Bruno Mars-o-Phobia

I will admit I have a fear of Bruno Mars. Yes, I am deathly afraid of the leader of the midgets who sings in a falsetto and who's lyrics wreak of misogyny and overt stalkerish creepery. James Brown also called me the other day. He wants his act back. And the gas station down the block that does oil changes wants this annoying munchkin to stop dipping his head in their supply and leaving a trail back to his mansion. They are losing money. On top of that, his career was handed to him with little or no effort because he did not have to deal with the slings and arrows of sexism but contributed. And his music is just plain HORRID.

Granted, I am not a 15 year old girl. As an adult woman I know it took him three second to write, "1,2,3 you can count on me....." And then I listen to him sing about a woman's vagina and how that is all she is to him. Way to contribute to the rape culture, Pal. Then again, he has only had sex once in his life and he thought it would never happen for him and he's kinda happy. So perhaps I should be a little easy on the man representing the Lollipop Guild.

But those are not the sole reasons I hate and fear this cacophony that just needs to go back to Hawaii and pick pineapple. There is a deeper reason, and if you read this you will understand.

About a year and a half ago, work was really busy. I was taking a night off visiting my friend and her grand-daughter. My friend's grand-daughter was about ten, and she had several of her friends over. At the time I had no feeling on Mr. Mars or his noise that masquerades as music either way. It was teeny bopper shit. But my friend's grand-daughter and her friends were blasting his album which took seconds to write as I mentioned and maybe five minutes to produce. If they would have played the album once it would have been fine. But over the course of three hours they played it over and over and over and over and over. It was to the point where me and my friend were both begging the grand-daughter and her friends to play something else. They wouldn't budge. The torture went on for another hour, and it was so terrible I starting confessing government secrets I did not know just to get them to stop. Just kidding, I didn't confess government secrets. I don't know any. However, I was making them up. Anything to get them to stop!!!!!

Up to that point I had actually respected him a little as a multi-instrumentalist because I have a cousin who was a music prodigy as a kid. So I know how much work it takes to master an instrument, and I respect it. Sure the lyrics were horrid but there was some talent there.But now his music was playing in a loop in my mind, over and over. I listened to gangsta rap. I listened to Nirvana. Good music from my generation. Nothing helped. So I decided I needed to go to bed.

I laid my head down to sleep. In my dream, I was living in a big Hollywood mansion away from all the financial problems I was swimming in. The dream was good, for a few seconds. That is, until people kept saying, "Oh April, there's your husband. Isn't he such a great guy to throw this party for you?"

I thought so too, that is, until he emerged.

It was none other than Bruno Mars. I wanted to die right then and there. My mother's warning had come true. I married a midget. Granted, he was a very loaded one, but a midget nonetheless. And this midget made horrible music about women's vaginas and was very probably that stalker boyfriend you had to go to the cops for. What, he has only had sex once. Men with one sexual encounter tend to get attached. I had degraded myself, and wanted to die. As if that wasn't enough he said, "Hello Fairy Princess."

I woke up screaming and sweat was dripping down my face. It was all just a bad dream. I threw some water on my face and went to get some coffee at the deli. Relief and back to reality, a place that I sometimes detest but today I welcomed like surprise money under my mattress. Well as soon as I step into the corner store, I hear "One, two, three you can count on me...." coming from the radio. And right in front of me on the magazine stand in the same corner store is Bruno Mars on the front cover of GQ.

The munchkin was stalking me! First he invaded my head. Then he invaded my dreams. Now he was invading my life. He was saying as he smiled on the front of GQ, "Die feminist bitch, die. I will sing about hating women and degrade them in each and every one of my songs. And I am three feet tall, so you will need to toss me. But catch me if you can, first."

And I said, "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

So I will end this horror story the way all horror stories end. Your mother told you never to trust a midget who steals James Brown's act, sings in falsetto about hitting women, and steals oil for his hair from the local gas station. She was correct. I didn't listen and now the midget haunts me. Then again, Sting didn't take his mother seriously, and now Bruno Mars steals his beats.

I will take the monkey's paw any day of the week over this shit. 

Roasting Punxsutawney Phil

I hate winter more and more every day. It is turning into a canker sore on my soul. I hate this season. January sucks, February is better because work picks up but still sucks. Either way, when I think of winter, I think of death. Sometimes it gets so depressing why not die?

There is nothing like dying in the winter. Then again, a lot of people do it so the notion is kind of hack. Of course in the winter you are more likely to be alone so death is more likely to occur. However, death never comes when you need it to or want it to. So you are suck in your bed looking like a miserable fool. Then there is the thought of killing yourself. Yes, one could use the Sylvia Plath method but they made gas ovens in those days. We have electronic now, so scrap that. As for the overdose, everyone's done that too. Jumping out the window, so tempting but useless if you have the wrong outfit. Truth is, while winter sucks you are better off living.

Still, the little fat bastard Phil has sentenced us to six more weeks. So far this winter has been very dark for me. I am sitting in a lot of career uncertainty. Basically, I don't know what's next for me. Hey, with death at least you know you're gonna die. With uncertainty it's this dark tunnel. The outcome might well be wonderful, but then it might end in a barren desert. Of course, when you try to relay this to people they try their best/worst to help.

"You had a good run April, but it's a time for spiritual growth."

"You know, you could always do my project. You've gained exposure. I mean, I can't pay you but...."

"You're young, you have time."

I wish I could point to some path that looks like there is light at the end of my tunnel it feels like I am travelling in only the darkness. The fall/winter was kind of dark. Things got busy with work and I found myself poised to save Christmas. My grandfather died, too. It seemed all I did was work my fingers to the bone. As for this winter I was hoping to get a break but no. It's the slow time of year for my job. Money is tight. It's cold. My writing has been rejected from a few places. As a smart, ambitious, capable woman I am once again kicked in the face and forced to settle for crumbs.

Then those around me cannot wait to take cheap shots at me now that my chest is open. Whether it's washed up women showing uterus pictures on facebook or men seeking to oppress me because I have opinions, I feel as if I can't win. Oh and Phillip Seymour Hoffman died. We met once when I was having a bad day, but I needed a friend and he comforted me. I didn't know it was him until he rode off on his bike. What hurts the most is that he didn't realize how wonderful he was when we had him. Oh, and the Broncos sucked. While Bruno Mars did rock out a good half time show, it is proof America celebrates men who hate women, and women in this country don't have a voice. The only good thing is Amanda Knox might be going back to jail.

The only thing I have on my side is that it has to get better because it can't get any worse. Winter sucks for everyone. I have six more weeks of this cursed shit and so does everyone. Instead of dying I think I will just find the nearest groundhog and make groundhog burgers.

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

Everyone knows Frankenstorm has just passed. Windows were boarded up. McDonalds, Starbucks and the Post Office were closed citing a world's end. One would have honestly thought the real Frankenstein Monster was coming to town. No, he was not burned to death by a bunch of angry villagers with pitchforks but rather he was alive and well.

Not it was not the Wolfman either. In the movie Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman, Lon Chaney is resurrected from the dead. He says, "Every full moon I turn into a werewolf." I just wanted to tell him, "Sir, those are some serious problems." But in this photo he looks like a New Yorker getting cabin fever after days of being at the mercy of Frankenstorm.

In this case the evil gypsy woman is not telling the New Yorkers that they cannot get out. It is Bloomberg who shut down our subways and Frankenstorm who is keeping us in. But the thing with horror movies is, when the gypsies begin to mobilize you know things are bad. Just like in real life. By the way Maria Ouspenskya was a famous Method Acting Teacher. Her claim to fame was the mother of Bela in the original Wolfman, the man that screwed Lon Chaney over making him a wolf every full moon.

That being said, what could have rescued us this Frankenstorm? It came so close to Halloween. I was doing BJ Thorne's show at the PIT, it is a talk show set in hell,and they were interviewing me about my book. BJ in the character of Vincent the host asked, "Does this book have no portal?" When I said no he said, "Then it is no use to me." Afterwards, his character then reads a book that he thinks will rescue him from hell only to realize it is a copy of Plan Nine from Outer Space. Then that got me thinking, "Plan nine from outer space, resurrect the dead." That sounded like a brilliant idea.

But Frankenstorm found me thankful. Throughout I didn't lose power or electric and still had running water. One man I know walked from the East Village to the McDonalds at Midtown to charge his cellphone. That is commitment. Not to mention friends and family banded together to make sure no one went without. It was very sweet. Still, there was all this hype. I found myself a little disappointed. In my neighborhood there was noncommittal wind, noncommittal rain, just like Kato Kaelin and his testimony in the OJ trial. Hell, he had more commitment than the storm in my neighborhood.

In some areas though it was terrible. The Jersey Shore is basically under water. What will Snooky do? Get her weave wet. Between her fat ass and her syphillis I am sure she will find some way to swim. With all the diseases she has she would only pollute the water more.

With the tanning beds wet tanning mom can't get skin cancer so perhaps this is a good thing.

But look on the bright side, New York City is now ready for things like a zombie invasion. Hey, if the dead hipsters all rise from the grave we are all screwed. But now we have a plan.

Still with all the hype I wanted to see Godzilla.

Or maybe King Kong. And maybe I could ask them all why does Hollywood always want to destroy my city?

Rest assured though, one thing about New York City is that since the dawn of time, no matter how close we come, we always win against the aliens.

Last night I went out and saw my old friend and classmate F. Michael Haynie. He is currently in Wicked on Broadway as BOQ. You should check him out. He looked good and sounded good. Then I remembered the Wizard of Oz took place as a result of a twister. Yes, Dorothy Gale created an international incident by killing a dictator and accidentally overthrowing a fascist regime, but who couldn't help but oppress a munchkin?

Twisters are usually good luck for me. After a big storm in high school I got the role of the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz. Then a few years later I did the best set ever in the same show as Kristen Shaal. After that, when there was a real bad twister in Queens I was asked to do a show called My Strange Addiction with my little puppet children. Then during Irene I did one of many drafts of a book called I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl. What will this twister bring? Maybe some fan art by Libby Jay.

Maybe a change to hang out on the Coney Island Boardwalk with Bob Greenberg

Maybe Snoop Dogg or Snoop Lion or whatever he calls himself will blow back into town. Will he be so gracious as to share his gin and juice with this shorty?

Maybe May Wilson and George Dudley will get their own reality show at the chagrin of April Brucker and Otto Petersen, detailing the nitty gritty of their tryst including love child.

Maybe my puppet children will clean my house

Speaking of munchkins and puppets, maybe Bruno Mars will drive up, serenade me, and take me to his Beverly Hills Mansion where I can abandon all notions of Women's Lib and never have to work again only to be a kept woman. Wait, that is May Wilson's fantasy.

Or maybe a book called I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Performer will start to get picked up my stores. As I begin to schedule my book tour here's hoping.

Either way my gym is closed because of water issues which meant no kickboxing. The highways are jammed to hell cause there is no public transport. The gas stations had people fighting as early as five in the morning. I havent delivered a telegram in days because of the transport issues. I believe that the chaos is behind us though. But just as Frankenstein had a bride, does Frankenstorm have a bride?

All jokes aside sometimes we need a Franksenstorm to show us how truly blessed we are, and how we don't know what we have until it is gone. I know right now this is a hard time for all of us and know that in our hearts we are being taken care of. That with a little faith we can navigate through these challenges before us.

I wrote this blog because I figured we could all use a little laugh.

Love April

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

877-Buy-Book