Peanut Gallery

Just a poem I wrote about my haters. And about how they will never be me.....

Peanut Gallery
Come and see me
As you sit in your peanut gallery
Name your price
But to pick is free

Cheer and jeer
Make up a lie or two
Say you know me way back when
The world will believe you

Cheer and jeer
Come and pick
Say I was a freakshow on reality TV
Decry the world for being sick

When really what you decry
Is that it wasn't you that was seen
Forever damned to claw for your dreams
Behind a computer screen

You spot it you got it
That's what they say
Call the Playboy Playmate a whore ladies
And wash your past away

Scape and rape with your words
It's okay to throw stones
When her body looks better than yours
The insults are the only thing you can own

Spew your hate via "social commentary"
Read it on page three
No one is coming to see you
In the peanut gallery

Yes, you have no talent
Yes, you have a spineless, codependent man
But ladies you can spit your venom
It's the only weapon that you can

Use to spread your hate and lies
About someone you do not know
About a life that you wish you had
Sit back enjoy the show

Yes artists who have no charisma
No magic behind the mic
You can say she did a sexual favor
It make you feel like

You have control
As you throw your soul in the middle of the ring
You accuse her of selling her soul
When she did no such thing

You say no one screams my name
And I have a delusion of fame
When all your hate talk
Only adds gasoline to the flame

Say I am no one
Spread it across the land
But you are making me a bigger legend
Than Candy Man

Say it about all of us
We did nothing to you
Aside from reach for the stars and get them
And then we turned the screws

We dance fast into the wind
Fast and fast as we can
Spreading sugar plum drops
Just like the ginger bread man

These are myths that surround our legend
Transcend the names you call
We rise above into the cosmos
And we cannot hear you at all

For as much as you yell
For all the picking from your end
When asked who you are we say
"Don't know them, sorry my friend."

Know this, you will never get to page three
We are stars shooting far
You, on the other hand,
Are damned to the peanut gallery

Nicest Book Review Ever

As an author when people read my book I get all sorts of feedback. Some like it, some have questions, some go crazy into interpretation. Someday some lesbian scholar will be analyzing me saying I chose the pseudonyms Skipper and Wendell for my siblings because Skipper was the name of the sister of Barbie Roberts, and the less desirable relative of the plastic icon and perhaps the way I saw myself. And they will say Wendell is an old name that symbolizes the male world that imprisons me.

None are true but it makes me feel important.

Anyway, this past Friday my friend who I will call RJ was having a birthday. Down on his luck and going through a lot that I will not get into, RJ wanted to buy my book more than anything. Unfortunately, with the way his money and living situation is the dream wasn't happening any time soon. So for his birthday I decided to give him one of my books. Why not? As an artist he would be able to delve into it, plus it would alleviate his current situation which isn't so hot.

RJ and I met last night for iced cream. While finishing one book, RJ was starting mine. He asked me if the stories were real. I told him yes. RJ then asked if I was the pink gorilla at the beginning and said that I was. Without missing a beat, RJ said, "You made someone's anniversary. That's pretty special, April."

A smile spread over my face. RJ then continued, "You are very funny. Your book is very funny. But it's also an uplifting and inspiring book that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. It's a feel good book."

I was like wow. That was perhaps the kindest thing anyone said about my book.

RJ also said my book also made him believe in love again, and it made him want love. I was touched that it was changing my friend's life. This past week I got a tweet from a Forbes CEO who loved my pink gorilla and another fan note from someone else who read a chapter. This review, however, was perhaps the sweetest I had ever gotten.

Lately time and life hasnt been kind to my friend. However, maybe my book is helping to change his luck and put a little sunshine in my life. I am glad to help.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Books
www.buybooksontheweb.com


Come to my book signing event this Thursday November 15
Symposia Books
Hoboken
510 Washington St
7 pm
See you there xo

Tales of the Lying Man

              

This past week I got a text from Kindred Spirit. For the record I had not heard from him in two weeks. But here’s the thing, clearly a better, sluttier, offer must have fallen through. Since he likes in BKLYN, offers 1-5, which were closer on the train, must have been busy. Offer six, which is farther away, must have had things to do. I must have been offer seven. Don’t tell me I have low self-worth. I already know that. At the same time that doesn’t mean I am dumb.

Here is how the text exchange went

Kindred: I have been thinking about you all week. How have you been?

Me: Well that’s a nice line of bullshit. However, it is good for my self-esteem. Thank you.

Kindred: April, you are crazy. I don’t blow smoke up people’s asses.

Me: That’s what they all say. I am sure you are making your rounds with the same line and I just happened to be door number 7. Maybe the next house will buy your sweetly laced horseshit.

Kindred: April if you are not busy tonight I would like to spend some time with you. I miss that little dress I saw you in the last time.

Me: Oh the better offer must have definitely fallen through. Besides I have other plans that don’t involve you already. Sorry.

Kindred: April, I hope you enjoy your evening. Sorry we didn’t get to meet up. Hope to hear from you soon.

Me: Whatever.

Okay, WOW. Then again, it’s better this way. This is the same man who put Biggie and Frank Sinatra on the same scale. Then he freaked when I quoted Married With Children instead of other philosophers. The second I quoted Camus he didn’t know who that was. He definitely didn’t like it when I professed my love for Emily Dickinson.

Then again what man does?

Of course there was the past with the ex-cons and married dudes. He was a little too judgmental being that he aint so Snow White hisself.

Oh and he would never understand the activism. 

Basically, Kindred was a fling to get over Holden Caulfield. I’m over Holden.

Besides, Chairman Marcus decreed that he didn’t spend enough money on me. Therefore, it was time to give him the burn notice anyway.

Love,

April

A steady diet of Sylvia Plath makes me ready for male blood

I, Inspiration

I am saying fuck you to the patriarchy by posing for this photo, using my body, not putting out and not swinging from a pole. I don't have to stick my head in the toilet nor my finger down my throat to make you love me. 

I have been told by a great many young people I inspire them. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s that I have the courage to be myself. Maybe it’s that I have the courage to live the life of an artist in an apartment that smells like hair spray and paint. Maybe it’s that my puppet children go with me everywhere I go.

A lot of young women tell me I inspire them. Perhaps it’s the message that they know at the end of the day they don’t need to be a giggling, stupid, Lucite shoe wearing bimbo with a stripper body. Maybe it’s because I let them know that it’s safe to have a brain.

A lot of young men tell me I inspire them as well. It’s because I know what pests women can be. It’s because I know the world wants them to be both macho and sensitive at the same time. I know their life is not easy. I understand therefore I am a friend.

I am told by a lot of gay kids I inspire them.  It’s because I tell them that no matter what others day, they are welcome. They are people like everyone else.

Maybe I suppose I use my big mouth a little too much, but they say that those who have big mouths are the ones God sends to carry the message. So here I am, fearless with my art. Carrying the message. I am letting everyone and all know that yes, I am an inspiration.

I would be your whore but I am much too opinionated. Translated, suck it. 

My platforms are the following. I support domestic violence awareness and prevention. After having an ex go crazy and stalk me a few years ago, I know stalking victims have no rights and in the eyes of many I provoked this man.

I support cyberbullying awareness and anti-bullying, because aside from the crazy ex getting his posse to cyberbully me I was also bullied in school. Bullying of any sort is wrong and is a detriment to anyone.

I am all for LGBTQ rights and the rights of gay people to marry. As a matter of fact, Jenn and Tiffany are getting married this weekend.

I also answer all my fan letters and use the platforms the world has given me to do good. I know, I am a superhero. Very soon I will be a superstar.

I am superfoxxx

I am an inspiration

I am taking over the world

Love

April

I am myself. We are ourselves. No one governs us but God.

Chipped Nail Polish

When I was growing up I was sort of an ugly duckling. In middle school I was overweight, had braces, cold sores as a result of acne meds, and not to mention wore terrible jump suits. Guys would ask me out as a joke. Why not? I was a walking punchline. Who needed to tell a joke when I was around?

I think in part that contributes to my terrible self-worth when it comes to men. That's why I bond so well with my gay boys. We all have terrible self-worth when it comes to men, but in our case it's a collective effort. If someone would ask who has dated a man old enough to be their father/grandfather, who has been the other woman, who has gotten presents as a result of being the other woman, all of our hands would go up. And then we would exchange stories, laughing about how awkward it is to meet the dude's wife. I mean, she would be pissed to find out about me.

Imagine if she found out about them?

I always joke saying I am surrounded by hot guys. I know I am. It's just when these guys say, "I want to rip your clothes off," it's because they made me a new outfit and they want me to try it on.

On the other hand, I still feel like an ugly duckling. My fan boys tell me how pretty I am. They tell me how they want to kiss me all over. Some even want naked pictures. One fan boy from the UK wants naked pictures. He told me when I came to visit the UK he was taking me to a hotel after dinner. He is also only fifteen I believe. I can feel Interpol registering me as a sex offender. He says he will tell no one. He is fifteen. He will tell everyone. Maybe I should send him a picture of myself when I was fifteen. Something leads me to believe he will never ask again.

Then he will know I am a fraud, shy when it comes to guys. An ugly duckling still awaiting swan transformation. Get the brownies, this bitch is fat.

People tell me I lead the glamorous life. Yet most of the time I would rather mop out in sweats and a ball cap. I find myself wanting to run and hide from guys because eventually they will reject me for something prettier and stupider. Maybe it is the fact I wasnt a pretty kid. Maybe that's why I was such a doormat in my early twenties. Maybe that's why I dated such bad boys. It was to make up for lost time.

I think that's why Holden Caulfield was able to sweep me off my feet the way he was. He was good looking, knew how to talk to me, and I knew he loved me from the first time we met. That much is true I know. I remember how other people would diss me and Holden was always right there, like a hero and anti-hero in one. Whenever he said, "Hey Beautiful." That's all it took.

The way he made me laugh and smile, perhaps that's why it's been so hard to get my heart back from that boy.

Maybe that's why Ross the Deadbeat Daddy was able to sway me the way he was. He told me what a beautiful woman I was. How I was attractive, intelligent and smart. How he was proud of me for writing. He was the good looking guy who would have dissed me back in the day. Still, he's didn't diss me. I dissed him when I found out he denied his children.

Even when I dated Dimsdale, the successful Tony and Emmy award winning comic and writer who made the front page of the Post this past week, I felt like an ugly duckling. Dimsdale liked me so much he even sent a driver to pick me up and told me he liked how smart I was. I always felt inferior because he was so successful, but in a way it was flattering because he was intelligent and successful and wanted my company. Nonetheless, after the Asian take out disaster, the Post revealed his age at 83. He told me he was 75.

Either way, he announced to his friends that I didnt feel good enough to be with him and wondered about my lack of self-esteem. Was this the point in the night where I told him that since the date wasn't being crashed by a probation officer I didnt know what to do?

Well fast forward, now Kindred Spirit has made a return. The fling is on again I suppose. But it is a fling. I needed to laugh because as of late I have been feeling uglier than ever. Who knows what it is? Maybe it is knowing Holden is seeing other women and possibly guys. Maybe it is the fact that the one that broke my heart is far away and I just wanted someone to say something nice to me. Originally Kindred was a rebound from Holden. Last Saturday I tried to push him away, grieving the loss of Holden. Although it was no big loss I still loved him.

Anyway today there was a misunderstanding via text. Kindred told me I was thinking too much and he wanted to chill. So we ended up chilling. During our chill session I ended up telling about my life and he stopped me and said, "Stop telling me about all the horrible things that have happened to you."

Part of me thought it was insensitivo and the other part of me thought he had a point. I dwelled too much on the past. And maybe that's why I was feeling like an ugly duckling. Either way he had a point. No sense dwelling on the horrid. It would only get me down.

But after our hang out I feel pretty again. Maybe that's what I needed.

I can also hear my friend Roger telling me from the afterlife, "Stop looking so broke and poor when you see me. As long as you are going to look homeless I might as well give you a cup so you can go beg for change."

I also hear my friend Marcus from the present, "Stop talking about your exes. You need to get over that now."

Overtop of them is my mother, "Stop telling people you were fat. No one cares."

And then there is my friend Justin, "Paint those nails now!"

The verdict is in. The ugly duckling is dead. Time to go paint my nails.

Love April

If I could have seen myself now when I was thirteen, I think I would have cried with shock and awe. If I  could talk to my thirteen year old self, I would tell her to get ready because she's gonna break some hearts. 

Dwelling in Possibility

This past week I have found myself going back to my roots. I am back to reading Emily Dickinson, a poet I enjoyed in my teen and college years. I even almost was a Mount Holyoke woman, the place that spawned this great literary voice and US Postage Stamp Poster Gal. Okay, she didn't view herself as a great beauty but oh well. She was a shut in. Can't blame her after her minister husband up and left without telling her.

Lately I have felt like being a shut in. The world often just seems too much. It seems like I bang my head against people I know who are wrong but in my heart I know I am right. I fight tooth and nail against hate, unfairness. I am a Libra. Am I supposed to be balanaced? Yes, but I also fight for fairness and justice.

Yesterday I found myself fighting on a feminist message board on the essence of what femininity was. One aged lesbian feminist kept calling lesbian transwomen he which I thought was downright hateful. She claimed that they were men appropriating the feminine identity. I said gender was no concrete but rather fluid. It was an online bloodbath. I called her a bitch. I think they blocked me from the group. I just couldn't deal with the hate. When I stick up for women it's not just those who are biologically female but those who identify under that pronoun, that umbrella, as well.

I find myself the poster girl, a sort of Esther Greenwood anti-hero, in a campaign called Panic Girl. We had the photo shoot this week which was fun. I want to serve as an example to young women. I want to tell them use your voice, don't fear the hederosexual male agenda that wants to see you swinging from a pole. Then again, girls swinging from a pole are making more than me. So who am I to talk? Still Panic Girl is a role model for the broken toys, the damaged women. I am that role model. So ladies, fight back against the man who oppresses you. Fight back against the society that has a supermodel on one billboard and a big mac on the next. Fight back against the world that preaches that bulimics are the perfect citizens.......

On the other hand did I mention I am trying to date again?

Yes it has been a disaster. It ended badly with me and Kindred Spirit last week. I gave him a half assed apology which he took in stride. But I am never hearing from him again. What I did was so crazy it should have won an award. He is telling everyone how crazy I am. I can feel it. Nevermind, I wasn't worth that much to him and it's okay. Still, old behavior was creeping up. I was cruel because I could be. I figured, I might as well get it over with. I might as well reject him before he throws me away. I don't know if he was going to throw me away but still. He was like the guys back in the day who used to ask me out and then say, "Just kidding." I felt like the same old punchline. I want the poor guy to pay and he has done nothing but be nice to me. Nevermind, men don't have feelings. And besides, I know I didn't bruise him that much. He gets around. There are ten more bitches in the wings waiting to take my place. (Bitch being the thought in the male mind when it comes to cheap encounters of the third kind).

Still, I feel awful for being so cruel for the sake of being mean spirited. If I see him again I will run in the opposite direction. End of story.

On the other hand, I heard from someone from my past this week. I crushed mad on this guy in high school. He was older and all the girls wanted him. He liked them easy and sleazy, just like most guys. One girl who was especially mean to be was the apple of his eye. I remember going out of my way with my thunder thighs and my braces in order to get his attention. I was bold despite my acne. Anyway, he told my brother, "Man, I wouldn't touch your sister with a ten foot pole. She looks so much like you it's disgusting." Knife to heart, bleeding on the ground, broken woman, hurt, pain, despair, REJECTION. Yes, that word and I were best friends in those days when it came to men. They stil are on some occasions. I cried when that happened. But these days I don't cry. No man is worth my tears or energy I tell myself.

Well the other day he wrote me to tell me he enjoys my videos. Wowsa. It was like the butterflies were right back in my stomach. I was thirteen again, sheepishly saying hi. I want to say hi again, but then I still remember his words to my brother, "Man, she looks so much like you it's disgusting."

Of course the cherry on top of the cake was saying goodbye to Holden Caulfield. Yes we all know the story. He is on the run. He is in trouble. The whole thing only has the capacity to end in a high speed chase. Yet you canot help who you love. And it's different when you are friends before you are lovers. It means there is a bond which makes things special. It's not a lie and some more cheap lines like it is most of the time when it comes to guys. He was proud of me for my career, he was proud I was writing, he was proud of me for being smart. And when he said he loved me I know he meant it. He wasn't a reader but I got Holden into books. I know had he stayed I would have been doomed to become LM Montgomery, a brilliant writer with a simpleton for a husband who couldn't understand her brilliance or drive. But Holden loved me anyway.

I know he is not bad but sick. People tell me to get over it, buy a new heart. It is so easy to say and not so easy to do. Still, the fact people use mental illness and active addictions as punchlines makes me sick. Holden was beautiful, more beautiful than I usually ever get. For as much as I want him to walk through my door and to hold me, I also know what else he brings with him. Then suddenly he doesn't look so pretty. Rather, he looks repulsive. But I tell myself these things are not Holden but rather his sickness.

Still I run. I ran when he said he loved me. I would have run even if he were perfect. People tell me that my choice in men is a disaster. Okay it is.

But when you have been engaged to someone who hates everything you do and wants to control you, when you get someone who loves you for who you are you will always remember that. Then again, only a broken toy could understand those feelings.

I am not good at talking about my feelings. Whenever I have to express them I just want to write a blog or make a video. I actually enjoy those two things more than standup as of late. Standup is male dominated, and oft I feel I pay because I don't play the game the way the boys club wants me to. I don't whine like many a woman comic about her period. I can't. On the other hand, I feel there is only so much I could do there.

On the flipside, I love the videos because I have more freedom to be creative. I can do songs, do puppets, rant. No one tells me how. Standup it's a construct, a box. It has to be a certain way or the doors slam and you are not welcome. I have not been as passionate about it for sometime. Rather, I do it when booked but don't chase after it like I did when I was a kid. There is no money in it and little chance to be discovered. With my videos I reach people on a larger scale.

The weird thing is, a year ago when I was getting burned out and I was on network tv a bunch no one was knocking on my door. I felt bitter, I felt jaded. But I also wrote a book, became a talking head, got fans from around the world, and did I mention am now doing music? It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I didn't let the construct limit me or the structure confine and label me. Rather, I moved freely in a forum with no rules where I could be as experimental as I wanted to be and still am.

As for my videos, some are fun. Then others are serious. Some tickle, others offend. It's not because I am crass or crude but rather honest, brutally honest and shoot from the hip. This is a trait seldom instilled in women. My mother calls me Road Warrior, telling me there are kinder, gentler ways to get what I want. But I am me, a voice that will not be silenced or squelched.

Those who have tried to silence me have always met with opposition. They don't forget me because I fight. I don't just fight you, but I fight you through my art. I fight you through jokes, poems, essays, puppets, and videos. I do not take my hits lying on the mattress like a scared school girl trying to seduce. Rather, I take my hits standing like a man in a bar room brawl.

If only I could tell the guys I liked how I felt through an essay, a poem, a blog, a joke, a puppet, a video.......

But they would shoot me down and be back to some easy, sleazy girl with no brain who could just nod and say whatever. They would think the poem was a waste of paper. They wouldn't think the joke was funny. They would tell me how I sucked as a ventriloquist. They would deplore the video. It would all be an epic fail. And then I would write an essay about how they screwed me over. I would write a joke about what a dick they were. I would make a puppet lampooning their masculine, overinflated ego. And then I would make a video screaming about how men suck.

Emily Dickinson, you feel me woman. You know what I mean.

Love,
April

Boi

Last night I went to a party where I dressed in drag. Yes, I was a man. My gay friends were dressed as women of course. It was playful banter for the most part. One of my gay friends, who is six four in stocking feet, took the name Rita Rigatoni. We had an exchange that was as follows:
Me: Get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich. And while you are at it, make me a baby bitch.
Rita: Another one?
Me: Yea, and go swing off a pole and make me some money while you are at it. That way I can sit at home shirtless, play my Nintendo, and drink beer in our trailer.
Rita: And don't forget you can also fuck my mother who is also my sister.

The crazy thing about dressing andro/in drag is that it does make you feel different. While I am not a man in lipstick and a dress with stilettos, something that could get your teeth knocked out in some areas of Queens or Brooklyn, I did feel different. I didnt feel the stares most people who are M to F (male to female) feel but rather just different. Some straight guys did look at me, hair under my hat, no makeup, and butch clothes with an attitude of contempt. I could feel them rolling their eyes. One guy even said to his friends, "Is she a dyke?"

A few hours before, a regular on my facebook page, read my post about dressing in drag. He usually jokingly responds to my posts where I rant about men by telling me to get in the kitchen to make him a sandwich. He said, "I knew it, lesbian." While it was in just the remark disgusted me. I mean, what does it matter?

It is insane how closed minded straight men can be when it comes to gay culture, especially gay women. A lot of my straight male friends assume lesbians are two hot chicks just doing it. Okay, that's not the end of the world. They are guys, let them dream. Don't tell them about the flannels, the u-haul, the Ani DiFranco and Emily Dickinson.

What I am more or less talking about is the other attitude. The one that any woman who is a lesbian must need a good man in his life. Twenty four hours before I dragged I was having my coffee and bagel at the local deli. We are a friendly bunch and the topic of Tim Tebow came up. I mentioned I had met Timmy and his clan once upon a time and they left a good shine. I said they never mentioned anything anti-gay, and I said this because a lot of people are fired up about his coming to NYC because of his affiliation with Focus on Family. This construction worker replies, "Well I am pro-life as well as anti-gay. Being gay isn't natural to me." I didn't feel like fighting. The week prior I had to set an idiot straight who felt the need to inform me most butches just wanted a "good dick." I just would let this slide. This man, who kept going with his unsolicited hate said, "Well, I think it's disgusting when guys do it. Women who go that way are lost and it's because some guy hurt them."

I just want to dial reality and let him know to build a bridge and get over his own male ego. On the other hand, the encounter made me want to purchase a hard hat and tool belt of my own as a part of my costume.

When I was dressed as a boi, which is a lesbian slang term meaning either butch who doesn't want to commit (playa) or a young transman, I almost felt a sense of confidence. While I felt naked in the world, without my makeup or pretty dresses, I was not lost. If anything I was confident. When people looked at me they didn't see someone who had done some modelling. When people looked at me, they didn't automatically assume I was dumb because I was blonde. When guys looked at me, they didn't try to hit on me or say something rude. If anything, they moved out of my way because they were scared I would come with the tool belt or hard hat I so secretly coveted as a part of my get up.

My opinion of myself changed. I didn't feel dumb. I felt like someone who used her brain to get around. I felt like I sort of knew my way around a box of power tools. When I walked down the street I walked with a sort of swagger of a cowboy, or rather cowboi.

Then I realized there are a lot of things that are very masculine about me. Most of my friends, gay and straight, are male, because we tend to think alike. We all see the bigger picture and know the secret to life is a positive attitude. Women fixate on smaller details and are petty, I was never that way. I also have shot a gun and would do it again if there were a firing range around. I like to climb mountains. I love boxing, football, and other contact sports. Not to mention I have used the line, "It's not you, it's me......" And I have been told I freeze up and don't know how to get in touch with my feelings. A crying woman scares me. More than anything, I do comedy which is notoriously male dominated. Oh, and then there is ventriloquism. There aren't many chicks there either. Did I mention my sister is going to be a doctor and science always has a shortage of women?

I had never given a thought to these things until recently. Maybe it's my mom who was captain of her college swim team and did sit ins in the seventies so she and her teammates could have letter jackets like the guys. Or perhaps it was my Great Grandma Young who ran and played tennis when women didn't do these things. Who knows?

While part of me thinks it's easy to be a guy, and was always envious of the freedoms my brother was awarded going up, I know it's not true. Guys feel this need to be macho because John Wayne tells them they have to be in those Westerns. You never see John Wayne cry. Guys also feel the need to get the babe, and then always are pressured to make the first move. And then when the babe shuts them down it sucks. Plus girls play games. And girls are cruel for the sake of being cruel. Does any gender have a free lunch? No.

But football, cars, Shark Week........easy to please. Give me a poker night over a Women's Coffee Club anyday.

As I ready myself for my latest photo shoot, beautifying to the hederosexual norm of what a woman should be, I feel the experience has changed me. It has made me realize gender is not concrete, but rather fluid. I read this in college and my father pointed out it also dictated which restroom one could use. This is true. At the same time, gender stereotypes box people in. I got to shatter the mold which felt good.

I want to dress in drag again. Not just to prove a point. Not just to feel smart instead of pretty or sexy. But rather for fun. I wouldn't mind even doing a drag kind show.

I know. I am such a pretty boi

Just Blogging

Okay, things have been fun as of Friday. I was sitting at home in my PJs debating what to do with my day and waiting for the sing-o-gram line to ring a ding ding when Krissy Donato calls and is in town for a job interview. She lives in NJ and is one of my comedian gal pals. Anyway, we got brunch at the Galaxy and talked smack on boys and the industry. Krissy is doing a cool webshow and asked me to be a part of it. YIPEE!!!!! Anyway, it was fun just to brunch with a gal pal. The thing is, I am friends with gay men. And while they invented brunch every once in a while it is fun to gossip with someone who is of the same gender. Anyway, we did that and we are working together.

Did I mention I am so excited!!!!!!!

Anyway, Saturday I had to buy a jump rope for a sing--o-gram this week. But before that I found myself brunching with Genevieve Joy. Yesterday was her birthday party and we just talked smack about guys we dated. She told me all about Boat Man, a guy who she is in love with that lives on a boat. Boat Man, being someone despite his constant motion has little direction, forgot her birthday. I urged her to find a man with an address.

Then again, I had boy woes of my own. This week I had to block Holden Caulfield online. A few months ago he got a piece of my heart and I have never gotten it back. He called me this past week, apparently he and his hos had seen me on TV. I thought we could be friends again, start from a more honest place. That's when he called me to tell me he still loved me. Holden is not doing well. He is drinking all the time and admits to being a gigolo of sorts. The convo on a whole upset me. While part of me does want him back in my life, I know he is very sick. Part of me just wants to get on a plane and rescue him. The other part of me knows to let him go. A lot of people don't know how sick he is, that he is bi-polar and refuses to take his psych meds, self-medicating through drugs and alcohol. But the day after the convo picture after picture of him kissing skanky drunken chick goes up. I cry, I get jealous, I even post about seeing Kindred Spirit so he will see it.

And then I figure fuck this sick drug addict shit. He wants me to message him and rescue him. That's when I blocked Holden. I know deep down, aside from "using my cock to get around" as he says, I know he has a good heart. I know because I have seen it. I know he could have been a good boyfriend if he had taken care of himself, because I remember what a good friend he was. But it's a different sort of heart break. One where people call him loser, dead beat, drunk, when really the words are addict and sick. Anyway, but I had to let him go which was like getting my heart ripped out. To make matters worse he called Saturday. But no more about him. It's just making me sad.

Oh and I had not heard from Kindred Spirit. While I had liked him, he was starting to get too close, know too much. Plus in a way he had been a rebound from Holden Caulfield, the one who really stole a piece of my heart. The one who called me all the time with the greeting, "Hey Beautiful." The one who had gotten to me and despite my resistance melted a heart that is a perpetual ice box.

Genevieve and I both talked Kindred Spirit and we agreed it was best to just let it fade out. The whole thing was sort of happening out of the blue, and it worked out perfectly because it got me to stop crying over Holden. Meanwhile, we just have to get her over Boat Man.

So Genevieve and I talked boys, her party, and other things. I went to get my jump rope. She went to get a mani/pedi for her party. It was going to be a good night I figured.

Anyho, I went to purchase a jump rope and walked past a bunch of dogwood trees. It reminded me of going to Kew Gardens to visit my ex the lawyer. Yes, I dated a lawyer and it ended badly. Then again, all my relationships from my engagement on down end badly. But with the lawyer, for as much as he did tend to lie, I also treated him badly. I called him names and put him down when he was even remotely nice to me. But that spring felt so hopeful I remember. That whole relationship felt so memorable. It was picnics in the park, fancy dinners, a guy who hadn't done an extended bid in lock up. As I walked I could feel him saying, "My current girlfriend, nice girl. April on the other hand, crazy bitch."

Did I mention I am not easy to be with? As the rain clouds moved in I felt the mood dampen.

I ducked into Shakespeare and Co and delved into Patti LuPone's autobio. I never knew much about her but I like the woman. She is a lot like me: cute, fun and always in trouble. There is something about us that bonds us. It gave me hope that I would reach my goals.

Well I get to Genevieve's party and they double booked the room with some horrid acoustic show. The bar is packed with hipster type guys. Poor Genevieve is near tears. Because of the stupidity of the booker it looks as if my friends party is ruined. To top it off, the bouncer puts his hands on me to get me to move which does not make me happy. I think this was his excuse as a black man to touch an unsuspecting white woman. While it sounds racist and probably is to some extent I have had it happen to me before. With my friend melting down on the sidewalk I was in no mood. So I turned around and started yelling at the bully who denied his behavior. More than anything in the world it is an excuse to push a woman around and I don't stand for that. If I wanted a guy to hit me I would call my ex fiance. With my career taking off I am sure he would be happy return.

Anyway, after having it out with this asshole the manager of the place strikes a deal. They have a sister bar they send us to. We get there and there I am in my Wide Open Cap, the one I earned as a result of hosting for Ion TV. Yes, that was the day Jenny Kropp, gold medalist for the women's beach volleyball team, took a fan photo with May Wilson and myself. I don't know which was more flattering, to be recognized from being on TV or to have someone so amazing as a fan. Needless to say, Jenny is amazing and I was extremely humbled. And I always think of that experience when I wear that cap.

Well anyway, bouncer number 2 is no better. He is thirty five and this is it for him. I must have "Easy Woman Target" tattooed on my forehead. He starts bullying me and another guy in the party about our hats. Genevieve points out that management for the other bar screwed up so therefore we should be able to wear our hats. I say that either way I am spending money in the place so what does it matter if I wear a hat or not. I fight with a minute or two with the bouncer before I realize I am not going to win. I almost want to put the hat on in a protest of Civil Disobedience. But I realize it's Genevieve's party, not April's night, and I dont want to selfishly ruin this for my friend. So I take my hat off.

We get inside. They give us free booze as promised. Immediately the guests start to arrive. Suddenly the whole night is turning around for Genevieve which makes me happy. I am talking to her friends, having a good time, and just getting to know these people. Plus some other comedians arrive. One of Genevieve's friend's D remembers I have a puppet and has me get out my puppet. So Sunny comes out and makes his debut and we sort of start performing for people. Genevieve's Mom's boyfriend takes a liking to Sunny. He is taking Sunny and myself around, introducing us to people. Now the night is much different. It is rocking.I even end up performing for Sam Jones, award winning solo performer and director of Genevieve's show, and her friends. The night is becoming McAwesome.

I chit chat with one of Gen's friends and it is revealed we both know my old, crazy roommate from college. Gen's friend had done study abroad in Paris with this insane lass who told everyone she went to an eating disorder hospital more as a vacation and less because she actually needed treatment. We exchanged stories on this special one of God's creatures and sort of bonded over the fact that we knew the same cat shit crazy woman. I figured from here the night could only go up.

And it did. It was MCAWESOME!

Then as the night wears on the dancing begins. I end up dancing with Alan who tells me he knows Genevieve since she has been little and that he has a lot of money. A lot of money, that is like music to my ears. Holden Caulfield, because he was not taking his meds, claimed he made a lot of money when really he couldn't pay his phone bill. Alan isn't sexy but the "cha-ching" of the cash machine and his name on my mac card is. I pry him for info on his finances but then he changes his tune asking why it matters. I just want to tell him it's not cause he has looks. Finally the truth comes out. Alan does not have any money and has just crashed Genevieve's party. Then when I am talking to Gen's Mom he comes over and I tell him to talk to the hand.

After that I end up dancing with Nico from a group of Bensonhurst boys who are wearing gold chains, look good, but for the most part are pretty stupid. Nico tells me I am beautiful and gives me a kiss. He is sooooo cutteeeee and so young, only twenty one. But it's not the end of the world. At least he isn't on the run from the law, and besides we are just dancing. Nico then runs to the bathroom and I end up dancing with some dude who is just wanting to touch me in the no no regions. I move away from him and chit chat with Gen about the party. She's happy which makes me happy.

Then I dance with Dan Naturman for a spell. In between that I am getting the eye from some good looking number who is there with his girlfriend. The good looking number is eyeing me up while his girlfriend looks like she wants to throw a martini in my face. Out of respect for the her, I didnt ask him to dance. Plus I have a feeling the stud muffin has a wandering eye.

I needed another break and saw Kindred Spirit had texted me. He apologized saying that he had been busy and travelling and didnt have a moment to himself. I figured this was lying man speak for he had gotten a better offer that had fallen through. So I texted him back and told him our meetup was just fun, to stop stressing and to stop flattering himself because it's not like I was by the phone waiting. And I really wasn't. I didnt care. I knew this was also the male ego bruised that I was not chasing after his masculine sexiness willing to be his love slave and therefore he had to make an excuse for the fact I, April Brucker, liberated woman, have a life. So he gave some excuse about how he likes talking to me blah blah blah. I give him the whatever and sarcastically he says nice talking to you too. I am like WHATEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's when I go talk to the nicer, cuter bouncer and start flirting with him. Gosh he is so hot and his name is Marco the Hottie. Okay, that is just what I am calling him. Anyway, we are just macking it and giggling. I tell him about the face off I had earlier that night with the bouncer downstairs and he tells me that the no hat rule is a rule and that he and the bouncer downstairs are friends and the bouncer downstairs is a good dude. I was like okay. I mack on him some more before he has to step away and actually do his job.

I go and dance some more with this group of black girls. I am having a great time at this party? Did I mention that? Anyway, it is getting late and as someone who is not a drinker it is best I turn into a pumpkin at a certain point.

So I walk home in the rain where everyone and their mother wants a cab. I finally get one. During my walk home I find myself thinking about life and if I will get where I want to go. Oh I hope so. I also feel guilty. What if there was the margin of error that Kindred Spirit was being half honest? Not that I cared. I just told him off. But then I realized I told him off because I was afraid of getting hurt and just wanted the sadistic satisfaction of rejecting him first.Then I felt guilty. But then I was like, "Oh well. He's another one who's going to be bad mouthing me."

But at this point I am used to men, traitorous beings, bad mouthing me after it is all said and done. Men are sore losers when they don't get their way, especially with women.

Well this morning I felt bad, because I had gone on Kindred Spirit's fb page last night and saw he was telling the truth. I mean, straight man plus truth can be a rare combo but here was the exception. So I sent him a text telling him I could be a mega bitch and apologized. He accepted and told me he looked forward to talking/seeing me again.If it happens great. If not there are always the Nico's, Marco's and perhaps even Alan if he truly has money.

Anyway, talked to the rent this morning and then church. Now time to shower and meet Rena for coffee. Love, April

Smitten

About a week and a half I did a show where I met someone, well we already knew each other, but our paths crossed again. I respect this person a lot. It was one of those nights where I was April being April. As usual, my plate was full. Whether I was delivering telegrams, talking to networks, on my way to publishing a book and having various radio stations usurping my song there I was. And there this person was. I didn’t care that I was bumped. I had one of my historic April Being April, not eating enough and overworked woman, anxiety attacks. Needless to say this person made me laugh. I still managed to finish my set, go to the diner with them, and shoot the shit.

I don’t know what it was, but I needed a good laugh that night. Sometimes I stress myself out so much that it’s not even funny. There is a part of me that is so wicked, so devil may care. On the other hand I am the anal retentive stick in the mud who will correct your grammar. I will let you know how you failed at syntax, therefore I will make you believe you have failed at life. You don’t know this part of me exists until you make the egregious error of meeting her. Then we can no longer be friends.

We went to a diner that night after the show and shot the shit. He is like me, this person. Shoot from the hip. Most of the people I loved in this world have shot from the hip. I always say my friend Roger and I had that same weakness. We told the truth, that is to the point where it got us in quicksand. It pissed those around us off, but on some visceral level we got each other. That’s why I was always the one he called at two in the morning, always the one he called when he was in the hospital. Aside from the fact I wouldn’t kill him like most people, we understood each other. Too much of the truth was better than a lie, and because of him chocolate syrup is ruined on my pancakes forever. Damn you Roger.

Anyway, we just talked about things and he walked to me the train where he kissed me afterwards. I didn’t take it personally. I didn’t invest much affection into it. He is a guy who has been around and that’s fine. We are honest about what it is, and the craziness that is our life. If anything it made me smile a little bit with the moonlight and the moon beams around it.

Then fast forward to today. I have been sick for the past few days. Friday night/Saturday morning I was puking and shitting to the point where I felt like I could die. I have been working too hard as usual. One step closer to publishing the book. Everything is coming together. Then blamo! As if missing my friend Scott’s party wasn’t bad enough, I felt like every step I took hurt and I cried my eyes out at the local supermarket when I was buying Ginger Ale. A gay guy and his partner saw me and gave me a hug because they felt so bad for me.

Well today wasn’t much better. After church I felt a little better, took a jaunt, and then when I felt worn out went back home. To which online I discovered a thread where a male pig posted something degrading to women. When I see that errant nonsense, the activist in me comes out. Yes, I was in a relationship with a psycho who occasionally hit me and even went so far as to stalk me afterwards. As a result I am aware, painfully aware, of what the power of words can do. I said my piece and the guy messaged me saying Sinatra used the same language. I also pointed out that we used to refer to Asians as Chinaman and Native Americans as redman. Neither were appropriate any longer.

Well I got into a fight with his idiot followers, many fat women with no sense of self, for almost two hours. Looking back, I feel stupider. But my point was jokes like these and words like those contribute to attitudes of hate and indifference towards women’s issues and therefore the belief that it’s okay to “smack a bitch.” The one woman who kept jumping down my throat used the c-word and b-word easily when it came to other women which concerned me. Of course who am I to judge, especially when she tells me she has three kids who are probably running with scissors. Either way, I don’t know what made me angrier: The fact that this prick’s errant hate towards women has followers, and the fact I don’t think it’s a joke? Or the fact that classless women who benefit from many social programs and various reforms that are struck down because of these attitudes defend this chauvinism on a large scale?

So I took a walk and guess who messages me? My coffee shop friend. Originally he had something to do but got the date wrong. Anyway, he ended up calling me on the phone and we talked for sometime. Again, he was the laugh and smile I needed. Okay, it was an hour and a half but like me he shoots from the hip. He told me that if he stole me flowers from the cemetery, he would make sure the mother sign was torn off. Already a step ahead of many of my suitors. He also told me that he would never steal me presents from the Lost and Found, that was gauche. Already a step ahead of the man I almost married. Plus he used the word gauche correctly in a sentence. Not to mention if a pigmie tried to abduct me, he would fight the pigmie to the death.

He described himself as half gentlemen, half savage. He told me he would hold the door for me and smack my ass when I walked through. I like an honest man. I like a man damnit.

I won’t say that’s love because that is just scary. I won’t say it’s like cause why ruin a good thing. I will just say I’m smitten. I’m not looking for love or lust. I can’t handle that. Instead I just want to smile and remember someone fondly when they go, not as a clingy little bitch who just wanted a mommy. When things get real I will probably make like a man and run.

Until that day comes, I am simply smitten with a kindred spirit. *Giggle*

Love,

April

Poppyseeds of the Week

Leah Mary Ann

The first is Leah Mary Ann. This Welsh woman is currently in Uni at Trinity St. David in Wales. Fluent in Welsh as well as English, she has been giving me Welsh lessons. While Welsh seems like a handful to see written, spoken and sung it is very beautiful. Miss Leah can sing very beautifully in Welsh. I asked this poppyseed to type me a phrase in Welsh and she typed,  “Rydych yn ysbrydoliaeth i nifer fawr o bobl.” I asked her what that meant thinking it was something random. Instead she typed, “You are an inspiration to a great many people.” Leah has vocalized that she would visit me if she weren’t poor and had the funds and she is always welcome in my house. Future goals for this poppyseed include becoming a primary school teacher, the perfect job for a gentle yet profound soul who wants to change the world.

Miss Leah Mary Ann, personifying poppyseed awesomeness. Fun, smart, beautiful and ready to change the world

Brandao Peixe

This next poppyseed is a Steel Town boy, one from my hometown of Pittsburgh. A Steeler fan and fellow Pennsylvanian, he has been singing my praises and carrying my message in my absence now that I am in the Big Apple. Not to mention he is for me meeting a nice guy and giving up Dead Beat Daddy’s for New Years. When posed the question of why he should be poppyseed of the week he said:

“I should be poppyseed of the week because I only work 3 days this week. Being poppyseed of the week would make it so much better, and of course, I would rightfully sing your praises all throughout Pittsburgh. AND I would send prayers your way so that you don't date any more dead beat daddies!!”

Reppin the black and yellow, black and yellow!

Honorable mentions go to the following poppyseeds

Pearse Colomb, “I should be poppyseed of the week because I have a low sperm count.” While this reply was not as in depth as the winners it was worthy of a chuckle and showed not only fan but friend love

Fabricio Nunez who mentioned he was addicted to poppyseeds and he was “amazin obvi.” Again, worthy of a chuckle.

Jessie Conley for being an old friend that reached out from my old job at my home town supermarket. When asked who should be poppyseed of the week she said, “ME!!!!”

Tracy Colman who confessed she did not want to be poppyseed of the week and had originally not been a fan. However now I had won her over and she said that I “rocked.” Always wonderful to meet a true believer in the House of the Superfoxxx.

Ex-Fest

Last night after Confessions was done my co-host Devon Malik Scott and I were hanging out as usual. Over the last several months Devon and I have become pretty close. We both agreed our New Year’s Resolution was no more dating people with children. Baby Mama Drama is just too much, and women with kids are a trip.

Just for the fun of it we started going to the profile’s of those we had dated just to Gawk. The first stop was my psychotic ex fiancé, Mr. Stalker.My ex-fiance looked the same but only more fit for an America’s Most Wanted Poster. I mean when he proposed on the third date it all seemed so romantic. What was I thinking? Oh and he had ex-girlfriends send me hate mail. This dude had no job, no career, no future and lived in his mother’s basement yet he had these women doing his bidding. With nothing going for him, he managed to have all these women do his bidding. How did he do it? Either these bitches are stupid or he had mad skills.

Then we went to the profile of the Baby Mama of one of my ex-con guys. Despite what he said about her being a slut she looked like she was beaten to shit and like she was raising two kids on her own. She had two photos taken on different days and was wearing the same outfit. Sure she may have been all these things and more, but she looked like she hadn’t seen a makeup kit, beauty salon, or goodnight’s sleep in sometime. Poor thing. Goes to show you kids, use condoms!

Of course then we went to the Baby Mama of Dead Beat Daddy. Dead Beat Daddy said she was crazy and she looked to be. However she was raising two of his kids without him providing any financial assistance and wrote a heartbreaking blog about how her deadbeat ex never saw his chillins. And then the grandparents also told the grandchildren he got blown up in Iraq. This chick is doing alright because she has a new guy who basically has taken emotional and financial responsibility for Dead Beat Daddy’s children. Dead Beat Daddy dissed this dude for the record. Meanwhile he is an adult, something deadbeat daddy will never be. Now again, wrap it before you tap it.

Then we went to the profile of Lawyer/Liar. He looks worse than ever. Time has not been kind to him. He has lost even more hair and I think he even had head acne. Devon saw his picture and said, “He looks like that skit, the French people, Beldar….what are they called again?”

“Coneheads.” I replied. Then it hit me at that moment that he was not just a liar and a fucking phony snob but this man was also a conehead. This decision had been terrible. I guess I could consider myself a three time loser.

Looking back at my past and all the losers I have come in contact with I have a stalker ex-fiance who told his friends he wanted me dead and drew photos of someone who looked like me on his myspace being mangled. That sucked I will not lie, especially having to press complaints about cyberbullying before it was a crime. However he made me feel extra special when he started the I Hate April page. Oh I was always on his mind.

Let’s not forget the legions of ex-cons who had criminal records, excuses, stories and an army of children they either did not acknowledge or support. They kept things colorful with the dine and dash and even were sweet when they gave me presents, possibly and most probably stolen property. While they lied to law enforcement because well, why not, they were sincere when they told the detective, “Officer I didn’t know she was fifteen. I thought she was eighteen.” Their heart was in the right place, it was just The Code that ruined their fun.

However I can forgive myself for them. The ex-cons were cute and the ex-fiance loved me to the point where he would kidnap me so we would never be apart again. However I dated a conehead and I was sober when I made that decision. For that faux paux I will never forgive myself. Oh love and life and everything that goes with it! Wicked, cruel, cruel world!

What's even worse was that the Conehead dumped me. Granted I was cheating the entire time. But maybe his rejection was God's protection. Cause just picture it, I could have had conehead babies! AHHHH!!!!!

 Oh memories. Love April

Poppyseeds of the Week: Jon Fisher and Michael Farbrace

The great part about a husband overseas is that not only don't they bother you but they make you look real pretty in pictures

Jon Fisher

This particular Poppyseed is not just an up and coming radio/tv tycoon but one heck of a graphic artist. Not only does he never miss a Confession’s broadcast but I have cost him his health and several nights of sleep. A Renaissance Man, he is not just into art but was a part of a sort of Junior Army Corps. In addition, this poppyseed shows strength over adversity by living with epilepsy. Not to mention he has christened himself my Trans-Atlantic Mr. April Brucker. Studying at the University of Birmingham he is ready to move to NYC, work for himself, and be the king of all media.

Jon Fisher, my UK husband chasing away one of my ex boyfriends

Michael Farbrace

This next guy is poppyseed of the week because well, this was his reply when I asked, “Why should you be poppyseed of the week?

“I would love to be poppy seed of the week because i watch as many of your shows as i can and support you all the way , even being in the united kingdom i stay up until earl hours of the morning to watch you an be inspired by you words x 
p.s listened to the song on the link posted on your blog the other day it was brilliant x”

Michael is also extra talented. This is the link to the radio show he does at his college xo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ec3Kw5Wr9BQ&context=C3137a6bADOEgsToPDskKzj9OydSecXSpOTVgwHbrJ

Michael rocked this out during a broadcast on one of my shows. I didn't know what he looked like until recently.  But the risk says he's a legend in the making.