10 Things I Know For Sure

1. It takes more than 3 licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop.

2. Say what you will about Trump, but he owns Jeb Bush like a little bitch when they debate. I want to buy Jeb a drink, but still wouldn't want to be his friend.

3. Anyone who smokes pot is really just an insider on government conspiracies and this is their way of hiding it so they don't get caught.

4. Bernie Sanders is not related to Colonel Sanders, the KFC guy.

5. UFOs always make the same mistake, stop abducting from trailer parks. Then maybe you will find intelligent life.

6. A fetus is always front and center in any and every election. And that lazy blob of DNA has yet to jump out of it's mother's uterus. What an entitled brat!

7. My mom has psychic powers. She always knows when I need socks and underwear.

8. When Charlie Sheen tells you to get it together, that's not just rock bottom. That is the Mariana's Trench.

9. The Easter Bunny is Jesus's magical pet.

10. Never have a glitter bomb war with Taylor Swift. Just don't. 

My Brand New Place

It has been two whole weeks since I moved into my new digs. The first week was hectic with me getting settled and all. My room was filled with boxes. When we were kids, Skipper, Wendell, and I had a box structure known as Gotham City. Our parents gave it the tongue and cheek nickname because they were remodelling our kitchen, they had leftover boxes, and we made a maze. Of course a groundhog got in there and that was the end of our fun.

These days I do live in Gotham City for real. Well more on the outskirts these days in a sister borough, but I live there nonetheless. My first week there were enough boxes in my new room that I thought of fashioning a new Gotham City. I was bummed there was no groundhog for my mother to chase with a baseball bat, and for Wendell to pretend he wasn't scared of.

One thing I do have in my new digs is a yard with SQUIRRELS. Yes, squirrels. When my mom was in town she saw a black squirrel. Apparently, a black squirrel is a genetic mutation and supposedly attacks the rest of the squirrels. So everything is scared of it. I wasn't aware the animal kingdom was so damn racist. Hack joke. Had to. Make fun of me now.

After all that happened, I was glad to spend this past week going to work and coming home. The 7 train at it's best is like a bullet train. These days I am at work faster than I have ever been when I was living in The Kitchen. In the old days I wanted fireworks all the time. Now I am content with calm and hum drum.

I also bombed this past week onstage, had my first shit fit in my room, and semi-cried myself to sleep on my new mattress. When you have a good cry on a mattress that is how you know a place is becoming home. I would even have a crying corner in my kitchen where I downed cookie dough in times of crisis but that might be just a little weird with my male housemates around.

I had a strange conversation with one this week. He's a good guy, divorced dad of two. It started with, "Not to offend you." We all know they are about to offend the shit outta you when they do that. He told me not to put tampons in the toilet. I feared I might have accidentally, because when I had my follow up at the doc's where they scraped my cervix after my cancer scare, I might have dropped my pad in the toilet after a moment of drained shock. But I didn't. Apparently his niece had flushed a tampon and totally overflowed the toilet. Sigh....a special thank you to the awkward fairy for that moment.

This same housemate saw a special about UFOs and NASA, and a scientist insists that the government is keeping the people in the dark. He says not only are there UFOs, but they created the humans as slaves to do their mining work. And that we are all part UFO. I felt this was a reach but my housemate was fascinated by this and felt that this guy wouldn't lie.

Hmmmmm

My other housemate and I had a chat about it. He informed me that yes, our dear housemate has a fascination with UFOs and conspiracies, but at this point kind of watches way too much TV. Still, maybe there are UFOs. We have some strange acting people on this planet. Who knows? Either way, I like them both and my new living situation much better than the one I left. It's entertaining and most importantly, I am safe.

My UFO obsessed housemate and I have kind of bonded. He is a divorcee with two kids, so sometimes when I chat with him, he sees things from my mom's point of view. While I feel sometimes my parents are crazy, maybe they aren't. Maybe they have some points. Maybe UFOs do exist. Who am I to judge anyone?

This past week I purchased two puppets. My puppet family and I are back to normal, although it has been a rough couple of months for us. I feel more protective of them than ever, and I feel we are all working more as a unit than we ever have. But of course, I left a horrific situation. So if someone believes in UFOs and conspiracies and that's it, I'm game.

No one has broken into my room yet and tried to turn on the gas so I might in fact die. No one has followed me around the neighborhood let alone threatened me. All and all, a better start. Best news ever, none of the rejects I entangled myself with from my old neighborhood know where I am.

Work has gone back to normal as well. Friday I found myself learning "Deep in the Heart of Texas" for a gig. I had it perfect on the train. Then I got there and it was perfect for the most part. One recipient had a weird name that I managed to mangle. Well they all did but this was the weird name I thought I had. But the other weird name was the one I was afraid of messing up but that was perfect. So I got the weirder name perfect but mangled the less weird name. Such is life. The medley was alright. Then the ending worked. It wasn't the way I rehearsed it but I gave them the liquor.

After the gig, I was out on the sidewalk second guessing my work and two people passed me, a man and a woman. The guy says, "That was brutal."

The girl says, "Yeah, a complete disaster. That went real wrong real fast."

The low self-esteem bubble began to run in my head. Did they just come from the party where I was the telegram? I had no idea because the place was so dark. Suddenly, I began to feel like dried dog shit on the sidewalk. A lot had gone wrong in my life and it had been a tricky last few months. I hoped they weren't talking about me. I had no clue, no proof, but the bells began to go off. I began to hope they weren't talking about me. With all that went on, I couldn't lose my most consistent survival job.

At that moment I realized I was tired. Weeks of court dates, harassment, stress, and living in hell had taken it's toll. Yeah, I am in a better situation and look like I am sleeping and eating. I look so good now that people don't gasp when they see me because I am too overwrought to eat. But still, I was freaking drained. Change is exhausting.

I figured the best thing I could do was go to bed. I had no proof they were speaking about me, and if they were fuck them. If they had to endure what I just did they would probably be dead. Actually, there are times I am surprised my life hasn't killed me. Maybe it will someday. It's probably going to be my life, some crazed fan, or the wife of an ex lover.

The client did call the next day with a bitch, but their bitch was legit. It wasn't about my performance, but instead about the fact their ungrateful friends didn't thank them for the expensive liquor. So the bitch was about their ungrateful punkage, not my performance.

My new life has lawn flamingos, Christmas kitsch, and neighbors who own their property. Welcome to life outside of Rental Prison aka New York City. Ten minutes outside the city. What am I talking about? I'm still a renter, what am I talking about, Willis?

Of course there are moments I miss the bustle and hustle of Midtown at this time of year. But when I saw my sister Skipper and her fiance Boomer I suddenly remembered how good it was that I could leave. Yes, I got them matching Christmas cookie cutters and a chew toy for their dog son Cooper. Stepping off the train I only wanted to punch every person in front of me. Yeah, don't miss NYC on a Saturday when everyone and their damn mother has the same idea.

The visit was fun, and made me like Central Park now that I wasn't down the street from it. I hung out with everyone again that night, and bring in an internet friend. We had expensive pizza, and then there was some beer involved. Add in an improv ventriloquist show with Officer E at the same pizza spot. Made me love New York all over again. Made me forget about how beat up and tired I felt living in the pressure cooker known as Manhattan. Made me grateful I could have the city and then travel over the bridge to my home.

I of course made my same prediction about how I might die. We had a laugh. Death is always funny. Sunday I went to my new church which is beautiful but feels impersonal. I need a new church boy crush. Of course I talked to my parents who only managed to stress me out mildly.

Then I saw the wife of an ex of mine, who's only completely unhinged, wrote a tweet about me that was only completely crazy. She called me her psychotic enemy. I mean, that's kind of deep because she's the one who constantly harasses me, and I don't care about her really. So yeah, she's reaching kind of deep. And she was angry I moved into what she called "my borough." Wasn't aware it was yours, sweetheart. Thought you shared it with about a million other people but what do I know?

This woman has been out of control for some time and made me question about whether or not to alert law enforcement because with each passing year she gets more aggressive. Then I decided it was a crush. Now that we are in the same borough, her borough, she can finally just kill me and help the sales of my novel and DVD. But first she's gotta buy me dinner. These days apparently she's in therapy. Maybe she's bitching about me now. Ha ha ha.

At that moment I realized that despite all that happened, I was still on track because someone was jealous of me. LOL. But then I decided to celebrate the actual victory like my new comic book being on the shelf this week. YES, new comic book. And the fact I am going to Vegas to work in January again with May Wilson. And my two new puppets. And the fact I am in a magazine again.

Of course this was after accidentally jogging on Northern Boulevard and watching reruns of Beverly Hills 90210. I like highways and I love cheesy teen trash. New home, old habits die hard.

Keeley's Last Stand

Back in the day, when Nishu lived on East 50^th Street, we had a crew of friends akin to the Outlaws of Sherwood Forest and the Lost Boys/Lost Girls of Never Land. We were a crew that somehow managed to test the laws of nature. While endearing and harmless in our way, there was no question some of us were more high drama than others. One such friend was Keeley. Yes, Keeley, she is so much so that these days we simply refer to her as “The K Word.”

In the early 1900s, Raku Nene magic was outlawed on an island in the South Pacific after a number of natives conjured this ultimately destructive spirit. While Raku Nene was fun in some ways, in others he was hell on wheels. The adventures with this fiend would begin as fun but always end in something burning down. To say his name was to summon him. These days Keeley has the same effect. So yes, as I said we now mention her by the term above and not her given name thus risking summoning her.

To give you a little background on Keeley, she is originally from the panhandle part of Florida. She is part Seminole actually, and her grandfather was a chief of some sort. Keeley came to NYC to attend NYU film school. During her tenure there, she discovered a love and a passion for makeup. So after graduation she worked as a makeup artist, and production supervisor. Keeley had quite a career until 2 things happened: First, the market popped, and second, employers discovered she was cat shit crazy.

Keeley had an interesting housing record. You see, she was either evicted or kicked out of every residence she lived in. When Keeley was kicked out, she was not just asked to leave but rather the cops were called as the roommates were throwing her things out the window. Or she called the cops to settle a petty roommate argument and they said, “Wow, this bitch is insane. We gotta get her out of here.”

It seemed as if Keeley’s luck was turning when she scored a luxury two bedroom that was rent controlled. She lived there for two years without getting evicted, a feat of strength for her. However, there was a new landlord who jacked the rent up to market value. During that period, the Recession hit and everyone was affected. Work dried up, and Keeley began to sweat like the rest of the world. So instead of getting a roommate or even moving, Keeley decided to fight her landlord in eviction court.

The East Coast female version of the Michael Keaton character from Pacific Heights, this had not been Keeley’s first rodeo. She knew the ins and outs of eviction court so well that she chose to represent herself. I don’t know what was worse, the fact she had been through this so many times, or the fact she actually did a decent job there for a minute. In order to sharpen her knowledge, Keeley spent countless hours researching. Sure, she wasn’t certified by the New York Bar Association, but she never let a little technicality like that get in her way.

Aside from acting as her own defense, Keeley was also an ardent conspiracy theorist. A member of the Occupy Movement, Keeley had been increasingly more active as time went on, and became convinced the government was tapping her phone. Then she also surmised that her landlord was selling her secrets to these people that were following her. To say she was off the hook was the understatement of the year.

Keeley’s first few times in court proved victorious, but she had a feeling they would be short lived. She also believed the eviction notice to be not because of unpaid rent, but rather, a plot where her landlord was aligning himself with the government. While I have met stoners with more plausible, concrete theories, theirs usually contain UFOs and they know when to knock it off. Keeley was stone cold sober, and that is the true enigma here.

Fearing she would lose and be homeless, Keeley began to cozy up to a suspicious old man who was nearing death. The two began trading racy text messages, and he promised Keeley a place to live for free. However, his living heirs stepped in and put a stop to this. Keeley is hardly Anna Nicole, but they suspected she had other motives.

Time was running out, and Keeley was at a dead end. So she decided to hit me up for a psychic palm reading. At the time, I was working semi-regularly as a palm reader and astrologer to supplement my income as a ventriloquist. Keeley, wanting to know what to do next, consulted me for a reading. Actually, she didn’t consult me. Rather, when we were hanging out she shoved her palm in my direction and demanded to know what the outcome of her eviction proceeding was going to be.

As a reader, this kind of thing was uncomfortable for me. You see, this is the reason I didn’t pursue this vocation further. There were people I read for with medical and legal questions. I don’t want to and don’t like to answer those. My brother and sister are doctors. They went to school for 8 years, not only would it be asinine for me to channel the answer, but also an insult to people with actual knowledge. Same with legal questions.

“Is the marshal coming for me, and do I need to hide?” Keeley demanded.

I took a look at her palm, and wanted to get out of this awkward space right quick. “I think the marshal will come when the judge issues his next ruling.” I told her. The marshal couldn’t legally come just yet, even if the landlord in judge were now in cahoots as Keeley had opined they were earlier that evening.

“What will the judge’s ruling be?!” Keeley demanded, her eyes wide and crazy.

“Consult a lawyer and things will go in your favor.” I wanted nothing more to do with this. Keeley began telling me more and more and asked if any spirits of dead people were around her. I lied and said yes. I just wanted rid of this crazy bitch.

Keeley’s eviction proceeding dragged on, and I didn’t know whether to loathe her for being a deadbeat or respect the fact she stuck like super glue to her skewed morals. It got to the point where she was driving everyone in our crew crazy. Jeanette avoided any and all contact with her, because Keeley became convinced this cougar would let he move in. Her words, “Anywhere she goes, everyone gets kicked out. No thanks.”

Sarit, who was lying to a racist Marine in Indiana about her age in order to entrap a breathing husband found Keeley’s behavior contemptuous. I believe she said, “Why doesn’t she work out a money deal with her landlord. This is ridiculous.” When Sarit calls you ridiculous, you need to take serious stock of your life.

Jessi and Jeanie found Keeley too much to take, and told Nishu that they would not be present if she were to be invited over. That is when Nishu revealed Keeley had a car and thousands of dollars worth of designer jewelry and dresses she could sell to pay her landlord back. Then again, why would our friend ever do the rational thing?

Jessi, Jeanie, Nishu and I were having a Keeley free Sunday. It was our plan because she had just become too psychotic. Just then, Jeanie’s phone got a ring. It was Keeley. We agreed not to pick it up. Then my phone rang, then Jessi’s. However, this ring was weird. It was one ring and then the person hung up. Was Keeley okay? Despite the fact our friend had annoyed us and we did a Regina George by not inviting her to hang out, she was still our girl. This worried us.

Five minutes later, Nishu got a text. It said:

“To friends and family members of Keeley O’Donnell, her body was found this morning in her West Side apartment. She has no family members we can identify in the area. Please call this number if you have any information.”

“This is so terrible!” Jessi said.

“Yeah, and so bizarre. I knew we should have invited her.” Nishu said casting an evil eye at the three of us.

“Nishu, she was off the hook the last time she was here and was trying to go the psychic route. How much crazy am I expected to handle?” I asked.

“She has a point.” Jeanie said siding with me.

We all agreed he should call the number. If our friend had died, we wanted to know. The four of us all began to feel terribly as Nishu tried not once, but six times. Finally he got an answer. In order to assuage us, he put it on speaker. “Hey, what’s going on?” A familiar voice said.

Our jaws dropped. It was none other than Keeley herself. “Keeley, you are supposed to be dead.” Nishu informed her.

“So?” Keeley said.

“So you sent this psychotic text saying you were dead. We were worried.” Nishu was appalled as were the rest of us.

“No one was picking up their phone. What else was I supposed to do?” Keeley replied as if this was no big deal whatsoever.

“Not do something fucked up like you did.” Nishu informed her, aghast that she thought this was an appropriate course of action.

“Look, I’m sorry if I worried you for real.” Keeley whined, “It’s just that-“

“I can’t deal with you now.” Nishu told her and hung up the phone. We all exchanged glances. A pall of silence fell over the room. It had hurt us to cut her out, but we had to. The bitch was too damn crazy. Of course then she sent Nishu an abusive text about how he used to be "cool, long haired and greasy" and now he was just a "sell out." He texted her back informing her that he was an adult who could keep a domicile without testing the legal system multiple times. 

After the awkward fairy had laid her dust,  Nishu suggested we watch Stargate. We agreed. Not another word was spoken about what had happened, and no one mentioned it thereon after. However, it was a silent, unwritten rule that Keeley was no longer an everyday friend. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

The Odd Couple

About a month ago, I introduced my friend Keeley into my blogs and her roommate Bobby in Matilda Rides Again (http://missaprilb.blogspot.com/2014/08/matilda-rides-again.html) . However, I was talking to a writer friend about them recently, and they informed me this dynamic duo needed their own blog.

Enter Keeley. She is a makeup artist and hairdresser who has worked with some of the biggest names in Hollywood. Originally graduated from NYU film, she is like a great many alumni from our sacred institution, brilliant at what she does but an otherwise maladjusted, somewhat entitled, art struck nutcase who will take the most dramatic route possible. After film school, Keeley discovered her talent for special effects makeup and this led to makeup in general. So she found a niche.

For years, Keeley subsisted as a successful makeup artist and has a lexicon of tales. She was successful, living in midtown after having struck a great deal in a luxury high rise. But all good things come to an end as the building was sold. Her rent got jacked up to market value. The place was spacious, and Keeley could have gotten a roommate or even moved to Queens where a guy she knows owns a building. However, she decided to fight the increase in a court of law.

Keeley is a Pacific Heights type of tenant, a nightmare for any landlord. Like the Michael Keaton character, this was not her first rodeo in eviction court. Keeley had lived rent free for a year in each of her previous domiciles as she battled her landlords. However, she had stayed in this particular place for nearly a decade without incident. Wanting to save money, Keeley reschooled herself on tort law and battled her landlord in court for two years. While part of me reviled her tactics, she was also a bit of an inspiration to become a complete dead beat.

Keeley fought the law, but the law won. So she was forcibly removed from her apartment by the marshal. Keeley went through a series of apartments. One was a swanky pad of an old friend on the Upper West Side where she basically had the first floor of their three floor duplex. Keeley got into an altercation with the daughter of the owner and her Puerto Rican pot smoker boyfriend, and there was alleged money laundering going on anyway. So the mother sold the place and Keeley was evicted. Then Keeley had a brief affair with an old Jewish fellow who had been successful in real estate, and she moved into his Yorkville apartment. Suspecting his maid was not in fact deaf but rather working as a spy for the government, Keeley got into a shoving match with her. An Occupy activist, Keeley insisted the government was sending spies, and this woman fit the profile. Once again, Keeley was thrown out.

Now Keeley found her way into the shelter system. A conspiracy theorist as we established, Keeley surmised from her findings that the government wanted to keep the homeless in their current state, and she also felt experiments were being conducted on her. Unwilling to be stepped on, Keeley decided to stage a revolution in the shelter. Keeley enlisted the help of two schizophrenics who believed Obama was following them, and an unmedicated bipolar woman who had delusions that she could read the minds of politicians on television. Add in the crack head who fancied herself a female Robespierre. Needless to say, they were all evicted from the shelter.

Homeless with no where to go, Keeley moved into a storage elevator in the facility her things were being kept in. She survived for two weeks by stealing food and using a friend’s shower. However, a storage elevator is no place to sleep. Keeley slipped and fell, and had to go to the hospital. Yes, she fractured her hip. Keeley, needing money and justice, attempted to use her legal skills to sue the facility. The case was thrown out of court. It was illegal for her to be sleeping there to begin with the judge said.

After getting out of the hospital and having her legal prowess humbled, Keeley needed a place to stay. In her desperation, she hit up my friend Nishu, the fairy Godfather and literal ring master of any and all uber eccentric New Yorkers. The Keeley drama, he decided, was too much for him to handle. Nishu was having drama of his own.

When he moved to America from India, Nishu had gone on a lease with a woman named Sandra in order to get a more favorable rent deal. A 35 year old who claimed she was 23, Sandra was his significant other on lease only. As per their agreement, Sandra could come and go as she pleased. Desperate for love, she dated racist Marines from PlentyofFish.com, and one was even trying to join the KKK when he was discharged I believe. This ended when Sandra faked a pregnancy in order to keep him. Needless to say, Sandra had spiraled out of control, and her stalkers were now harassing Nishu.

To make matters worse, Nishu was still in his playboy phase and had a bad habit of dating web cam models and other women who took their clothes off for a living in various fashions. One had even tried to kill him with a steak knife and was led away in a straight jacket. So Nishu’s ladies and Sandra’s stalkers were starting to meet, and disaster was unfolding. He needed to move and quick. Nishu needed to start his new place off with no drama. That is when Bobby enters the picture.

Good old Bobby is a low budget porno producer. Cam girls star in his films when they are getting their start and going up, but also when the sex industry has beaten the crap out of them and they are headed downward. While he is an operation that is low tech, he fancies himself a Vivid Video director. Bobby had met Nishu in his wildling days long before Hedda came into the picture and laid down the law. At the time, Nishu had done computer work for Bobby. In exchange for the hard work, Bobby paid him well and fixed him up with some of the women that worked for him. These women all turned out to be very damaged as all porn stars are. Yes, Bobby fixed him up with the one who tried to kill him.

Bobby’s films do no pay well. As a result, many of his women must resort to exotic dancing and prostitution. They feel Bobby is only a mere step up on the ladder of XXX films. However, the naïve ones truly believe he is someone. Often in exchange for roles in badly written flicks, Bobby forces the women to have sex with him. For the record he is about 300 pounds, never bathes, has greasy brown hair, dawns dark To Catch a Predator glasses and wears a fanny pack. Most of the models cringe when they speak of their sexcapades with Bobby. But in his mind, Bobby is a sex tiger. In addition to being a boss who pays his undressed help in slimy quarters, Bobby never pays his assistants. I know, what a guy.

Nishu and the rest of all unanimously are skeeved out by Bobby. Hedda in recent times has also put her foot down.Yes Hedda, the female zookeeper who had caged the buck named Nishu and tamed him  This is because Bobby brings his old, weirdo friends to Nishu’s parties and they eat all the food, drink all the beer, and are so strange they scare the regulars away. So Bobby is that friend no one likes. However, the only reason Nishu has even kept talking to him is Bobby has a boat. We all party on the boat several times a summer, and we hang out on there until the sun comes up. So yes, we kind of use Bobby. Hey, when casting a play in hell you don’t get angels as actors. The boat is dirty because Bobby is a slob, so even that excuse gets old, though.

After some thought, Bobby agreed to take Keeley in. They agreed that because Keeley was destitute, she could not pay rent. However, in exchange for free living space, she would buy him food with her newly acquired EBT card and clean. This worked out because Bobby is a complete slob and Keeley is a neat freak. Bobby’s building is a co-op of sorts, so a person living there who is not on the lease could get him evicted. Right away, there was some confusion on the move in date. Keeley came, and Bobby was not home. He believed it was the next day, and was shooting a short with one of his models. Keeley, angered and confused, settled every dispute the way she always does. She called the cops. The cops arrived, and all was settled. Bobby narrowly managed to avoid getting evicted, and Keeley moved in.

About a month into her journey under Bobby’s roof, Keeley had her jewelry stolen by one of Bobby’s girls. Employed as the star in his latest flick, Cucumber Love, a bondage laced narrative where the leather clad lady shoves a cucumber up her derriere, she had taken Keeley’s expensive earrings, bracelets, and dresses. Nevermind that Keeley could have sold these things and have some money to live on. A girl has to have a few things I suppose. Anyway, to his credit Bobby came completely clean and was honest. Yes, the hooker stole her things. However, unlike Keeley this working girl had a job and she had to look good for the nightly clients. Bobby admitted that there might be plans to return the merchandise, but he was not sure.

Keeley was not taking any chances. After Bobby grudgingly gave her the address, Keeley arrived at the house of the John. Unlike Bobby’s house which pretends to be a place of ill-repute, this was an all out brothel. Jade, the name of the porn starlette/prostitute in question, saw Keeley coming and panicked. She had been wearing her dress all evening and had performed a job in it. In a flurry in a head already filled with many bad decisions, she threw off Keeley’s clothes hoping the angry woman would not notice. Furiously, Keeley pounded at the door. She wanted her things back. Jade decided to tap into the dim light bulb on her head for one more suggestion. So she answered the door stark naked, implants and all hoping to prove a point.

Keeley was determined. She made her way into the brothel and demanded her things back. Jade denied having them even though Keeley saw them out of the corner of her eye. That is when the John, an Italian greaser, stepped in and settled the dispute. Keeley got in his face, and he did what any man in his position would do, he pimp slapped her. When Keeley got home, she was angry and demanded Bobby get her things back. Bobby refused claiming he wasn’t responsible if his women stole her things or not. So Keeley did whatever she could to thwart the production of his porn films. This included calling the Department of Health.

Finally, Bobby was sick and tired of this. The two got into an all out shouting match in which Keeley tried to trip him. Angry, Bobby decked her. A frantic, panicked neighbor, an older woman called the cops. Bobby was taken away in handcuffs and spent the night in jail. Out of spite, not fear, Keeley pressed charges and filed a restraining order. Meanwhile, during Bobby’s night in jail, Jade returned with the jewelry and dresses. She said she thought they would make her more money, but failed to impress her gentlemen callers. Jade, wanting to be an ambassador of good will from the world’s oldest profession, told her she was sorry for the pimp slap. She explained Rocco was protective of his women.

Bobby got out of jail. There was no way he was going to make Keeley leave. Sure, she had gotten him arrested and now he had a court date. However, the free food and maid service had spoiled him. Keeley couldn’t leave either. She had no where to go. Periodically though, she would remind Bobby she had a restraining order and could kick him out at any time.

Bobby was at the end of his rope with Keeley, and attempted to enlist the help of Nishu and Hedda by-proxy. During a very tense, bizarre, and awkward brunch, Bobby begged Nishu to control Keeley.  Present during this occasion, Hedda was rather vocal about how Bobby made her skin crawl. Putting her foot down, she informed Nishu that Keeley had dug her own grave, and perhaps these two deserved each other. Putting the nail in the coffin of his life pre-domestic bliss, Hedda told him he was not to interfere anymore with this drama that was a mix between soap opera and psych ward gone wrong.

Meanwhile, Keeley and Bobby returned to getting along. Keeley came to regret her quick decision to get a restraining order, and wanted to drop the charges. The DA, who was a young jack that wanted his conviction rate up, kept pestering Keeley and refused to honor her request. They were given a court date for September 11^th. So off those two went, wasting tax payer time and money.

As the court date loomed, Keeley used the restraining order as blackmail whenever Bobby didn’t honor her wishes. Bobby then got back at Keeley by doing things to annoy her. In the sweltering summer, as she slept, he would turn off the air conditioner and roast her out of bed. During this time, Keeley got a job as a makeup artist and began to get on her feet. She was having a check mailed to the house, and Bobby promised her that one piece of mail wouldn’t make his landlord suspicious. Bobby got his mail daily, and denied Keeley’s check had come. Keeley’s employers had proof they mailed it. Then Keeley had the suspicion that Bobby stole it. Thus she reminded him of the court date looming, and he returned the check. Then they made some roommate rules, Keeley could not halt production of his pornos and he could not steal her things, and neither could his girls. It was time for order.

As one would believe, the court date proved to be a disaster. The DA was angry that Keeley was living with Bobby despite the restraining order, and told her she was in violation herself. Keeley in turn explained neither one wanted to go to trial. The DA stated he didn’t understand. Keeley said they were getting along and the state needed to butt out of her business. The DA, self-righteous and straight out of law school, explained he took the upper hand against scummy men like Bobby, and no woman in his town would have a man like this. Keeley explained Bobby wasn’t her boyfriend or husband, but a friend who kindly took her in and this resulted in and this was a roommate fight gone wrong. The DA now was flabbergasted. With a mix of an axe to grind and still wanting to get his conviction rate up, his assigned this twosome another court date.

After this episode, there was more drama. Bobby’s ex Janae came to visit. Back in the day, Janae had been a live booth girl in Times Square. Her aspirations had been Playboy. However, her teeth were crooked and while her boob job turned out well, her face was kind of odd. So more or less, she had to settle for the back pages of Hustler where all the well-endowed marginal looking women go. Janae had worked for Bobby when she started, and for a while he had managed her. The two fell in love and started dating.

The relationship was a disaster because most women who work in the skin industry are insane as we established. However, Bobby still held a candle to Janae. While she had put her adult film and centerfold ambitions on the back burner, Janae had other dreams. The shapely red head from West Texas had gone to cosmetology school, and worked as a hair dresser in a high end salon but then was fired after burning a customer’s forehead with a curling iron. This was in combination with giving the woman the wrong hair color. Mind you this was an Upper East Side Salon.

So now Janae had her dreams set on being a screenwriter. She wrote a horrid drama about a woman from West Texas who becomes an adult video star. It’s fictional, Janae was never a star. Anyway, during a luncheon years ago, Keeley had tried to assist her. Janae informed Keeley she was nothing but ancillary and couldn’t have any input. The screenplay is collecting dust as it should be.

Bobby hoped to rekindle his flame with Janae, and all weekend made Keeley leave the house so he could have a chance. It didn’t work out. Janae wanted to use Bobby to fund her never released screenplay still not produced ten years later. When Keeley returned home, Janae had cooked all of her food. Apparently, Janae is a terrible cook and burnt the bottom of all of Keeley’s pans. It was late, and Keeley wanted to wait to do the dishes until the next day. Janae was not having it though.

She waited until Keely got home and reamed her out. Janae claimed because Bobby was spending so much time in court with her, he couldn’t produce her film and it was all her fault. Additionally, she made fun of her for being homeless and informed Keeley that she was everyone’s maid. In a move to be nasty and get the ultimate shot, Janae informed Keeley she gained weight since their last encounter. Ouch, them fighting words.

Angrily, Keeley snapped back and called her a has been porn supporting player. She also told her she had crooked teeth. Janae stepped forward, and Keeley was on the assault. A grudge match was about to go down when Bobby stepped in and stopped it. He separated the two, and ordered Janae to the bedroom. Bobby comforted Keeley, and Keeley confided in him that she was tired, in pain, and had cramps from her impending ladies days.

Bobby has this supply of oxycotin that he claims he got years ago after a car accident. While he claims he does not sell it, Nishu has expressed his doubts. This among other things is why many of us don’t associate with him unless we have to. Bobby, feeling pity upon his friend, gave her a 60 mil tablet. Now that’s a lot of opium in case you don’t know. Anyway, at first she felt woozy. Then she began violently vomiting until blood came up.

Bobby began to panic. What if she was accidentally overdosing? He debated taking her to the hospital, but he had a domestic violence charge hanging over his head. He didn’t want to be in court for an actual felony. Janae, seeing this, decided it was too much for her and bolted. Keeley didn’t overdose but instead just had a bad reaction. Then she admitted that this compounded with other drama and now she was due in court at the end of the month again with Bobby.

Keeley lamented her existence, and told us once she had done the makeup of Melissa Etheridge who hit on her. In the tirade, Keeley reflected on her encounter with the Sapphic sister, “I should have slept with Melissa Etheridge when I had the change. I should have let her munch my rug!!!”

As she was bemoaning her life, Bobby called. He needed her home early. During accidental near overdose, he had neglected to mention Janae had nearly destroyed the bathroom. Bobby, although he refused to help her when she could have become an overdose fatality, was trying to be sensitive to her needs. However, now she was fully recovered and he needed his domicile dusted. So off Keeley had to go, back to being Bobby’s belligerent butler.

He could kick her out. It’s his house, but alas, a maid you don’t have to have sex with is just too good. She could leave, but alas, free room and board with the adventure is a small price one has to pay in New York. Part of me wants them to get married, but then it would all make sense. Either way, these two give me a lot to write about so the little devil inside me wants the crazy train to keep careening off the tracks.

Until next time.

Cue Odd Couple Theme Song.

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