Dear 2014

Dear 2014,

You and I had an odd relationship. Sometimes when you were good you were awesome. Then when you were terrible, you really sucked bottom worse than one of those fish who sucks bottom. Basically, you were like a bipolar person off their meds.

The winter was harsh, one of the worst I had in some time. You made me understand why Sylvia Plath took her own life. When you sent the Polar Vortex, I was going through the lowest of lows. My writing, the gift I share most with the world, was being rejected like a fat girl asking for a prom date. On top of that, I had some career drama that was never ending. Financially, I was lower than I had been in what seemed forever. I was passed over for a grant, one for a project I was passionate about. Not to mention I was given the heeve ho by a network for a project I wore a captain’s jacket on. After that, I had a falling out with a friend who was like a sister to me. I saw she was a jealous bitch who had been waiting for me to fall and scrape my elbow. Did I mention you also had someone hack my credit cards and made me broke and I was desperate to feed myself? Things got so bad, I took a promo job for a tyrant who owned a antique store that berated me because he recognized me from television, and rubbed it in that I wasn’t working. I walked away from that job, but you beat my ass so badly I am still trying to recover.

The darkness gave me strength to set boundaries and strength to fight on despite walking through hellacious uncertainty. I also got my own health insurance. In short, dark times make you an adult. It’s undeniable.

At the same time, you gave me some things I always dreamed of. I got to wear the captain’s jacket on a project. My writing got us in the door. I thought it was dead, but you surprised me by reviving it. Now I am wearing the captain’s jacket on the same project, but only with a more pimped out set of wings. I also earned my wings in other ways. I filmed a television pilot and began working with a manger. As far as my career went, I really got it together. Not to mention I filmed a television pilot and got a short film into a prestigious festival. This year I blogged for several well known sites. I became a sports reporter, a dream of mine since my teen years. Also, I recorded a comedy DVD and performed in theatres. These have been dreams of mine for years. I appeared on Wendy Williams several times as well, making me a regular on a national television show. My dream has been to be a working actor in New York. I abandoned that dream shortly after college because the standup doors were opening. However, this year I rediscovered that drive. You made up for my shiteous winter by making it rain in my slowest months. Translated, I was working at what I loved and earned my SAG/AFTRA card.

However, you also taught me that while driving the plane in my stylish captain’s jacket gives my ego a jilt, other people need to wear captain’s jackets, too. I learned this lesson after a mini-overload breakdown I had in latter summer. Yes, the one where my refrigerator broke, the top part worked, and all the food in there was making me ill. Yes, the one I had when I was working constantly, taking a graduate level class, planning a book signing, and trying to release a DVD all at once. Yes, the one where  I went crazy with the credit card buying things I forgot I had because I was so tired. Yes, the one where I screwed up my cellphone minutes. The one where I screamed at God and He/She didn’t seem to hear me. Yes, the one where I fought with a lesser celebrity sibling on twitter.

However, you also delivered the best birthday ever, where I delivered a telegram to a bunch of hormonally driven teen boys who thought I was the cat’s meow. I kissed the birthday boy who’s friends got a close up. I was afraid of that birthday, but you showed me I wasn’t just getting older but getting better as well. In that darkness when I doubted myself you delivered some wonderful fan letters. These came when I wanted to quit and move back home to the easier, softer, safer life. Then you gave me the gift of getting the video for my song “Hell No, Joe” featured on MSN.

Then I found out I was being sought out for a big writing project and selected to perform on a show where I break a world record. It seemed every time you made me eat asphalt you were preparing me for a bigger miracle.

As for the loss of that best friend, well I found I had ten other better friends in her place. I also realized that ex’s are just that, to be crossed out. Even when their girlfriends and wives go crazy, they are nothing more than memories. A lot of men are snakes, but a lot are good. I learned to stop taking scraps and don’t intend to any more.

I will ring in the New Year by having a magazine interview of mine drop, and being featured in the Guinness Book World Record Show at the Metropolitan Room. To see it come Friday January 2^nd at 11:45 pm, 34 W. 22^nd. You will not regret it.

So 2014, we had the illest relationship. While I am sad you are gone, I will not miss you. You were too damn crazy for me sometimes. I look to 2015, and hope you are awesome. I hope you don’t give me the darkness I had this past year. I also hope you are not as crazy, either.

And here we go on, ants marching to a new adventure. Let’s not get squashed. 

This Charming Man (The Smiths)

I love the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. When I watch it I turn into a woman. It is a transformation that I dread. Actually beyond dread. It is a part of me that is hard to share with the world, sentimental woman. As an ardent feminist, a word that scares any man, I think the idea of getting married oppresses women. It makes them throw in the towel on their hopes and dreams. It forces their enslavement to a man. Yet I am a junkie for happily ever after. God I hate that.

This past summer I did a show at a Greek Church. I got the gig through a long time supporter and fan of mine. Truth, Greeks are really into being Greek. This was the Greek Festival. I am not Greek or even Eastern European in the least. My family is from Germany, Austria, and Ireland. I might have some Dutch, French and other things in me. I dunno. Anyway, the festival turned out to be a lot of fun. The kids were great. I ended up feeling at home because even though they were Orthodox, I grew up in the Catholic Church which is like their cousin. Not to mention my first priest was Croatian and very old school. This church reminded me a lot of the one I grew up in. I ended up doing a great show and ended up eating some delicious food. Oh and someone recognized me from TV.

Anyway, in the Greek Church priests can marry. This is where they split with their Roman counterparts. The priest had a cute son who was in charge of the youth group. I mean dark hair, dark eyes, dreamy kind of. I remember thinking as he told me that they wanted me back I thought, "I will come back. That is, if I can hang out with you afterwards." But then I found out he had a girlfriend. Maybe they broke up. Still, drats. But apparently I wasn't the only one after him. There were actually a lot of nice dudes there that day. Made me want a husband....almost.

Yesterday I did a show at Morgan Stanley Children's. The show ended up being a lot of fun. We only had a handfull of patients attend because some aren't cleared to leave their rooms. These kids are sick, cancer and the whole nine yards. It's actually quite sad. However, the ones who were in attendance were boys. One thing about little boys is they don't do lame fairy stories. They do adventure stories. So thank goodness I had a sled riding adventure story. Thank God it had a monster. There is something about young guys. They like that stuff. That is why sometimes I actually like performing for little boys more. They like action, they like adventure, they like to slay the dragon. Even young, they don't want to talk about feelings. They want you to get to the point. That involves more imagination.

I didn't want to make the story too scary. I didn't know how young these kids would be. Still, next time there might be an alien or something. I don't know. More at stake. I wanted to write the story so there would be no references to death or dying, because some of these kids might not survive. It's the brutal, sad truth. Actually, in a way I feel guilty for kvetching as much as I do in blog land. I also was told I couldn't reference food. So an adventure story was the way to go.

My career lately has been about a lot of maybe. I just sent some paperwork for a project that is now a super maybe. It's exciting because I worked for this super maybe. Either way, I have a lot of male fans. I am bringing them up because their letters are usually funny. Something about dudes, they always find the humor in everything. Anyway, two wrote me to ask me for autographed pictures. This past weekend I sent them out. I feel like if they saw me in my sweats running errands like I usually am they would pass on ever asking me for my picture. It would be like I was thirteen again. "Will you go out with me.....Just kidding." I did look good yesterday. I will say that.

Lately I have been thinking about dating and the whole nine yards. It has been years since there has been a Mr. April Brucker. Although I would like to pretend it doesn't, the specter of my former fiance still haunts me. I know he was sick and damaged and I still give his presence way too much room in my life, but once you see a red light it is hard to close your eyes when it turns yellow. Translated, I don't trust potential partners too much. I know how fast they can turn to blood enemies. I know in my heart men will think the career is cute until they see the fan mail I get or until it takes me away from them. That is when it is back to the kitchen to cook and make babies.

And then there is the Mr. April Brucker I had a few years ago who's current wife or girlfriend or whatever she calls herself feels the need to harass me from time to time. She has been quiet lately, probably gaining weight or popping pills as usual. Still, it makes dating interesting. Sure you aren't harassing me but will your current girlfriend stop please? It's like she wants to sleep with me, seriously. Maybe she does. It's the closest she will ever get to my career. While the phone calls are a little much maybe she could send me flowers next time.

And Holden, I had to let him go. I loved him more than anyone. Maybe we could have made a home. Two alley cats who spoke the same language and knew what it was like to drink out of the rotten milk bowl. Sometimes I still wish he would come back to Manhattan so we could play house. Everyone tells me I did the right thing. He didn't want to get sober or take his psych meds. But it didn't feel like the right thing. Sigh....

Last night I found myself confessing to a long time friend that I was dreaming of a married former flame. He was a Jewish fellow who was kind of cheesy. I will admit sometimes Jewish dudes make me weak in the knees. It is because they always know how to make me laugh. Anyway, I had a dream about him two nights ago and we were dating again. It was crazy. The last few times I saw him he was acting oddly. Although it didn't work out and he married someone else, I think he still cares for me. He made that clear the last time we saw each other. Other people have even told me as much. Still, he is married to someone else. Granted his wife is kind of spoiled but he picked her. Not my problem. Maybe I am just lonely.

I also found myself dreaming of someone I connected with a few months ago. He was a music producer I met at a party who was clearly hot for me. Unlike the rest of the men interested in me, he was quiet and shy kind of. I knew it took every nerve he had to say hi to me. He actually tried to ask me out kinda but was totally retarded about it. Anyway my friend suggested I contact his studio saying I have a project and blah blah blah just to talk to him. First off he will know that is a lie and I will feel stupid doing it. Second, it will be a complete bust. Third, from the looks of his photos online he is sleeping with something that wears less clothing than Pamela Anderson. Or maybe that is a cop out. Either way she calls herself an "artist." Maybe she is. I hope they are happy. I would never humiliate myself to get close to someone not man enough to talk to me.

Apparently I frighten men. I don't get it. If I scare you at my petite size you deserve to be scared. You deserve to have your man card pulled. End of story. Still, it is weird when my mom tries to fix me up in an elevator or gives my phone number to strangers. She tried to a few weeks ago. It was awkward. I wanted to shoot myself. Especially since afterward she said I didnt even try. Well mom, you were making it awkward.

There is a part of me that is comfortable being alone. I have my ways and don't want anyone to interfere with their outside influence. Especially a man. Yes, creature who wants me to slave in the kitchen and then perform magic tricks in the bedroom who will eventually cheat anyway. Creature who I have gotten along just fine without. Creature who will put a spoke in the bicycle I ride called ambition. Creatures who make me justify every achievement I have in comedy and writing. Creatures who make me apologize for speaking out on behalf of women. Creatures who label me a man hater for my points of view. Creatures who attempt without success to make me feel guilty for being strong. A boyfriend would just get in the way.

Then there is a part of me that wants someone. Someone to tell me it is going to be okay. Someone to laugh with. Someone to be cheesy with, holding hands on the street. Someone to fight with. A handsome prince who loves puppets. Granted, he will probably disappoint me but not as long as he lives in my mind. Did I mention I am a woman? Did I mention that it sucks when that part of me comes out?

Still I have been on my own so long I wouldn't know what to do with a dude. I wouldn't know how to make one happy. Adventure stories with puppets work for young ones but not old ones. What would I wear? Where would be go? Either way, I think I will stick to being incredibly insecure and awkward, carrying my puppet children and books in a case. They need their mother, my creations. They don't need a father. So far this single parent home has worked perfectly.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

The Bible Tells Me So....

When I was younger, I was raised in a place where sometimes religion was used as a weapon. The town I grew up in, people were into their faith. Some were quiet about their practice with God. Others were downright scary. Actually, as I said it was used as a weapon. If you did not share their religious beliefs they didn't leave you alone. They more or less hunted you down like fresh game.

At the beginning of high school I was invited to this thing called Campus Life. School was never easy for me. I had friends, but wasn't terribly social. Not to mention I always was kind of a misfit. I was real arty, which in mainstream America makes you an outsider. High school was tough, and all I wanted was to fit in. So the kid in front of me in study hall invited me to this youth group. He prefaced it by saying, "A lot of people say it is a cult, but don't believe everything you hear." He drew me a map to his home. I was going.

That evening I asked my mom for a ride, telling her of the new club I joined. I figured my father would be happy I was finally fitting in. Getting me to go to the bon fire the week before had been a struggle. It's not that I lacked school spirit, I didn't see the point. You gathered around, watched some stuff burn for thirty minutes, and then it was over. Anyway, when my mom found out she said, "You are not going there. That is a cult." Seconds later she said to my brother, "Wendell, they tried to get April today." That is when my brother regaled me with stories about those involved and their blood thirsty devotion to the man known as Christ.

I saw my brother was right. These young disciples were encouraged to recruit their friends and when they got so many, they had a pizza party reward system. While many teachers were private about their faith, some encouraged this. One teacher held a Bible study in his classroom during lunch. While religion is a wonderful thing, I don't think it should be on school property. As if that was not bad enough the youth group leader trolled our cafeteria looking for fresh blood. He had snow white hair and pale skin, and spoke real slow. Actually, the dude reminded me from the guy in poltergeist. We spoke briefly once, but he didn't waste time on me. Probably because I wasn't an easy target and had a solid sense of self.

I had several friends get caught up in this cult fervor. One in particular went from outgoing and bubbly to an apostle willing to preach at the drop of a dime. This ended our friendship forever. Another could not operate without the okay from this youth group on anything. Of course some were insane. One fought with me in government class. The issue was abortion. She said, "What if God wanted her to have that baby?" My response was that we were arguing reproductive rights and not the existence of God. Then again, a better response would have been to laugh at that whacko.

It's not like a faith in a higher power helped this population to be happy. They didn't watch certain movies. Some didn't celebrate Halloween. Many were homophobic to the point where years later, I wonder what they were suppressing. A great number were racist, clearly absent for the reading where Jesus spoke about all of his children. One former friend of mine became very entrenched. She entered an abusive sexual relationship with an upperclassman. However she was determined to save me. Despite the fact she got knocked up in high school, she was okay. Apparently she knew Jesus and I didn't.

Because of the pull of this population, we didn't have sex ed. Instead we had speakers coming in telling us to abstain. As a result my high school had one of the highest teen pregnancy rates in the area. I once said onstage that in high school I didn't know how to use a condom but knew how to throw a baby in a dumpster. Yes, this is what the word of God has reduced people to, idiots who don't know about their bodies.

This population belonged to several churches in the town. One was a mega church down the street from me where they did Christian counseling and conversion therapy. Another was a splinter sect where a class mate of mine had a fanatical mother attend. She gave the family's savings, and the pastor took it and ran off with a hoochie mama in the parish. Of course then there was the extreme splinter sect who decided the mega church was too secular and met in the high school cafeteria. They couldn't marry outside the circle of thirty people, thus all becoming their own grandpas.

Half way through school we got a new principal. He threw the cult leader out of the cafeteria, and told the teacher he was to discontinue the Bible study. The new principal cited the first amendment, something foreign to these zealots, about how church and state were to be separate. While it made the cult members angry, school was much more tolerable for anyone else with a different belief system. Of course sophomore year they still tried to lure my sister Skipper with a game of frisbee in the guise of Bible Study. However, it was much better than it had been in previous years.

A year after being banished, the cult leader was arrested for molesting several young men he ministered to. Surprise, surprise. Did I mention he was quite homophobic?

Over the years I have met religious people who are nothing but loving. They also understand the Bible. The tale of Sodom and Gomorrah is about kindness to your neighbors and not being greedy, not that LGBTQ people are sinful and evil. Also, they welcome people of all colors into their churches. Their God loves all people, not just those who are white. Also, God doesn't shame people for their sex conduct and knows they make mistakes. And yes anal counts even if you wear a promise ring. I have met people of all belief systems, or lack thereof. Bottom line, just try to be a good person.

I am not saying having faith is bad, it can be a wonderful thing as long as it is coupled with spirituality. My Nunni-Mom's mom-was very into the spiritual side of her Catholic faith. She visited my cousin and sent him presents when he was in jail for holding his girlfriend hostage, a time when many turned their back on him, his own family included. My brother's former high school football teammate ministers to drug addicts in the worst section of Pittsburgh. These are good things. But dogma alone can make a person nuts and devoid of all reality.

What made me think of this was last night I was walking to the train when a woman who was dead behind the eyes said, "Miss, do you know when Jesus is coming? Those who are not saved are doomed to hell." I nodded bilking it. And she proceeded to follow me. When I thought I dodged her and was safely home I saw her again in the station and she began following me again. So I bilked it faster.

 Part of me knew she was clearly mentally ill. The other part of me wanted to say, "Listen freakshow, I grew up with assholes like you. No one, not even the angels in heaven shall know the date, hour, or time. Read the Bible you fucking crack infested, non bathing, scizo, homeless fucktard. Then again, you probably can't read. And trust me, you aren't scary. You are nothing compared to some of the religious assholes I knew growing up."

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

A Bigger Plate

This week has been a busy one in the world of April. I can't even begin to tell you about all the things I have been dealing with. Lets start with I have been BUSY AS FREAKING FUCK. Okay, these are words my mother doesn't like me to use but I went and used them, HA! All week I have been juggling my new hosting gig, the still existing telegram job (Thank God, it pays my bills), filming details for one project and things for two others. Plus I am getting ready to finally delivery my audiobook. It is a blessing because my team is wonderful. Still, it was my phone ringing every five seconds. It's not like I got a moment's rest either.

Last Sunday the day begun when a friend of mine was off his psych meds for bipolar. So during the delusion he got my Booski ended up believing that two people we knew and then a random black dude broke into his home. Apparently he went down to the precinct and filed a report and everything. Did I mention this was before 7 AM. Oh and my mom called me at 5:45 by accident waking me up. So I figured the day had begun, why not? In any event, the way my buddy told the story was pretty funny. I guess I want to know why is it always a random black dude? Then again, my buddy is off his meds, not evil. Well the story ended with him going to the psych hospital, and then coming home so bummed he brought this big thing of food and in his depression ate it all. The best line was, "The only person who's not pissed with me right now is my dog."

I have long ago given up the belief I could have normal friends. It ain't gonna happen. Sigh McSigh. The rest of the day Sunday was spent getting ready to film et al. Monday had some girl drama that I will not get into. The only thing I will say is that the older I get, the more allergic to drama I am. I don't even hate the girlie I had the drama with, I think the unfortunate thing is that the poor child knows no better. But I did a full set with eight of my puppets in Brooklyn. Oh and I also delivered a telegram first thing in the morning. But the day ended with me McMakin and McMackin with a McStud. Oh and I also had to race and run write my column for Sex From Both Sides.

Tuesday saw me doing more stuff for my on camera hosting gig at ITTV. I love the gig and love being in front of the camera. Not to mention some stuff for the project I am filming.

Wednesday I filmed the interview and had a telegram. Plus I talked to the producer of the project I am currently working on.

Thursday I had a project meeting with my business partner and made an ass out of myself at the desired venue. But my new assistant Masimo, a gay kid from Dominica (not to be confused with the Dominican Republic, although both are a butt load homophobic), was a God send helping me with business plans. By the time night came I was tired. I also couldn't enter a contest because of a date conflict but I really liked the lady and want to work with her in the future.

Friday of course was delivering the telegram and more stuff for ITTV events. I was so worn out that I isolated and spent the night in. I ordered sushi to be delivered to my home. Of course I ended up watching Deadly Women, because who can resist a show where men get killed.

Saturday I had lunch with a hot lunch date. I figured I deserved it. However before that I had about three business calls and then had to meet with someone else all before noon. But then of course I went to my business partner/friend's BBQ. He is more like a big brother to me than anything. I love him and his fiance. They are sooooo cute together. He gave me a stern lecture about my choice in men and chastised me for wagging my finger like he always does. I was chilling, having fun, and then my phone just kept ringing with people who wanted shit from me. As I had convo after convo with people on business I missed another friend thrusting a whole Twinkie in his mouth. I just wanted to take the phone and throw it off the damn balcony into the night.

Where would it land? The streets of New York City? On the car of some rich fuck? On the head of some idiot girl who just wanted the idiot husband? Or would it go to space and the fucking Martians would answer?Klatu, Nictu, Baratu, may I help you....

Of course this morning I was on my way to Jersey to deliver a telegram and had to go early as not to miss a train and my mom called me to give me notes on my ITTV interview. As she is giving me notes on my interview I stood up on the train to get off and banged my head leaving me a nice little bump. Of course I let out the following blue streak, "FUCK! JESUS FUCKING FUCK I HATE THESE FUCKING TRAINS, THESE MIDGET CEILINGS AND THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY!!!!!" And then I saw there were children sitting there. FUCK ME!!!!

Then I remembered I am busy because my dreams are coming true. Years ago I was crying because it looked like it would never happen for me. I was lugging myself from open mic to open mic, living on laundry money, and barking for stage time. I would see people with TV credits come in and out and only dreamed of being them but it seemed so far away. I remembered sitting in my unairconditioned apartment writing my book and my then roomie having a nervous breakdown and losing both the friend who inspired me to write again and another friend who inspired me to be myself to drugs. I remembered how much fun it had been to be onstage for the first time in NYC. How cool it was to be on National TV for the first time. How I got my first on the street recognition without even expecting it. How cool it felt to record down the hall from Deborah Harry and see her yappy dogs.

Newsflash, when things start to happen in your life and career, things become hectic. Life becomes full. I used to cry because it seemed nothing would ever materialize. I was so scared of being left in the dust. Now here I am dusting myself off. So the chaos I have is the good kind.

Next week I have my musical stuff to work on, more ITTV stuff, I have to start uploading my audiobook to sell, and then I probably have another writing assignment in there. They say when God/Allah/Universe gives you more than you can handle, you have to ask Him/Her/It for a bigger plate. So here I am, asking for a bigger plate.

A few years ago when I came out of a particularly rough time in my life I got this thing that is still framed in my apartment. It is a little ethnically ambiguous cherub with the words, "When the trials of life seem to be working your nerves and you don't know what to do. Or when it seems you're having so many problems, you've bitt'n off more than you can chew. There's one thing you must tell yourself, when these situations you cannot dodge, I must sit down, calm myself, relax, My God's in charge."

So in times when it feels like I just run around and my feet are falling off, I must remember I am chasing my dreams. From that I must never tire. I must stand up straight for I am an accomplished woman, and when you stand upright the burdens roll off your back. I must tell myself I am too blessed to be stressed, because my dreams are coming true and this is everything I worked for since I was a little girl coming to fruition. Not to mention one hundred want to stab me in the back because of the success I am getting, and thousands want to take my place.

That means I have to stop answering the phone by saying, "What!" when my mother calls. Translated, I have to drop the attitude and be more grateful.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

Fear n Faith

Lately I have been doing a lot of what they call showing up for my creativity. I have been sending book pitches and proposals for book talks. Yes, some people like my writing style. I am upfront and some even say funny. Actually a lot of people say funny. Other people don't like me. I am not always politically correct and not always what they call "nice." I find nice and mean stupid people words. Oh something is nice. Elaborate please. Oh well it is nice. Or you are so mean. How am I mean? You are just mean.

Anytime I have been called mean it is always by a stupid person on youtube. I cannot explain it. Oye vey.

There is so much fear that nothing will pan out. I am at a weird place on the ladder. While I am not a household name, fans have recognized me on the street. On top of that I have been on TV several times. People at shows have recognized me. My book has been reviewed by Mensa and was featured on Britney Spears's website. And yes, I even have some fancy friends. People also brag about knowing me. I have been gossipped about online. I have people so jealous that they want to shake the ladder I am steadily climbing. Oh and I have also written for some highly trafficked news sources. In addition, my videos receive a lot of views.

On the other hand, while I have been on TV plenty it is still not enough to pay the bills on it's own so I am working a day job. I am lucky to like my day job. Actually I have been delivering to some very nice people lately. And while I am "too famous" for some things, I am not famous enough for others. I can still get bumped at clubs by washed up male comedians who rest on their laurels believing they are still important enough to bully junior producers. Oh and then there are the users who will cut me from a show because of the content of my act but still use me on the poster to promote because of my fame. Lets see, I am not important enough to be included in some collections with my work but they have seen me on TV. Oh yeah, and because I am part of a smaller house I have to push my book on my own.

Lately I have been working A LOT which is good and also performing a lot. While I detest mics I have learned no one cares who I think I am. It is more the chip on my shoulder than anything. I am there to work, not to gossip about a bunch of no ones who believe that they are someone. I am there to get better, not to get into trouble. I am there to become a better comedian, not to be the great I am. And yes, I have done great things, past tense. We cannot have yesterday's funny do the work of the funny today.

It is a tenuous place on the ladder as I said.

This morning I delivered a telegram to a very nice family in Brooklyn. The guy was eighty years old and he was VERY COOL. Kind of reminded me of my grandfather. Sure it was a pain in the ass getting out of bed and kind of far in Brooklyn, Dyker Heights, but the trip was worth it. These people were WONDERFUL.

I like that I have a job that enables me to make people laugh. The world is such a messed up place where people are so angry all the damn time. I like making sunshine and rainbows for as corny as that sounds.

There are a lot of things coming up. I have two stores interested in carrying my book. In addition I am also starting the musical and one woman version of my musical. While we are there I also am releasing an audiobook and have a book signing at Brown. Things are good. Oh and a pilot I am working on has been passed to phase two.

As I walked to the train today I saw the Cherry Blossoms on the trees and the pieces of spring begin to tangle with the air. I know in my heart for as much as I fear what is next-me potentially not getting what I want-I know I have to have faith.

I know that on my journey as an artist, as a person, and as an activist, I have not been carried this car in order to be dropped.

Love

April

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

A Sweet Story

My grandmother recently passed. I miss her because she was so funny. I wasn't in town for the funeral but am in town this week. The first holiday without the deceased loved one is always the hardest. Anyway, we were talking about who was at the funeral.

Some of my aunt's former boyfriend's came, they had jobs and treated her kind so of course she wasn't marrying them anytime soon. Then my uncle's former girlfriend came and made things interesting with this wife, but alas, we don't like his wife. And then my great aunt's ex husband who cheated on her showed up. He still comes to family reunions despite the fact everyone hates him. Maybe he wants free food, I dunno.

One surprise visitor was in fact my cousin whom I will call Deke. A prep school kid, Deke was a tad bit spoiled. Not that my idiot aunt and her husband who claimed to make an obscene amount of money helped. Anyway, Deke had wanted to go to a party and his parents didnt let him. So they were in the car arguing and that is when Deke jumped out of the car. He suffered brain damage, and lost his ability to taste spicey food. And not to mention got some serious anger management issues. Shortly thereafter, Deke had a girlfriend who was stupid and spoiled like he was. Well she wanted to break up and Deke was not hearing of it. Brain damaged, Deke somehow got a hold of a gun and held her hostage for several hours. The authorities did not look kindly upon this and locked him up. I know, it's just a felony right?

Well my aunt being a neglegent mother said it was the criminal gene, not her shiteous parenting. They emancipated Deke, not just to wash their hands of him but to save money because in the state of PA the families have to pay for the incarcerated kiddies.

Well Deke got out, got a new girlfriend, and had a baby. The child is currently missing one foot. But Deke has grown up. He supports the child by working part time as a used car salesman and part time as a lab test subject.

I met Deke a few times. While he is obviously insane and I would probably never actually let him know where I live, he seemed nice enough.

Deke came to the funeral. Anyway the story he told was that when he was locked up no one wrote to him. His parents washed their hands of him. But there was one person who remembered him. That was my grandmother. She sent him several letters a week. Deke often looked forward to my grandmother's letters. Not only because they were funny and sweet, but also because it meant someone on the outside was there for him, wasn't judging him. It meant that he still mattered. Sure, his own mother didnt want him. His father was useless. His other brother was a goofball. The youngest, the so called brain, went to school on ROTC and never speaks to his family, wonder why, but my grandmother let Deke know he wasn't a bad person trying to get good but a sick person trying to get well. And for as crazy as Deke is and for as much as he barely has it together, he remembered my grandmother's kind deed. He knew what it was like to be down and knew my grandmother was a friend. And a friend is someone who is kind to you when life isn't.

I guess that's why I write to my buddy in jail (I haven't been good because I have been busy) and even paid him a visit. It's because maybe he made his mistakes with drugs but in the end, he is still my buddy. He still has a good heart. He took a wrong turn. We all take wrong turns. But there is a difference between a bad decision and a bad person. I think my grandmother knew that. And I think that's where I get that from. My boy said he would never forget me visiting him in jail. Now I believe him. I hope he doesn't have to go to my funeral to tell the story though. But my mother would probably have a heart attack if any one of us told her. Sigh....

Love

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

 

Sunday's Blog

I have taken on several big projects lately. One is a musical version of my book. The other is the audio version. I am seeing the light at the end of the tunnel with my audiobook which is good. I am still amazed I am doing it.

I entered the studio to see Hernan Santiago, who is a platinum record producing sound engineer headed home. He had been in the studio since Friday and hadn't slept in two days. We talked briefly about stuff, shot the breeze. For the most part he is a sweet, quiet guy. You would never know he has the dog ears. Yes, his ears don't miss anything. Anyway he was headed home to catch  some zzzzz's.

 When I went in today my usual sound guy was out getting his life together. He left me in the hands of his intern. While the dude seemed capable it scared me a little. Granted, my boy was getting much needed sleep I was like, "AHHH!!!!" Would this dude know what he was doing? Plus this was a change of routine.

Well I was pleasantly surprised. Not only was he excellent and on task, but his ears didnt miss anything. Whenever I would do something he would stop me from time to time and say, "Do it again. You can do it better." I was like McDamn Damn. Needless to say I am lucky he didnt kill me. I was reading the chapter in my misadventures about a stalker gram sent by a cray cray woman and all the chaos that sort of followed. There were parts of the reading where I just started laughing and we had to redo them. Then he started laughing. He is a cutie like that. But yes, he was patient as hell with me and caught everything. We were talking and he said, "I am like Hernan. I have dog ears." McDamn Damn.

It was a very productive session and I was done by noon. When I got out I decided to go to church. Because most of my Sunday's are spent in the studio I haven't been going as regularly as I would like. I stop in during the week but that's not the same. I grew up going every Sunday and feel weird when I don't. Plus it is Lent. I am not super religious Catholic. I have gay friends, am pro-choice, and not to mention question the Bible quite frequently. But Catholic is one of those things you can't escape. I feel the need to eat fish every Friday. I give up things for Lent like gossipping, but it is an epic fail with all the gay friends I have.

This particular church has a lot of relics. My mom prayed with Holy Water from crazy places growing up and would sprinkle some on me the morning of a math test. I don't know if they are powerful or not but some do believe. My Mema Ralph, who is currently reading my book, has told me that I have to ask God for a nice Catholic boy. Part of me enjoys being single, and then part of me wants a man from time to time. But then I remember men are a pain in the ass and are needy as hell. And then they start to complain about being Mr. April Brucker when it discovered who the true pants wearer in the house is. Not to mention it never ends well with me an men. The ex fiance turned out to be a psychopath who beat me and deprived me of my puppets. The guy after him turned out to be a liar who had a list of psychological ailments and used them as a bragging right. The ex fiance stalked me with the help of his former girlfriends. The other guy isn't stalking me, he is just drinking on top of his psych meds. On the other hand, his current girlfriend is obsessed with me and does stalk me from time to time, but then her drug habit takes over and she is thus otherwise occupied. Of course there was Holden Caulfield. He is the man of my heart still, it's just that combined with this drug problem, alcoholism, mental illness he refuses to take meds for, and troubles with the law technically making him a fugitive it was hard to make a home. After him was Kindred Spirit, who led me to believe he liked me when he was just using me to revive his dead career. Sure, he had cache in the clubs that I didn't. But he was broke, unemployed, and hadnt been on TV in years whereas I was everywhere.

I just want to point out that all these men were Catholic. I shouldn't look in the Catholic Church for a man. I was thinking of going Jewish but then I remembered when I was twenty a Jewish man broke my heart. Dimsdale who was quite famous was Jewish, as a matter of fact he had been an Orthodox Rabbi before hitting it big in show biz. But this holy man had other issues, one being a woman who claims to be his love child.

Then I thought of it. Maybe I should go Protestant, but they are just like decaf coffee. While it is coffee it doesnt give me the kick. Then it hit me, SATANIST! Sure, it might make my mother's head explode. But compared to all the other freaks of nature I have had is this so bad?

For as crazy as it is sometimes I want someone to hold me. But then eventually they will want me to give up my career, have children, and be their slave. I can wait until I am at least fifty for that. I enjoy my freedom too much to have it taken away.

As I walked home a wave of fear hit me. I began to panic that time was running out, that my dreams would not come true. I dreaded over the work of all my projects. How sometimes I just wanted to drop the ball on this damn audiobook. Studio time is mad expensive and I pay out of my own pocket. How I wanted to crumple my musical in a ball and have someone else write it. Fuck actors, fuck composers, fuck all. My mother said these were just hoops. How would she know? Granted, she is almost always right.

That I wouldn't get my turn. Then I remembered my session in the studio. I remembered walking in, unsure of what to expect when my normal guy wasnt there. I remembered not knowing what I was getting. Then I remembered his attention to detail. I remembered his dog ears, capturing every little sound in the room. I remembered how thrilled I was that he was so on task and how good I sounded when we were done. When you meet someone with a gift like that it is not just impressive but a blessing. That's when I realized I was in good hands. Perhaps heaven had sent me an angel, if there are such things.

And maybe, just maybe, whatever was up there had answered my prayers after all

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available at 877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com
E-Book available at Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available in the Spring of 2103
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Jesus Wrote My Blog: What He Thinks of the Election

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

I am hi-jacking April's blog today to clear up a few things before the election. Some of my children, the ones on the short bus, claim to have read my book. Many cannot read to begin with so they probably listened to the book on tape version. But let's clear the air about the Bible shall we? For starters, I never wrote it. The Bible is basically a diary of the happenings of life before and after me. I am just that important, what can I say? I have millions of followers coupled with an absentee father who let me get nailed to a cross. My mother was a Virgin. My father was a carpenter. What I am trying to say is that MY STORY HAS BEEN LOST IN TRANSLATION MANY TIMES. Some people added their own spice and some things got mistranslated in general. I have been in Hebrew, Latin, Greek, and English just to name a few. Cool, huh? Random House will you give me a book deal?

Now that we are on the subject I have never, ever disrespected women in my scriptures. There has never been anything said about a woman's right to choose. I think women need to choose to respect themselves and have fun but be smart about it. After all, I shacked up with a lady of the night and she was one of my best followers.

Also, I never said anything about disrespecting gay people. Let them be gay. Let them marry men and women. As long as they are decent people. Gay men created Broadway and make pretty music. They make the world a more beautiful place. Lesbians are the best plumbers, contractors, and stage managers there are. Plus they have a monopoly on softball, volleyball and basketball. God made no mistake when he made these decisions. Did I mention they wrote a musical about me? Oh gosh I am melting. Hugh Jackman come on over!

This same misunderstanding and hate was the catylist beind the anti-Civil Rights movements in the South. Many preached that I said that blacks were better off as slaves and subserviants. I never said such a thing. If anything, in case you haven't heard the blacks make better music in their churches and I have more fun there. God also gave them the ability to make great music and to play basketball and football. Racism disappears when there is money involved. The devil created racism and God created money. You decide which one wins.

We have a black president right now too. He's got my vote.

As for our Jewish brothers and sisters, they might not believe in me and that's fine. They cook well and their mothers nag and I empathize because I grew up with a Jewish mother. That is why I know the importance of hard work, discipline, and balancing my check book. When they get to heaven I always make sure they are my accountants. God makes no mistakes.

I like the Arabs too. They believe I am a minor profit. While some people would kick and scream it's like being a huge star in America but only a supporting actor in Japan. I can live with it.

I feel like a woman should have the right to choose. No one goes to the abortion clinic because they are bored on a Thursday.

I feel like the gays should marry. Let everyone be excited about planning the wedding.

I feel like there should be socialized healthcare. Everyone regardless of who they are deserve to be cared for by a doctor. In case you did not hear I love all and come in the form of a beggar from time to time. That is why all my children should be cared for.

Pat Robertson is not my creation. He is an alien.

Mitt Romney is not a Mormon but secretly worships the devil. I don't take it personally, Satan needs her fans too. What, you thought the devil was a man? Come on, something that angry and deceitful must have some hormonal influx once a month.

So vote wisely tomorrow. Also, keep those affected by Sandy in your prayers. They did nothing to deserve this devistation. My father is doing his best to deliver. We all are. The end of the world is not coming you morons. Instead we have a few hundred more years of this. My dad is having too much fun with his toy creations, I am just walking on water to keep in shape, and the angels are playing poker. If the world ends it will be the end of our fun.

Son of God out

Prayers for the Rockaways

They call the Rockaways the sixth borough. Technically they are in Queens. However to get to the Rockaways you have to take the A train to Lefferts transferring, and then take another A to Broad Channel. From there you take an S to wherever you need to go. It's their local subway shuttle that is sort of phantom operating when it wants. From there you hit the streets and are greeted with the locals, mostly family type people.

There are Orthodox Jews who mainly don't make contact with outsiders. Cloistered, they are like the Amish. While not unkind they keep to themselves because we live in a world full of prejudice and hate. There are the old time Italian American families, trapped in a lost time where they use the Soprano hair grease and treat strangers with kindness and food. Lest we forget the surfers, surfing in wet suits all year long. The streets are quiet and the people are kind. Not to mention it is so beautiful by the water sometimes you forget you are in NYC.

What is happening with Sandy makes me sad. Whenever I have gone to the Rockaways the people have been nothing but gracious. Once I delivered a singing telegram to a chocolate factory out there. They gave me a hair net and everything. The trekk had been a long one, but the journey worth it. As a thank you they gave me two hundred dollars worth of chocolate. All thanks to the Madelaine Chocolate Factory. Willy Wonka and Charlie would have been jealous. Not to mention they made sure I got back to the train safely.

Another time I was delivering a singing telegram too. It was around the New Year. It was for an old school Italian American Family. They were a tough audience but got into me. They made me work for it which I like. Anyway, afterwards, the woman who ordered me gave me some food and said, "I think I have seen you on TV." And then she told me she knew me from TLC. She mentioned she was a fan of mine and asked if she could take a photo with me and Sunny, one of my puppets. I said sure and we snapped the pic.

Another time I had a detour that way and it was late. A homeless man was making a roucus in the station and trying to talk to me because I was the only one there. The MTA worker in the booth had the option to leave, it was late and he wanted to go home to his family. While the homeless dude wasn't violent, simply going on a rant about how Sarah Palin was probing his brain-a serious problem-he wanted to stay there so I was safe. He also called the proper authorities so that the man could go somewhere like Bellvue where they could undo all of this evil genius on behalf of the woman who can see Alaska from her backyard.

In the wake of Sandy I read about their devistation. It makes me sad to know they only now is FEMA geting there. I have power, I have running water, I have food. These are things these people can only dream of at the moment.

Apparently things have gotten so bad that there is looting. People have made bows and arrows. Thugs dressed up as Con Ed workers are knocking door to door to rob people. There is no fresh milk and no ability to get food for drinking water. There are people stranded without homes and proper clothing and it is freezing.

All week I have been whining about my cabin fever. Like a brat I have been shaking my fist at God saying, "Make this go away. I want to go out and play and work and make money." The truth is, my life is alright. As of today I am working again. My power, heat, and water were never lost. My internet was wonky which made me indignant. But overall, I have nothing to complain about.

As I selfishly ask the Spirit in the Sky for what I want, I have to remember right now some people would kill to have what's in my posession. I have to include the people in the Rockaways when I do my prayers. What is happening to them is truly unfair. Everytime I have dealt with them they have been gracious, generous, and hardworking. They have the toughness of New York City without the machismo. We neglect to think of them because they are so far away from everything, except when we need a beach to go to.

At times like this we have to remember Con Ed truly has the power.

Mark Twain used to say, "The devil is God when he is drunk."

I think in this case Jesus is smoking some angel dust.

Either way please keep the people in the Rockaways in your prayers. The Lower East Side and the East in West Village now have power,light and heat. The subways are running almost normally again. Jersey is getting their power, heat, and light back as well. Now it is there turn.

I guess what infuriates me most is that Furor Bloomberg was using a generator in Central Park for the marathon but yet so many people went without power. The marathon is cancelled and so many runners are whining when they can just enter another road race. There are people reduced to living like the children in Lord of the Flies. They are in a place like Rockaway. Maybe these selfish fitness buffs should look at a map. The Rockaways are part of New York. They are not lost. They pay taxes like everyone else. Just because they are farther out doesn't mean they deserve to be treated like they don't matter.

In this crisis, as New Yorkers, and as a country, we must not fall apart. We must not let our pithy worries cloud are minds. We must not argue about politics giving ourselves headaches over mainstream candidates who will eventually sell out. Instead we must help our fellow man.

In the immortal words of Winston Churchill, "It is no use to say that we are doing our best. We must do what is necessary."

Love April

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

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Silencing the Noise

The past several days I have been steeped in the tizzy of April being April. Sometimes I am so neurotic, self-centered, egocentric, and just plain crazy I should win an award. Seriously. All weekend long I was running around, working. Nothing seemed to be coming together. My buses were late, or when they were on time they were running the milk route or the weekend schedule and I had to schlep and have a mini-adventure. If people were supposed to show up, like our model for our video, they flaked. Even though they screwed themselves because we will never work with them again, in a way we felt like we were being rejected. My friend Marcus and I discussed this. Yes, rejected. On top of that there is so much to be done with promoting my book. So many people to send press packs to. So many people who don't answer my emails when I want them to which is pronto, right after I send them. They must be at their iphones and blackberries. They can't have life, outside work, family, lunch breaks, eight hours of sleep. No wonder I work with puppets. They are always there when I need them, and when I pull their strings they say what I want them to

Monday was the beginning of a nutty two days for me. I felt this panic and anxiety. The last time I felt this was when I was nineteen years old, alone in New York City. I was surrounded by all these people. The girls were so slutty that they were getting action all the time. Meanwhile they were ugly on top of being slutty so I wanted to know how this was happening. The good girls were so nauseatingly fake and could quote scriptures. It seemed everyone was smart and talented and I was just this dirty impostor from Pittsburgh with her puppets. So I broke my back to prove to everyone I belonged. It was painful. I was lonely. Eventually it got easier but damn that was a lonely feeling.

Now here I was feeling it again. Of course the last few weeks have been big and everything with my book. Big steps are scary. Sometimes when you take a big step, you don't know what's at the top of the landing. Will it be a pot of gold or a scary monster? Either way I was like a five year old kid scared of the dark again.

Tuesday felt even worse. I had to talk to a few people about my book and felt so lost. Nevermind Stephen King once had a first book and there was some of this drama. He probably worried that people would embrace him. Finally, after a mini meltdown I walked in the rain. Although I was risking pneumonia, I just needed to clear my head. I ended up meeting a woman who is like a mom to be to give her a duplicate set of my house keys in case of emergency-don't ask. Anyway, I poured my heart out and she laughed and told me to relax. What the hell was she talking about? I was soaking wet, unsure of the next step for my future, HOW THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO RELAX!!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

This morning I woke up feeling no better. Steeped in self-pity, I realized my birthday was next week and I was getting another year older. That I had accomplished nothing. That I wasn't on Conan. Nevermind I was on Entertainment Tonight, TLC and a slew of other shows. Nevermind I wrote a damn book. I just felt this worthlessness. I pictured myself alone with my six cats, three hundred pounds, eating iced cream with my hands at the edge of a cliff with my puppets as my only people to talk to. They would have to be because all at once I realized I was allergic to cats and that they would never work in this nightmare. Yes, nightmare. I was going to die without my dreams ever being realized.

Then something happened this afternoon. A friend of mine and I met and I signed her book. Something about the whole thing made me happy. Maybe it was because the noise in my head was finally quiet. The itty bitty committee had stepped out for lunch. It felt good. She is starting my book after a murder mystery she is currently reading. A murder mystery is a must finish in my opinionation. Then again, being an egomaniac my opinionation is the only thing that matters in my world. This particular friend is one who has come in my path recently and she writes too. I am anxious to see her book when it comes out. Plus she has been ever supportive with all the stalker/fan drama I have had in some of the past weeks.

When I got home I read on facebook a message from a fan in Canada who wanted to buy my book. The fan letter they wrote me made me smile and get teary eyed at the same time. Fan mail always does. At that moment I took a deep breath and decided to tell that chatter in my ever speedy brain to shut the hell up. I wrote the fan back instructing them on how to purchase my book. As I wrote I realized if I wanted people, young and old, to get one thing out of my book it would be that their dreams mattered-that they weren't stupid but in fact counted. That everyone's ideas and dreams were important. And that my hope was that my book inspired people to follow their dream whether it is to move to the city to perform/write, become a teacher, become an engineer, diplomat, whatever. The world needs all kinds of people. If the world were run by performers nothing would ever get done.

Just then my phone rang. Pink gorilla in Greenwich, CT. Okay, can do. The window is a little tight and I will have to run now. I talked to the client. They wanted a bottle of Scotch to go with the present. I have to run to the liquor store. Then they call again, they want me in CT before 9. It is 7. They also wanted me to sing the song Maniac from Dirty Dancing. I have to take a train and then haul the Scotch which isnt as light as you would like to believe and take a cab to some side street because he might not be home. Oh and then they need to give me the message and one is calling from a cell and the other from an office and everyone is making me CAT SHIT CRAZY!!!!!! As my serenity and selflessness I had achieved an hour before went out the window something hit me. I was just a person

I began to lose my mind as I ran to catch the train. It would get me there in time. I pull up my iphone learning Maniac when I see a text from the client. The birthday boy was going to be downtown in NYC. My jaw dropped. They were trying to kill me it seemed. I took a breath. Then another beam of whatever from the universe hit me. I did an om. It was something my boss at the telegram company, who by the way is a certified meditation teacher, taught me to do. During that om, it occurred to me that my job was to be of service. That what I did was a gift. That there were people who would chase my dreams in a second if I didnt want to. Plus the folks in Cali were probably going as crazy as I was, because this was the client's assistant booking this whole thing. Poor thing was probably losing her blessed mind, and if anything probably was ready to kill her boss and if she saw me in person would have been chugging my Scotch. During our texts and phone convo I put her at ease so she could relax and therefore her boss could be happy and that meant everyone could be happy.

When I got to Soho, despite my running around I didnt feel tired. Instead I focused on a huge rose statue. Despite the New York buzz around me I felt a sort of peace. I had put one foot in front of the other, I was going to take a breath, and just do the best job I knew to do. I was going to be okay. Everything with my book was going to be okay. My job was to make this guys night and give him a memory. In a lot of ways, I have the greatest job in the world. Many a day and night I am invited into someone's family or an intimate moment in their world for a wrinkle in time. I give them a smile and we share a memory knowing the world isn't all that big. That we are all connected.

That's exactly what happened tonight. I gave the bday boy the surprise of the night. The whole party joined us on the sidewalk to take photos. Other diners in the cool late summer/early autumn snapped me with their camera phones. We were all smiling, laughing, having a good time. The client in LA was happy. His assistant wanted to know the name of the Scotch I purchased, probably because she wants to polish off a whole bottle after the stress she has been through. Eh, it happens. As the cameras snapped the bday boy said, "Blakey, you da man." For the record, I hit Maniac. On of the members of the delegation even fixed my mask because it was making her crazy. I had a laugh and felt beautiful. This was all good. I think he will remember 40 forever!

After I was done I saw a bunch of lights. Then I realized down the street was the Festival of San Gennaro. I walked it having never been, and dodged a procession for the San or Saint or whatever he calls himself. It was blocks of food and other festivities as well as a mini off season freak show. I ended up getting Buffalo Calimari. I was taken aback at how family orientated and well behaved people were. Going down the street I felt even more of a peace. Sometimes I work myself to death. I am ambitious and hardworking, never missing a beat and this is why people tend to like me and hire me. At the same time, I know I make them nuts but not as nuts as I make myself. That's why I just took the time to enjoy the festivities.

I came across the statue of San Gennaro. The people who worship at the church pray and pin a dollar or two to the little ribbon on it. My great grandmother was into stuff like that, just like my grandma is to some extent. My mother used to bless us with Holy Water from said locales during stressful events. My attitude was, "Eh, whatever makes you feel good." I ended up chatting with the man at the booth and asked if he believed and he said he did and gave me a pamphlet. I pinned a buck and said a prayer. My prayer to whomever is upstairs, assuming they might be named Buster Brown but no one knows, that I would stop being so crazy and be more of service and loving to others. And that I was unsure and scared of the next step in my quest with my book, and could unnamed divine force guide me. Within a moment I heard "Dress You Up in My Love" by Madonna. That song is a song of mine that is lucky. Maybe it means something. Maybe it doesn't.

On my walk back I saw an indie bookstore. I walked in and nervously explained to the clerk who had a buzz cut and nose ring that I had written a book. Immediately without judgement, she gave me the names of the two people that headed the memoir and humor section in order to give a book pitch. While my book is not yet in the store it is an exciting next step. Perhaps San Gennaro answered my prayer. Or maybe he didn't. Either way, that bookstore just happened to fall into my path which was awesome.

As my treat I took a cab ride home. I will burn off the fried food tomorrow in Jeanene's class. Sigh. Life is an adventure. When it is good and you are of love and service you can smile. When it is bad you have a funny story later. My advice is so good and this is so insightful maybe I should follow it next week when life starts happening to screw up my best laid plans.

Love, April

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

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Lent and What It Means to Me

When I was a kid my folks weren’t super religious. We went to church every Sunday, did the holy days, and then of course the no meat on Friday during Lent. My mom wasn’t as big on us giving things up as she was us doing a nice thing, like volunteering at a nursing home. It was anything to take the focus off of ourselves and perhaps to find God. Well then again, Catholics as a rule as never fervently religious, but more or less stubbornly adherent to tradition. Heck, the last time I checked our clergy still couldn't marry.
Alter boys anyone.....Okay, I had to make the joke. 

Like all Fridays during Lent, we didn’t do meat. When we were younger and were in that phase, we did fish sticks. My mom threw them in the tray, threw them in the oven, and put dipping sauce on the table. We were so little that we figured they were like chicken nuggets, except they were fish. Sometimes, we even went to Long John Silvers up the road. Usually, the folks that worked at Long John Silvers where I lived had been rejected from McDonald’s and were on welfare much faster than their fry and Big Mac slinging counterparts. Nonetheless, it was a nice way to mix up Friday.

As we got older and grew out of the fish sticks, my mom mixed it up. We had tuna  noodle casserole. I know I am one of the few people in the world who likes the dish but oh well. My mom does cook the best. During that phase in my life my dad’s mother, Ralph, had a host of health problems and needed visitors on the regular. My folks usually took Fridays, and we brought fish from places like Freddy’s II, a delicious restaurant in my hometown. Or we went to Pasta Too, but the problem was the wait time to order was eternal, and everyone and their mother knew about the yummy fish sandwiches.

One time my mom had to go out of town during Lent. I was left to cook and my father, like many men, doesn’t like my cooking. While my dad likes my lasagna, my burgers, my breaded chicken he does not like my fish. The night before, my eleven year old brain failed to properly read the instructions. My sister’s eight year old brain then backed up my stupidity and we burnt one dish and left the middle of another frozen. My brother, being the typical male, failed to help us in the kitchen as he slaughtered opponents on his Sega Genesis. So when Friday came, my dad decided to make it a take out and movie night. Being a woman, not having to cook no matter how old you are is awesome. So needless to say, my dad became the most awesome man in the world at that moment. 

We went to the American Legion and had the greasiest, yet most delectable fish sandwiches ever. There was so much grease on that bun I could feel my eleven year old arties clog, but I didn’t care. It was good, damn good. After that, we watched some shoot ‘em up movie. While my dad often masqueraded as the bad cop when we were growing up, it was an occupational hazard. My mom was the good cop and someone had to balance out in this dragnet. While he was less than happy he had to sign my homework card for an assignment forgotten, on the other hand he told me it happened. My dad also informed me that while one might make mistakes, the goal was to never make them again and just to turn my homework in on time from that day forward. I was surprised. My mother, on the other hand, would have lost her mind, reamed me out. She would have been okay with the failed math test as long as I told the truth. But being a teacher, she didnt tolerate not doing homework or worse yet, losing it.
And being a gym teacher, she would have had a heart attack if she saw the grease entering the veins of our bodies. She would have reminded my father that high blood pressure and heart disease ran in his family, and that we were to eat healthy things like vegetables. To which my brother would reply, "Easy on dad mom. French fries are made from potatoes and that's a vegetable."
 Then there was Good Friday. When I was younger, we were told there was to be no television, radio, or any other things that killed the brain and made noise from twelve to three. When I was about six or seven, I wanted to watch cartoons with my sister. We were home from school. My mother said, “You can’t do that. Jesus is on the cross.” I told him it didn’t look like Jesus was anywhere to be found and both my sister and I proceeded to turn on the TV. My dad, who had come home early, found us, snatched the clicker from my hand, yelled at us, and then sent us to our rooms. Needless to say my sister and I never challenged that rule again.

When I got to college, however, I learned to use Good Friday to my advantage. Many of the Catholic students claimed it was a religious holiday. My first year of school, when I was active in what was the Catholic Center at NYU, I went to church and there was some sort of mass. My second year I used the “holy day” as an excuse to get not one but two term papers done. Sure I wasn’t praying, but I was using God’s time wisely. Third year of college I spent all day doing homework, and then jumped on the train to spend Easter weekend with my ex-fiance and his friends in NJ.

These days, while I am not a theocrat, I do observe Lent in my own way. It is part of my upbringing that I just never quite shook. I eat fish when Friday comes whether it is a tuna melt, macaroni and cheese, or shrimp and rice from the local food cart. Sometimes, if a diner has it, I go for the lobster bisque.

I also try to do more service during Lent. Whether it is volunteering for causes related to HIV/AIDS education, domestic violence prevention, or any anti-bullying charity. I also have found myself not going on facebook after twelve noon on Fridays. It’s not because facebook is bad, but because it is something outside of myself that takes the focus off of me. When I get that noise out of my head, that gossip, that drama out of my head I remember what’s important. I remember my purpose in life is to do service.

While I do not consider myself terribly religious, I am more spiritual than anything. This is my opportunity that I take once a year to cleanse my mind, soul, and spirit. We live in a world polluted by so much hate, filth, distrust, and prejudice. So I take abstaining from meat and giving up facebook on Friday afternoon/evenings as a chance to get back to basics. To me, God isn’t about a man in the sky, a wrathful being, it’s about peace of mind. We don’t have enough of that in this world.

Sigh

Love

April 

PS. Feel free to tell me if and how you honor your spirituality. Or if you don't and why not. 

Fear 'n' Faith

This past week and a half has been a doozy. I have been sick as a freaking dog. To top it off I gave up being a part of something that has literally helped define me for the last several months. Then there is all this uncertainty about what is next for me. While it looks like we might be inking on something that might be good, it is pre-approved. While I am supposed to be publishing a book, we are a tad behind schedule. And things are coming together and falling apart as far as the music video goes. That’s when the fear creeps in.

The crazy thing about fear is that it dictates so many of the bad things in the world. Most prejudice stems from fear as a matter of fact. Whenever I hear a hateful remark against any group it turns out either the person had a bad experience with just one or they have never met any of those whom they openly slander. People drink, do drugs, eat too much or too little, or have wreckless sex because they want to escape the fear of not being good enough. Or they enter a relationship with someone who is wrong for them because they are afraid of being alone. Sure, sometimes fear is healthy. Like looking both ways so you don’t get hit by a mac truck. But it’s also very bad.

During these fear periods I get scared that I will never work again. Nevermind I am as sick as a dog. I also get scared of the fact that I am getting older. Nevermind my late teens and early twenties were a shit show of insecurities stemming from an imaginary battle with my weight which was really a real battle with myself. While in reality I don’t want that time in my life back again, I begin to get afraid that I will go to that island with six cats and gain three hundred pounds as I snack on my container of Lard ‘n’ Chocolate Delight. I also get afraid that I won’t get what I want. I have been working hard for sometime. Yes, despite the exposure and growing fan base I work the odd jobs. I ask myself what if I never have the career I want and am stuck as a whining actor and comic in the back of the clubs whining about how the ship sailed and marooned me? Worse yet, there is this gaping part of me that feels as if everyone is doing better.

When that gaping part of me sets in, it’s usually when I am sick and have nothing to do. Like the rest of the world, my head becomes a dangerous neighborhood. I don’t need to walk through a gang infested territory naked, I just spend an hour in my own mind. I went on facebook to see an old boyfriend of mine got fat. While he got fat and has a fat new lover girl, he has a new girl and here I am stuck, single, and looking like I could scare people in public. Then of course I go to a page of a girl who is a friend of mine and she is doing marvelously with her career and rest of her life. I begin to get jealous and wish evil things on her. Then I see another girl I know and like most of the time doing well and I just am scowling like Satan’s daughter.

Then I remember the first girl walking down the street, seeing me, giving me a big hug and telling me how great I looked. She also told me how she and her friends saw me on TV and how she was so proud of me for doing so well for myself. The second girl has always been my friend and on several occasions stood up for me when people were ripping me down online. When these realizations come to me I feel like an asshole. It’s like the devil himself has entered my body. I not only want what they have but want to see them fail, when these women are my damn friends. That’s when I start crying. It’s the cough medicine and overdose on Lifetime Movies making me go apeshit.

The crazy thing is, when I find that I am happy for people I usually get what I want. I am not some greedy witch angling like a hag in a cave for some ruby slippers she will never get. I guess it’s the law of returns. The universe is kinder. Plus I have been on both VH1.com and Gawker. I know all about what it is like to have people want to knock you down. I had people claim to know me from certain parts of my life that I never met. And just to be heard they made stuff up about me. It was their way to say “Fuck you, you’re on your way up and I don’t want to be left out of the party.” That being said I feel asinine doing it to anyone else.

Then I think of all the things going for me. I have appeared on NBC, ABC, CBS, E!, TLC, Bravo, The Travel Channel, New York 1, Fox 5, PAX, PIX, and Koldcast. Although my bank account doesn’t reflect it I have been around. I have fans all over the world. I have people who have flown to NYC and brought me and my puppets presents because we have changed their lives. I have worked with celebrities. I have done photo spreads in British magazines. I have had two comedians I look up to say wonderful things about me, and both are legends. One I got to work with, the other defended me live on a radio show where I was being ripped to shreds. My songs have gotten radio airplay. I am close. Things aren’t exactly terrible.

On my way to one of my deliveries today I walked past a dress store where all the clothes were just exquisite. I told myself that I would never look good in one of those. I began to just want to fade away into the sidewalk of NYC. There was that voice again from my late teens and early twenties telling me how ugly and stupid I was. That voice comes out usually when I see beautiful dresses and remember who I wasn’t in high school. I was weird and popular because I did stuff, not because I was pretty. I felt this vulnerability that an ugly duckling feels as they become the wallflower at the school dance and creep out back to cry.

That’s when I heard the voice of Betsy Parrish, a teacher of mine my first year of college. I was basically being asked to leave my acting studio because of a conflict I had with another teacher. Betsy was giving me some sort of pep talk and I started crying. I remember she told me I was enough constantly and I didn’t believe her. Then I heard her say in the back of my mind, “This is what we need to be seeing onstage. You just remember-I believe in you-now go!” Suddenly the vulnerability didn’t seem so horrid. It actually made me feel human in a bizarre sense. But damnit, after all these years it still sucked.

It was weird I thought of Betsy Parrish, the Broadway veteran because earlier that day I had thought I had seen her. I hadn’t but perhaps I crossed her mind. The crazy thing is, I heard a former movement teacher at that particular place in question is a fan of mine. I know the woman wasn’t a fan of mine when she had me as a student. But apparently when some students asked her about me she said she loved my work. I just think it’s crazy. I just want to message her and remind her she was the one who told me perhaps I didn’t belong at said studio.

I ended up delivering the telegram and I think the crazy woman who hired me thought I was a stripper. They had no idea of what they wanted me to do. I was given one set of orders and then they were to bring out a cake. Instead they brought out the cake and had me do my thing. I did my thing, I tried. But I think they thought I was going to be more a stripper. The crazy woman shooshed me with her hand and the guys told me I did a good job. Overall they were very weird people. I was honest and told my boss. I am worried they will rip me up online but I don’t think they know how to read. One girl did actually, but it wasn’t about what I did despite the review. It was in retaliation because she recognized me from a TV appearance. People are nuts when you are visible. They either want to be your friend/fan or they want to fight with you to say they did. I know this nutty bitch did because I heard her tell her friends. Todays girl, I would be worried except I don’t think she knows how to read. I think she was more angry at her coworkers for not being clear about what they ordered and for not doing things the way she wanted.

While that sucked I told my boss who was like, whatever. I went to my next delivery which actually made up for the suckiness of the last one. On this particular delivery I delivered to a nice set of people having fun after work. As a matter of fact they laughed, took photos and even had me pose with the guy in handcuffs. To top it off, I got a very sweet tip. Yes, sweeter than I have gotten in sometime. After leaving that particular assignment it not only made up for the suckiness of the last delivery but for being sick. And most importantly, it made me realize I love my job and I love what I do.

It also made me realize that good things are ahead for me. And the bad things havent been bad but rather gifts. My abusive ex fiancé made me find my voice, brought me back to my puppets and ultimately got me off the self-destructive track I was going. Being broke a few years ago got me to put my nose to the grindstone and to be better at my craft. My public debacles have made my sense of humor stronger and let me know that no one could take me down. In essence, everything happens for a reason.

So while I don’t know what is next for me I know I am doing the right thing with myself. Like a kid on Christmas I am shaking that present, wanting to open it. But it’s not time yet. However, when it is I know God will give me something good.

Or as they say, more to be revealed.

Love April