LOSER!!!!

About 2 years ago at this time, I ended a relationship with a mentally ill partner. It was a challenging decision, as my ex had been with me during one of the darkest episodes of my life. Yet when you are with someone who refuses to be medicated despite psychotic breaks that put you in not only emotional but physical danger, the choice is painful yet clear.

I was also in a legal battle with my then landlord. Rather than cure the issues with my apartment, he instead chose to torment me with the legal system when I called the city on him. Yes, I wasn't paying rent. But it was because my work property had been destroyed due to bed bugs and mold he refused to treat. Because of this, I could not book jobs. The property I did have was infected and being treated, so it was unavailable. As for the times I could work, I couldn't be present because of court dates and lawyer visits. My landlord was in court once a week himself for safety violations and he was no stranger to the housing court judges of New York City.

I was forced to move in a hurry after my landlord attempted to burn my apartment down while I was at a court date. He knew I was going to be away and sent his brother in his place. As this was all happening, my then ex was committed because his psychotic symptoms got to the point where he could not be in public. Apparently he had other legal issues he hid from me, but as these were being taken care of, his other behaviors could not be hidden. While I was grateful he was finally in a place where he was properly medicated, it didn't stop his friends and family from tormenting and threatening me.

A week after my move, I tested positive for cervical cancer. It was an awful time, especially as my mom was in town that weekend to help me move. I hoped I was sick and could just die. When I went to the doctor, he told me I wore my immune system down so badly from stress that it couldn't fight off infection. I had to stay well, eat healthy, and keep my stress level down.

Fortunately I have been healthy since, but it was one of those things that made me wonder what was next. Was an asteroid going to hit me and end this misery?

To top it off, my hair had basically fallen out. I styled it so people couldn't see my bald spots. Bed bug bites covered my arms. Sometimes my bites popped open and blood went everywhere. I looked horrid, and I had also lost an ungodly amount of weight. Ironically, this is when I started working with someone who became quite a mentor to me.

One evening, I was down on myself. I was trying to master my Donald J. Tramp routine and sent him a video. It wasn't coming together. Donny was on the wrong side. The jokes were all over. The notes were obvious. I broke down and started crying. I couldn't do anything right.

I told him I was a loser and not even to bother with me. This was useless. No one would ever hire me.  He immediately told me he was insulted because he was spending a lot of time guiding me, and he didnt guide losers so this made him a loser.

So the fact I was a "huge loser" became our running joke.

Slowly as I started to put the past behind me and laughed at myself, life got better. I mastered my routine with Donny. A year after my ordeal he was the spokespuppet of Stand Together Against Trump in Cleveland and was credentialed press at The Las Vegas Debates. We also showcased at APAP.

I also became a model for a clothing line and The Lady and President Tramp has run several times Off-Broadway. Last week, I found out it was chosen as a part of SOLOCOM, a festival through The People's Improv Theatre.

This week I began a workshop with The Onion I was invited to. I have read it for years and even submitted writer's packets always to get the rejection of a girl who passes the note to a hot guy only to have it end up in the trash. Now I am part of the Diverse as Fuck Festival. My teacher, a senior writer for The Onion, looked at me as we were giving introductions and said, "You had Donald J. Tramp in your packet."

Oh yeah!

This past year I not only began working as a spokesmodel for Sirenaz Crop Tops. This past week I was asked to take more photos. I also released a body positive, burlesque inspired comedy book. I look better than the death on a Ritz Cracker I did previously.

I am back to acting class and I love my teacher. In college, I got a BFA and therefore overdosed on acting class. I fell in love with comedy and creating my own work, plus there is no money in stage unless you get on Broadway. And I didn't have the money to move to Hollywood. However, I forgot how much I loved my acting classes and teachers, and how safe I was. The old habits are still there like a thorn, but I am slowly nipping them in the bud.

I also just recently got admitted into a graduate program that is right for me and my life. While I still have no idea how I am going to pay for it, I applied on my own like a big girl and got in. The department head was an NEA Fellow. This particular program would allow me to perform, tour, and pursue a graduate degree.

LAstly, my weekends are booked as I am operating a full body puppet in a haunted house. It's three nights a week. My coworkers are hysterical. Mostly young folks, they inspire me each time I dawn this full body suit and learn this new form of puppetry. When I was younger I wanted to master all forms but got down on myself and didn't have the confidence.

Now I do.

I was talking to my mentor Saturday and spoke about everything happening to me. He said, "Grad school, acting class, puppet job, Onion workshop, festival......LOSER!!!"

And then we both laughed.

Yes, sometimes as I look at all that's going on I don't know how I am going to juggle it. Especially since I have a calendar coming out, too.

Either way, better get to my Onion homework or else I will be a real LOSER.....

Instead of a fake LOSER

LOSERLOSERLOSER

Gosh I hope this mood lasts.....

It won't. But eh, you need the rain to appreciate the sun.

April Unwrapped

It Gets Better

A year ago I was ready to quit show business. I was uninspired and just all around burnt out. Life had been one blow after another.

For starters, a living situation I had been with for nearly ten years went up in utter smoke. I had tried so hard to hold on to that apartment and then one day it was gone. As I was leaving I remember feeling this strange mix of relief and failure. Relief that I wouldn't be sick over a living situation, but failure because despite my efforts I still lost.

Then a relationship with a mentally ill partner ended. It was also a mix of relief and failure. It was relief, because his mood swings were becoming more and more unpredictable and I was feeling more and more unsafe. It was failure because the relationship ended because of a lie he told, and therefore I wasn't good enough for the truth. It was failure because once again I lost a man.

The career had been a miasma of successes and disappointments. I lost two national campaigns for stupid reasons. I lost a nomination to a well-respected organization because of my past as a reality star. I lost a grant for a stupid reason too, paperwork.

But I became a union member. I also got press everywhere but the US for my puppets. And a short film I did puppet work for was nominated for a top award. It even looked like I was going to tour Europe and that fell through like a trap door.

Was the universe telling me to stay or go? Hell if I knew.

My new life was like a dark forest where I was alone, unsure, and struggled to find my place. Each step onstage bored the hell out of me. I had paid the ultimate price to follow my dreams. Were my dreams even worth it? It seemed if anything my dreams caused me a lot of disappointment and heartache.

Over the years, I had friends who left the business because they got sick of the bullshit. Many did it on a smaller scale. Some gave it up altogether. They got married and had kids. They told me how much more fulfilled they were. I had some success. I had been on TV. Maybe I had my fun and it was time to be a normal person.

However, you have plans and the universe laughs. This career has a funny way of picking you, and if it's meant it also has an even stranger way of not letting you go.

I was set to quit when I got invited to do a fallout date for a headliner after he had a nervous breakdown and needed to be replaced. I figured I would tank out, get paid,and this would determine whether or not I continued in comedy.

Yes I tanked. It was horrendous. Maybe it was time to quit after all. However, I met a club owner who had different ideas. Not only was he honest to the point of being brutal, but he was helpful. I left the trip not only rebounding for my next two shows (I killed it) but I left feeling like an asshole. My crime hadn't been being knocked down. It was staying down.

So I got back up, ordered a puppet stand, and started working like a real professional. I pounded stage time like I did years before I had any TV credits. I didn't care if it was an open mic or bar show, for the first time in forever I just wanted to be good. I didn't even care what the outcome was, I was just enjoying the journey and the process for the first time in my life.

My puppetry grew leaps and bounds as did my ventriloquism. So did the opportunities. I got to go to Cleveland with Donald J. Tramp and lead a protest. I also got to perform in Las Vegas. I performed a one woman show at a showcase. I covered the debate with my lil puppet president, too.

Currently some good things are in the works. This Sunday I teach my first ventriloquism class. It's at QED Astoria 3/26 from 2-4.

I am also reading Paul Winchell and can tell you that there is more I need to be doing, but again it is a journey.

I am working on a new book.

I feel hopeful about the future.

Sometimes, when life sucks you need to take a bath, get rid of the bad shit, and keep going.

Yes, it gets better. But only if you let it.

Love Stinks (J. Giles Band)

I haven't put my fingers to the keyboard in a while. Partially because my jet setting has left me too drained to write, although blogs about my jet setting would be more exciting than the crap I am about to spew. It's been a good year. I have met some wonderful people who really believe in me. I know I am blessed, yet at the same time I feel as if a meat cleaver is going to land on my head at any minute.

Two weeks ago I was in West Hollywood in an important office with some people. I was scared. It's kind of funny. A year ago I was dating a psychotic Iraq War Vet and had a landlord who was tormenting me with the legal system. My relationship went south after my ex lied, and then my landlord began hassling me in court every other week. His male lawyers stood too close, and put their hands on my shoulders without my permission. It's a man thing in order to make women feel small. Or rather it's the gateway to rape culture. He's a man, this is his world, now it's time to let you know who's boss, bitch.

These guys weren't successful, as I showed them I wasn't afraid. Needless to say, they weren't prepared for that. Granted, I was in a relationship with a dude who was seeing snipers who weren't there. That's scary. These idiots probably couldn't seal the deal with their wives. I googled the one for fun. He's been married 3 times. He parades his current wife around like a trophy. Please, she's a participation ribbon. A guy I delivered a telegram to three months ago was 50 and had a 25 year old wifie who had jugs out to the wazoo. That's a trophy.

However, these goons were tying me up in court as my landlord was trying to burn my apartment down. Needless to say, I had to move and then there was the cancer scare.....

In between, I had my ex's former girlfriend.....a crackhead who claims to be a drug counselor (while still smoking crack) hassling me online. The breeding lump has 5 kids to 4 different men and is the poster girl for welfare abuse. His psycho sister also stirred the pot. Basically, what wasn't happening to me.

After all this, I was still scared to meet those peeps in LA. Now that's the funniest joke I have ever written. No, the stuff I walked out of was scary. Waking up and seeing your boyfriend taking canned goods out of the cabinets because he believes Isis is coming. That's scary. Not being able to breathe in your apartment. That's scary. The possibility you might have cancer. Really fucking scary. Not a bunch of dudes at a table. Especially men. Not scary.

The older I get the more I believe men could not possibly respect women fully. They will always look at you as a sex object or some form of stupid. Or some form of sex slave. Or a possible substitute for a blow up doll with a pulse. But as an intellectual.....never. This is why we need a woman president.

I also believe men are sex crazed goons who only think with their penis and are never fully capable of loving a woman. Maybe it's because my last relationship was the final nail in the coffin of a heart that was already dead, or maybe because I have stumbled upon the truth. Most people are selfish and are incapable of being true partners. That is yet another reason the divorce rate is so high.

I always knew men were a bunch of selfish cretins, but after the ending of my last relationship I knew it for sure. My ex is a fucking liar and still continues to spread shit about me, none of it which is even remotely true. And then when he left the picture, his idiot friends all tried to slide right into his place. I hate myself.........but not enough to be your whore fuck you very much.

As if that wasn't enough, when any dude I encountered heard about why I ended things he did everything he could to smear my ex and assure me that I was better off with him. Yes, he who was trying to stealth his way into my life. He who was secretly, covertly interviewing for the job opening in between my legs. Yes he who was qualified simply because he had a penis. It was disgusting.

There was a part of me that wanted to strip myself naked, paint "FUCK ME" on my chest, and let them all take a turn just to get them to go away. Not only could they take a turn, but we could all be disappointed at the same time. And I would make them feel as trashy as they made me feel. But then I figured their company already disappointed me, my job was half done. Alas.......

My experience with men has taught me they all hate when you talk about an ex but they can talk about the last place they stuck their dick all they want. There can only be one and it's them. One set of rules for them and another for you, sweetness. They all believe they are sex Gods......to give you a second of satisfaction. They all have a motive and that's to get you in bed and basically ruin your life. They are all self-centered in this motive. They all have larceny in their hearts. ALL. If a dude was honest about this when he met me I would give him a whirl. When I tell the truth I am bitter. Eh, bitter is a buzz word for honest.

Did I mention they all also want to secretly use you to make an old wife/girlfriend jealous and they all LIE!!!!!!!! Oh and in between they are looking for a hooker and a mother in the same body.

Lest we not forget they LOOOOOOOVVVVVVVEEEEE it when a woman gets jealous. And they say they don't care, they just wanna mess around. Yet they become all possessive like a boyfriend and then when you find someone you care about, they become a bigger twat than you could ever be.

I dunno. I worked on an exciting project yesterday. It was awesome. It's for kids and will allow me to do a lot of good in the world. I should be blogging about that but instead had to get this bile out of my system.

My sister also got married and I went to the RNC. I should be blogging about that but the thing about adventures is they leave you tired.

My next blog will be about my adventures.

This blog is about my manhate. God does it feel good to be back, internet.

Talking to the Hand: Olympic Ventriloquism

I have been working really hard to master the perfect technique as of late. Each day I have been practicing tirelessly. I video myself now, which means my practice regimen has become Ivan Drago like. Actually, it has been helping quite a bit. Over time, I became lazy with my technique because of the street performances and late nights in the clubs. Alas, there is no substitute for the basics.

My mentor has been having me learn a new routine. Each day I send him a video. He gives me feedback. Several days ago he said I looked tired and needed to take a break. I said it was ventriloquist death march. He corrected me. It was zombie ventriloquism.

Each day, I have been delivering telegrams all day and at night I have been practicing. I do not want to hit the clubs yet because I do not want to reveal my new routine. I do not want to hit the open mics because I tire of the amateur hour there. I accept money to do comedy. Granted, while open mics are a safe place to fail I don't feel I get anything done there. Plus what comedians like and what real people like are quite different. It's hard to get certain spots being a woman. That is why I am letting my mentor guide me.

Yesterday we talked about my want to headline. I did a longer set recently, and all would have been a complete explosion but for the help of an understanding club owner who gave me a kick of tough love and got me working with a puppet stand. The stand has made all the difference and has brought my puppet work to a whole new level.

My mentor explained that a headlining set is making love while a shorter set is like a quickie. Still, there is no place in NYC to really perfect the longer set. Again, I will let my mentor guide me on that one.

Either way, I have more ventriloquism to practice. This is how I am going to kick my evil landlord where it hurts. This is how I am going to get my ex who lied and was fucking around behind my back with some cheap swamp trash who accepted her court fines paid with Western Union. (Oh and cheating he was, oh yes he was). This is how I am going to get my fiance back who used to abuse me and wanted to take my puppets away. This is who I am going to restore my faith in myself. This is how I am going to give it to every Goddamn male headliner who ever thought I was chattel. This is how I am going to give it to every dumbass woman who got mad at her husband for sending me fan mail. This is how I am going to give it to everyone who ever made fun of me in school.

Call me Gepetta!

Shit, they are still making fun of me.

Better get back to my puppet stand...........I'm going for the gold. 

More Fear and Loathing

It's after midnight and I have been practicing ventriloquism for several hours now. My practice ritual has stepped up a few notches. In the past the mirror was my friend. However, now I am filming myself. It is intense because not only are you filming yourself, but then you have to play it back and it is terrible watching yourself. TERRIBLE. As a matter of fact, Robert DeNiro hates watching himself.

My mentor in Vegas has me working on a new act. He's such a good guy and we speak at least once a day. The guy is technically my manager, but in the past I have had managers drop the ball on me. He's truly guiding me therefore he is so much more. But I am making the videos of the new act and then sending them to him. And then it is time for a joke by joke. More this, more that, more cowbell.

I also made from this weekend and he is having me send him new material to get his feedback. This is a good guy. Not only is he passionate about comedy, but he really knows what he is talking about. He worked with me on reshaping my act for the better part of 4 hours, and it was like night and day. As a matter of fact, filming myself was his idea. So far it is helping, because as he explained you never get an accurate idea of what you are doing in the mirror. So true.

I have been pouring over old ventriloquist videos, mostly the legends. They are amazing. For as good as I am, and for the successes that I have had, I have a long way to go before I can even touch them. These guys are the whole package in a way my generation of vents could never be. I am inspired, but at the same time I am painfully aware that there is much work to be done. Life was so much easier when I was just shooting off bullshit in my blogs about all the times I killed or all the times my fans recognized me or my puppets. Yeah, I got wrapped up in the bullshit of it all. Bullshit. And here I was so clouded by my own ego unaware that I have such a long way to go.

Or maybe I was aware and the bullshit became like a drug, making the ride less painful as well as the truth. Self-awareness is a mofo.

Either way, I am becoming quite aware of my own mistakes onstage. For me comedy is serious business. If I don't hear the first laugh in a certain time I freak. Then I resort to doing something dumb because the ends justify the means even though it cheapens my act. Mind you I always forget the audience wants to laugh and to have fun because I am so fixated on doing well. Mind you I always chase after the punchline because I am so eager to get there that I rush and I talk superdupersuperdupersuuuuuuuuppppppppeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrr fast. And I forget that I have to sell myself AND HAVE FUN.

Either way, I am wearing the burdens of the last two years on my back. I signed myself away on a project I will not name that made me rather visible. Because I didn't know about asking price, I answered fan mail broke and had people tell me they saw my program on TV when I didn't know how I was going to feed myself. As a matter of fact, I found out I was on Dutch National Television a half hour after getting my second set of eviction papers.

Yesterday, a situation was kind of crazy but I had to stick up for myself. It was a rock and a hard place kind of thing. Needless to say, I probably burned a bridge but oh well. It's fine. I was going to lose by getting a backbone and by being a doormat. There was no winning. It made me second guess the loyalty of some people I had been good to, but the whole situation was impossible. Still, they expected too much from me. I let them know this, but who cares about that?

They say they will make it up to me. Famous last words. Either way, I don't care. As my mentor explained, I have bigger fish to fry. If they call me, great. But if they don't, oh well. Part of me hopes they don't call me. I don't trust them.

Of course as I was having the eternal weekend of growing pains and the week from hell my mentor, the booker and this lovely club owner all let me know this was growing pains. Fucking growing pains. Oh, and I am not allowed to say fuck anymore onstage. Fucking fucktard. So I have to fucking get it out here. I know, I sound like an angry child with nothing to say and it sounds worse onstage, trust me. But I am allowed to have my moment.

Deep down, I do fear I won't get to where I want to go. When I go to Vegas, and I go again soon to work with my mentor, I will pass Caesar's Palace enviously as I always do lusting for my spot on the mainstage. When I pass Colbert, Radio City, or Carnegie Hall I will look wistfully wondering when it will be my turn.

Until then, my throat is sore from my intense new practice regimen. I had a half a plate of steak nachos yesterday as an "I'm Tired and Hate Myself" snack and had the other plate today. I am watching Magic because for as crazy as it sounds Corky is a hero to me, and I hope to be that good even though he's not real. I just sneezed. May is talking to me. Probably time for me to go to bed and maybe interact with people a tad tomorrow.

Comedy Etc.

This weekend was a good weekend. My first night didn't look so good. It was like being at a party where you meet someone who seems nice but as you talk you have nothing in common. When most NYC comics come across this, they figure it's a gig and they get in and get out, happy they are still alive to tell the tale and laugh it off later. After stepping off the stage I figured they were nice at least, but these werent my people.

However, luck would soon change. The club owner who's also a comic, one who has headlined in Vegas, and does so twice a year, had some things to say. One being, "Things better be different tomorrow night."

Usually when a club owner gives feedback one shrugs and says whatever, or it's good. It all depends on the club owner. At first in my mind I was like, "Whatever, I've been on TV." It's a craptacular attitude to have albeit an egotistical one, but it has kept me going as my life has unraveled the last few months.

However, within seconds my attitude changed once it was revealed he had been doing comedy for 25 years, nearly as long as I had been alive. During some of that time, he also taught comedy and mentored comedians quite a bit. Oh, and he had just returned from a headlining engagement in Vegas. During our talk, he mentioned Abbot and Costello, something my mentor always cites as an example of what a vent act should be. And then he also mentioned he liked the Mr. Okay concept and used Defending the Caveman as an example. (The longest running Broadway show on The Las Vegas Strip). Yes, another show my mentor is very heavily involved with. Something in me, that part that sometimes has a good idea, said, "Don't be your asshole self and listen to this man."

He worked with me for quite a while the next day on my act and had some excellent suggestions. I tried them the following night and it was like NIGHT AND DAY. Even the waitstaff of the club was like WTF?!!?!?

I was talking with the headliner who told me it was good I took suggestions, good I listened. In the end I figure why not? The worst that happens is someone's suggestions don't work and I move on. Or they do and I am better because of it. Either way, I was very happy with the second night and now know what to do to go to the next level with my comedy.

Our headliner who was in several movies has been doing comedy since before I was born I think. Actually, yeah he has. Either way, he was what the owner referred to as a 10 on the scale of funny and headlining. The way this man closed out a show was amazing. I'll admit I pale in comparison, but he has made himself so funny that he's impossible to follow as all closers should be.

At the same time, he's been doing comedy longer than I have been alive. It was amazing how he could just make the room do what he wanted, and didn't sweat about being liked. A lot of comedians do that. Yeah, I am trying to do it less, but when the audience doesn't give me what I want I panic. I go for the cheap laugh. The club owner as he was working with me said don't go for the cheap laugh.........but it's so easy when you aren't getting what you want. I think most comics do it out of fear. Actually, we all do it out of fear. But this headliner, it seemed as if that fear was gone. Maybe it was because he didn't care, that's why he just killed it so easily.

Another comic who partners at the club is also a touring headliner, however, he didn't headline that night but rather stepped in because the club owner was doing a spot elsewhere. He revealed he had been doing comedy for a mere 20 years in comparison to the club owner's 25 and the headliner's 32. We had a conversation about wanting to be liked onstage, and he said the most important thing was to have fun. If you had fun the audience would have fun. And the audience, they are on your side. They want you to do well. How hard that is to remember when you are onstage. But they are on your side......and we both agreed yeah, again, it is hard to remember sometimes.

The fellow who booked the gig has also been involved with comedy for sometime. Maybe not as long as I have been alive but since the 80s. While never a comic himself and always on the booking end, he is an eternal student of comedy and has even hung out at clubs just for the hell of it because he likes being around comedy. When he takes notes at a showcase, he goes joke by joke writing everything down. I know because he has done so for me in the past. Very thorough, he tells you what works, what doesn't and why. His feedback has never failed me. Translated, just like the club owner, the headliner, and the other partner in the operation, he knows his shit.

This whole weekend, my mentor in Vegas was there for emotional support. Of course he's managed some top grossing variety acts who have been on every major TV program ever. And he is actively involved in the Vegas scene, and his people play Caesar's Palace among other places. It is safe to say he's been involved in show business longer than I have been around. Mind you he started his life as a magician touring college campuses and evolved into managing. As I was bitching about all that was happening, he says, "It's called growing pains. That's all."

Eh. Growing pains. Eh. Then again, he's probably also thinking that I'm a little over a decade in, oh poor kid, she's only ten years old........

I guess the point is, you are always still learning and growing. And sometimes it is best just to listen to people with more time at something, because they might know something you don't. Actually, most of the time they know something you don't. Bottom line, you only know what you know when you are supposed to know it. Am I a better comic and ventriloquist than I was years ago? Probably. Still, it's amazing how much I still don't know after all this time.

However, I am also learning to embrace the knowledge and experience of those that do know. It's cool to get to work with those people. It's cool that they were so gracious to guide me. The club owner mentioned that others had done the same for him........like Mitch Hedberg (RIP).

My landlord mentioned the same is true with life, you are never an expert and you are always learning something new. Mind you, he always understands where my parents are coming from being one himself. Yeah, he's got more time on this planet which comes in handy sometimes. It's life.

Comedy is about being real. It's about life. It's about telling the truth. It's about reaching people. Fake doesn't sell. How soon we all forget. Or maybe we don't realize until we are supposed to. Shit this was deep.

Either way, my problems are now I need to perfect my act to go to the next level. I need to purchase a stand for my puppets like the one the club had on hand this weekend that MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD and suggested I use. I need to stop saying the f word onstage. I also need to talk slower. Oh, and I got rid of a really hack stupid bit I leaned too heavily on that was just cheap. Go team!

As opposed to a few months ago when I was being eaten alive by bed bugs and the mold in my place made breathing difficult. Not to mention when I complained my landlord retaliated by trying to evict me. My hair was also falling out because of the chemicals, stress, and other issues involving my living situation. I was in court or a lawyer's office at least once a week. Then when my landlord tried to burn down my apartment I was told by the cops to find somewhere safe, and had to move under duress. Once I moved the doctor's thought I might have uterine cancer because of the way my tests came back.

These days my problems are having my act be funny onstage, and how to make that happen, being the headliner who can reach all audiences like a Jeff Dunham. (The booker mentioned he was the most watched Comedy Central Special of all time). Heck, my sister in law and 13 year old cousin both love him. I can focus on what's important, and that's what I do onstage.

Maybe at times I am guilty of becoming embittered and beaten down by the politics, or resting on the laurels of the successes I have gotten so far, refusing to grow. Both are the wrong way to go because they warp your perspective. I can say that for all the hell I have been through in recent months, for the first time in forever I really and truly love comedy again. I love it. I love it. I love it. I will scream it I LOVE IT!!!!!!

(Of course all those I encountered this weekend have probably had similar feelings to mine at times)

And if it took walking through hell to get me to this feeling and a rough first night in the middle of no where complete with pinched nerve in my neck, I will do it again. Watch me, I'm unstoppable. But first I need to take a shower because I don't want to be unstoppable for all the wrong reasons.

I'll be here all week. Try the veal.

Festivus

Lately I have been thinking of the concept of evolution. No, not like Charles Darwin but just evolving in general. I took a seminar this summer with a life coach through the Actors' Fund. It couldn't have come at a more perfect time. Shit was hitting the fan in my life. I was in a living situation that wasn't working. My relationship was like an oddly built European car that sometimes worked but when it broke down it really broke down until it didnt work anymore. And then I had gotten some indication that I might get where I want to go with the career but there was still much work to be done.

During this session, there was a woman who was an opera singer. Big, black, and beautiful, she admitted she had never sang at any major houses in New York. As a matter of fact, she had gotten a Masters in Vocal Performance from Julliard. In Manhattan, she temped and sold real estate, but she had done all the major houses and festivals in Europe. Now she was tired of living overseas, her parents were dying, and she wanted to teach.

So she said, "I am transitioning to acadamia," 

referencing a job she applied for at the MM program at Manhattan School of Music. 

This life coach stopped her and said, "No, transitioning negates what you have done. You are evolving."

I felt good when I heard that, evolving. Evolution. We are always in the process of walking upright and learning to walk upright more.

Lately I have been evolving. For years, before this past summer, I had been focused on my work to a fault. My children and I against the world. Between performing as much as I had and being on the run as much as I was girlfriend never really had much of a life. When I did stop to have a "life" I always found I was tired and grinding my teeth as if I was growling. I never knew why I was so stressed. Then again, my money was all going to rent and I hauled ass up four flights of stairs. That would piss anyone off day in and day out.

Last Monday I got my colposcopy results back. My squanderamous cells or whatever the hell they are called came back benign. When I read the word benign a feeling of calm came through my body. Being told a Pap Smear is abnormal makes your life flash before my eyes. Then the scraping which is two minutes of hell followed by the doctors and nurses chatting away.

All after I faced a retaliatory eviction.

So I was benign. I didnt have cancer. I wasn't being evicted. My baseboards are currently on my wall and I dont have bed bugs, mold, and a psychotic landlord making my life hell. I suppose I am doing better than I thought.

Wednesday was new release day at the comic book store. I got there to find my new release was not on the shelf. They said this was Diamond and because I was with an indie distributor my situation would have been different. I was kind of pissed. There was so much of me that looked forward to seeing my comic on the shelf. As a writer, it never gets old seeing your writing displayed. It's like a look mom, see what I did.

So I called my editor. He didnt get the books. SHIT! I thought about snapping at the people who worked there like I would have once upon a time and they would have whispered about how I was a crazy bitch after I left. But then I said to myself, "April, you don't have cancer. Your comic book will be on the shelf. Just not today. Don't be a dick."

I left and then as I am getting ready to go back home I get a call from my editor. The comic books had come afterwards and he was on his way. This was a Festivus miracle. So back I went to the store and purchased myself several copies. And sure enough they were placed on the shelf. Life was awesome again. But the most important thing was, I had my health. While it was cool to have the comic book in my hand, I still had my sanity and dignity. Most importantly, I didnt look like a nut job.

When I got home I figured I would rest up and get ready for the ventriloquist show I had to do for the special needs people. But then I got a call from my boss. It was a Marilyn Monroe telegram in the Bronx. It wasn't just in the Bronx. It was waaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy out in the Bronx. 

I told him no. But he had no one else available during this time. Shit. That was going to be a long assed day. I began to plan my day and dreaded what was ahead. But then as I was in the midst of my dread it hit me. I was working and paying the bills again. Yeah, it wasnt the bells and whistles I sometimes got but I was WORKING AND PAYING THE BILLS. There was no high drama. There was no health scare. Life was good. 

My trip to the Bronx was an adventure. The train was getting construction and I had to connect thus taking longer. Dear God. And then I changed in a Dunkin Donuts bathroom and made the Indian dude who owned the place think I was either shooting dope, overdosing, homeless, or possibly having a baby. Either way, he was glad I was alright and even more puzzled as to why I emerged looking like Marilyn Monroe.

The gig was interesting but fun. The dude I was initially supposed to sing to was sent me from his wife, but he has no wife and this woman is a mere girlfriend. She simply aspires to be a wife. But the guy who owned the car lot, well it was his 89 year old dad's birthday. And he wanted to know if it was okay if the old guy got in on the action. I thought, why not?

Turned out the old dude was a hoot and it was one of the most fun jobs I did in sometime. He was 89 years young, literally. I hope I am that cool if I get to live that long. He kind of reminded me of my Pop Pop, just funny and kept going. Never took anything too serious.

The trip back to the city to chill out for a tad before my next gig was interesting. I had to change trains and the ceiling of the train station wasn't just leaking but having a monsoon of rain/sewer water and I nearly stepped in it and probably messed up my hair. Plus the place smelled like yucky pee.

When I finally got on a train this angry woman reading a shelf help book body checked me. And then a black power dude started with his spiel and I just wanted to bang my head against the wall. Not you, not now.
Grand Central was equally as crazy as people were pushing, shoving, and going crazy. Bah humbug. Did I mention I hate Christmas? I mean hate Christmas and all the bullshit that goes with it? Well if I didnt mention it I am mentiong it now.

As I went to my next gig, hoping to get it over with, I could barely find a seat on the train and some psychotic woman who looked like she either missed her Prozac dosage or escaped from hell yelled at me. When I got off the train it was raining and yucky and gross. Gosh I just wanted to go home.

I got to my final gig of the day. It was the home for the people with cerebral palsy. Immediately, I saw the residence out front in their wheel chairs. Some seemed more mobile than others. Nonetheless, each had personality. They were endearing, as one woman had $1 Ask Me Anything on a sign on the back of her chair. It's New York. Rent is expensive.

I got inside and the health aids were going crazy. One agency had organized the party, and the other agencies didn't know about it. Some of the West Indian health aids began to yell at each other and two even looked like they were going to duke it out. They kept asking me like I knew. Dear God did I mention I hate Christmas! 
I HATE CHRISTMAS! PUT THE JESUS CHRIST ON A CRACKER IN CHRISTMAS BECAUSE IT IS A FUCKING PAIN IN MY TUCHAS!

Just then the dude that hired me, an Orthodox Jewish fellow, came to smooth out the situation. Very sweet, he explained everyone was invited. Some stayed, others didnt. Either way, the party began and he introduced me. I began and realized it wasn't the best room to do comedy in. Plus some of my audience members were more mobile than others. Oh this was going to be an interesting hour.

So I decided to go to them. I went from table to table. At first I was met with trepidation as nothing worked. But I just kept going. Puppet after puppet I kept going. Slowly, the residents began to bond with my puppets. Many had questions for them, and others began to hug them. The client who hired me had a 2 year old daughter who was afraid of the puppets but fearlessly looked in my suitcase. It was adorable, very adorable.

After the show, one woman who could barely speak came up to me. She was in a wheelchair and gave me a hug. At first I couldn't understand her, but something told me to slow down and listen. The woman told me she enjoyed my show and wanted to know if I would be coming back. Clutch! The audience liked the show!!!! I told her of course. Of course I would be back. 

Then it hit me. Christmas wasn't about the crazy but instead it was about being a part of, and it was about GIVING. These people were a part of the population that others forget about, or when they see them sometimes they don't know quite what to say for obvious reasons. As a result they make them feel like aliens. I did a show for these people. They laugh like everyone else does. Not so different. So yeah, Christmas is about giving. GIVING!

Then of course that lesson slipped out of my brain as I was back on the train and the 7 was running express because of track work. And it was raining. Gosh the client review would be interesting. 

The next day I read the client review. Five stars. Awesome! Maybe I was one step closer to working corporate. While comedians thumb their noses at the concept, it is where the money is. Plus like people at the comedy clubs, they wanna laugh too. Oh and I am beginning to work consistently as a ventriloquist again after all this drama. Again, life is good. 

Friday was spent delivering all day and managing to battle the insane weather and people traffic. The day ended with a Christmas Marilyn Monroe-esque party crasher at a bad sweater party. While I was exhausted from all that has been going on in my life, I was also happy to have the work. As I came home, I also realized for as much as the universe seemed to take a giant crap on me with one hit after another, for the first time in forever I enjoyed my work again.

I wasnt the girl on TV or the one with all the press or blah, blah, blah, but instead I really was just having fun and that was all that mattered. When I got home I saw my Aunt Lori, Uncle Joe and her sons had sent me a Christmas card. It made me smile. It made my new home feel like home. 

Next time I have a craptacular train ride I will remember the airing of the grievances, and think fondly of the pole I am decorating.
Happy Festivus for the Rest of us!!!!!!!!!!

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. 

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