Rockstar

When I was a first year at NYU, I was passionate about ventriloquism and comedy even though I sucked. (Luckily now I am mediocre). Most of us really and truly sucked, yet we were billed rising stars. The audience grimaced, as if the only thing that should have been rising was their asses out of their seats. Some of us were NYU students and some of us were semi-homeless, but by the way we all dressed really and truly who could tell the difference? 

After getting off the stage with May Wilson, who was then a converted Juro former Jerry Mahoney doll, I was followed by a guitar player. Like all of the alternative rocker bad boys who invaded my teen girl fantasies from the radio, he had an acoustic guitar and sang in a way that reminded me of Layne Staley. He even said he was dedicating his set to Layne Staley. Hot. 

He said his name was Mark and he sported the peroxide hair, smattering of a goatee, sunglasses inside, and leather jacket with Marlboro Reds in pocket despite the warm weather. He was sulty, sexy, and something that made me want to take my panties off right there. I eyed him and smiled hoping he would see me but unsure of what to do if he would. Every girl there felt the same way too. He had hot guy problems. I was wearing a baby doll dress and would have thrown my panties but alas, I would have gotten arrested and would have had a tough time explaining that one to my parents. 

A busty red head moved closer to the stage. I could tell she was one of those dumb girls from a Bumfuck town who majored in lit and thought Mark was singing directly to her. She made no secret of the fact she thought I was below her as she had rolled her eyes when she saw me exit the stage, doll in hand. She was just another shitty element to what had been the shittiest year of my life in a minute. 

New York had been hard on me and my first year of college had kicked my ass. My anxiety had been such an issue that despite my work ethic I was placed on academic probation just because I was so crazy that I misplaced homework, froze up during classes, and just fucked up everything I touched. I medicated my nerves with drinking, smoking and food. All made me crazier and calmer at the same time. I was still stuck on a dude who saw me as nothing who was in college in another state, but his drug habit was getting him kicked out. I was crying over another dude who said he wanted nothing to do with me but saw me as a friend. Another fella I flirted with thought I was gay. I had a crush on a chick. To say there was a lot going on was an understatement. 

My then roommate had a boyfriend who loved her which made me want to jump out the library window but three people had already done that and I am all about being original. However, I couldnt hate her too much because her cousin had been brutally murdered by a Peeping Tom last week and she was back in Florida where she was from to sit Shiva. So when Big Red scowled at me I was devoid of all feeling. Life had already taken a dump and she was just another turd in my toilet bowel. After this it was back to my room and my precious puppet children.  

When Mark finished his growling via acoustic guitar, Big Red marched up to the stage and in a Long Island accent that still haunts me to this day said, "Mark, I loved your guitar. You are soooo incredibly rockstar."

Looking at Big Red I wanted to tell her she was so incredibly desperate but you don't mess with a firecrotch cause a firecrotch is crazy. It's the law of the jungle. (It's also something I heard a drunk uncle warn a male cousin about once). Mark nodded and brushed past her like she wasnt there nearly knocking her over. I bit my lip trying not to laugh as she narrowly missed tumbling. The only thing better would have been if that bitch fell on her ass.

Mark kept walking until he saw me. He said, "Hey you, I dig your puppets."

I wasn't expecting this. My words started to stammer, "Thanks."

"May Wilson is hot. Does she really give good head?" It had been a badly conceived joke and the delivery was terrible but it turned a hot dude on. God is good all the time!

"I dunno, she never invites me." Okay stupidest reply of the century. I have a hot bad boy who wants to talk and this is how I mess it up. Meanwhile Big Red was glowering out of the corner of my eye. I went from being happy to totally elated 

"Want a cigarette?"

"Sure." I took one and we stepped outside. We smoked and talked for a few minutes. Big Red walked passed us and made sure to make an obnoxious coughing noise as she walked by. I liked the fact our smoking made her angry. It meant all was right in the world. 

"Wanna blow this joint and hang out in my room?" Mark asked after we put our cigarettes out. 

"Sure.You got booze?" There would probably be a bad decision involved and my area of experience when it came to sex was like Donald Trump to politics, but why let inexperience stop me? I should have been listening to the words come out of his mouth but he was so Goddamn cute that as Sanford Meisner said, "Words are immaterial."

When we got to Mark's room, we ended up drinking Jack Daniels and smoking more cigarettes. He ended up telling me about his ex, Natalie, who was in the music school too. They dated and the break up was bad. As a matter of fact, she had toyed with his emotions last week. Mark was an artist and a tortured soul and he said, "She broke my heart so badly, I wrote a song about it."

Mark hit play. He growled in his Layne Staley knock off voice, "I fucked you 20 times and you came 20 times and stole my heart. And now you are a fucking bitch ripping me apart."

There had never been such wordsmithing since Shakespeare. The alcohol was starting to hit me, but not so much that I knew to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Mark said, "Let me play you a second track."

Who was I to stop this visionary and original thinker from showing me his work. This selection called Natalie went, "You were the piece of my heart that made me weep, you woke me up by sucking my dick in my sleep."

I wanted to ask if this was a comedy show, because the drunker I got the funnier he became. But this was my chance at action, action that had alluded me all year and now it was a hot guy. I wasn't looking for love. I was just looking for him to be his hot self. Now if his hot self would stop talking that would be the trick, because the more he talked the less attracted I was becoming. Hoping to save the evening I said, "Kiss me you handsome fool."

"Handsome fool, I like that. And just so you know, I'm very focused on my music career and I am not looking to be your boyfriend. So I want to give you some good, clean fun." I wanted to tell him a little less conversation a little more action, but I didnt want to do that. Why? Because that would mean quoting a musician with some talent in front of this Friday night mistake. 

Tom then proceeded to kiss me. Actually it was more like a booze and cigarette tasting slobber. However, it had been a lonely year and I wanted to see this car wreck explosion to the bloody end. I kissed him again. I needed more booze. It's the only way I wouldn't hate myself later. Tom then said, "When I am a famous rockstar you can say you fucked me."

That statement alone made Layne Staley kill himself all over again. No wonder that poor soul chose to be a shut in. I wanted to get on that program too. They say God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves, and thats when Nature took over. The British came to town and I had no tampon. So I told him as he groped me that I would have to take a rain check.

Eager to save the evening, Mark said, "You can still suck my dick."

I lied and said I wanted the whole groupie sex experience and made my exit promising to call him with no intent of ever doing so. While I had yet to meet Natalie, I could safely say that her dumping his ass clown was the best decision of her life thus far. 

Big Red ended up hooking up with Mark a week later, and I know because I saw them together where Big Red rolled her eyes and Mark looked the other way. They would break up the following week, and yes he wrote some song about her that he uploaded online. The words were, "Big Red, gave the best head....." She had Mark and I had nothing, so she could take her superiority and choke on it.

Mark did not end up becoming a famous rockstar. After college, he bottomed out on booze and coke and had to go to rehab where he found Jesus. Shortly thereafter he found a broken and desperate woman who looks like she doesn't make eye contact to marry him. They both operate a therapy practice where they help children with their self-esteem. On his facebook page his bio says, "I wanted to be a rockstar and that didn't happen. Now I help kids live their best lives. I'm winning."

Yeah Mark, glad you grew up. Glad you are less of an asshole. Glad you are helping the greater good. Free advice, don't play your clients any of your music. It will set back any therapeutic progress they might make ever. Just saying, rockstar. 

Lies (The Thompson Twins)

Recently I was at an annual event where the regular cast of characters were on the loose. Most of the people are okay, but there are some I really do not care for. One in particular is a woman I will call Candice. Yes, Candice. On the surface Candice is the picture of perfection. She is a good looking blonde lady with a handsome husband and three adorable children. Candice has this perky attitude, and is “positive” all the time. Yes, positive, positive, positive. Meanwhile, Candice is about as positive as HIV because the woman is really a manipulative backstabber with nothing but seething bitch underneath.

Yes, we all know a Candice. She was that girl in school that was the teacher’s pet, and everyone wanted to beat her ass not because she got better grades, but because she was shrill and annoying. Candice won a bunch of awards for academics, tennis, and went to an elite college. After that, she went on to be a teacher and then headmistress of a prestigious all girl’s prep school. On paper Candice looks like a rize, but in person she is like nails on a chalk board.

I saw Candice and her children who aren’t allowed to speak at this function. Not really caring, I asked her what she had been up to. Candice told me that for a while she was teaching and then headmistressing. However, she discovered this new self-help program and started to apply it in her school. Candice then quickly informed me that the school had begun to run itself, so therefore they no longer needed a head mistress. Then shortly after she resigned, she started writing self-help literature, and worked as a motivational speaker. I asked her about her concept and she was shady at best, trying to give me fluff answers as she changed the subject. Her story already had more holes than a piece of Swiss Cheese, and the way she explained her idea made mud look clear.

Candice then chirped away that she wrote a New York Times Bestseller. I asked her the name of her book. Now I was officially nauseous but also rather curious. Candice named the piece of literature. There is one problem. Candice didn’t write it. Someone else did. As a matter of fact I know Candice didn’t write it because I am social media chums with the man who did. Although we only chatted twice, he seemed quite nice and the polar opposite of this intellectual property stealing wench that stood before me at that very moment.

I was paralyzed as a thousand emotions rolled through my veins. There was the initial shock that she could be so bold and audacious. On top of that I felt insulted because Candice actually believed I am that dumb. Yes, maybe I talk like a red neck chipmunk on meth but I know a liar when I see one. Then there was a part of me that was angered on a deeper level. For those that don’t know, writers are the indentured servants of the creative world. While we are by far much smarter than actors, dancers, musicians and visual artists, we have the least rights when it comes to royalties and take the most crap. Not only do we get screwed worse than a low grade porn star when it comes to contracts, but producers are always the first to throw us under the bus. Directors pervert our ideas. Then we are snobs for defending our work. Yet at the end of the day, when people need us they are super, duper nice. Now here was this C-U-Next-Tuesday taking credit for the blood, sweat, and tears of another writer.

Then I realized her husband wasn’t there. I could only wish he was cheating on her with a highly paid escort somewhere. It’s got to be better than sleeping with that thing every night, jeez. Or this is the only case aside from Tori Spelling in 90210 where I would applaud a man for throwing a woman down the stairs. I don’t advocate domestic violence, heck I survived it. But what this woman did was evil. Am I angry? Fuck yeah. But when you are a writer who has been cheated you will understand my rage at this vagina wig, trust me.

I debated calling her on it. But if I did I would look like an angry, embittered single woman and the hetero-normative majority would drop kick me. Not to mention she has her other idiot friends at the event who has more bullshit coming out of their mouths than a barnyard. So I smiled and made my way to someone else. There was a part of me that wanted to slap her myself, but I had no desire to make the Daily News that badly. Later that evening I found out from another person who despises her just as much as I do that she sold promotional materials for this author, and it was a work from home job. Perhaps she has a creative mind, baby girl certainly stretched the truth on this one.

Of course this kind of lying is nothing new. I am in the entertainment industry where it is the Smoke and Mirrors effect. At a club, when everyone is sitting around, it is amazing how many people have “pilots.” Yes, the pilots for Adult Swim, MTV, VH1, and every other damn network under the sun. Nine point nine times out of ten these pilots never materialize. Maybe they are friends with an airline pilot, I don’t know. Others have films going to “festivals.” Sometimes the films get there, but most of the time they don’t. And the short films never materialize. Oh and my favorite are the people releasing books with big name literary agents. Note: They have been releasing this book or screenplay for the past six years. Really it’s in a drawer where it should be collecting dust. The more someone tells me the less I really do believe. Call me cynical but it’s a one up game, and the best story wins. Did I mention everyone has a DVD, album, and podcast, too? Nevermind no one listens to it. They have it.

The craziest are the liars that I meet in my travels. A few years ago, there was a dude Justin who wanted to worm his way into a circle of gay men I was a part of. Henry, our sort of Queen Bee, had been the dance captain in several Broadway shows and was now a well respected teacher. Justin wanted a job on Broadway, and fabricated a life story that was insane. He said he was a former child star, and insisted he had roles in several well known movies. We were taken in because while he was a complete and utter fraud, Justin did know his crap. I discovered him in action when I left my purse with him for a few minutes. Later, I got a call from my credit card company that someone had bought a few hundred dollars worth of gay porn in minutes. This happened not only to be but several others who left their things with Justin. That is when I looked up the films he said he was in and Justin Davis was no where to be found. I called Henry panicked, who busted him in another lie a day earlier. Needless to say, we also discovered Justin had fabricated his Broadway stage hand resume as well. As soon as he was busted, Justin disappeared never to be heard from again. These days, we joke about our pet Mr. Ripley, but the way he was committed to his lies was amazing. I have to give him that.

The worst is when you give your heart to a liar. It happened when I was coming out of a rough time in my life. Yes, my ex James Scott Buchanan, but he went by Scott in order to distinguish himself from his grandfather that he was named after. Scott insisted he was directly related to the worst US President in history, the one that caused the Civil War. Also, he told me before going to law school he had played with the Detroit Cobras and had a career as a musician. Scott had also been a music major at the University of Michigan, before leading a protest and having a change of heart. 

Additionally, Scott also trained as a boxer and even practiced with the Olympic squad before going off to college. Scott’s grandfather had been a teamster, and his dad’s godfather was Jimmy Hoffa. Before me Scott dated a slew of impressive women as well. One ex was  a Playboy Model, another won an Academy Award for Costume Design, and a third was a Smith/Yale educated international rights lawyer who he caught in bed with another man, and Scott had nearly killed the guy.

After Scott destroyed the relationship with the help of a third party, the truth came out. Scott’s law license was probationary, and he was in danger of being disbarred because of misconduct. Then I found out via the Detroit Cobras website where all the alumni are listed that Scott had never played with them. Also, the ties to president Buchanan are sketchy because his living descendants are small in number because he never married and left any heirs. Not to mention Scott attended Eastern Michigan University and was a history major, and the story about the University of Michigan was just another lie. My Uncle Franklin was a union organizer and was nearly killed by a Jimmy Hoffa car bomb. He had no knowledge of Scott and his fabricated familial relations of the famous mob boss. Also met someone on the Olympic Squad that year, they had never met Scott.

 I Googled Scott’s exes. Apparently they were so famous that Google had never heard of them. Oh and the gf that won the Oscar for Costume Design, a man won that year. As for the story about the former fiancé, I think she woke up one day, realized she was marrying Scott, and broke it off. In order not to look like himself, Scott made up a fabulous story. Then I remembered Scott was a lawyer, but said he might change career paths in ten years. I agree. The asshole needs to put his talent to good use and write fiction, because he lies everytime he breaths.

Did it hurt? Yeah, especially since I had survived an ex before him who was physically violent and stalked me. This was the last damn thing I needed. But it was only a few months of my life, and we didn’t share property or children. Then I thought of my late friend Chacho Vasquez who always had misgivings about Scott. While those around me thought he was a positive change from Sean, Chacho let it be known whenever he could take the floor that he didn’t like the guy. At the time, I didn’t realize let alone appreciate Chacho’s sixth sense when it came to sniffing out individuals who were less than kosher. But most of the time, he called it as he saw it and he called it correct.

Then as Candice passes through my mind, the lying piece of air suck, I remember Chacho fondly. Candice would probably look down upon Chacho, as would Justin, Scott, and most of the entertainers who exaggerate on the reg. Chacho did every possible “wrong” thing with his life. He sold drugs, did drugs, stole, went to jail, and had sex with a beautiful stranger whenever possible. Oh and Chacho always looked for Prince Charming but fell in the arms of a married man. Chacho was always honest with me to a fault. Sometimes I would beg my buddy to lie. Chacho would reply, “Why would I do that? I am such a jerkoff I would probably screw it up.”

Of course for as crazy as it sounds, Chacho is superior to all of them. Sure, most of being his friend was not killing him but Chacho could tell the truth. Granted, his honesty got him in a boatload of trouble with a lot of people but that was a part of his charm. When he passed we debated what station in the after life he was in. While he made his mistakes my belief is my friend is an angel, and God has given him the job of correcting the phonies because he is the perfect man for the task. So as I strangle Candice in my mind, another Chacho quote pops in my head, “A nobody trying to be somebody is the worst kind of nobody there is.”

Candice believed she had to exaggerate her credentials because she was just a mere stay at home mom. Nothing wrong with that. In order to make herself look like a winner she became the ultimate loser. Same with everyone else in this blog. If you have to pretend to be someone you aren’t in order to have that person be your friend, they are not a friend worth having. And if that person doesn’t like you for who you are, it’s not you who’s worthless, it’s them.

Of course, in a world where we are pressured to keep up with the Jones’s, we forget they are an imaginary family that never fights, has financial problems, let alone a bad day. They Jones’s aren’t real. Then again, when someone lies so much to keep up, you wonder if they ever knew how to tell the truth in the first place. Of course when this realization hits, the anger fades and what remains is pity, pure and simple. Having a liar be honest is like having someone who has never driven a car drive a mac truck. They don’t have the ability to tell the truth, and they don’t even know what the truth is. Why ask them to do something they have no knowledge of in the first place?

Fantasy is appealing because it has the bells and whistles the truth doesn’t. But while the truth is uncomfortable, when you accept it you can do things you never dreamed of. Most of the time, the truth is not as bad as you think, either. When you think of it, being a liar must be a lonely existence. You always have to remember the tales you spun and probably get a headache trying to keep it straight. With truth you seldom have that issue. Not to mention eventually people see a liar for who that person is and they move on. In the end, the liar is just left with themselves and the mess they call a mind. That is a sad, sad existence if you ask me.

So my hope and prayer is that Candice finds peace along with Justin, Scott, and a great many entertainers I know. It is my dream that they wake up someday and give reality a shot. It’s not all that gnarly. It is my sincere hope that they know that they are good enough as they are, and maybe, just maybe, they can achieve some sort of peace and calm. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

Losers of the Week

Well the votes are in and these two have taken the cake. As in the assholes are stinking up the place by being themselves. What I mean is these two morons personify losers.

1. John Boehner. Says, his name sounds like Boner, I just wish Beavis and Butthead were here to rip this creep a new one. It's bad enough that he doesn't like women, gays or other people of color. But after a while you get used to that. But this is today's complaint with King John. There was supposed to be a 60 million dollar bill to help Sandy Victims in places like Breezy Point, The Rockaways, Staten Island and parts of Jersey. Well Bone-head was going to vote to pass it, but then he threw a hissy fit about not getting his way with the fiscal cliff and basically has done everything in his power to make sure those who need aid have to wait. Yes, the Sandy vics who have no homes and are living in trailers in this freezing cold begging FEMA for heat and dependent on space heaters have to wait. All because Johnny from Ohio didn't get his way. I would say he needs to go to hell, but that would be too nice a place. Rather, I hope they let him loose in Breezy Point where former fire fighters, many who may have voted on the conservative side in the past mind you, can beat the living breathing shit out of this waste of flesh. You stabbed New York in the back Mr. Boehner, and now I am crucifying you on my blog. I already didn't like you but now I hate you. Happy New Year, Dickhead.

King John eats beef and potatoes while the people of Queens, Staten Island, and New Jersey Starve. 

2. Fantasia Barrino. I shouldn't be surprised that this former American Idol winner, songstress, adultress, all around stupid ass, and breeding lump makes the list. But yes she does. Fantasia is not known for her brains, and while some rave about her vocal chops I want to deck her in the mouth everytime she sings one of her God awful songs because to me she is just awful. Well Ms. Syphilis did a Donna Summer and went on an anti-gay rant on twitter. Basically she said that people were doing all the things that they shouldn't do in the Bible (a book rewritten and re-edited by some very creative storytellers) and they were legalizing weed and gays were getting married. Wait a minute? You just alienated most of the people that voted for you on American Idol you dumb cow. They stood by you when you cried the blues of being a teen slut who popped out a little baby and helped you win on TV. So your career which was basically fading into obscurity is now over. Then she wants to talk about the Bible. Let's take Fantasia's inventory shall we? She had a child out of wedlock-a no no. Then she committed adultry-another no no and that one is actually listed in the Ten Commandments. Finally, she had a child with this man and he still is not technically divorced-another big no to the no to the NO NO! Later she took it down and said it was "taken out of context." Yeah, Rick Santorum tried the same thing. Anyway, luckily her career is starting to take a down turn and she is rapidly fading into obscurity. Now because the suicide attempt didn't take, lets hope she does a Ruben Studdard and just goes away and no one asks questions. She is certainly gaining the weight. But rest assured Fantasia is a cunt, after all, that seems to be the muscle she uses on her body most ;)

She who is without sin shall cast the first stone you ignorant hole