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

When I Was Your Man (Bruno Mars)

I was with my baby sister this past weekend and yes she now has a love life. Skipper has grown up so quickly. It is weird. I actually like her boyfriend believe it or not. I only threatened to kill him twice if he didn't treat my sister right. He was a good sport about it, and if my sister ends up closing the story book and living happily ever after with this guy it would be far from the worst thing ever. Believe it or not I left the trip liking him and not wanting to kill him. Skipper seems happy.

I had the forever talk with my sister. There is still a lot to think about before Skipper says forever. One is where she will match. The other is, the relationship is still in it's infancy. Their dark sides haven't come out yet and clashed.

I ended up having a deep talk with Skipper. Basically I told her that if this guy turned out to be a good guy to hold on to him. If not let him go. I told my sister that a terrible relationship could damage her forever and once you were damaged goods with a few severe dents you would never be what you once were. And at the same time don't be hasty and let someone go and then look back and regret it. I know, projecting my shit onto my own baby sister. I get it.

I remembered being twenty one and somehow becoming engaged to perhaps one of the biggest psychopaths I have met to date. At the beginning it was great. Then suddenly he was telling me my comedy sucked. Then he told me it was him or the puppets. After that the fights got violent. I remember even between him offering to kill his mother to get the insurance money to be with me I wanted to stay. When I ended it he stalked me and had his old girlfriends threaten me as well. I got a different mailing address and the memories still give me nightmares. You thought I would have been eager for a nice guy after that?

Hell no.

I dated bottom feeders because I felt like that was all I was worth. They didn't want to take me seriously and they didn't mind my ex was stalking me. The worse they treated me the more I wanted them.

There were some nice guys who came along and wanted to treat me well. One in particular really liked me. But the nicer he was to me the bitchier I was back. Some of it was that I was going through some intense shit at the time, an ex who was trying to kill himself at least once a week to get my attention. Some of it was that I didn't know how to be treated right. Needless to say the clusterfuck ended badly and if he saw me somewhere he would run. I heard he got married and is happy. I am glad he is happy, and frankly I feel bad I couldn't be the one to give it to him.

Then there was another one who would have given me the planet and I just wanted to give him grief. He lost my number and found the number of some girl who was nice and now they are engaged. I saw them and it made me want to stick a knife in my head, especially since I blew him off for a guy who had legal issues at the time.

Of course there was one who I was extremely mean to. He really cared about me and the only thing I cared about was getting under his skin. The closer he got the more I wanted to kick him. The nicer the things he did the more I retaliated. Not to mention when he told me he loved me I started cheating on him. Bitch was an understatement. I embarrassed him in public with my antics, called him names, and left him no choice but to call it over. He has a new girlfriend who hates my guts because I was so mean to him. His family hates me because I was so mean. Granted, my ex-fiance was posting scantily clad photos of me with the word slut on them in every online forum he could. But my then boyfriend was a really good sport about my stalker calling and hanging up whenever we were together.

I know this nuttiness, the jealousy, the outright bitch was the result of an abusive relationship and stalker ex. There was only one who could get past that and well, he was a bipolar who wouldnt comply with his psych meds and a drug addict and I had to let him go. He could handle my bitch and that made him special. It was because he could see the shitoeous behavior wasn't the result of a horrid attitude but because I was a damaged person. He knew how not to take it seriously in a way no other guy had. But alas, he was more damaged than I was.

Maybe I can't get a nice guy because I can't be nice. I know that. Plus I know when I go down my list of losers starting with the stalker ex who tried to kill himself in front of me twice I am not exactly what you take home to mom. And then it might get awkward when I realize I dated his dad at one point which has happened to me by the way. Some would say this is colorful. That is one way to describe it. Others would just call me an asshole and a goof ball.

But I just think of all those guys I used to jerk around and think of all the things I shouldn't have said and all the ways I should have behaved. And how they are all happy and it is too late for us. While I am sure my sister's judgement is better once you are a pickle you can never be a cucumber again. I know full well what it is like in life having to travel with a past where your psyche is scarred from an abusive psycho and all the things that follow taking it out on anyone and everyone you encounter in the wide world of dating. And how all your anger and grief just isolates you to the point where when you exit hell all you see is burnt ash and rubble.

Then I think of that line in As Good as it Gets. Jack Nicholson, a Duke in the Kingdom of the Damaged sums it up best, "Some people are on a hill, having a picnic, eating noodle salad. Just no one in this car."

To come to think of it I don't like noodle salad anyway. Plus this experience helps me speak to young women who write to me. Perhaps God never gives us more than we can handle, and this was the catalyst to help me get it together and get my dreams in motion never to let anyone take me down. Either way, I sometimes wish I wasn't so mean to some of the guys in my past.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
ebook on Kindle and Nook
Portion of Proceeds go to RAINN