Ghosted

Isaac Rabinowitz had just broken my heart again. Enter Preston Hutchinson, the angry, white, chain smoking import from Dallas, Texas. Before moving to New York, Preston had toured Texas and even opened for Ralphie May. This meant he was a big deal in Texas, but like every other transplant hoping to make it in a big market he was relegated to the role of open micer.

Preston’s comedy was raw, edgy, and funny, easily eclipsing the competition, even the so called “pro” comedians with TV credits. To add to his appeal he was very good looking in that bad decision kind of way. The thought of talking to him produced sweat under my arm pits and butterflies in my stomach, so I just avoided it.

After about a month of playing the role of bashful schoolgirl, I found myself flyering for stage time with him at a watering hole that’s now closed. Preston was getting grief from Will, the producer, about his drinking. When we joined me on my corner I finally got the guts to introduce myself, hoping I wouldn’t puke on his shoes. Although it might not seem the case now, in those days I was extraordinarily shy. As I struggled to even say my name Preston stopped me, “You’re that girl with the Bride of Chuckie Doll!”

May Wilson thought this was just as funny as I did in case you are wondering. I laughed and said a ton of stupid things as Preston did make me weak in the knees. Then the show began, and I worried I blew it because I talk too much when nervous.

When May Wilson and I went up, we were marginal at best as most barker comics are. May will say she killed, I know we were substandard. Note, she will blame it on me.

Preston went up two comics after me, and killed it right away. Part way through his set he said, “Okay, Bride of Chuckie, I see you. Come and get me with your devil doll!” He then pointed back at me, leapt offstage, and then began to chase me around the room. I had no idea why this was happening, but I was having fun and the audience was dying with laughter.

After the show, Preston and I shared a cigarette as the late March night surrounded us, trying to warm up while still seeing our breath. Preston let me share his glove as I took a puff from his menthol pack. We talked about comedy, punchlines, and what a dick Will the producer was. When 1 AM hit, he walked me to the train and kissed me goodnight.

When the train brought me home, I dreamed nasty dreams where Preston and I had lots of wild monkey sex. Waking up, I had a serious case of the giggles. Just as I was about to walk on air, I saw Isaac Rabinowitz had texted me. Curses, could he sense I was happy? The text read, “Sorry about last week. I made a mistake and miss you. Can I have another chance?” DELETE. Sorry cowboy, there’s a new romantic obsession in town.

The next day, Preston and I crossed paths again in the same dingy watering hole for another show. He motioned for me to join him in the back of the room. Splitting a glass of Jack Daniels straight, we shot the breeze. Preston lamented that he was tired from working so much. When I asked where he worked he said he was a waiter at LaGuardia. I said, “Oh,” as I had never met anyone who worked as a waiter at the airport. I didn’t think anything about the response as the liquor was starting to hit my system.

Preston apparently viewed my response as an affront because he said,  “What, am I not good enough for you?” Shocked by his reaction, I quickly apologized puzzled as to what the hell had just happened.

All was quickly forgotten as we ordered another glass of whiskey and Preston chased it with a beer. After my substandard set, Preston was very encouraging, telling me I had the goods to go all the way. This was flattering as he is still one of the funniest people I have ever shared a stage with. It was nice to meet a guy who wasn’t threatened by my drive. After our second drink and shared cigarette, we went back to my place to hook up.

On the train ride back to my place Preston said, “I want to dress you up in a clown suit and kiss you all night long.”

I laughed, but Preston again didn’t find this funny. He said,  “I share my feelings and this is how you treat me!” He was near tears. Quickly I apologized again, puzzled as to what I had done. I shook it off, no one was perfect, right?

What happened between the sheets was hot. Then again, mentally unstable people are always top notch in that department. Laying around afterwards, Preston and I talked about people we had dated. While I didn’t want to talk about what wasn’t even a comparison, I mentioned Isaac. Preston told me his ex, who was ten years older than he was, pushed him to quit comedy and get married. When I called her a crazy bitch, Preston said, “Not really. We were living together and she was paying my bills.” I went to laugh hoping this was a joke, but Preston gave me the look, he was telling the truth.

The only thing to do after sweating it up in bed is to get some food. While we ate greasy diner food, Preston dropped the ultimate truth bomb, “Do you ever get a rush off of stealing something small, like a pack of gum?” That is when he told me he had not one but two shoplifting arrests, and gave me a small trinket he had stolen from a store in the airport. In law enforcement they call these clues, and Preston had been dropping them. Something told me to run out of there as I had just been given stolen property as a gift, but I was still stuck by being hit with his loser love wand that I stayed put. (Yes, they wanted to charge me as an adult). My spider senses told me not to accept the trinket and when I refused it, he told me he didn’t take it personally and wanted to buy me something nice when he had the money.

After he left, Preston kissed me goodbye and promised to call me but never did. At first I assumed he was busy and didn’t want to be “that girl.” A week later I saw him flyering, and when I tried to talk to him he was short, cold, and avoided me. When I saw him he was in the back of the room sharing a glass of whiskey with a rachet would be female comedian who had no punchlines but swore for shock.

The subway ride home was spent crying. One week before Preston had made me feel hot, now he made me feel cheap, dirty and used. What did I do? Was it not accepting the stolen trinket? It was stolen property for Godssakes! Was the rachet girl the one he wanted all along? Was I not pretty enough? Was he still in love with the woman who paid his rent? Granted, I knew I had dodged a firing squad but the heart wants what the heart wants.

Days later I made the decision to stop flyering with said show. Will, the producer, called me to give me inane notes and acted like it was some sacred duty to flyer for his shitty bar show. Plus I was visiting my family for two weeks and wouldn’t be around anyway. Then there was a move and a new job where I would no longer be available. While Preston wasn’t a factor in the decision, not seeing him would be a relief.

When I got back from the visit to my parents and was making my way through the airport, I saw Preston working at his waitering job. I waved, he ignored me. It hurt, but it was also a lesson that if I kept expecting him to act like a human he was only going to keep hurting me. I didn’t want to know why he did what he did and I no longer cared because figuring out someone who makes no sense was a waste of  time. That’s when I filed him under, “Jack Daniels: This Was All Your Fault.”

Of course Isaac texted me again wanting another chance, and I jumped right from the fire back into frying pan because I had to get burned one last time. After one last humiliation from Isaac, I found myself doing another shitty show in the same venue. Outside I heard Preston’s voice and felt as if the universe was mindfucking me again. It was getting late and I needed to get home.

Sneaking out, I tried to skulk past Preston when he said, “Bride of Chuckie, how have you been?” Before I could keep it short and exit he gave me a huge bear hug as if he hadn’t been a complete asshole and dogged me the way he did.

I was polite, telling him I was fine. That’s when he said, “You know, I had a great time with you. I want to hang out again, do you still have my number?”

“Yeah, we should totally hang out,” I said crossing my fingers behind my back, fighting off every nerve to tell him he was a useless fuckwad and loser. Part of me wanted to tell him to get tested for amnesia, but I marveled at the this straight, white, cis male who thought I should just fall to the ground and worship him. After giving him another hug, one which I wanted to strangle him really, I walked into the night. Before I got on the train I got my phone out and deleted his number. Maybe you ghosted me, but I am about to disappear yo ass! BAM!

Days later, I met Sean, the shitshow who would become my former fiancé, giving me 5 good standup minutes and a viral headline. While I lost track of Preston, I found out he was banned from the watering hole for his drinking problem and got fired from his job at LaGuardia for stealing. He moved with friends to LA to try to do comedy, but the drinking problem morphed into a drug problem, getting him kicked out of his apartment and living on Skid Row.

Ultimately, it was the same old girlfriend who put the burn on him to get married that ended up being his savior, driving to LA not only to rescue him but put him in rehab. She took him back to Texas where he got clean, they got married, and now have a 6 year old. Preston no longer does comedy, works at a car lot his wife’s brother owns, and his chain smoking angry white boy bod has been replaced by an out of shape dad bod. All that could have been mine.

I don’t hate Preston, but rather I pity him. To this day I will admit he is probably still a better comedian than I will ever be, but through bad decisions, addiction and self-defeat he squandered his gift and the opportunities he could have had. I truly hope he has found peace and happiness in his new life and is holding his demons at bay. While it hurt at the time, Preston did me a favor. If he stuck around, he would have only ruined my life. Getting ghosted sucks, but trust me, it’s always for the best.

10. “Wow…..still living in your mom’s basement. Nice to see you believe in consistency.”

9. “Your kid is growing wiser and smarter. Not only is he on the honor roll, but it didn’t take him very long to figure out you were a loser.”

8. “You gained weight. But at least you’ll be ready to hibernate for winter. Wait, you hibernate every day because you don’t have a job.”

7. “You want your shit? I threw it away. I thought about selling it but it’s worthless just like you are.”

6. “I think it’s crazy you wanted me to wait for you until you got out of prison. Because when you were away, we both cheated with the nearest man who would listen to us.”

5. “I don’t want to be friends with you. You’re like used toilet paper. You’re ultimately good for nothing, make everyone uncomfortable, and a reminder that I sometimes make shit choices.”

4. “You relapsed on heroin? I’m so proud of you. It meant for once in your life you had a goal, got off your ass, and took some action.”

3. “I’m supposed to be jealous of your new girl? Honey, you are her problem now. And when she sees you sleep with the light on because you are afraid of the dark and answer to your mother there are no throw backs here.”

2. “Your new lady seems so sweet. Now tell me, how long did it take you to move in and try to live rent free? Just curious.”

1. “Who are you again? You look familiar but I can’t quite place you.” 

Bonus Disses aka Honorable mentions:

A: "Your family and friends are hassling me because they think I ruined your life. That is the only time you got off your ass and did something for yourself. They say they want you to do well. When I was 6 I wanted my dad to get me a pony and we didn't. Looks like we're on the same program there."

B. "I dumped you. But my mom's disappointed. It's not because you were so wonderful, she thinks you're a loser. She just always taught me to think for myself and never follow a crowd."

C. "Your best friend wanted me to sleep with him after you left. Even he doesn't like you. But he eclipses you in one way, he's a bigger loser than you. I didn't think that was possible. Granted, I hate myself for loving you but not enough to sleep with your idiot sidekick."

www.AprilBrucker.TV

April Unwrapped: My Naked Dreams Revealed

Some Jingle Jangle Morning (Mary Lou Lord)

The other day, I got a call from a friend I have kind of become close to in this past year. We knew of each other, but only recently started to hang out more. This past year he went through a terrible divorce with an ex wife who is a real bitch for lack of a better word. The woman fights dirtier than Mike Tyson did in the Holyfield fight. She'll go for the ear.

She did a cheap shot when it came to the house they shared. She an underhanded play when it came to getting custody of his son, lying to the court about how he had a drinking problem which he doesn't. She's an asshole who wants to win at all costs, even if it means using her kid to do so. Not to mention she intentionally quit her job so he would have to pay her alimony. YUCK!

So he was forced out of his house, and moved into an apartment. He misses seeing his little boy terribly every day. I wanted to name their divorce saga Beauty and the Bitch, because this troll has successfully poisoned all of their mutual friends against him, too. Not to mention she has done things to put his career as a musician (he plays concert piano) in crisis several times.


He called me in a daze late Saturday to talk. He was getting used to an empty apartment. He felt lonely. He felt empty. He felt weird. He felt pissed his ex wife had a new boyfriend. No, he didn't miss her. He was pissed this woman was bringing a man he never met around his kid. And his ex wife moved her new boyfriend in. This stranger had taken his place. Yet he was also glad to be rid of the troll he was married to for 15 years.

 It is the pallet of feelings that goes with change.

While my situation is different than his and I don't understand, I identify. You can read my previous blogs to know what I mean. Either way, it felt good to be a listening ear. Change is weird. Change is scary.

Change.

I think in a way that's what attracted me to my current living situation. My landlord, who is very different from my buddy, grew up in NYC when it was really NYC. His stories are colorful. He managed a strip club. As a kid, he and his friends went with the hookers in the neighborhood who would give them free rides. He also had women throwing their underwear in his car. Apparently he was a hit when he was young.

Then he met his ex wife. Yes, she pursued him. Got him gifts. When he tried to break up with her, she hung out with his mom. Then finally after 10 years, 2 kids, and a bunch of changes in her psych meds he left. Now she tries to poison his kids against him. The woman plays ugly too. He wants his teenage  kids to go to college, do something with themselves. She tries to undermines his efforts. She sucks as a human.

When I moved in, it was his family home and he was in between jobs. He was figuring out how to be a single parent to teen boys. He was leaving early to make sure they got to school each morning, because their mother could have cared less. Sure, he's obsessed with UFOs and believes the conspiracy that Michelle Obama is a man, but he's a good dude. Either way, he is looking for work now, and trying to figure out what to do.

Change.

Heck, things have changed for me. A year ago I was talking about getting married. My living situation was much different. And it also looked like I was moving to Europe because I was getting press there, and a few managers even expressed interest.

I had the whole pallet of feelings as shit hit the fan. We always do. Not only was my then boyfriend ripped away by the throws of mental illness and the consequences of the choices of someone who doesn't follow through with treatment, but my heart was ripped out of my chest. My living situation, one that I had been in happily for nearly a decade, went belly up. Thinking about the loss of my last apartment makes me angry but also makes my stomach turn. Europe also went belly up because no one could successfully get me a Visa, and if I was going I was going as a headliner.

A year later, things are very different. Some good, some bad.

My new living situation is safer and cheaper, but the 7 train is a fucktard at times.

As for my ex, I have mostly forgiven him for some of the damage he's done, but the mixed feelings are still there. I get angry, but then I have to tell myself he's sick literally one hundred times. Then I remember his kindnesses, and even his sister said despite his troubles he was the kindest person she knew. Suddenly there is a part of me that misses him, not even to have him back as a lover but just a friend. That's when I remember he can't be trusted and isn't a safe person.

I also get angry about the idiots that weighed in on my living situation and break up. They are out of my life like the human cancers they were.

Obviously I didn't go to Europe, but I am steadily becoming a regular headliner in the states. I am working with wonderful people. My career is not where I want it yet, but it is getting there. Not to mention that while my bank account might not know about how famous I am in some circles, I enjoy comedy more than I have in years. I love getting onstage again.

Sure, the cancer scare sucked but it woke me up and now I am eating better than ever.

Losing everything and applying for aid made me have those difficult money conversations, especially those about the future. Now I'm not scared and want to learn more about how to manage my money.

As I was drinking coffee in an East Village diner hearing two girls bullshit before my 7:45 AM delivery, it felt surreal because that had been my stomping ground in college. I was a Manhattite always and forever. My mom even called me Manhattan Barbie. Alas, nothing is forever.

Thank God nothing is forever. Had shit not hit the fan I wouldn't have gone to the RNC to be a part of history. I wouldn't be working with the cool people I am now. I wouldn't be having fun each time I get onstage. I talk to people about getting paid, and am not a nice girl when it comes to dough. I am more fearless about telling people to get fucked. I am vocal when I have a concern about something whether it's my manager or landlord. I don't wait until my back is against the wall when I can no longer run from the monster.

When the smoke clears, that is when you can truly appreciate the miracle.

Someone Like You (Adele)

Yesterday during my surfing on facebook I found out one of two men I ever really loved has a new girlfriend. Part of me was happy he moved on and seemed to be getting sober. The other part of me was hurt as hell. Actually it was as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest and thrown on the floor.

When I ended it, letting him go, I knew in my head I was doing the right thing. This particular person had drug issues, alcohol issues, and refused to go to meetings and get sober. He also refused to take his much needed psych meds. Then there were the legal issues like the felony charge he still faced. Not to mention the back child support he owed was astronomical. Everyone told me I was doing the right thing. He was a "Loser." These people didnt know him like I do.

In my heart I always wondered if I did the right thing through. This person served as a confidante to me when I was dating someone famous and the famous dude's baby mama just harassed around the clock. Not to mention he was there as emotional support when the psychotic former fiance who suffers from borderline personality disorder tried to make a comeback when my life was going good. And the night my house was robbed, he never left my side. Oh and he was so proud of me for everything I was doing about my career, and would tell anyone who would listen. He made me laugh and he had a good spirit. Yes I made the right decision, but did I?

A drug habit is not like snoring or burping. It's much bigger than that. A felony charge plus a bench warrant is not like a love for bad movies, it is much bigger than that. Back child support and the term dead beat dad arent someone going through a bad phase. They are someone who will leave you high and dry in my experience. But there is a part of my heart that can't and never will stop loving him.

I saw a picture of the new girlfriend and she looked like a fat whore. I will not lie. If trash could be tattooed on her forehead it would be an apt adjective. There is a large part of me that hates her guts because she has the one who stole my heart. But on the other hand I don't know her. She's a single mom. She's in school. She's trying her best. Hating her is just the easy way out. But he's happy and so is she. Maybe they are a better match although I don't want them to be.

In my hubris I thought I was going to be the one who was different and maybe I was. He told me that once. I remember when he was on the run he called me and even told me so. Of course he was working as an escort and was with his assortment of hos. But I was the one he wanted to talk to. I remember the last time we chatted. He called me high as a kite, probably on meth, with some crazy story. Then he texted me and said he was six months sober. But six months is too early to talk love. You are lucky if you can walk and chew gum. Sure, I wanted to live happily ever after. But all the times I got what I wanted, well, they werent so good. I got what I wanted one too many times and now know the Serenity Prayer by heart.

I know I need to keep moving. I have two family members-both lovely women- who got mixed up with men like this. Both of them are paying dearly. One is on a bad path with alcohol, is on her last chance with her professional license, and is in debt to the IRS for the rest of her life because of the damage done by falling in love with the guy she did. The other has kids with hers and her life is miserable, and she is sticking around cause she has no where else to go. Maybe it is better I got out when I did before there were children or any other collateral damage.

On the other hand, I am sort of thankful for it. Yes, in the end he was running from the law. But for so long after my fiance I had been an abusive ice box to the men I dated. I didnt trust and hell, I was less than faithful. There was no love in my heart for any of them even if they treated me kindly. But this was the one that changed all that. For the first time I wasn't an ice box who would cheat on whatever guy I was with and accuse him of every terrible thing in the book. I didnt feel so damaged, and he didnt treat me like a broken toy. I didnt think I could ever fall in love again after the fiance but I was wrong. I didnt want to be wrong, but I was. Sure, I hide my feelings from the rest of the world under a blanket of bravado but could never hide them from this dude, even if he was what they refer to as a barely functional deadbeat.

These days I am hit or miss with men. Some of them hit, but then they miss. And I know in my heart it is because I am comparing every guy I meet to him. Yes, they have a job and dont have any children. But they dont make me laugh or treat me as kind. Yes they arent on the run from the law. But they dont tell their friends how proud they are of me. Yes they dont have a drug or alcohol problem or mental health issue. But when the chips are down, they can't handle me. This dude could handle me. He could handle me at my Lindsay Lohan moments therefore he deserved me when I was in my Beyonce moments. Rub it in that he doesnt have his shit together why don't you?

There is a part of me that relishes in the mean, anti-male, angry, feminist, poetry writing alter ego I create. All of my puppet children are mostly women who dig for gold or killed a husband or lover. It is easier. That whole existence is easier than dealing with my feelings. I will probably bury myself in some iced cream, Lifetime Movies, and work. I will tell myself how I dont need love but then I will lurk on his page like a stupid school girl. I will tell myself if I showed up on his door step he would leave the tramp he is with in a minute. Oops April, EGO- Easing God Out. I have a feeling that my lover boy has gotten to know that slogan too as well as all my favorite least favorites that keep me grounded on his ever blessed fucked up planet called Earth and the state we call reality.

I know better than to go running after him. These days I am planning a book talk at an Ivy League School where I am now a part of their collection. My audio book is almost finished. I am starting work on my musical. Not to mention I might be touring again and really need to write new jokes if I am. This is where my focus needs to be, not my perpetual broken heart over a guy many start swearing at when they hear the full story. Some of this is because my grandmother died and I grieve in a freaky way. The other is things are going so well I just want to destroy them because I am afraid of the good time ending. Some of it is because I am afraid I will never feel this way about anyone again. You can't pick who you love, end of story.

The part of me that cares for him is glad he is getting sober. I am glad he is going to meetings and getting his legal stuff straightened out, slowly but surely. I am also glad he is back on his meds in some fashion. But most importantly, I am glad he is happy. While the selfish part wishes it were with me, the part of me that cares for him is glad he is happy.

Love, you suck. You suck freezer burnt dick.


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

Someone Like You (Adele)

I have been having morbid cold weather curosity and faintly remembered that crap killed the cat. Sure the cat killed Tweetie but this crap ultimately made Sylvester a pladder at the Asian eatery up the road in the rural hick town. It is all true. It really is.

I have been looking up old boyfriends and the women they are either dating or married to. Not because I really care or it would do me any good. Just because a part of me wants to know, where are they now?

One is married. He has a kid and seems happy. I still remember how much I care about him. Seeing him happy made me happy because I have let him go. The other part of me sort of resented him because I really loved him and he sort of strung me along. He had all sorts of excuses why he couldn't be my boyfriend and blah blah blah but the second I moved on would appear like a phantom over the horizon. He broke my heart really bad. But he was right, I wasn't ready for a relationship. My encounters with him are always weird. In part he feels like he was responsible for my meeting my fiance and that disaster. The ego in me feels maybe he regrets marrying his wife. My group of friends confided in me that despite this issues I was his number one and she knew it. That's why she hates me so much. But they seem well suited for each other and have another kid on the way. She is more laid back while he is outgoing just like me. We would have killed each other.

Then someone I dated on the rebound is engaged. He was more in love with himself than anyone else. Still I could picture him in front of the mirror saying to himself flexing his muscles, "We ought to stop meeting like this. People will start to talk."

Another guy I dated on the rebound from my fiance is in a relationship. He was a bit of a party animal when I knew him and spent six hundred bucks on me in the course of a night. They said he was a ladies man. My fiance never spent a dime on me, and I would always pay his way. This dude treated me like a lady and now he has a lady. I dont mind it. We just had some fun. But still, how time changes and how things get crazy.

Then of course there was one guy I was mean to. It's a long story. He was so nice to me and I had been through a hell of a lot. The second he was kind to me I just kicked him in the face. I know I did. But my ex fiance was stalking me at the time and I wanted saved. Now he hates my guts and posts about it when he can and so does his current girlfriend when she isnt trying to be me in a way. I say I hate them all in one breath but in the other I feel guilty I used to make him cry. In one breath I say if I can make you cry you werent a man, but in the other I know I was just that much of a bitch.

After him I looked up some guys I wasn't so nice to because I was into bad boys. They have girlfriends, are married, have kids. It's all too late.

I know my guy problems are my doing. Sometimes I am smart, too smart and just have to be right. Then there are those times where I just want to be liked that badly. Of course I am pretty much damaged from all the morons I dated and don't trust anyone which is a problem. Plus my career and puppets come first and then family and somewhere to the bottom of the list is my man. Faithful, ha. I get bored. Why can't I just have an open relationship? May Wilson suggested that.

All my ex boyfriends say I am a drama queen with issues. Maybe I am. They hate me and I hate them. We are even. At least I am consistent that way.

However, there will come a time that perhaps I will want the happily ever after and the person who loves me for me and all that happy horse shit. There is a part of me that is so used to men failing me and so used to being alone that I don't care. But then there is a part of me that is afraid to be alone forever.

There are a thousand factors as to why I screw up the way I do. I could blame the psychotic ex fiance who used to hit me and stalk me but I think it was even before then. I could blame the gnawing insecurity called being a fat girl. I could blame May Wilson, she is stealing all my friends on facebook.

Maybe I'll get a prison pen pal.  That way me and Mr. Convict can run off into the sunset making him a fugitive. I have fallen for a fugitive before. I can make it work. I tried it before and it failed but I learned how to make it better. Instead of a carriage ride we will have a high speed chase. God this is a fucked up fairy tale.

Disney you have corrupted my mind. Walt Disney is a racist, anti-Semite and probable homophobe.

Happy New Year!

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available on Kindle and Nook
Portion of Proceeds go to RAINN

Young Love

I remember being nineteen and being all alone in NYC. The girls were all either goody goody or just slutty. The slutty girls were all sort of ugly actually. This one chick who was pretty fat always seemed to be getting action. As I sat alone, stood up on a Friday night and saw this thing out on the town I wondered, "How does she do it?" She didnt even have a good personality. She was stuck up, unfunny, and worst of all just nauseating. Then I saw the guys she was with and said, "Oh." The funny part is, some of them came out sophomore year. Maybe she was what turned them out. Or worse yet, they were like, "Hi Mom, hi Dad, I actually like chicks. The chicks I like just happen to look like guys."

One of my most memorable mishaps was when April Brucker who had no experience with men met a total stoner at a frosh talent night. He liked my puppets, I thought he was hot. He invited me to his place to watch TV. When I got to his house he turned on the television. For the record, I thought when he invited me to watch television we were actually watching television. Needless to say he had other plans. He kissed me and things began to get hot and heavy. Things had never really gotten hot and heavy in my young life and I began to panic. Finally I just told him I had to go and ran out of the room. My then friends thought it was hysterical because watch tv was code for hook up. I saw the dude later in the dining hall and apologized for my lack of experience. We ended up being friends actually and ended up watching television just to watch television. He has a good job and married someone else. If we would see each other on the street we would be friends and actually laugh about the whole thing.

There is an old saying in Latin that roughly translates, "In wine there is truth." Or worse yet, sometimes when you drink wine you love everybody. During the end of my first semester freshmen year I met this guy filming a student film. We hit it off, and he told me he would take me out to dinner and bring me flowers. I was stoked. He gave me his number. We chatted once or twice on the phone and it looked like I was going to finally have what I wanted,a boyfriend. He liked the puppets and everything. Well one night a friend of mine was having a party to celebrate end of the first semester. I got pretty wasted. So what did I do? I got out my phone and started calling everyone. I apparently told this guy I loved him and wanted to be with him forever. Needless to say, he avoided me every time he saw me after that. I know this all went down because his best friend told me when he saw me at the student center. Word to the wise, that is not the way to win a man's heart. We have seen each other since then and have been friendly, but he still puts a little pep in his step after our encounters. These days he is an unemployed actor and wannabe comic. Maybe it's better the love affair didn't work out.

Of course there was also the misadventure where I met a greasy guitar player at a talent show in Union Square. He went to school of recorded music and his parents were lawyers. Nonetheless, he believed he was Bruce Springsteen. Obsessed with Layne Staley, he played all the music when I hung out in his house. During that time a friend of mine told me that to pick up guys you had to smoke. I was trying it, but it was ruining my cardio. During this exchange, Romeo told me that, "If you fuck me, you can say you fucked me before I became a rockstar." I felt intimidated because I lacked experience. However, that became apparent in a moment or two. Romeo took my number and called me again, but I didnt feel like entertaining his ego. While he had rockstar ambitions, he didn't have the work ethic and after graduation changed paths to become a life coach for troubled children. I of course, well you know my puppet children and I have been making history. Someday he'll tell the story of how April Brucker was in his room, he had a chance to be a man, but screwed it up by being himself. Best punchline ever.

The following year I found myself seeing a much older man. While the whole thing was fun, I found myself getting much too attached as he patted me on the head and told me to wander the other way. We were on again, off again, and it was oh so complicated in my twenty year old brain. His dad was loaded, he had a great apartment, and he was promising me a trip to see the Roosevelt House on LI knowing I was a history buff. But when we got to that place of what is this he always backed off because of my age. I wasn't having it though. One evening, when I had too much of his high class Scotch I told him how I felt and how he had hurt me ever so badly. Then I told him I loved him, wanted to be with him, and threw up all over him. The next day I had a headache and felt like a fool. But we also talked and I found out more than anything in the world I had a friend. Since then we have just been friends, nothing less and nothing more. He is now married to someone else and has a kid. We have worked together several times and the whole experience is buried in the ruins as ancient history never to be spoken about again. But when I do speak about it I can't stop laughing. God was I stupid in those days.

Or then there was my first love bomber, an older comic who was totally all over me and had a very obvious drinking problem. We ended up hanging out and then he totally disappeared on me. The bad boy chain smoker then proceeded to hit on another woman right in front of me the next time he saw me!!!!! I thought this was a reflection of myself. But it was another big lesson. Men are jerks. It was tough to swallow, especially since the girl was so incredibly sleazy. But months later he tried to make a comeback. However when he saw me with another guy he backed off and I could hear him telling his friends some twisted tale of how I broke his heart. Meanwhile there was some serious editing on his part. Mr. Fabulous would go on to drink his way out of a promising comedy career and now is selling used cars in his home state.

My point of all this is, no one is worth going crazy over, man or woman. I found myself walking down memory lane because a young girl I know is flipping out over her boss who is an underemployed musician, recent divorcee who owes his ex and the IRS money, a second rate DJ, balding with a heart problem and the list goes on. You flip out now, but don't flip out too much. Leave room for the laughter later on. Not only will you realize that men think that they are God's gift and seriously aren't worth it, but the encounters provide good stories later.

No one, male or female, is worth getting too bent out of shape over.

LOve, April

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

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Flannigan

It was the spring of 2005, and I was performing at Starshine Burlesque. The day had been a long one. School had been arduous, and it seemed the world was raining down upon me. I had just had my heartbroken by a total hottie who I believed to be in love with me. We had hung out, things had gone great, and then he disappeared. The hottie had told his bestie that I was, “Too weird” and then the immortal words, “sort of ugly the way I wore my makeup.”

Did it make me cry? You bet.

After crying on the train trip over I got into Rififi. This was the Lower East Side at it’s finest. Before Starshine was always a comedy show where people like Eugene Merman would make appearances. Some old friends were coming out as me and my friends for the burlesque show entered. Usually, when I did burlesque I did an act where I had an audience member help take off a tacky dress. May Wilson, my trouble sidekick, always prompted this command.

Going backstage, I saw my dancer friends. They all greeted me with hugs as I put on my eyelashes. The World Famous B.O.B, a legend in the burlesque community, was on the show that night. We met for a few seconds. B.O.B was a legend. She was in her own world seemingly. She was confident. Everything I wanted to be. I dried the tears in my eyes to throw on my fake lashes. There was a show that had to be done.

Part of me thought maybe, just maybe, I could win this loser back. Maybe if I were prettier and didn’t do my makeup so bizarre. Maybe if I were less weird. Maybe if I were some stripper swinging down a pole. Maybe if I didn’t go to NYU and went to BMCC. I looked at myself in the mirror. Applying my red lipstick I felt the sting of this man’s rejection. The thing with guys is that when they rejected you, they always made it hurt. And as women we always seemingly ran back for more.

The worst part was the dickhead was talented in every way. He was a good comedian, a fabulous writer, an awesome musician, and an overall stud. I, on the other hand, was just a weird girl with a puppet. He would be making it big and I would still be pining after him. Overall, my life sucked.

I put on my lashes, determined not to let this man ruin my night. The person hosting the show grabbed me and asked me about an intro. I gave it to them. B.O.B saw me and asked me to move so she could use the mirror. I was so far into my own world that I didn’t realize I had hogged it in my moping. Somehow we started talking and I mentioned this guy. B.O.B stopped me and said, “Stop crying over him. He sounds like a loser and you look pathetic doing it.”

Sure, she was right. But why was it so hard?

That’s when the show begin and my life would change. I told myself B.O.B was right. Still, it stung, weird and ugly. Those adjectives, no matter how apt, hurt. The host went onstage. As the acts came on the audience was wild and ready. I found myself wanting to perform, needing desperately to be cheered up. Finally we were called, April and May: The Roommates.

I went onstage with May. The act was going swimmingly. Already I was feeling better. That’s when the part came for an audience member to strip me. I asked for volunteers and a red headed, freckled boy who introduced himself as Flannigan ran up onstage. May did the act where he prompted Flannigan to take my dress revealing world’s worst lingerie, something no man would probably ever want. Flannigan unbuttoned with the speed of light. Wow, he must have been mad drunk.

In any event, the adventure was not ending but merely beginning. That’s when Flannigan took the dress and ran from the stage. I didn’t notice it at first, being busy with my act and all with May. However, when things ended I noticed my clothes were gone. While it was starting to warm up, there was no way I could ever get a cab in these undergarments.

I ran offstage and exclaimed, “Flannigan’s got my dress and I need it to get home!”

That’s when the stage manager began to go into the crowd and tried to get the dress from Flannigan. Coming backstage he said exasperated, “He won’t give it back. I need backup.”

The host, who was backstage between acts, then joined the stage manager. Flannigan wasn’t hearing of it. Trying to assist them, I went out. Flannigan was holding onto my dress for dear life! The stage manager and then tried to pry it from his fingers. But Flannigan was not letting go. He was in flight. Taking off out of the show room, the bouncer eventually stopped him, pinned him against the wall, and tore my dress from his fingers. The dress was safe.

The show continued without a hitch and afterwards we found ourselves laughing about the incident. With my dress on my person, I didn’t know what to think or feel. B.O.B came over to me. She said, “I saw your act and I liked it. You are very daring, very original.”

“It means a lot coming from someone like you.” I said.

“Now no more crying over losers. It only makes you look pathetic. And besides, it looks like you had one hell of a fan tonight.”

“Really?” I asked.

B.O.B shook her head and smiled. “Yeah, you have it April. That’s all I am going to say to you.” And then off into the night she went.

As I left Rififfi, I had people offer to put me in a cab. They feared Flannigan would try to take my clothes again. I wasn’t scared though. He had probably left, staggering home, vomiting in some alley way. However, as I got outside the bar I saw him against the wall having a cigarette with two of his homies. I tried not to look at him. After all, I wanted to keep my dress.

“Hey April.” I heard him say.

I turned around. “Yes?” I asked.

“I am sorry I took your dress and was a dick about giving it back. But you are so funny and beautiful I had to have something to remember you by.” My mouth dropped open.

Flannigan continued, “You are awesome. Anyone who doesn’t think so is an asshole. You’re a fairy princess” Either it was the booze or the truth, but in a very bizarre way I went from feeling like zero to fairy princess. I was a fairy princess Goddamnit!

I walked home, moonlight guiding me, with a new sense of self-worth. I wasn’t an ugly duckling anymore. I was a freaking swan. Okay, maybe not but I sure as hell felt like it. Above all things I was a fairy princess. That hottie was just a loser. He saved his head because he was probably losing his hair. And to come to think of it, he was getting a beer belly.

The hottie that had broken my heart moved to LA and drank himself out of his career. He is now living with some woman who hates him, gained weight, and looks worse than ever. My weird self and ugly makeup are rising in the ranks and making names for ourselves. Everytime he sees me on TV I know he chokes, and my fans love my outrageous eye makeup.

And everytime he wakes up next to his fat, ugly girlfriend I know he regrets not being Mr. April Brucker, especially when one of his friends posted on my facebook about how proud they were of me and all I was doing, mentioning that this loser said hello.

I never saw Flannigan again after that night, but he was the first of my adoring fan boys. Fan boys, who sometimes no matter how crazy, always make me feel special and loved. Fan boys who send me presents, write me poems, draw me, and profess their love in other ways. Fan boys who think I am beautiful.

Because of my fan boys, I am a fairy princess.

And Flannigan, wherever you are, the next time you see me you can keep my dress. Who needs clothes? I guess what I am trying to say is, thank you for making me feel pretty. Love, April

The loser didn't love my daringness, but Flannigan did. Therefore, the loser is now a fat drunk and Flannigan can tell the story of the night he stole my dress as I rise to stardom. Take that shade as I throw it!