Gratitude

This past week I left an employment situation where I was being bullied by someone who is just plain abusive. He yelled at his girlfriend on site. He yelled at performers. He even yelled at his costuming people. There is no better weakling than an employer who controls his employees with his temper, and there's no better way to show those around you that you are barely in charge. 

I had never seen this side of him the previous season as I was always keeping to myself and never had a grievance. However, I stood up to him because we weren't being paid and the show was being run badly. His leadership style saw several of my puppeteers getting hurt, and when things were done his way the performers in my tent were bullied by patrons. It was a situation where performers were not allowed to take breaks, and if they were they were subject to his tirades and rage. And if they alerted a staffer that they needed one, throngs of people were coming in as crowd control was not well managed and the performer couldn't slip out. This was hazardous for the puppeteers as we had one of the most physical jobs in the place, and several even said so. 

When I stood up for myself I was accused of being "a stupid bitch" and the words that got me to throw in the towel were, "You are nothing but a drama starting cunt. I pay you good money for a seasonal job. You are lucky I am sympathetic to retards."

So I told him that I quit. Needless to say he promised me to ruin me in the town he worked in, and akin to a Harry Potter villain said, "Good luck with your puppet career!"

That wasn't the end. He sent a costume woman to walk me out of my resignation, and then a makeup artist to bully me claiming I made things up about him. The costume woman is a nice lady, but he has her in his pocket. The makeup artist is possibly a girl he is sleeping with on the side as he has a record of sleeping around the staff, and several performers have confirmed this. Either way, both instances made me happy I left. 

I am grateful for my fellow performers who not only were there for me when shit hit the fan, but assured me I was correct in sticking up for myself. Some left when I did and others are still there, but their friendship and support meant the world to me when I was low. They also let me know what I was doing was working and they echoed support for my abilities, and let me know it was him, not me who was the idiot. 

I am grateful for my mom who tried to talk me out of going back for  a second season. She pointed out it wouldn't be worth it, and when I reminded her how much fun I had the year before she said things change. I told her they lured me back with more money but she had her doubts. She told me to back out at any time and I took her advice. 

I am grateful to my mentor who, while not as demonstrative as my mom, tried to talk me out of a second season as well. Like an archer who guides an arrow, he tried to guide me elsewhere and told me if something better came up to "leave immediately." And when shit hit the fan he told me, "it's just a small town haunted house. And it won't be the first time you meet an idiot like this and it won't be the last." And he called me several times the day I quit as I was quite upset. 

I am grateful for a past mentor who's involved with Actor's Equity who informed me that as a SAG member I could join,and while I was not an Equity member I am looking into it. My days of working without a union card are over. 

I am grateful to my mentor at school who encouraged me to write about being mistreated and how standing up for myself made me a pariah. This essay will be in my next packet. 

I am grateful for the corporate office who heard me out in regards to this man's abuse. While nothing might happen, he will strike again with someone else. And I have heard since me leaving he is harder than ever on the vulnerable. I want to go on record showing that the next person who comes forward is not only justified, but not alone. 

I am also grateful to the friends who alerted me to other opportunities, show business and otherwise, to fill in the money gaps that this job inhabited. They really had my back. And my other friends who alerted local officials in the town the project was in because they were sickened by this man's behavior. 

In the end I know I am good at what I do. The audiences each night said so as well as my fellow performers and supporting staff. But I was forced out because I stood up to a bully, and he was intimidated by me because I was smarter than he was. This is not my first rodeo. I was hit by a partner when I was 21, had a mentally ill partner at 30, and met other assholes in between. If anything this asshole was just a spoiled little rich boy getting palimony from his first wife and living off of it. But still, the sexism and the fact I have to take it gets a little old. And even with #metoo, this prick still has his defenders. 

The worst part is, in a situation like this I am obedient if I stay down like a slave and treated well, but I am a "shit stirring cunt" if I speak up. And unless you are a woman, you have never been there. It doesn't just get old, it gets fucking tired ass tired. 

This prick said, "Good luck with your puppet career."

To which I should have said, "Yeah, I have had plenty of luck. I have been on network TV in and out of the United States. Good luck being a nobody, because you have been one for a very long time and most likely will be one for the rest of your life." 

Love

It never amazes me how much love I have in my life on a regular basis. Sometimes, I am so immersed in my bullshit I forgot how much love there truly is in my life.

There is my family. Sure, they are all nuts but they would take a bullet for me.

There are my friends who's creativity, talent, and generosity never cease to amaze me.

There are my housemates, who, while both crazy, are always my listening ears.

There is my boss who calls me at all hours for deliveries, but legit cares about everyone who orders a telegram and everyone who works for him.

There are my fellows in my MFA program, who are studious about the written word and equally as passionate about social justice.

There are my fellows in the comedy world, OCD about every word and every punchline, but excited like children in a toy store each time they step onstage.

There are my fellows in the acting world, anal about craft, but because they care so much about the wordsmith who wrote the script and honoring them.

There are my fellows in the activism world, who sometimes can be obnoxious but really truly want to make the world a better and more beautiful place.

There are those who mentor me in my career, who never let me get off easy, often too honest, but only because they want the best product possible.

There are those who help with my shows. Sometimes they make me crazy in their own way, but their way of pulling the extra weight and dealing with my crazy are incredible.

There are my fan boys who are not afraid of a flame war on my social media, but make my social media what it is.

Sometimes I am mired in my own fog, my own mind, my own bullshit, that I forget to see all the love in my love.........

Buy My Merch

Different

I was thinking yesterday about life. Everyone talks about where they should be at certain points. I am 32. One of the Academy Award Winning Directors was 32. Eh. Does it make me feel like a loser? Yes and no. Yes, he's my age. No, this might be his first and last Oscar. Life is weird that way. Life is like an hourglass: there are times the sand is on your side. There are times it isn't.

The sand has and hasn't been on my side in the course of a year. In 2015, my story made headlines over the world and it looked like I might tour Europe. Months later, I was forced to move under duress with a broken heart. Point being, is that life changes on a dime for better or for worse for all of us. Granted, my self-esteem took a huge hit and it was like wandering in a dark tunnel. WTF?! Life happened, it just wasn't supposed to happen to me, right?

I am hardly a failure. I have accomplished some of what I wanted. Yet at times I feel like I have fallen short. I think we all feel that way though. Last year I was credentialed press at the debates, a big change from being evicted and having my ex's mentally ill sister threaten me. Then this year began with me showcasing at APAP. I also did my show again, and might be doing a run. I am excited. Big change from last year where I felt burnt out from my ordeal and uninspired.

One thing all this has done is made me more confident. I take the stage in a different way. When I was younger I wanted to be liked. Now I don't give a fuck. It's strange. Then someone has shown interest in repping my show for touring and someone else wants to rep me for other things. Nothing is set is stone yet. Both seem like nice people. Whatever happens happens. I also did some things for some other stuff I am being recruited for. Whatever happens happens. I am not breaking my ass. That's for damn sure. If they want me they know where to find me and if they don't want me they can go fuck themselves. Simple as that.

I am also teaching a ventriloquism class. I am excited. It means I am a master. It means I might be able to teach at conventions. I am excited and honored and love the idea. More on that later.

I am writing another book about my adventures, too.

While sometimes the telegrams are slow, they have been picking up full steam. Rent has been paying itself, God willing. I do not want for much, God willing. Other work will hopefully pick up too, God willing. But whatever I do I will do my best, have fun, and treat each show with dignity and respect.

And as I begin my journey as a Universal Life Minister, I know in some ways the world is ending and we are all fucked because I am Bishop Cardinal Brucker. But I also know I am going to be alright.

I know I am going to be alright

I escaped a bad living situation and a mentally ill partner

I escaped a physically abusive partner and an abusive living situation to boot before all that

I escaped meeting the fate that some of my fellows did.

I was not taken this far to be dropped.

Is life better than I thought it would be at this point? Yes and no. Is life worse? Yes and no. Do I have everything I want? Yes and no. Am I getting what I want? Yes, but no, because it's not as fast as I would like it.

So it's different.

But I am happier and more at peace than I have ever been. No award can put a price on that. Because my mental health is good, I have faith everything else will take care of itself.

Another Night (Aretha Franklin)

A little over a year ago I ended a relationship with someone I was working on building a life with. It ended suddenly, horrifically actually. It’s hard to talk about what happened, because the words even after all this time can barely form. However, it was due in a large part to my former partner being mentally ill.

After living with a mentally ill partner, you look at life very differently. For starters you get sick when people equate mental illness to cancer. People with cancer don’t lie. People with cancer seldom refuse to comply with treatment. You don’t see untreated cancer patients in prison or on the street. Cancer patients don’t self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. There is not a fucking stigma against cancer. 

People know cancer isn’t a choice, but they feel you are making a choice to be mentally ill. And when a celeb who’s spoken about cancer comes on the screen everyone is all misty eyed. When it’s someone who spoke about combating mental illness, ohh look at the crazy bitch or bastard.

If you have ever dealt with someone who’s mentally ill, you know they lie and act out in ways that are insulting, baffling, and outright immature. When things ended, my ex did a lot of that. I told myself he was sick a million times a day. I had to. It kept me from going crazy. It kept me from breaking something. It kept me from being sucked back into his shit which was what he wanted. Eventually I ran out of fucks to give and moved on with myself.

A year later, I was out of my unsafe living situation and away from my unstable former partner. Instead, I found myself marching with STAT, Donald J. Tramp as spokespuppet, heading the largest Anti-Trump protest at the RNC that year. We were number 8 on twitter, trending that day. People asked me if I was scared. I remember thinking, “I had bed bugs eating me alive, couldn’t breathe, and had an unstable Iraq War vet boyfriend looking for Isis in the windows. All and all, this is perhaps the safest situation I have been a part of in a while.”

In 2015, my birthday was spent scheduling free legal help at my local neighborhood legal. It was also picking up the pieces after my ex’s devastating departure. This past year it was spent at Hofstra, protesting/street performing outside the debates with Donald J. Tramp. I didn’t need a party. Being a part of American history was a better present than I could have ever dreamed of.

One year prior to the debates, my ex’s sister had called to threaten me. A year later, I was credentialed press in Las Vegas with puppet journalist Donald J. Tramp. I was in the spin room when Donald Trump uttered “bad hombres” and “nasty, nasty woman.” I watched it all unfold, and for as much as his idiot sister or any other woman he manipulated could and would say, they weren’t there with me. Nor would they ever be.

This time last year, I was rebuilding my life after a devastating defeat. Now I am getting ready to return to Restaurant Row with a one woman show. I just showcased at APAP. I am a correspondent for a blog. I am getting ready to teach a ventriloquism class.

The lessons were hard. One was that love isn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough to make my ex get help. Love wasn’t enough to make my ex stop lying. Love wasn’t enough to justify the fact his rages coupled with black outs were getting worse and worse, and that it was getting to the point where my safety was in jeopardy. In my heart, I know he was kind and giving. I know he would have never intentionally hurt me. But people who are mentally ill flip and kill people all the time, especially if they have mood swings and aren’t medicated. My ex claimed meds failed him and refused a medication regimen.

When my sister got married this summer, her priest alluded to the fact that a married couple lives for each other. The truth is, that’s codependency. You don’t live for anyone. The other person is a part of your life not your whole life. All relationships come to an end whether one partner leaves or dies or whatever. And guess what, you have to move on.

You also realize that a person is just a person. They have their faults. They will fuck up. They will disappoint you. And at the end of the day, good and bad, my ex was just a guy. Yeah, I cried when he left but then they handed me eviction papers. I had to pick my ass up off the ground and go to court to fight my landlord who was turning off my water because I called the city on him. My ex wasn’t there to support me. My family was far away. Really and truly, I was on my own.

No man was there to support me and none was going to materialize. At times like this, you see whether or not you are really and truly a feminist. Most women yell and scream about it, but when the time comes to step up to the plate they don’t. I had to step up to the plate. I had to deal with their demeaning bully boy male lawyers. I didn’t have time to cry.

As I was deciding to get the on with it all, it became easier to get rid of all the shit of his I accumulated. It became easier to block him on social media. It became easier to block his number. It became easier to block his sisters and female friends who are all horrific harpies who enable him. It became easier to date other guys. It became easier to grow into my new life It became easier to be define by my own self-worth, not that of a relationship.

The week my sister got married one of her friends was sad that she was the last one who was single in the group. Feeling the feelings weddings bring up, she asked me if I was upset my sister was getting married and I wasn’t. The answer was a huge NO. I love my brother in law like the baby brother I never had, and think he’s perfect for my sister. But I know how it feels to be with someone who’s toxic and bad for me. I know it’s better to be alone then to be with that, and it’s alright to be alone.

I know a relationship does not define me, and am reminded that good friends are better than a partner any day. I have two wonderful housemates, one obsessed with UFOs and the other a happier Van Gough who are characters that were there for me last year when I had a cancer scare. (Yes, what wasn’t happening). I have an awesome job where I get paid to make people happy, and an even more awesome boss who puts me front and center whenever I can. I have an awesome mentor in Las Vegas, and his people are awesome. I have an awesome friend who’s a mentalist that awesomely predicted the Super Bowl. I have an awesome friend who was my puppet wrangler and has been front and center through all my madness. I have an awesome family.

So this Valentine’s Day, I wont be getting flowers or candy and that’s alright. My life is full of people who love and support me, and someone people don’t even have one person who loves and supports them……and those people are in committed relationships!

Bottom line, if you are in a rough time, you can rock your way out. If the Pats can win the Super Bowl, you can climb out of your pit of despair. And being alone is better than being with someone who’s unhealthy for you. At the end of the day you can have all the love in the world but you really gotta love yourself. Just saying kids. This is as deep as this bitch gets for now. 

Come see The Lady and President Tramp

February 20, 2017 7PM

Dont Tell Mama

343 W. 46 Street

An Open Letter to the Muslim Doctors Who Helped Me

To the Muslim Doctors That Helped Me:

I would like to open this letter with my gratitude. Not only for your service and commitment to science, helping others, and the advancement of technology, but for treating me with compassion during one of the worst personal/medical times in my life.

A year ago, I was in a bad living situation. I was living with bed bugs and mold. Instead of taking care of it, my landlord thought he would run me out. That way he could jack the rent up in my apartment. One which I had lived in without incident for 10 years. When I called The City on him, he proceeded to torment me through the legal system. I was in court once a week with this man. He proceeded to follow me around the neighborhood, until one day he told me that he wouldn't stop until he saw me homeless. While in court, he attempted to burn my apartment down after going through my things. He knew where I was going to be. This was the perfect opportunity for his wish to come true.

Due to the stress I had to endure, my health began to fail. My hair was falling out, and I was so stressed I could not digest my food properly. I could not sleep, and when I did I feared bugs were crawling all over me. Often I was so weak I couldn't make it up the stairs, and routinely fainted/passed out. Not to mention I had problems breathing. Do to the stress and poor diet as well as lack of self-care, a test for cancer came back for a certain virus that causes a certain type of cancer. Often, abnormal tests are triggered by stress and a broken down immune system as was the case in my particular situation.

During my first visit to the doctor, I was scared. You often are when you fear they will find something deathly wrong with you. I told the nurse this. Then you walked in. Yes, my Muslim doctor. You heard I was afraid of doctors, and to put me at ease walked in without your robe. In order to get me to relax, and made me laugh. Then you asked what brought me to you. I told the truth. You listened with compassion, and no judgement. By the way you spoke to me, I could tell you cared. At that point in my life, no one else did. You discussed doing some tests to find out why I was so tired, and you told me regardless of what you found, we were going to design a treatment plan so that I could be healthy again.

My second visit contained my test results. This time I had a second doctor. Another Muslim doctor. This one female. It was because my first was back home to visit his family in his home nation. This young woman was fresh out of medical school, and discussed a treatment plan. She told me I was going to be alright, and suggested vitamin supplements that could help me. She also suggested a higher iron diet, and perhaps moving out of my unhealthy situation. While I didn't walk out of there cured, I had a plan. I was going to be okay.

A year later I am healthy. I am out of my horrific living situation. My hair has grown back. As well, I no longer faint and am running anywhere from 2-5 miles a day, depending. I am also weight training. My diet contains more iron, fruits, and vegetables.

I also want to express gratitude for the fact you saw me as a patient, and did not judge me by the color of my skin. You cared about my well-being as a doctor should. As a matter of fact, I kept my same insurance so I could keep you as my doctors. That being said, I apologize for the closed minded bigotry of the leader our country has picked, and I apologize for the Islamophobia that you have experienced at the hands of others.

I also know that Isis does not speak for all practitioners of your faith, just as Army of God and the KKK do not speak for all Christians, my faith. If you are what we are letting in when Muslims come, I say let more in. You are welcome in the America I know and that I grew up to understand. Thank you for being so willing to contribute, even though so many of us are not so kind back.

This summer in Cleveland I was able to march against Trump when he got his nomination. There were shirts that said, "Muslim Doctors Save Lives." I know this to be true.

Thank you for saving mine.

April

The Lady and President Tramp
Monday February 20, 2017 7PM
Dont Tell Mama
343 W. 46 Street

Blind Sided

The last few weeks things have been going like gang busters in my life. Work has been insane. At the middle of April I recorded my DVD. Then after that, the telegrams really picked up which was good. Of course I also did a theatre at the end of May, so the whole month was spent prepping for that. I also started a new sports broadcasting gig at Ranter. As a result, I covered the Stanley Cup and am now covering the World Cup. After that, I headlined a theatre for two nights in Long Island, killing both but commuting an hour and a half back and fourth. Then I booked a national television show. Filmed a music video. After that I did a photo shoot with a guy from Hearst. Oh, and then I filmed a short film where I did voice and puppet work with some folks from the Harvard documentary lab. On top of that I am doing an advanced level show business class and a graduate level publishing seminar. Yes I have to do homework for both.

I also recorded several podcasts and mini web shows in there as well.

Did I mention I am organizing a NYC book signing?

I haven't stopped for nearly two and a half months. I love the work I am doing, and the people I am working under and working alongside are amazing. However, these kernels of excitement go out the window when you are exhausted. And for the last two days I have felt like I have been a sherpa hauling something up a mountain. Just nonstop. Monday I found myself especially moody. It was hot. People were rude. I couldn't take it.

This morning was super tough. I slept more than I had in some time. I had a morningish delivery. Did I want to get out of bed and schlepp three blocks to work? Hell no. It was three blocks, but I was feeling indignant. All I did was work. On top of that I had school in the evening and my homework was 3/4 done but I still had one thing to do. The delivery went okay. But the paranoia of being exhausted was sinking in. Would they call my boss and say I sucked? I made a joke about the company? Would they be offended? Then I remembered coffee was not a food group for as much as I wanted it to be. Either way, I felt super duper off center.

Just when I thought I could sit on my ass, watch Netflix, and complete my homework my boss called. Second telegram. Ordinarily, I am glad for the work, but I had a severe case of the fuck its. Not to mention I was in no mood to wear makeup and it was a birthday cake show girl. Anyway, I got my costume and off I went.

On my way there, I saw a blind woman as I was crossing the street. She looked like she was going to cross. At first, I wanted to see if I could possibly cross her, but it's New York and I was in a hurry. She kept sticking her hand in and out and I wasn't sure what she was doing. Was she seeing if it was safe to cross? Either way, the poor thing was so confused. She was helpless. Something told me to step in and try to assist.

I asked her, "Do you need me to cross you, m'am?"

"No, I need a cab." She replied.

"Can I get you one?" I asked her. The way she was hailing she would have been there all day. She was doing the smart thing of standing out of the street, but it's the only way in New York City cabs will see you.

"If you see one." She said.

I stepped into the street and hailed a cab. Within seconds, it came to us. "Here you go, m'am." I said as the cab stopped in front of us.

"Can you guide me over. I'm blind." The woman explained in case I had forgotten.

"Sure." I took her hand and guided her towards the cab. I opened the door, in she went and off she went. Suddenly, the rotten mood I had been in vanished. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. In my tired mood, I had become sucked into my own selfish little world and had become an eternal professional victim. I was the female Sisyphus, holding the world on my shoulders. No wonder I was in such a pissed off mood.

In my maximum pissage, I had thrown my gratitude out the window. The poor blind woman probably would have done anything to switch places with me. I can see and she can't. That's the obvious. But there are evil people who might try to hurt her because she is a disabled woman.

At that moment I realized my life was really good. I work hard, but it is starting to pay off. For starters, I absolutely rocked the second telegram I did. And I am doing a book signing/show with my coworkers and boss on July 3 at Don't Tell Mama @ 7:30 where my boss is going to give me a singing telegram lesson. Plus I get paid to dress up in a costume, sing and make people happy almost daily.

I also filmed a DVD at a venue Liza Minelli and Joan Rivers have been known to stop into. Soon to be released.

I get to follow sports and rant about them, two things I love and now get paid to do.

I am potentially going to be on national television again with my puppets.

I got to headline a theatre 2 nights in a row, and this has been a dream of mine forever.

The photos from the shoot look great, and the shoot was fun.

The puppet work and voice work from the short film was so much fun I was upset when we wrapped. And when everyone left, I was sad we had to say goodbye because I liked them so much.

So far the music video looks awesome.

My acting and writing teacher are both awesome, too.

Bottom line, sometimes it takes helping someone else to get out of your own bullshit to realize that's what it is, bullshit. With that I turned my frown upside down and replaced it with an attitude of gratitude. I am doing what I always have wanted to do and I am getting paid to do it. I don't want for anything, and I am healthy.

You can't get tired when you are chasing your dreams. Especially if your dreams are to make others laugh and smile.

And if you do, you simply need to eat more red meat.

Oh, and if you are in a funk, be of service to someone else. You are in your own quick sand. You are in your darkness. Don't fall victim to the crap in your head. We all have a blind side, and sometimes it is stepping outside ourselves to assist someone else that clears our focus.

Love
April

Being Of Service

The other day I was so tired my bones hurt. It had been a busy week in the land of The Superfoxxx. I was an overworked, tired woman trying to take on the world. Just then my phone rang. It was my boss Bruce. He wanted me to deliver a singing telegram to Sloan Kettering. Apparently, the woman I was delivering to was going through chemo and her friend in another city couldn't be there to support her. So she wanted to make her friend laugh and decided to send a black gorilla.

I always like delivering to Sloan. It's one of those places where everyone is positive. They have to be. It's a cancer hospital. I went up to the front desk and asked where the chemo room was. As to surprise the woman under the treatment, I went to the bathroom and changed into my gorilla costume. Out in my get up, I asked where the chemo room was. The doctor, who saw me, laughed and said, "This way."

I entered the chemo room, and the woman I was singing to was under the drip. Her friends there to support her were laughing like hyenas when I entered in the black gorilla costume. I sang "You Are Great," Don't Worry Be Happy," and gave the woman a little cheer. She was flattered and embarrassed. As her friends laughed, she said, "I am so happy I am not in the waiting room right now. I want to kill Amy." And then she started laughing. There were plenty of photos and laughs. And then a nurse came in and snagged me to go into the room of another patient. I gave that patient a good luck fist bump.

Both these women will hopefully go into remission. And part of their experience at the hospital, which is stressful, will be that they received a singing telegram. They will remember it as something positive mixed in with the terrifying diagnosis of the Big C and all the pain, worry, and HMO drama that came with it. They will remember how for as rotten as things were at that moment, they got to smile.

The wonderful thing about seeing success in my career is that people tell me they enjoy my book and my work. But sometimes, when things get stressful with my new schedule, I lose site of my original purpose. I decided to pursue the path I did because I enjoy making others laugh. I enjoy making the world a better place.

While my job is to be fabulous, I cannot lose track of my original mission.

That is to be of service.

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

Can't Always Win the Trophy

This whole week has been insane. Everyone has been pulling me different ways. Sometimes they both yank my scalp at the same time. Sometimes they yank my arms. I guess this is what happens when you have a career. People expect you to do things. There have been some things that have been hard. Namingly people. Some are overdemanding. Some are children who happen to have adult bodies and want what they want and they want it NOW. Of course there are those who just want me to be two places at once. Or then there are those who value their personal lives more than their careers therefore expecting me to pick up the slack because they choose to get laid. Yes, I will say it. When you choose ass you are an ass.

Some of it is being a perfectionist. I was always a good student. I was always driven. Some of it is being a woman. I am raised to be a people pleaser because of my gender. We all are. Of course being a woman who takes a leadership position I have to be "nice" because then I am labeled a "bitch."

Yesterday I was forced to choose between two engagements. Both were good. One I had booked weeks in advance and the other was a last minute thing. I could have done both but the second moved to CT. I tried. Then the first one was cancelled. I had to see if I could get the second but a coworker of mine had already booked it. It's fine. It wasn't in the cards. Fuck me for trying to make everyone happy. Then I booked another gig, but had to cancel that because they decided the first one was back on. At the end of the day I wanted to fuck everyone with a big, black dildo. Not just any big black dildo, a monster dong. And it was going anal baby!

On top of that I went into my other folder and saw fifty unanswered fan letters. The thing about having fans is that you always want to make them happy because they love you without knowing you which is magic. I love to get to know them and insist on answering every letter personally. I am always so afraid of disappointing my fans too in a way. Everyone is when they first get a following. I always want to put out things that speak to them. And then I wonder, will my fans think I am tall enough? Stupid stuff. That made me feel like a failure.

As I was bemoaning my problems on the sidewalk, a nice construction worker type saw me. I was literally crying there like a mature adult. This construction worker dude saw me and asked me what was wrong. I wanted to tell him to get fucked. I was in no mood to talk to men. That is when he picked up my laundry bag and carried it to the laundromat. The annoying feminist in me shut up and thanked him. I admitted I was overwhelmed at work. That is when he told me he managed fifty one buildings in Manhattan and wished he had a zipper in the center of him because he too, was being pulled every which way.

I felt better for a bit and then melted down like a mature adult to my mother on the phone. My mom put it in perspective. That if I wasnt in NYC I wouldn't have either opportunity. I told my mother how overwhelmed I felt and she said that sometimes when good things happen they can smother us. My mother however, was quick to point out one must always have perspective. That keeps you grateful and keeps you from losing your mind. I have always insisted God speaks through my mother. While she drives me nuts-calling me as early as 6 AM sometimes because she is organizing one of my book signings-she is the woman who gave birth to me so she's allowed.

While I lost the high profile star studded gig I got some great news from LA on a project I am doing. It actually made up for the fact I lost the star studded gig.

The day ended with me crying to a friend of mine over a slice of pizza in the village again. Note, there was a lot of crying yesterday. My friend reminded me that our best is all we can do. She also reminded me about how I always wanted this career and should be grateful I am WORKING. I told my friend I was still Naomi Campbell cellphone throwing pissed. That is when my friend stated, "April, you can't always win the trophy."

My friend was right. I couldn't always win for as much as I wanted to. She also stated that these days, while I was concerned about letting my fans down, I had fans and I needed to concentrate on that. While I am still getting used to the idea of an assistant, I have one of those too.

I have the dreams and the career I have always wanted. Some of it is getting used to the demands of my new life. I know I will be fine. I am a workaholic. I also think deep down it's that fear that I don't deserve anything good. A fear that I won't get what I want while at the same time fearing I will get what I want. And then on top of that excited that things are falling into place after years of planning, paying my dues, poverty, and hard work. And then there is a part of me that wonders if this is real. But it is...

I just think for as crazy as everyone is making me, I have to remember to keep things in perspective, have an attitude of gratitude.

But also that I can't always win the trophy.

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

Wrestling With Angels

Growing up I attended church. One Sunday I remember hearing the story of Jacob and the Angel. The story goes that Jacob wrestles this angel and gets pinned. In the tale the angel calls Jacob by name and they wrestle. It was a big deal apparently for someone to know your name in those days. Now it is easy with the internet. Anyway the angel pinned him and gave him a new name, Israel. The way I always understood the story was that the angel pinning Jacob was an allegory for the universe bitch slapping us from time to time back into reality. I am not terribly religious but have always enjoyed the symbolism.

This week has been a hard one. While things are starting to get better life has been kind of rough this month. It has been hot, so hot that my air conditioner is useless. Not to mention my audiobook was taking longer than I thought it would. As for the chip on my shoulder about being a female comedian, that has become a cinderblock. While I have been on TV a few times, I am by no means a household name. Sure, I am funnier than a lot of the guys performing, but this is a sexist business. The women at a certain level don’t help. It’s asinine that I pay for stage time because I am well past the open mic level, I have three fan pages and my followers max out. Some ass weed asked if I wanted to do a bringer. I asked if he owned a TV. My royalty check has been taking forever to get there and I hate having to chase people for money. Oh, and no one around me has been acting right.

Thursday I ended up doing a show at the Phoenix House. It is a therapeutic community, and in this case for young guys. Usually they are court mandated there. I do it with recoverycomic.com, headed by Keith Godwin. The guys range from ages 15-20, and for as young as they are have hit it pretty hard. For me, the trip is usually a mix of fun and emotional. Fun because I usually have a good time. But emotional because when I was a little older than they were I found myself at a bottom with food, diet pills, booze, an abusive relationship, and other bad decisions. I found it was either get my shit together and join the guys I was dating in jail. I found that it was either get my shit together or get another man like my ex who would eventually kill me. I found it was get my shit together or not live to see my twenty third birthday. I did and am grateful.

The show was a lot of fun and the guys were a riot. The dug May Wilson and myself. As a matter of fact, they informed me they had an extra bed in case we wanted to stay. I would have to say they were a good audience overall. They liked the comedy as well as the improv dudes. It gave them a chance to be a part of something. Of course they were on their best manners helping me with my suitcase because it had been forever and a day since they had seen a woman. I left one of my books with them for reading material. Not only so that they would get a chance to pass time, but to let them know they could do this too if they stopped going the way they were and turned it around.

That is when my boss called me and asked me if I could do a birthday cake show girl. I said sure. It was in Jamaica, Queens. Yeah, it was early but things have been slow and I need the money. The next morning I woke up. I got to the train and made the long trek. When I got to Queens I ended up in front of the place. It was a Health Center. The contact insisted on coming outside to get me. Glancing, I saw a group of men playing basketball and some women chilling. I was at a drug treatment center! What were the fucking odds?!?!? I took a deep breath. Maybe it was a mental hospital. Not that one is ever better than the other. I googled the place on my iphone. Drug treatment center. BINGO! What the hell was God/The Universe trying to tell me?

I was then met  by a guy who asked if I was mandated. I said no. A few minutes later a black butch woman came out and helped me with my suitcase and brought me to the contact. I think she had been hanging out and was a regular trouble maker. But she was my friend. In a place like that you need a friend like her. It’s because the men in there are all gnarly in one way or another, and as a white woman with all her teeth I would be fresh meat. Walking in to meet the contact I felt a walk down memory lane that wasn’t so pretty. Somehow, I got out of that part of my life alive. How I did not end up as a client in a facility like that is an act of God, period.

The telegram ended up going well, but it seemed like the eternal wait in the contact’s office. The people were cool, and a lot were staff. In places like that many of the staff are former addicts themselves. I felt fine after delivering the telegram, and the contact was kind enough to walk me out. What were the odds my ass would end up in two drug treatment centers within twenty four hours of each other?

Just as my shocked ass was riding the bus back I ran to my second stop. My boss called. Apparently I left my hat there. Oh shit, my show girl hat. Monday I go to get it back. Maybe there is still something I have to do there. Maybe it is the fact I still haven’t dumped that little bit of attitude I have been sporting as of late.

Today I passed on a telegram job to do a shoot. In an odd twist of fate my boss’s camera was stolen, the shoot was cancelled, and it was too late to do the telegram job. I talked to my boss at the TV station about what was going on with me after a ten second explosion on my host page. I ended up telling him. He told me perhaps it was the universe telling me I had to be a power of example.

I thought about it. Lately I have been bitching about being a female comedian. I asked myself what was more important, the cinderblock on my shoulder or making people laugh. Thursday night at the Phoenix House showed me making people laugh was more important, and not to let the bullshit stand in the way of what I loved to do. Yeah, the TV shoot was cancelled but there will be others. Yeah, I passed on the shoot but there will be others. But these days I have TV shoots, jobs I love, work for people who love me, and write books. None of that was true once upon a time. Maybe I am not where I want to be, but these days I have a legit shot at getting there.

These days I worry about when my next book talk is, if my sound engineers will finish my audiobook, if I will be on TV again. I worry when strangers don’t recognize me on the street. This shit is what is known as luxury problems. I remember when my roommates wanted to kick me out because my ex and I would get violent when we fought. Or worse yet, when I had to get a separate mailing address so he wouldn’t find me. Those are real problems. Actually, aside from my whining my life is good. I have some awesome things on the burner. Maybe I need to finish cleaning my bathroom now that I work enough to maintain my own apartment. And as I am bitching and yelling I hear some of my friends who lost their lives going down the wrong path yelling at me. I also think of my former friends still going down that path. I think of how they reach out to me from time to time with updates on how shitty the bottom is and how they just keep hitting it. I also think of how blessed I am to have gotten out.

I think the angel pins us all in different ways. I am not saying this to convert you, but life gives us the backhand when we need it from time to time.

Yes, the angel knows my name and I lost the wrestling match. Translated, the cinderblock is off my shoulder and I think I have been humbled.

Love

April

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

www.aprilbrucker.com 

Grateful

I have been in a rut the last few weeks. Granted, it has been sort of my own shit coupled with familial drama and cosigning my own shit. Not to mention Wednesday at work was real rough. Just some phone drama. Long story. Dont feel like talking about it. My boss is a great man though. Still just the usual BS.

Yesterday I reached a whole new low when I just wanted to walk into the freaking river and disappear. Not drown. That would involve death and a funeral is a pain in the ass to plan. I would just disappear into the sunset with a sign nailed to my door that read, "Dear Asshole, April has gone away never to return. If you want to find her, go fuck yourself."

As I just felt this hellacious depression akin to death set over me I found myself in a convo with my friend. This particular friend is a good soul who knew me when things were starting to get rough in my life. We fell out of touch cause that just happens sometimes and a lot happened in between. But the planets and stars aligned and our paths crossed once again. I mentioned something and then he ended up innocently pressing me for details and I ended up revealing a part of my life that he doesn't know about. Mind you he is a true friend and didnt judge me. But it just felt awkward.

That is where the shame set in. I still remember being POW skinny and a mess. With me tethered was a psychotic ex fiance who happened to be stalking me at the time. When we were together I was his punching bag. I remember the sunglasses and the coffee and how I just let that SOB run my life. I remember how he told me him or the puppets. I remember how I had to get a different mailing address. Oh and then my mom had his name on the refrigerator in case I disappeared. Then there was the promise he made that he would kill his mother to get her insurance policy. That way we could set up house. Yes, want to know more details? Want to know how he used to harass guys I was dating after we broke up and how my life became a nightmare? Didnt think so. And that is just the tip of the iceberg.

I have written and performed about that part of my life quite a bit. It still doesnt make it go away though. The walk down memory lane was weird. My buddy meant no harm. Again he didnt judge me. I was pointing the finger and calling myself names like I always do when this happens.

Then I realized I was out of that part of my life. It is the past. There is only two ways I could let it haunt me. Is if I have a nightmare, which happens from time to time when the ex is chasing me, or if I let history repeat itself. Some people do and others do not.

I remember turning twenty five and thinking my life was over. To me it was old. Actually I was surprised I lasted as long as I did. I had a meltdown on that birthday and then took charge of my own life. I started performing my own one woman shows and made some funky puppet videos with gay celebrities. I still remember Michael Musto greeting me in his pajamas. That summer I drafted my first novel. The following year saw me on TV with my puppet children, making more videos, broadcasting on the web world wide, and surprisingly recording music. Twenty seven saw a number one song online and the publication of my book. Not bad for an old woman.

So far twenty eight has been fruitful. My book is getting into stores. I am possibly doing a book talk at an Ivy League University. On top of that Mensa said my book was a must read. The audioversion of my book is nearly finished. While my voice will forever haunt Archie and Anthony, it is a project that has been worth doing.

My problems today are that a certain store has the online version instead of the online and the print version of my book. My problems are will my musical, one woman show, and screenplay be picked up? Will my crush who is employed like me back? Will my composer be able to tolerate the fact I am so dyslexic when it comes to reading music?

And then the crisis of faith at the career level? Where to go next? To act again seriously? To pursue the music thing? To write another book? To try to pursue the standup again? To webcast again?

Bottom line, these are luxury problems. I have come a long way from who I used to be and where I used to be. When in doubt I always have to remember these days I am present enough to be employed and that I am not a stinking shit mess of drama. My life is really good. It is my decision to influence how happy or miserable people and external forces make me. If I keep going in the right direction not only will I be where I want to go, but I have a fighting chance of going further.

Yes, I am grateful.


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

On Being Powerless and Being Grateful

Powerless is not being able to do anything about a certain circumstance. Or in the case of many New Yorkers it is being without power. Actually it is both. Downtown is a ghost town. Traffic lights are not working. At night it is pitch black as if we have approched the world's end. In some parts of Queens there is pilaging, especially the part where there were several houses that burned. Parts of Jersey such as the shore are under water. Some people are stranded without power, food, or heat as we begin to approach winter. It is bottom line, bare bones. When you hear the words FEMA you know it is a disaster.

Everyone has been cooped up including myself. Not many people have been able to go to work because of the transport situation. Then there are those with cars who are getting to work, but it is almost useless to go because there is no gas. Several waiters I know are taking cabs from the outer boroughs but by the time they get to work and get home they have burnt up their earnings. When I say there is no gas we are end of the line there too. At six in the morning during my jog I saw cars miles long to get to the gas pump. A woman and a man were screaming at each other. The woman said, "Asshole, I was here first." The man responded by calling her a fat twat. Cars were beeping loud enough to wake the dead already supposedly walking the Earth on All Souls Day. Asshole, twat. Can we wait to exchange profanities until we have all had our coffee?

There have been the buses, overcrowded. One woman I know who I call her Porcelin Doll because she lives with a much older boyfriend and has no mind of her own and is always on channel Goody Goody took three and a half buses to work. I told her stay home. She said, "What am I going to do, sit around?" Well you are bus sick now so yes. But perhaps this Goody Goody who makes me gag did have a point.

For the past few days I have been grounded. No work because the subways have been down. The phones have been dead. Anywhere that people are able to go they are packed like tuna in a mercury filled can. I am living on my laundry money because I am not working. I am drinking bottled water and living on canned food. Until yesterday my gym really was not open so I wanted to deck someone, lose my mind, and then accidentally kick a puppy. I hate being grounded. I hate being home bound. I hate being out of work. I hate the fact that it is not my fault. I want to shake my finger at God and scream, "After years of struggle I was on my feet, making progress. Now none of my contacts are answering their phones because you took their power away!!!!"

Then I have to remmeber I am blessed. I have power. I have water. I have heat. I have a roof. There are so many people without. The trains are starting to run. My phone is starting to ring again. The power will be restored Saturday. My life will resume soon. Some people are without. Some people dont have homes. Some people dont have power. There are children freezing. As I selfishly shake my finger at God for my proverbial traffic work in my life, I also have to remember to unselfishly pray for the families who are getting aid right now. They need the grace and mercy of whoever is upstairs. I just have cabin fever. These people are truly powerless. They didnt ask for this. They really can't control their situations. I am grateful my problems are only luxury problems.

As I sit in the land of self pity I ask why me? I have been through so much in my lifetime. At twenty one it was the abusive boyfriend who stalked me. At twenty four it was being near the poverty line and career disappoints that made me wonder if I ever had anything going on. At twenty five it was the death of a good friend from a long time battle with drugs that nearly ripped my heart out. At twenty six it was being stabbed in the back by people when the tide started to change in my life and not knowing who my friends were as well as the death of another friend from suicide. At twenty seven it was the horror of having my house robbed and being stalked by a fan to the point where I had to get the police involved. Now it's a natural disaster. I ask why me? Then the answer is why not me? It's called life.

I also find myself in gratitude because I have food, clothing, shelter and heat but also a lot of people around me who care about me. Whether it is my fans around the world or friends in the city or family members in Pittsburgh everyone has been emailing me, calling me, and texting me with the same question, "Are you okay?" Friends have been inviting me over as I have been selfishly losing my mind online. I have felt peace and relief like I am being cared for. In all this chaos I feel okay.

In this disaster I also see rays of love and hope. I see people giving food and shelter to those who are without power. I see emergency workers going into dangerous conditions to make sure families are okay. I see workers going to work even when gas is low to try to provide for their families. I see the MTA working to get the water off the tracks and Con Ed to get the power back so the greatest city in the world can come back to life.

Then again I realize we were always alive. We might get knocked down but we keep slugging. When the power comes back we will all be back to work. We will all go back to our luxury problems. Slowly we will forget what happened, filing it in the back of our psyche under bad memories.

However we must not forget. It is times like this in our lives that we truly forget to be grateful for what we have, because the things we take for granted may be taken away at any second.

Love April

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

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Frankenstorm: Life After

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still with all the hype I wanted to see Godzilla.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe my puppet children will clean my house

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

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

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

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

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

Love April

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

877-Buy-Book

Zombie Driver

I was twenty four years old and had hit the skids in my life. The market had popped and it seemed every job I had depended on was drying up. Things were not going my way. It seemed the harder I worked the more doors seemed to slam in my face. October through December had been tough. A television appearance I did with May, one that is ironically starting to make us legendary, made us underground heroes but closed doors, as in ones that paid, in our faces. A pilot that was supposed to get picked up didn’t. The man I loved dumped me. And after being careless I had gotten myself into some money trouble. Not to mention through politics I was cut from a show that I deserved my spot on, but was shafted for a less deserving woman because they felt she would be a bigger name nevermind my TV exposure.

Now it was January, I was hoping things would get better but they weren’t. Money was tight, and the boiler in our building had broken and we were left without heat for two days. I had eaten at an Indian place that gave me severe food poisoning. Only now was I recovering. I told myself life couldn’t get much worse.

And then it did. I ended up in the Westchester to do my delivery. After a long week of cold weather and other drama I wanted to get in and get out. In front of the train station as usual were a row of cabs. Man of the drivers were obscured in the darkness. I took the first one in line. Climbing in I saw the outline of a man. At first I thought nothing of it. I had taken plenty of cars and had plenty of drivers.

I was like a stripper in that respect except I kept my clothes on. Looking in front of me I saw my driver. He was thin as a skeleton who escaped from the local cemetery. His skin was as dark as the night and had a leathery quality as it sort of stuck to his body. Something about the way he was built seemed eerie and made Michael Jackson look human. The hair on his head was a mix between being matted down and dreads. The hair on part of his head seemed to be missing all together. I looked closely. Were those burn marks on his head? Was this a bad Jerry Curl accident at the local salon? I didn’t ask. Anyone who knows me knows that I have an excellent relationship with my drivers and eventually they divulge everything. Still, this man seemed much too creepy.

I greeted the driver with a hello and asked him to take me to the allotted destination. Usually it is followed by a hello and a yes. Instead he let out a weird sound. He said, “Eh.”

The driver turned around to look at me. He had a freaked out look on his face, almost as if he himself had escaped from hell but had lost his ability to speak. Between his pitch dark skin and the night blackness I could only see the whites of his eyes which had a dead quality. What was going on and who was behind the wheel of the car? I couldn’t tell. Panicked I gave him the address again. Maybe this place was evil. Maybe this whole town was evil. Maybe I had wandered into a nightmare. I pictured the character Christoff Durant from the Serpent and the Rainbow. The real life Clairvius Narcisse, he was a zombie who had escaped and lived to tell the horrors of life as an undead slave under the power of a witchdoctor who made him do his bidding. I still remembered Mariel, the woman from the mental institution who had also been zombified in the film. She couldn’t speak she could only scream because she saw death. Then it clicked. This man was a zombie. But there were no such thing, right? At least that is what I thought.

I had also read extensively on zombification. Sometimes people were turned into zombies over land disputes. One man was turned into a zombie because he knocked up three women in the same town. What had this man done to become a member of the undead? I dared not ask. Was he like the zombies in the other movies? Would he eat my flesh? Dear God I did not want to know.

We began to drive. As the moon shone through my window I could see various scars on his arms from burns and cuts. Perhaps some evil witchdoctor had beaten him when he refused to be a zombie slave. As he drove I studied his hands. His left hand looked fine, but on his right hand there was a thumb and index finger missing! I almost screamed at the sight of this. What had happened to his fingers? Had they rotted off! I fought off the urge not to scream. He was going to eat my flesh. Oh God!

We took a series of back roads and passed a cemetery, probably where he lived along with his zombie wife and children. They were going to eat my flesh it was official. He left out some other inaudible sounds. I asked him what he was saying. The man stopped the car, turned around, opened his mouth and revealed he had no tongue. I was too scared to scream. Instead I turned a deadly white. Where was the nearest Catholic priest? I was dead it was official. Maybe he was delivering me to his bukor and they were going to zombify me. I thought I had problems before. Now my life had gotten much worse.

When we got to the destination I asked him how much. Again, he could barely speak and made out to what I understood to be ten dollars. I didn’t understand zombie nor did I want to. I just wanted to do this delivery, get out, and live long enough to get back home. I jumped out of the car with the undead driver still behind the wheel. I slammed the door and began to run. I didn’t want the undead driver to find me. Usually I am very compassionate but this man was undead and I couldn’t afford to take any chances.

I stood behind a set of snow covered bushes, peering. He was still there! What if there were more zombies in this town coming for me? I had to get away.

The delivery ended up being a good one. I changed in a child’s nursery, that belonged to an infant that was alive and well. Unlike my driver this baby was very much a part of the human race. It had all of it’s fingers and toes and had a sweet lively glow. Even when it pooped it’s diaper it was a gentle reminder that this was a person, not zombie baby. It wouldn’t be set to devour my flesh. It didn’t answer to a witch doctor. It had a shock of brown hair and actually grabbed my finger to say hello. Sure’it’s grip was iron, but baby’s usually have iron grips. It didn’t have the zombie grip of death.

When my job was done they called me a taxi. I dreaded the same zombie driver, this time stopping to take me to the graveyard. When the driver pulled up I saw he was surprisingly human. When I jumped into the car he remarked that I was glad to see him. I recounted my tale of horror. When I finished my driver was silent for a minute and said, “So you met Jean-Claude?”

“The undead has a name?” I asked puzzled. “Are you sure he’s not a zombie?” The driver laughed and told me a lot of people were scared the first time they saw him. He proceeded to explain that Jean-Claude was actually a political refugee from The Republic of Congo, if it is even called that now. Jean-Claude’s family had been killed and he had been interrogated and tortured because his father opposed the regime at the time. Apparently when they were interrogating him they burned him, electrocuted him, and when he talked back they cut his tongue out, that’s why he couldn’t speak. In their sick and twisted way, even when his tongue was gone they pressed him for answers and went for his fingers. Apparently somehow Jean-Claude had escaped death. However the rest of his family was killed.

Now I no longer felt scared of my zombie driver. I felt rotten for judging him when he was doing the best he could with what he had. I felt rotten and spoiled for freaking out the way I did. If anything, this man deserved compassion and love, not the distain and horror of passers by. Yes, I had my problems and was going through a rough phase. But this man most definitely won first prize. Now I felt ashamed wishing that I had been kinder. Wishing that I had been the child my mother raised me to be. My driver continued to explain that Jean-Claude was actually their hardest worker. I felt even worse and continued to apologize. My driver smiled and shrugged. “It happens.”

I recounted that he sort of sat there for sometime as I made my journey down the street to my allotted destination. “Oh he just wanted to make sure you got there okay.” My driver informed me. “He’s very protective of women. He had two sisters that would have been around your age.”

I was silent for a moment. Although I had been freaking out in the backseat of the car this guy didn’t take it personally. I was too selfish and self-centered in my fear that I didn’t see that he was being kind to me. As a woman travelling alone, many people try to take advantage. This man however was different. Sure, he looked scary. But under that exterior was a kind hearted individual who had been through a lot.

“Please tell him that I am sorry I freaked out if you can.” I said. “No problem.” My driver told me. As I rode home in a train car full of drunken kids I realized that I had learned an age old life lesson, to never judge a book by it’s cover. In this lesson I also had met the zombie driver, who might have scared me but ironically was looking out for me, making sure that I got to my destination safely. This story was a gentle reminder that sometimes life isn’t kind to everyone, and that people are in fact doing the best they can with what they have. And that is why we all have to be kind, compassionate, and gentle to each other.

I also began to realize that compared to Jean-Claude my problems were luxury problems. Maybe I wasnt getting what I wanted, but that would pass. This man had scars from torture that would stay with him forever. But he had a spirit that knew the importance of hard work, having a good attitude, and looking after women travelling alone. Everyone I know could take a lesson.

Jean-Claude, wherever you are, I hope you are alright. And I hope to get in your cab someday soon.

Love April

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

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Family Support

Last night I was on CFR and Sean Morton drove me to and from the train station. During our trip back we talked about comedy and the subject of bitter comedians came up. We both stated that we were thankful we were generally optimistic, hardworking people and had a support system to fall back on. For Sean it is his wife. I have only met her once but remember liking her a lot. Sean stated that his wife was awesomely supportive, coming to every single one of his shows openly supporting his quest for a comedy career. He said, "My wife is great."

I was like wow, does she come in a boy version, seriously?

But then I thought of my family and how awesomely supportive they are. My mother has been my biggest fan since day one. Almost ten years ago to the day, I was getting ready for my first round of college auditions here in the city. I didnt want to try for NYU but my mother made me. We went, we prepped, we curled my hair, and we went in. Two weeks later I came home from school and on my front lawn was a congrats sign made by my mother. Before that she was always there when I was doing cable access, as either a secret director or making sure the crew was fed during my long, arduous shoots. When I started doing comedy here in the city, my mom had me mail her the venues I played at and printed out the webpages of the places and made a scrapbook. She has come to see me several times in the city to perform and has always been a show in herself taking photos of me and my friends. Whenever I am down my mother says, "What have you done for your career?" And then she has been so incredible with my book. She took it to our local library, the one I got my first library card in, and they now have a barcode on it. My mom is one of those folks in my life that whatever she asks for she gets, end of story. Iam grateful for her.

Of course there is my baby sister who since day one has either acted as my graphic artist or camera person behind the scenes. When her ex-boyfriend lived here in the city, they used to pop into my shows as a surprise. She even did some of the leg work in the early stages of my book publication for me. They are currently assembling funding, but I will soon be a part of an instruction video with my puppets for medical school students sponsored by Brown University Alpert Medical School. This is a gig my baby sis scored for me.

Of course there is my dad, who has also been there since day one. He is the man I go to for honest feedback. Believe it or not, my Pops is actually an amateur joke writer. While he may put on the suit and tie as a tax lawyer and college professor, he spends his spare time writing jokes. Since my advent into show business, my dad's love of telling jokes has only gotten stronger. He is always calling me with new ideas for jokes and bits. Some are actually half decent, others like all ideas need work. Aside from that, my dad always taught us to work hard. While he was a tougher sell on the pipe dream, I have earned his support and respect because I am driven and refuse to give up. My dad also told me when I scored my first big gig in NYC that, "When you are there, be nice and listen. Be nice to everyone you meet. Afterwards send a thank you note. If you do they will hire you back again. I am telling you as someone from the business world, no one likes an asshole." And they did rehire me. My Pops has good advice. Who knows, when he retires maybe he will be my opening act. One of my comedian friends said I must stop this now. But my Pops calls Romney a poser on the regular. Maybe this could work.

Then there is my brother and sister in law who watch all my shows. They both are currently working in a hospital so they cant travel as much. But during one comedy festival in PA my brother's brother in law Alfred was informed I was in the area. He was working in a hospital at the time and we didnt hear so it was like, whatever, he's busy. But when me and Paul Hooper, another comedian and funny guy were greeting audience I hear an "APRIL!" I turn around and it is Alfred. He picked me up, gave me a big hug, told me he enjoyed my set and off to the afterparty we went. Best surprise ever. On that vein my sister in law's bestie Kristen follows me too. She posts of my wall everytime she catches me on TV or something. It has been cool.

Then there is my cousin who is a painter in Brooklyn who occasionally pops into my shows with his artist friends and then even gets me gigs sometimes too by word of mouth. Next to him are his sisters, both dancers who's friends follow my exploits.

Then there are my grandparents, supportive as ever. My grandfather just had eye surgery and stayed up all night to finish my book. My grandmother is currently on page ten, but she is reading me in between reruns of Murder She Wrote.. My godmother I believe is also starting on it as well.

My aunts and uncles are cool too. My Aunt Chris and Uncle Bob brought my cousins Bobby and Kelsey to NYC and they popped into one of my shows. The clan also came enmasse to see me in Pittsburgh. My Aunt Rose purchased and read my book in a single night. My Aunt Diane, God bless her, purchased copies of my book for her and her kids. She also reads my blog on the reg, shout out to Bulger. My Uncle Joe and the fam came to visit me earlier this year in NYC with my three baby cousins who are oh so adorable. And then I get my baby cousins in Peters who when I was on the Britney Spears website told everyone that their cousin was famous.

Sure, they might drive me nuts and their logic might confound me. Sometimes, our political beliefs differ. However, at the end of the day I would have to say I really lucked out. I can't get much better than what I have. Wait a second, I wouldn't want anthing different than what I have. I can't get any better than what I have. Even when they are crazies they are my crazies, make fun of them and I will give you the People's Elbow. Yes, me. In the words of Joe Greene,"The four foot two inch white chick."

Make that five four.

Whatever, I am just trying to say I am grateful xo

Love, April

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

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com