Like America and England, they snap chat religiously and are always in each other’s business. The only downside is that Austria  goes to a different school, so those two can’t Nazi around as much as they want. But it never stops these two from doing what they need to do, and by looking at them you would swear they were so close they could just be annexed! Austria, like England, is more refined than Germany, and lives in a bigger, fancier house because her dad makes more money. She’s just as snotty, but less likely to say something brash and stupid. While she would never gossip about Germany, she does get a kick out of it when she makes a fool out of herself which is every 5 minutes. Austria and Germany’s favorite activity is making fun of France to her face and she makes it so easy, but most importantly, making fun of Italy behind her back. Despite the fact she lives one town over, Austria has organized their little effort by naming their clique The Axis Powers. She even has a secret facebook group for the friends to talk smack about others, especially Russia and America. The reason Austria is at the party tonight is because Germany told her as long as she’s going, Austria should come too. The upside of Austria, she brings some good, high class, rather expensive slumber party snacks.

Not as vocal but just as willing and complicit

Italy- Germany’s less popular but totally dedicated friend for life. Italy is actually a totally likeable girl, and America, France, and England would totally invite her, but they know she doesn’t make a move without Germany’s okay. And anywhere she goes, Germany is somewhere around the corner and we all know that nobody likes that girl. No one knows why Italy is friends with Germany. Maybe it’s because Germany knows how to throw a party, or she wants to avoid becoming like Poland. And Germany is so fake to her too, telling her she is awesome, all Roman Empire, but then totally making fun of her when she isn’t around with Austria helping out (and that girl is soooo fake). Italy is totally different when Germany is around, acting like her total hype woman, cruising all fascist to the mall. But she is so much prettier than Germany when she does her hair and makeup right, and the girl can cook. America and England totally thought of inviting her, and tried to but Germany was desperately listening in as usual. Alas, Italy is bringing some rockin, home cooked food to the slumber party. America doesn’t like stereotypes, but Italy has just fulfilled a good one.

I know you are all about the facist regime with no democracy, but you seriously need some new friends, girl. 

Japan- Germany’s bestie above all the rest. She kinda lives far away, but the two hang out on weekends. They met on Instagram and clicked because they had similar ideas. It was after Japan used the hashtag world domination for a selfie. Like Germany, she believes she is a member of the master race, so much so that it is her twitter handle. Japan has only met America once, but is super, duper jealous of all the attention she gets. Just to get even, Japan dressed up and tried to steal America’s boyfriend. Japan has never been mean to Poland because she doesn’t know her. She also doesn’t have a big mouth like Germany, and totally hates Russia because who doesn’t? (As we established no one likes that girl). Japan just rolls her eyes when Russia starts talking about her long winter……does she mean her period?! Actually, Japan never really gossips let alone speaks, but you know like Germany she has an opinion that she is the best. I heard she totally overheard Russia discussing an idea for a science project and stole it, winning first place in the competition. Russia was sooooooo pissed. But one could say Japan was a smash, almost atomic as a matter of fact.

She's a friend to Germany, Austria, and Italy but would so stab them in the back in a minute. But she has been shady to Russia all night. 

Friends of America, England, Canada, and Russia that could not attend: Yugoslavia, Norway, South Africa, Brazil, Belgium, Greece, China, Denmark and the Netherlands. (Each had reasons because of family stuff, etc. However, they are all keeping in touch via social media and jealous they are not there. They are also doing virtual eye rolls and gagging at how Russia is just so shady, not even smiling at the party, and Germany keeps acting like it is her night even though she went and crashed it, bringing her weirdo cousin weirdo friends. China really, really, really does not like Japan and is totally saying that outfit is like Nagasaki. But at least there’s Canada. Oh, and they are all kinda making fun of Poland, sorry, it’s a guilty pleasure).

Friends of Germany, Italy and Japan that could not attend: Hungary, Bulgaria, and Romania. (Like the others, family stuff, etc and are keeping track on social media. First and foremost, they are making fun of Poland and cannot believe Russia wore that outfit. But more than anything, they are so glad America is retaining water weight in her ankles. Finally there is something wrong with that girl. And of course they are going to lie and say she looks great the next time they see her. They are getting a kick out of the fact that Austria got an Instagram of Germany and Italy with magic marker all over there faces. It might have been Japan…….). 

But this party ends in all out war

Dear Regina George

Recently someone tried to pass her work off as my own. This is not my first encounter with this young woman. Here is what I had to say to her:

Dear Regina George,

I saw you plagiarized my work. Yes, as in you took my writing and tried to pass it off as your own. You must have gone to the rapper school of theft because you are as talentless at intellectual larceny as you are at penning original work.

When I saw you stole my work I was angry. Actually angry is the understatement. Writers like myself slave in obscurity and often die a pauper’s death. Often, we are under-appreciated during our lifetime. There are copyright laws designed to protect people like myself from those like you. Alas, they don’t do much. Sometimes we work for years to have our ideas put out into the world, and even then sometimes we are a mere silent scream on paper. We slave over computers, and our ideas haunt us in our sleep. Even a punctuation mark can mean the difference between strife and serenity in our lives. Not that someone like yourself would ever understand that paradox of ordinary and extraordinary pain people like myself feel. What you are doing is a crime, and people like myself, the ones with real talent, are the victims.

What you are committing aside from pure creative burglary is a murder of the soul. You rip the hearts out of people bleeding already. As you do this with no second thought you drink the blood squirting out of them and crunch on their bones. I hope you feel good about yourself. Then again, you have no heart, soul, conscience aside from no original thought.

Writers, despite our long suffering, have a sacred duty. Our words and ideas not only change the world, but help other artists to share their gifts as well. The stories we craft make it possible for the set designer to create the visual. It allows the filmmakers to put our narration on screen for the rest of the world to appreciate. Musicians then further amplify our voice by giving it rhythm and personality. Actors speak the dialogue we so painfully spent hours dreaming up, delivering our message to the masses. When you commit the ultimate sin, you don’t simply puncture my ego. No, you add to the greater problem at hand.

My gift as a writer has allowed me many opportunities. It lets me perform my words, original words, onstage. It makes me see the world for what it is. So many like yourself steal the words and thoughts of others passing them off as your own. You know why the copyright laws exist in music? Because people like yourself stole time and time again from talented songwriters who died living in the back of a car. As they were homeless they were forced to hear their music, the hit song they wrote, as they wondered how they were going to feed themselves. That is beyond criminal.

I can safely say you will never, ever measure up to me. You don’t have my talent as a writer. Maybe you could if you weren’t so busy being an evil human being with a heart so dark that not even Satan would melt you down for spare parts. I am a union actor, something you could only dream of being. I perform on the regular at venues where you could never even afford to enter. Just wanted to remind you of all the things that happen when you do the work, and all the things that could if you choose to change your ways. You won’t though. This is not my first run in with you. Rather, you are simply being who you are and I accept that.

Yeah, you are the better singer. I will admit it although your voice is bland and you probably stole some of your song lyrics like you steal everything. To say you are worthless would be apt, because you are. Please don’t call yourself an artist, those are the people who oppress most.

I hate you in part, but I don’t. Rather I pity you., I hope someday you will stop pursuing the drama off the stage/screen and the fictional story off the page. Also, perhaps someday you will tire of your negative attention seeking tactics and harmful behavior. Maybe your dreams will come true, dreams that are your own and original, for real.

While every encounter with you has drained my life blood and spirit, I realize you are a lost person. Also a troubled one. Maybe, just maybe, one day you will stop being so problematic to others but most importantly, yourself.

I apologize for calling you Regina George. Not only was she fictional, but she could also think for herself.

Peace and Love in the New Year,

April

And to those who like original things

Come see me Friday January 2

Metropolitan Room

34 W 22 st

11:45 pm

See me break a world record!!!!!

Medusa

This is a poem I wrote. I haven't written one in a while. Only blogged and opined about my life. Hope you enjoy this other side to my writing.

Pale ghost girl
Sitting in a tower
Whining snakes
Beneath the ever changing colors
You call hair

Demon breath
And a cold hard stare
A soul that was never there
Just lie after lie
To appease your target

Fat, ugly temptress
You try to best me
And anyone who crosses your path
As if we can be fooled
By your simple charms

Blame your mother
Her sickness
For making you a beast
Cackling loudly and slandering
The woman who bore you

Blame your father
For having no back bone
Leaving you alone
To be had by the Gorgons
And to get the booby prize of becoming their queen

How serene you sing so pretty
But beneath is a banshee
The sound is merely borrowed
So are the thoughts
To disguise a demoness

Did you adopt a human name
To have an upper hand in the game
Where you could hunt for prey
Like you do every day
That believe all the things you say?

Oh and you write such poetry
The words scribbled dishonestly
Are your words borrowed too?
Of course they are.
Satan is never original.

You crack a joke
Almost funny
With the guile of the serpent
In the Garden of Eden
Which is fitting

Since his brother and sisters
Live on your dirty head
You claim to be at work
But you spend the day in bed
Dreaming of the havoc you want to cause.

Your skin is a gray
Probably because you didnt see the sun
Today but then again you are
Almost a vampire
But can't commit

A coffin isn't fit
For a woman pretending to be
Royalty that is living across the
Street from the houses where
They actually have money

You will snarl when I say this
You will scream in like a feind
But you are a feind
Cerberus is your pet
And he even tries to bite your hand

He won't heal to your command
But who could or would
Not I, because I see past your charms
That harm
A borderline who wants a guy

Then you find you male captive
Pathetic as they go
He doesn't love you
But he needs you
Your hell fix he feeds you

Then you become yourself
Snarling, lashing, biting,
Screaming, howling, and the snakes
Slither and bite him
He screams, "Leave me alone."

You eat his heart
And turn him to stone.







www.aprilbrucker.com

She Walks Over Me (Hole)

I was at a gallery opening last night with friends. It had been a long day, and I decided to go. Plus it was free. The place contained a cast of characters. One was a man with a Tropic appearance, accent from no where, and a claim to an important UN position. Another was an Asian woman who had a British accent making strangers swear pinkie promises. Then there was the man Robert, with the slicked back hair speaking to every woman in the place as if she were a party favor. He reminded me of Cotton Weaver from the Scream trilogy.

The two who stole the show were these female space aliens. Speaking some language that I have never heard, it sounded like a series of screeches and squawks. It is probably Russian or some Eastern Euro thing, but they were speaking really loudly like angry birds. They had all of Robert's attention, because they were just as bizarre as he was. Anyway, the one had a lot of makeup on her face. It was a bizarre, gold bronze. Her eyes had pounds and pounds of dark makeup, and the heavy lashes were so big her eyelids must have had superhuman strength. Easily six feet tall as was, she wore these bizarre clear sparking space boots and stood in them. Weighing sixty pounds, a gold dress, probably from Saturn where she was Queen, hung off of her body. She had a companion with her, more Earthly looking but equally as odd. We questioned whether the woman had human skin underneath the makeup because it was so heavy. Then I figured nah, it had long since rotted off and this was all that remained.

I wouldn't have minded this bizarre creature but she kept giving me this eye as if she was better of me. Yes, me, woman of human weight was somehow inferior to her cosmetic abortion. It felt like junior high all over again. I talked to some men, and they talked to me. It was a fun exchange, especially after the disappointing spring fling I had with Mr. Idiot.

Then I began talking to this one woman. She either had really perky boobs or had some serious work done up top. And it looked like she had thigh implants, too. She seemed nice, but you can always tell a surgically enhanced body. We began to talk about ourselves and what we did. I mentioned my puppets, my writing, ad my DVD. I really hate to talk about my work with strangers unless they know me.

I handed the woman my post card and this is how the exchange went:

Woman: I know that puppet. She's been on TV. She's really funny.

Me: Thanks. She's more successful than I am.

Woman: Yes she is. You should be nice to her. Wow, I knew that puppet looked familiar.

I didn't know what was worse, the fact that May Wilson is a slut that sleeps her way to the top, is an ungrateful bitch that always insults me, or that she gets all the credit. Worst part, it was her birthday and she was celebrating. Yeah, she forgot her underwear again. Oh, and it's crazy how she's the thing people remember and not me. But yeah, May Wilson.

As this was happening, the alien woman with too much makeup looked my way. They no longer felt like the most beautiful, self-important people in the room. With a slight, blank stare I could tell I stole their thunder. Yeah, I didn't have a metal dress stolen from the closet of some Star Wars sexpot. Sure, I had a moderate amount of makeup on. Still, they took all this time and effort to doll themselves up and I still came up better and more important. And then I got out my puppet sidekick Sonny Jones and he began entertaining people. Sonny made their facebook page, too. And we got a photo of ourselves as a duo while everyone else posed in groups. The alien women weren't so lucky.

At the end of the night we made fun of the alien women as they walked behind us, retreating to their spaceship.

Then I realized my feet hurt so much and I had a giant blister and would be unable to walk. My friend gave me her flats. Then I realized getting blisters, wearing flats, and having friends meant I was a human being. For better or for worse,  whether my slut puppet steals my thunder or I have a stare down with aliens from another planet it is what it is.

Maybe someday the strange creatures with too much makeup might get to be so lucky.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Pre-order my DVD Broke and Semi-Famous @
www.aprilbrucker.com

Mean Girls

I don't like mean girls. I haven't since I have been a kid. It is probably because I have never been in a position to be a mean girl myself. My parents didn't let me watch TV and I was a reader. Not to mention I didn't have the mean girl build and didn't have the mean girl mentality. Yes, my mother raised me to be strong. She raised me to know not to clique up with other people who had low self esteem. My mother told me that the right way to go was to include everyone who wanted to be. It didn't matter if they had a scrunchie, what job their father had, if they even had a father. You get the picture.

As I grow older I can deal with most personalities. In comedy, being a woman means dealing with men who put you down constantly. However, you can win the respect of your male comrades. This can be done by not being a professional victim. Also, simply by being funny and shutting the hell up. Oh, and then there is not taking yourself too seriously. It is being victim to the women are not funny jokes and learning to let certain locker room talk slide. Some of it is sexist, but the longer I am an activist the more I know if I fight to censor speech I lack ambition. Rather, the fight is in legislation for victims of sexual assault and stalking. They need protection from violent predators, not simply from verbal jabs.

However, one group I can't gel with are the cliquish girls to this day. They are these princesses who live in glass castles. Yet these pretty little brats forget those who live in any glass enclave should not throw stones. These girls are so obsessed with their wedding and plan it from the time they are five. Godzilla better run cause Bridezila is a comin. Of course, they exclude other women. They gossip about other women too. Lest we not forget that they gang up on other women. While they are in the neighborhood, they even condescend to other women. They need to be in charge. They need to win. They need to make you feel less than.

I have met versions of the Bitch Sorority in adulthood. They are just as menacing as they were in junior high. However, they are more pathetic because they didn't get the memo that we are no longer thirteen. Some of these women were sorority girls in college. Not the nice kind that got drunk and were easy, and invited all that could to join the party. These were the mean ones who fought to blackball someone because she didn't wear the right outfit or have a father who was rich enough so the family could have a summer home. These were the girls who were the Queen Bee's of their cliques back in the day, ganging up against a loner girl simply to intimidate her and make themselves feel superior. And then on top of that, there are those girls that you know were cheerleaders. I have nothing against the nice cheerleaders. I was friends with the captain in high school because she was a good hearted, natural leader. No, I mean the girls who again, gang up on someone that they feel is less than. And of course these dreadful spirits always have toadies and others who fail to stand up to them. They command fear because they are bullies.

This is why I have always had issues with women's only events. While I consider myself a warrior for my gender, my people, we have anarchy and disloyalty to the point where we would make any African Republic seem like it has stable leadership on any given day. Once I was trying to talk to a woman who wrote a book and this wannabe buts in. Of course she has all these suggestions about how the authoress should market her book. She kept cutting me off too. Basically, it was a power struggle. Finally, I walked away. I was getting angry and wanted no part of it. This authoress showed she was no better recently. The wife of a semi-successful comedian, she is somewhat arrogant on facebook. Recently, she opened a thread asking the comedians to name people she thought were up and comers that were worth watching. The whole display of nonsense reminded me of a Stalin/Hitler tactic. To name names is so 1938. Still, it was a mean girl thing. The irony of it was that in her book she kept driving home how she wasn't a mean girl. Don't tell me, show me. Nonetheless, I found her writing less than imaginative and found that she plays the violin of professional victim way too loud. Not to mention she doesn't want to help other women. So it's appropriate those two harpies would have hit it off.

I had to deal with a mean girl yesterday and my blood pressure is still boiling. A vampire looking woman, this particular creature is pushy, bossy, and condescending. I have had run ins with her and her toadie before. These are two weakling professional victims who often make me apologize for being strong. My book is in collections of colleges these two would never have access to. I have been in a situation where I have had to deal with them, and have honestly tried. However, it is hard when you aren't a mean girl and therefore don't want to be exclusionary. Week after week, they have take cheap shot after cheap shot at me. Two weeks ago I let the one idiot have it. Those around me said she wasn't worth it. She is a weakling compared to the true fangster out of the two. Anyway, yesterday the vampire bitch was on the war path and I had a run in with her. I had some words with her. And then I sent her a nasty text. I called her a pushy, condescending bully. I also told her she was not to speak to me like that again. I haven't heard back. Bullies never know how to deal. I can picture her weeping about what a meanie I am. Oh well....

I cherish my female friends who are positive. This morning I saw one who was witness to the mean girl drama yesterday. She told me that the woman was bad mojo and just to stay away, don't worry. I agree. I like my girls who are positive like the ones I brunch with on Saturday. They laugh, they have fun. Most of all, they are confident. They like to talk history, and have no problem doing so because they are on the same educational level I am. They like to talk about theatre and literature. They like to talk about music. They like the laugh. Oh, and they don't make me apologize for being strong.

I know my role is I let mean girls get to me too much. Still, it is kind of hard not to. It is also kind of hard not to get upset as an activist. Behavior like this is why women are treated as second class citizens. Antics such as these are why sexism is still one of the most acceptable form of prejudice. There is talk about eliminating racism and those evils, but sexism is just as damaging. When women act exclusionary towards each other and clique up, we do not hurt one woman but we hurt everyone. We take away the ability to work together. We eliminate opportunities for our own advancement and let the patriarchy win and continue to crush us with the heel of the boot of chauvanism.

Bottom line, when mean girls are mean to one girl, they are mean to everyone shutting down the advancement of women who fought for their inclusion.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

I Hate Hoochie Coochie Women

I really don't like hoochie coochie women. To put it mildly, they annoy me. I don't mind women who dress sexy. I don't even mind centerfolds. I don't mind strippers. That's different. These hoes are just annoying. Yes, we all know them. They masquerade as guy's girls. They don't have any women friends. When they do have women friends they hit on their friends boyfriends and husbands, and then it's their friend's fault for being jealous. Oh and when they have male friends, they never respect their significant others. They hit on them shamelessly, and then when the wife is jealous they only add fuel to the fire.

There is one in my neighborhood that I can't stand. Well she has moved, thank God. Maybe in her new location she will be hit by a mac truck. But she is always all over the guys any chance she gets. She sits with her legs open and shows us the world-literally. I hate this Skankola McPhee in particular because several years ago she was close with a male friend of mine. He was having martial troubles and instead of backing off, she proceeded to monopolize more of his time and energy. And then this Butta Face proceeded to have a show down with his wife. Needless to say it didnt end well for the dude. Yeah, he played a part in it but bitch back off. Oh and she cries that her husband might be done with her. GOOD. Someone needs to see through your bullshit. He's sick and tired of you like we all are. Oh and she was sitting with this girl in the park and acting all inappropriate. It wouldn't have been so bad except there were children around. I had an orange in my hand. The only thing stopping me from hitting them was that the cops would have pressed charges. And then she was saying she had no female friends. Bitch, you don't know how to be a friend to other women. Oh, and other women see through you like the fucking lucite you wish you could wear when your fat ass might rock the pole. Luckily that won't be happening because we would all lose our lunch.

Of course the worst Skankola's are some female singers. I spent a lot of time in recording studio's and saw a wide variety. Most are decent people trying to follow a dream. However there are some who are hoochie and just frightening. I am talking the bitches who enter the place in low cut shit. First off, it ain't that warm in there. They are destined to get sick. I know some of those guys dont see women or daylight often, so they look forward to the cheap peep show. But some of these women don't have the body for the clothing. I just don't get it. One had a CD cover where she had panties in her mouth. Luckily I am skilled in CPR because she could have choked. I was concerned. Still, at least they are staying out of trouble and aren't torturing children on a playground with their utter creepiness. Most of the time they probably need autotune. But they will produce some cheesy dance hit and make us all happy. So what they might be one hit wonders? I don't care as long as they keep their herpes to themselves.

After them come the bitches who claim to be women's activist but are banging some lawyer and living off the land. I have met several of these. They claim to care about women, but then they are all over their guy at some banquet. They claim it is wrong to sleep with someone to get ahead, but here they are with a balding weirdo much older than they are. It's not love, admit it. Oh and then they claim they stick up for women but are the first to denigrate the achievements of others. And their big thing is women shouldn't be persecuted by the way they dress, and of course they are saying this because they dress like ten cent hookers. And then these bitches pick fights with other women and go after them for the way they dress. Basically, I have more respect for the skanks who can admit they are skanks.

The lowest of the low are hoochie coochie women in comedy. I fucking hate them. They are ghastly. Usually they are putting on their makeup before they hit the stage, apologizing for their lack of skill and talent. Pretty gets away with a lot. Of course they always wear some cute outfit where we can see their tits. Finally, aside from the poorly written punchlines they are always banging the headliner. Yes, she is your opening act, Sir. As in she opens her legs and that is how this whole thing came to pass. Granted, women like this always fuck their way to the middle and that is it. Still, it makes the rest of us working hard and trying to make it the right way look bad. It also seems like from time to time they clog the way and we have to work around them like some haunt in Harry Potter. They wouldn't be so bad except they gossip about other women, and can't take a joke about their own skankiness when the only reason they are getting ahead is they are giving head and having some salami jammed in their baby hole. But then again, looks fade, bad jokes get old, and the middle is a sucky place to end your career.

I dont know. That is my early afternoon rant.

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

A Ghandi Blog

We all know them. Unfortunately the entertainment industry is chalk full of them. Yes, people who are troubled. Apparently all insurance does not cover therapy so here they are fucking with our time and energy. As in, if they put the energy into the drama onstage that they did into real life they would all be winning Oscars. McSeriously.

I recently had a run in with a negative attention seeker. This young woman made my winter-spring very eventful to say the least. The current girlfriend of an ex of mine, who became literally obsessed with making my life a nightmare for God knows whatever reason. A lot of it has to do with the fact that this woman is unfortunately an alcoholic and a drug addict. I don't think she is sober for more than an hour a day. So basically she is very sick. In addition, she keeps a blog of sorts maintaining she had some sort of tough childhood with some sort of bizarre mother. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't. A lot of it sounds like a mix of fabricated and a spoiled, entitled child blaming everyone but herself for her problems. Addict behavior if you will.

I have every right to hate this young woman. She has slandered me in public. Not only has she accused me of trying to cause problems with her and my ex (have not seen him in years and don't want to), but also has accused me of stalking her which is freaking laughable. However, I will point out that she copied several lines of my writing and tried to submit them as her own. Not to mention everytime I put up a youtube video she followed suite. When I did a show at a venue she worked at, she ripped down my posters to ensure no one would show up. After that, she made a series of hang up calls to me and blocked her number. On one she called me a bitch and told me to stay away from her boyfriend. Oh, and when I went platinum blonde so did she. When I low lighted my hair she went dark as well. And then the best part is, when I released a book suddenly she announced plans to release a book. The bitch doesn't even write. I guess the best was when the Queen of the Chemically Dependents released a video where she and her friends were beating the head in of a girl named April who was a "poser that had famous friends and a rich father." (Hmmmm, wonder where they got that complaint).

There is a part of me that wanted to beat her head in. I will not lie. However those around me reminded me of how sick she was and to let her go.

Well Ms. Wannabe has struck again. In addition to claiming I have no career, which is laughable because the closest she will ever get to my TV credits is seeing them in her living room, she is claiming I am harassing her again. I have not seen this thing in months!!! I wouldn't know about this except my friends relayed the story. She fabricated this story about how I am a mean girl who is making her life miserable. Oh and she also says I tormented her about her past. I did no such thing. She's insane. She's the one who was harassing me and wouldn't stop. This bitch is twisted.

However, on another level these days I am not so angry at her. Actually I feel terribly for her. She is a drug addict and an alcoholic. Her life is very small and very lonely. She is in a relationship with someone who is either enabling her or refuses to acknowledge she needs serious help. That lifestyle is not kind to women. The only road ahead of her is one of pain and suffering. Everytime I get an update on her she is either getting in trouble for drinking again, or whenever I am forced to look at her picture, she is bloated as hell.

While those around me tell me I should be flattered she copies me, it makes me cringe because it is a testament to how truly mentally ill she is. My life has not been easy. Yeah, I have made some career headway but I have paid dearly for being myself. While this is true, April Brucker is the only person I can be. I cannot be Mae West, I cannot be Marilyn Monroe, and I cannot be Madonna. Hell it would be nice to be Cyndi Lauper. But I am myself. We all have our own gifts. Trying to have someone else's is just desperate and pitiful. Not to mention I will admit, Ms. Wannabe is the better singer. She's can't write her way out of a paper bag but she can sing. But that's her gift. Shame on her for not running with it.

Seeing someone you hate look worse and worse should make you happy. Seeing someone you hate fall down the rabbit hole should make you happy. However, this doesn't make me happy. This makes me pity her even more. I know first hand how damaging addiction can be. I have had friends who died as a result of drug use, all wonderful and bright people buried with their boots on. I know the loneliness of being with someone who doesn't want to see you well and to be trapped in a codependent cycle. For as much as I hate what she is doing, I actually don't hate the person. My heart goes out to her on so many levels.

I guess my hope is that she finds a way out of the black hole she is in, where the nightmarish lies she tells herself is safer than the harmless truth of the outside world. I also hope God protects others from her lashing out, but most importantly, her from herself.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

Dreaming is Free (Blondie)

When I was thirteen I was at the end of my rope. School was hellacious. I got made fun of all the time. Between a weight problem and an acne problem I was a mess. At the time I was on this face medication that made my lips bleed. I tried wearing make up to sexy myself up. My blush was orange and my lipstick was more or less purple. I looked like a pumpkin. On top of that I wore this water proof mascara because at the time I was embarking on a failed career as a diver. Well I was not only a horrendous diver, move over Shamu, but I was allergic to water proof mascara. So my eyes swelled shut. Did I mention my mother picked my clothes? On top of that I had top and bottom braces with rubber bands, or gum bands as we call them in Pittsburgh.

I had bullseye all over my forehead.

School was a nightmare and I didn't want to go. I wasn't skinny and pretty like the popular girls. The guys didn't want me. If they asked me out it was as a joke.

Then my family got cable television. To make a long story short I was from a family of readers and educators. My dad was the first of seven, the first to get a college degree and the first to not only get an MBA but also to go to law school as well. His father had been a steel worker who had not graduated from high school, but when my dad was older went to school at night to obtain his GED in order to get a promotion. It was an odd father/son bonding moment but they did it. My dad was big on education because he had grown up poor and realized life without it sucked and made you a slave. My mom was a teacher and told us to aim high, as in Ivy League. So the week was reserved for reading and homework, and the weekends television. We didn't have cable because we were not big television waters. But when Friday came, it was television time.

My friends all had cable and were on the up and up with the MTV. My brother, sister and I, in the damn darkness. On a bus once we were talking and the subject of Coolio came up. I didn't know who or what a Coolio was and needless to say that ended in a barrage of terrible jokes.

But my brother Wendell was embarking on a football career and my dad wanted to watch the high school games. This required getting local cable. To get the local channel this involved getting thirty others. Finally we had cable. I had arrived. Yeehaw!

Immediately I became addicted to MTV. The pop culture on the screen, the musicians and the actors, opened my mind up. I wasnt as academic as my siblings Skipper and Wendell. I was more creative. These artists spoke to me. They were creative, thought out of the box, and were changing the world. When they spoke about school they all talked about how they were awkward and made fun of. This seemed to be a theme. I was creative, awkward, and made fun of. Suddenly I had a plan and a goal. I wanted to go to New York, to entertain people, and to change the world. While it sounds cheesy, MTV saved my life and my sanity during those terrible, crucial years.

As a part of this package we also got AMC. On the screen I saw Mae West, my idol and my hero. She had come into vogue during the flapper era, a decade of tall and willowy women. She was short and curvy. Mae West broke the mold by writing pieces for herself. She pushed the boundaries, going so far as to go to jail. She was an inspiration to an adolescent struggling with her weight in a place where different meant deadly. I suddenly didn't feel this stifling need to conform. Instead, I felt like different didn't make me wrong, but rather it made me right and special. I didn't have to be like the pretty popular girls. They weren't better than me, I was better than them.

From there I had a mission. I practiced in front of my mirror to death with my Groucho Marx figure. My parents worried about my loner ways, meanwhile I dreamed of a career as the next Edgar Bergen. I brought home ribbons in forensics as a master storyteller. I wrote stories and eventually got published in a local paper. I took acting classes and volunteered as well as produced a show on public access. I was on my way. So much so I just started a bunch of sentences with the  pronound "I".

I went on to move to New York City, and was even featured on F'in MTV Blocks. In addition, my puppet children and I have been on TV and we are beginning to fulfill our mission of reaching people. The producer for my audio book was exchanging emails with Naughty By Nature, a band I wasnt allowed to watch when they came on the TV. Lauryn Hill's former sound engineer stole my book. I had a convo with Deborah Harry. I live down the street from Broadway. I am writing a damn musical. People have recognized my puppet children and I and often ask for photos. A song I recorded was number one on internet radio for five weeks. Essentially I am doing every thing I set out to do. This is just the beginning.

I have been thinking about all the people who have made my life hellacious lately. It is because I receive a large number of fan letters from young people. Many are bullied. Bullying is an epidemic in this country and people are only beginning to understand the long standing psychological trauma associated with it now. One kid was even beaten into a coma by kids on a school yard. One recently sent me a letter that she was at the end of her rope and she needed hope.

So I posted something to this effect on facebook and this is what I would say to anyone. Growing up I wasn't allowed to watch cable television and everyone laughed at me. Now I am on cable television quite a bit as well as Netflix with my puppet babies, and hell I still don't own a TV. Because I wasn't allowed to watch television, I got good with making dolls talk and I developed an ability to write. Both are making me quite famous and quite successful. Kids made fun of me because I accidentally called the Notorious B.I.G. The Notorious Big. A year ago I hung out with one of this closest friends. I thought Snoop Dogg was a brand of kennel food and not only did he give me a pep talk when we met but he took my card. I thought a Fugee was a cold virus and Lauryn Hill's former sound engineer stole my book and is reading it. I watched a Deborah Harry rerun and I spoke to her in the hall. I not only walk passed MTV every day, but I have been on there. I walk passed Broadway every day, and I will be on there. I walk passed the Today Show every day with the people gathering at the front and smile because I know I have been on that show too. As for the mean girls they all got fat. As for the guys who asked me out as a joke, joke is on them. Maybe they laughed at me, but now they wish they had my life. I am getting the last laugh. So hang in there. It does get better.

Someone wrote me a sweet note back about how I shouldn't let people drag me down from my past and that there was no need to prove myself. And people over the years have also told me that junior high sucks for everyone.

But I would tell any kid in that place to just hang in there. Every dog has their day and their day will come. It does get better as I said. Now I only wish I could time travel and tell my thirteen year old self that. I wish I could show her my life now and give her a hug. Maybe that is why bullies make me sick and when I see that side of a guy he becomes so unattractive. Maybe that is why I stand by my friends, even when they do things like get arrested, because I know what it's like to be kicked by the world. Maybe that's why I don't exclude anyone. I know my thirteen year old self wouldn't believe it. She would tell me about her dreams, and I would tell her they would come true but she would have to work very hard.

Then she would ask me if I had any money. I would tell her, "Working on that."

Sigh, my bank account doesn't know I hang out with famous people. My bank account doesn't know who I hang out with. My bank account says I still need to save up for a TV and a bed.

But living the dream. And with the price of the suffering we go through, at least dreaming is free.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback, 877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com
Ebook Kindle and Nook
Portion of the proceeds go to RAINN

Rhapsody (Blondie)

Yesterday was an adventure. After discovering Lauryn Hill's sound engineer had stolen my book and was reading it, I would step into the hall and have another encounter. This one with a complete legend. I had heard Deborah Harry was working on our floor and had rented out the studio next door. Archie told me about it and I was like, okay. He made me promise not to post it on facebook. So much for that right now. Anyway, I understood she was working and blah blah blah and so was I. While in my dreams I could be as cool as Blondie was back in the day I would never even try.

After a recording session that started late cause these things just do sometimes I stepped into the hall to run to the restroom. When you do a VO job a water bottle is your best friend and sometimes you just have to piss like a race horse. As I made my way to the wash room I saw these two tiny dogs run by my feet. They were sweet. I spoke to the dogs a little not cause I am crazy but screw it, people speak to dogs.

Just then I looked up and standing in front of me was Deborah Harry. She was making herself tea in the studio microwave and this is how the exchange went:

Deborah: Hi.

Me: Hi. Are those your dogs?

Deborah: Yes, they are cute, aren't they?

Me: Darling. Makes me want a dog. How old are they?

Deborah: One is six and the other is a rescue so I don't know.

Me: Well if I had a dog again it would be a Shepherd.

Deborah: Did you have a Shepherd growing up?

Me: Yes, it was my parents first dog. They got it before I was born because my mom caught two guys breaking into their house and my dad wasn't home. He got it for her so she would feel better.

Deborah: Good call.

Me: Yeah, it was their first kid.

Deborah: Dogs are like kids by the way.

We both laugh

Me: I'm April by the way.

Deborah: Debbie.

Me: As in Debbie Harry, the Debbie.

Deborah lets out a knowing smile and laugh

Me: I am such a fan. Not to sound like a dork but I love your music. Loved your remake of Rhapsody you did in 1998. So what are you doing here?

Deborah:  Recording a new album. All new stuff. It will be available on the internet in a few months.What are you doing here?

Me: Recording an audio book.

Deborah: What is it called? What is it about?

Me: It is called I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl. It's about my time as a singing telegram delivery girl in the city.

Deborah: That's cool.

Me: Yeah, laying tracks for it to be down on tape. Here, let me fetch you a card.

I run and fetch Deborah a card. She is still chilling in the hallway with her dogs.

I run out and hand Deborah the card

Deborah: Thank you. I look forward to reading it or hearing it.

Me: Thank you. I only wish to be as cool as you.

Deborah: A huh. But let me tell you, that is up for debate.

We both laugh and say goodbye.

I run into the studio

I see Archie

Me: I JUST MET DEBORAH HARRY AND GAVE HER THE CARD FOR MY BOOK! SHE IS SO COOL!

Archie shrugs

Archie: I just hope you didnt say, 'Bitch, I hope you werent the one who stole my book!"

We all laugh

End scene

In closing, once a substitute teacher remarked about how I looked like Deborah Harry. A mean girl then retorted that Deborah Harry was pretty unlike me. This was followed by, "And April doesnt matter."

Met Deborah Harry and she disagrees. But we both concur that you don't matter, bitch.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com for paperback
Ebook available on Kindle and Nook
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

That Thing (Lauryn Hill)

As you all know I am recording my audiobook. I am there every Sunday with my buddy Archie Ekong who is my sound engineer. Anyway, a little about Archie. Archie is the protoge of Lauryn Hill's sound engineer.

A little background on my connex with Lauryn Hill. In middle school my family finally got cable and with that package came MTV. One of the first videos I saw was "That Thing." I immediately fell in love with Lauryn Hill and made my mother buy me the Rolling Stone she was interviewed in. This marked a new era for me. I would be in the loop. A week before I hadn't known who Leonardo DiCaprio was and as a result got made fun of by the mean girl clique. In that week I also had not known who the Fugees were. When I asked what a Fugee was I got laughed out of the room. To me a Fugee sounded like a new clothing line. Oh and Coolio, well I just thought that was an expression.

Well when I saw Lauryn Hill's video I knew who she was. I fell in love. The woman was brilliant and her song telling. School was hell, but this woman seemed different. She came at it hard, something women in music are still scare to do. As the hell known as seventh grade sailed on, I told myself I would get back at those bitches who made fun of me someday.

Fast forward to years later. I was in my recording studio when I asked Archie where my book went. I leave one there to make work easier. Archie mentioned it was missing. I was like, someone stole my book?!?! We laughed about it. Archie mentioned Hernan was a huge reader and probably took it. Hernan, the Hernan. Then it hit me, LAURYN HILL'S SOUND ENGINEER STOLE MY BOOK!!!!!!!

I thought back to seventh grade and to all those mean girls. Here I was living in the big old city and maybe I didn't know what a Fugee was. But Lauryn Hill's former sound engineer was reading my book. All the memories of being teased mercilessly flashed through my mind. Now I, April Brucker, chunky thirteen obsessed with puppets, had grown up and was in a New York City recording studio. Not to mention the man who was responsible for one of the greatest albums in the nineties was reading my book.

My response, "I hope he enjoys it. I am glad people still read."

I then remembered seventh grade, being so chunky and awkward. Those mean girls and all their nasty words. I was chunky, I had acne, rub it in. In a lot of ways I am glad they did. Because my parents didn't let me watch television I became a reader and went on to write a book. I also developed an ability to make dolls talk. They teased me for this. Well let me tell you, my ability to make dolls talk is making me very famous. Ironically, I grew up for the most part without cable and in the dark and now my talking dolls have been on national television-cable if you will-many, many, times.

And my writing, which also made me the bullseye on the middle school dart board, is leading me to meet many a famous person. When I met him this summer Snoop Dogg took a post card for my book. And now Lauryn Hill's sound engineer is reading it. Tonight is the Grammy's. Lauryn Hill won one of those I do believe. Maybe this is crazy, maybe this is insane, but maybe it is a sign.

Either way, if I could go back in time to tell my thirteen year old self, anything, it would be to hang in there. That while it hurts that I carry a little more weight and have face acne and it only makes me a bigger target when they call me weird, weird will be the thing that sets me apart. Weird will be the thing that makes people love me. And weird will take me to places and let me do things that those mean girls will only get to watch on TV. Peoples let me tell you this is just the beginning.

Today I also met Deborah Harry, someone who I also worshipped growing up.

I will tell that story in Part Two of my blog tomorrow.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
Ebook available on Kindle and Nook
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN