Sunday Girl (Blondie)

It is Sunday and I don't know what to do with myself. I should probably clean my damn bunker, I mean apartment. But it is much too nice outside. Usually my Sundays were spent in a recording studio with Archie and Anthony. It was like clockwork. I rolled out of bed, threw on my sweats, and off I went to read like a dyslexic. Okay maybe not that bad but I had my moments. Anyway now that my recording is done and the editing is in progress I am aimless.

Part of me feels like renting a black dude and Dominican for three hours, just because I have been spending every Sunday with a black dude and a Dominican. When I rent them I have to read my book, stumble over my words, and tell a story about a gay porn star friend of mine. The black dude will shake his head and the Dominican will be completely disgusted at the hot mess I call my life. Wait, it won't be the same. I might have to give them both commands.

There is another part of me that feels like brunching with my homos. I haven't done that in so long and it is getting warm again. It will be an excuse to sit outside, laugh, and just smile. I need to hear raunchy stories about their hook ups. JR is coming home in a few months. Perhaps we can get ourselves in trouble with an entire basketball team or something. Part of me wants a boyfriend. Part of me wants a fling. I am not sure but we can all McGiggle about everything. I need a brunch buddy damnit! Or I could brunch with the girls too. Hell I could brunch with everyone.

I feel like a junkie going through withdrawl in some ways. There is a part of me that has so much to do that feels tired. I have to do things for my musical but feel worn out. I don't want to do shit. Of course I need to clean my house. Don't feel like doing that either. I cleaned my bathroom. My common room and bedroom are like a World War II bunker minus the cigarette butts. Oh and then there is some book stuff but I feel like sleeping and hanging out instead.

I also feel lost and worthless. What am I doing with myself? Meanwhile I have just scheduled a book signing at an Ivy League College and got passed to the second phase in a TV pilot project. Not to mention I am writing a musical. But I have also been going through this streak where I have been as bitchy as hell. I find myself ripping on people and being jealous. I have no idea to do neither really. Thing is, I am used to being busy as hell. Now I am less busy and just don't know that to do with myself. So I am simply jealous that they are busier than I am, that's all. Meanwhile once my audiobook comes out and once I get the ball rolling with my musical I won't be able to breathe. Plus I have a huge signing coming up in a month.

I don't know what to do with myself. Already went for a jog. On my jog I saw a sign that was close to the name of the studio I spent all my Sunday's in. I was like holy shiznit. Either God, Allah, Frank the Pink Bunny, or Margot the Dominican Drag Queen is telling me everything is going to be okay, or I have been spending too much time at the studio. I don't know yet.

Maybe I will go brunch with friends whether they are homos or not. That way I can laugh, take a load off, and then I can focus on work. I think I have been working too hard and haven't been having enough fun. A brunch would be a good thing. Plus my body wouldn't hurt so much.

Maybe I will take a yoga class at my gym. Make some new friends and it will eliminate the bitchy streak in my veins.

But the bitchy streak speaks some wisdom. First things first being that if you name your child Destiny, you groom them for failure.

Nonetheless I named my blog Sunday Girl because I met Deborah Harry during my recording time and it was one of the coolest things to happen to me this year.

Anyway watch out for my audiobook and keep me in your prayers or chants or good vibes or whatever the hell you do. Eh, maybe I need to go to church. Haven't been doing that lately cause I have been recording Sundays. I dont know. I will figure it out.

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

Bitch Mojo

I have been getting up onstage again lately. Most everything with my book is finished. I am back and ready to rock n roll. Yes, I am back onstage as I said. I did a set today which was passable. I didn’t kill and I didn’t tank. But Don Juan and my new stuff is getting on it’s feet decently. Plus it was an open mic set. I mean, you should we workshopping at an open mic. Anyone who does A stuff at an open mic is someone who isn’t writing or doing their homework. Bottom line. I have been on National TV a few dozen times, have been on TV overseas even more, and not to mention I wrote a fucking book coming out in a month. Really, I have nothing to prove to you. Not to mention when I tell people to follow me online I now I have send them to my fan page because I have too many friends. Really, I have nothing to prove to you.

The crazy thing is, because I am not yet famous everyone assumes I am an open micer if I walk into an open mic. There are some pros around the city, washed up divas who really don’t do anything except whine, who demand not to pay the five to do the mic. I could pull the same trip but nah. Plus the thing about an open mic is that you are safe to work on new stuff away from the eyes of execs and agents and stuff.

I had to limit my open mics after TLC because people would be giving updates on whether I tanked or bombed at one particular mic. Plus I got a job as a talking head where I earned money. When is the last time these Golden Boy/Golden Girl headliners who work for twenty five bucks a night did that? Can’t think of it. Plus I was sick of being worked like a dog by a club owner who I did nothing but earn money for.

I was coming out of the open mic last night which was actually pleasant. It was one of the few I feel safe at these days. One guy who was decently funny recognized me from working said club a few years ago. Gag me. He had to bring up that he saw me at the open mic there. Meanwhile I have been on TV how many Goddamn times since then and have done so many things that this was the only thing he could remember me by. Part of me wanted to say something incredibly cunty like, “Well, since that time I have been on TV. Something you will probably never get a chance to do. Don’t worry though, you could always watch me from your living room.” Instead I just let it go. He can google me when he gets home. Plus he wasn’t a bad guy, and he was funny so maybe he will get a TV cred and I will feel like a real tool.

The Village was interesting last night with the mish mash of people running about. One venue a kid tried to bark me in. He said, “The comics tonight all have TV credits.” That’s funny, everyone has TV credits. I asked him to name a few and he couldn’t do it. He was trying to sell me this, they have TV credits. I used to do the same job back in the day. Rattling off names of people and their bonus credentials. There’s a reason the show is free people. The TV credits aren’t real. I almost wanted to tell him who I was and about mine and how I knew the credits weren’t real. But I stopped myself. He could Google me when I got home.

I ended up talking for a minute to one guy who’s credits are real. He met me a while ago and we have several mutual friends and he didn’t remember me. Oh well. Fuck him. We’ll meet again I suppose. Who knows, who cares? He is just one of many names and faces I could either remember or forget depending on how advantageous it is for me.

Then this idiot booker who always emails me his stupidity was putting out something for this showcase that I would be good for. I emailed back as I was interested. This was so good I could bring two or three. Instead he emails me back telling me he hasn’t seen my act in a while. Actually, he has never seen my act. Let’s stop being so sincere shall we? Anyway, he invites me to do one of his mega-bringers. Meanwhile, does he not own a fucking television? Do you not see that I get fan mail from across the globe? I am also a red carpet guest at least once a month somewhere. I have worked with people that you can only watch on your television. In other words, I really don’t need you. I didn’t tell him I didn’t need him, but invited him to use me if he needed an experienced guest spot. He would see my ability to headline at a later date. Bottom line, it was mega-scam time. He wanted to make a few bucks off of me. It wasn’t about his reputation. He has none.

Everyone has a problem with my attitude. I say fuck them. I have earned every little thing that I have gotten including my attitude. Everyone has a problem with the fact I get so much damn TV time. Well maybe they should try having this thing called ambition. Everyone says all I want to do is be famous. Damn Skippy Sherlock Holmes. Everyone says I am crazy. Well you’re crazy if you think you even have a shot at catching up to me, fool.

Sure, I have been out of the game a little bit in between my webcasts that I got paid for, the book I am releasing, and my music that gets radio airplay. I have a career. Maybe they should try it sometime. But don’t try it at home without adult supervision, you might lose an eye.

When my dearly departed friend Roger left this planet I always say he left a part of his spirit with me, the part that didn’t take much shit. I now know this is a good thing. I work hard and play hard. End of the story. The world is my catwalk, my runway if you will. I am a puppet diva.

Turn on the TV, see my face. Turn on the radio, hear my voice. Walk past the bookstore, see my book. Walk past a comedy club, see my name at the top of the lineup. Go to the movies, see me as a star. Bitches, it is happening. My poppy seeds are behind me, and I am taking over the world.

My haters can talk at the back of the open mic, I have done things that they will never do and all the shit talk in the world cannot take that away. This is not the end but the beginning. I will soon be everywhere like a virus. That’s my shade.

I throw it in the name of Roger Revlon, the man who taught me the word.

I came to New York to be a big star. I worked really hard. My dreams are starting to come true.

I won’t stop until I get my star.

That’s my bitch mojo.

Love, April