Seasonal Maladjustment and Other Business

If you have ever walked the tight rope known as 12 Step and self-help, you know about HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. They should highlight Tired. I make all my terrible decisions when I am tired. Once when I was tired I withdrew my rent out of the wrong bank account putting myself almost 2 grand in the red. It was bad. I had to call my mom like an asshole.

Yes, nothing says asshole like calling your mom to tell her what a fucktard you have been as an adult. But moms are moms. They are always there like parachutes to rescue and hot air balloons to lift you up.

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind.

Work was busy before leaving NYC for Christmas. Then during Christmas my mom was sick, so I couldn't rest as much because she needed the assistance. I would have been a complete asshole if I wouldn't have stepped up. How many times has my mom stepped up for me? Plus the docs feared she had pneumonia which is no joke. Needless to say I didn't get much rest during the holiday.

Then I was in Vegas working and rehearsing for the APAP showcase performance of The Lady and President Tramp. It was rehearse, rewrite, rinse, repeat. In between I was getting threats on twitter and the venue was getting threats too. Never a dull moment.

Then I went to APAP, did some reporting for Clyde Fitch, did my showcase.....success.

However, the next few days were spent trying to recover. I got onstage right away and thought I was okay. But then I couldnt sleep. I tried but my phone buzzed, people called. I found a new Lifetime movie. I was too wired to sleep.

Finally Friday I forgot what time zone I was in. I forgot my groceries at the supermarket. I dropped my keys on my front stoop and left them outside. I got into a fight with someone I care about who's my heart in a lot of ways. When I say fight it was a big fight......so big I didn't know if they would be talking to me the next day.

Luckily Tylenol PM was to the rescue. I slept until almost noon when my landlord woke me up to tell me he made too much coffee. And then he told me about his latest UFO theory. I managed to complete my errands the next day without dying or falling asleep on my feet. Bonus, I knew what time zone it was.

Yesterday, I managed to patch things up with the person I cussed out who compared me to an infant throwing a tantrum.....ouch, and they were even kind enough to laugh me off.

Either way, I got some decent rest this weekend and put in some self-care. Now to get my show back up again, find a pianist, enter it into festivals, and make some videos. Oh you got to eat that elephant one bite at a time. Did I mention I am releasing a calendar and book?

Sigh, no rest for the weary. 

Festivus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All after I faced a retaliatory eviction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fourth of July, Day After...

I had my big event last night. It turned out to be a lot of fun. The week and a half leading up to it had been taxing on my psyche. My work schedule had been like gang busters, pouring down on me. I enjoy all the people I work with and all I do. However, I have been so exhausted lately because I have been going nonstop for the last three months.

On the other hand, rent is basically paid, I just have to give it to my landlord. And all the hard work has been worth it. Finally, after all this time I am getting close to where I need to be.

Last night was amazing. My coworkers are wonderfully talented, but most importantly, giving performers as well as people. They were so gracious to help me with my signing event. My boss was especially wonderful to be a part of things as well. And Don't Tell Mama, each member of the staff was GREAT. My turn out was awesome as well. At the end of the night, I only had two books left.

My coworkers lit up the show. Caroline Durham, are burlesque and cabaret vet, rocked it with her three short numbers. And an extra award for her keeping me sane. Lynn McCune was amazing as she did a routine where she started as a pink gorilla, went to a tux, and ended as Cher. Bernard Davis was a better looking blonde than I was, and gave me a stylized singing telegram. Jon Shipley was amazing as my boss giving my friend Ethan a singing telegram lesson. And of course May Wilson.....what a girl.

Before the show I was stressed and crazy, afterwards I was scrambled egg brains. Things are beginning to slow. I am already planning my next big thing. How crazy am I? I am lucky I didn't die these last few months I was so busy. But here I am, getting my ducks in line for the next thing. Here I am, jogging past Carnegie Hall because I know it will be me up there someday. Here I am telling my damn assistant to plan on coming to Australia to the Sydney Opera House with me next year.

But before that, I think I need to chill out and perhaps go to the pool. That is, if I can get my ass out of bed first. Everyone deserves a rest, including myself. That being said, I think I can catch up on homework this weekend or something. And because my dance card is less full, I now have time to dedicate to some of my studies.

Oh the life of a creative person.

Happy 4th, people. 

Being Okay

I have had a rough last month and a half as I have written. My family life has been stressful because of my grandfather's death. I also found out my mother had a freak accident and almost fell through the attic roof. I have other family members with other issues that I can't even go into. Work has been stressful. I am sure you are sick of hearing about it. I know my friends are.

Last night I had some writing crap to do that I have been putting off because I felt tired. I decided to swallow my pride and go to an open mic. Some of the comedians were good. Some made me want to slit my wrists. I didn't have a booked show and it was a good excuse to clear my head and get back onstage. Plus I want to tour again and need to be sharp. I actually ended up making some new friends and having fun. I felt nice, relaxed and loose onstage. It was about the comedy, not about the star power that came as a result of being the only one like myself.

I also met another ventriloquist last night. We are few and far between so it was a joy meeting another brother/sister. I also saw some friends do comedy at a show. It is wonderful to be onstage, but every once in a while you have to support your friends. For as numerous as the foes I have in this world are, there are also a lot of people who love and support me. It felt great to see live comedy, and to see so many of my friends doing well.

I know this dark patch will pass. It's the holidays. It's death. It's a whole mix of shit in the proverbial blender. After having brunch with friends and ranting my head off, I heard conga music. It made me want to be happy and dance. They say change a muscle change a thought. I did both. And a good night sleep makes a difference. Also binged on Lifetime Movies

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

Rainbow in the Dark (Dio)

I have had a hellacious last month and a half. Between family shit and work, I just haven't gotten a break. My grandfather died Thanksgiving Day. Now I hate the holiday. On top of that, Thanksgiving was shiteous anyway so it was only the icing on top of the cake called Fuckery. Work has been a nonstop avalanche of well work, uncertainty, delays, bullshit, crazy running around, and always more that needs to be done that never stops. Just paid my rent so I am now officially financially insecure. I feel like there is a big, fat, smelly woman-900 pounds, sitting on my stomach. Too bad she keeps farting.

This morning I was close to just jumping into traffic. There is so much uncertainty with the career right now. I have all these irons in the fire. The scary thing is, none may materialize for as hard as I am working. This worries me. Sleep goes from impossible or something I binge on. My dreams are okay but waking up, shit, real world. Fuck the real world. One family member whom things have been uneasy with because they are who they are asked what I was going to do if none of this happened. I wanted to tell them shoot them and shoot myself. It's an easy answer. But I didn't get around to it. Instead I should have thanked them for the kick in the stomach and apologized for the vomit spewing everywhere because I am already so nauseous from nerves. Hell, I live on Ginger Ale.

I won't know about some of these things until the new year. Okay, whatever. It means I need to keep working. I feel too tired to do shit. My apartment is a fucking mess. Oh well. The other part of it is I don't know what I want right now.

There is a part of me that wants a writing job for a TV show which would mean financial security. It would be cush, I could work from home, and have to deal with no one. The other part of me wants to really do standup again, as in tour. The visit to my sister in Nashville made me realize how much I miss touring and seeing the world. Since being on TV, I have been going more that direction. If I tour this time it will be theatres, not the fucking clubs where performers, especially women, are paid peanuts and treated like indentured servants. I also want to see more of the South and the West, as opposed to the cold north. Maybe even Europe. I also want to do more TV stuff too. Maybe get on a show, be a talking head and get good money. Maybe films. I have so many things in place that I am being pulled a million different directions and no one is answering the door. I want to shake the Magic 8 Ball.

However, despite the fear and bewilderment I feel the last twenty four hours have shown promise that things are getting better. I am doing a better job controlling the things I can. I got onstage even though I had to pay for it. I killed for an open mic. I also felt like I was rusty and spoiled in a way only booked shows do. I have been making lots of videos, almost daily. Some are good, some are smart, some, I don't know. I have been writing a lot.

Despite feeling so anxious and lost this morning, I had the feeling that it was going to be okay. Once my rent was paid the weight was off my shoulders. I know things are going to be as they are. My dreams are coming true, and when people give you a career they expect you to work. This is stressful but it is called life. I have responsibilities, which is part of having a JOB. I paid my bills like an adult, and work is coming in which means I will have money shortly. This is all called life, and it is simply happening to me now.

My mother suggested going somewhere other than my apartment to write. She fractured some ribs falling from our attic. We just got off the phone. Despite her physical ordeal she has a good sense of humor. I must remember when in times of great stress, I search for both God, but also the punchline. Pandora had her shithow but she still had hope. It is raining, but the sun comes out sooner or later.

There is always a rainbow in the dark

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

Bah Humbug!

The holidays are here and I am already over XMas. This morning I went to the airport. I managed to get out of bed early, well earlish almost being saved by the bell after a fun night of radio and pAArtying with the guys on CFR. I jumped in a cab and screamed, "STEP ON IT!"

I get to the airport and the line is almost a mile long! It is six in the damn morning. WOW!!!! I GOT THERE AN HOUR EARLY. IT IS ALWAYS PLENTY OF TIME. SHIT I AM GOING TO MISS MY FLIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I tell myself not to panic. My cab driver-a sweet Haitian man-told me not to panic. But it is too late, I am panicking as is the entire damn place. Well then they have the people leaving before 7 am make a line. We do but the thing is that the line isnt moving. So then we ask why the line isnt moving and we are getting testy. Some people are getting last call for their flights. We are asking what is going on and this West Indian bitch who talks too loud is telling us to calm down and mind our own business.

So the line starts to move. We all get shifted and are in a hurry. This guy tries to cut in front of me an has the nerve to say, "Excuse me, I was in front of you. You cut the line."

I turned and said, "I did not cut the line, you were trying to cut in front of me." What I meant to say was eat shit you granola eating douche bag but it is Christmas and I am trying to work on my gratitute. So then this bastard mouths off and says, "You know lady, I have a 7 am flight too."

Now I am on the border of using my mixed martial arts to let this dickwad know who is boss. He is trying to cut in front of me and pick on me because I am a woman travelling alone. I said, "Listen, if you are picking on me because I am a woman I think you are pathetic. I did not have my coffee yet." This jerkoff did not know what to say. Instead he stood there.

We all put our things through security as a woman in a wheel chair came through followed by a parade of women in wheel chairs. This jerkoff was not done. He was just getting started. He has the nerve to say to the woman wheeling the old woman, "Why does she get to go ahead of us? She is just a person and we are a bunch of people."

"Because she takes more time." The gate attendant explained.

"I would walk if I could." The old woman snapped at him.

As this jerkoff was huffing and puffing I turned around and said, "It's called civil rights. She's handicapped." I snapped. Again he shut up. He was quiet for the rest of the security check. Thank God because I was getting dangerously close to committing a felony. While I wasnt the only one who probably has wanted to deck him, if I got arrested I wouldnt get to see my Mama. I'll let a biker do the honors somewhere. Plus as fierce as I am his right hook is better.

Going through security was stressful because everyone was shoving their things in. Then I had to race to my gate without my shoes. As I am without my shoes some fat thing on a motor scooter who was riding that thing because she was over six hundred pounds tried to run over my foot. Lady, you arent handicapped, you are just fat. Maybe after you have three Big Macs as a snack you need some affirmations because you have let the waist line get out of control. She had the nerve to say, "MOVE IT!" I wanted to inform her that I did not hold her chocolate bar or the box of pizza that she had as her breakfast. But the fight in me was gone.

As I got on the plane I saw the guy I got into it with. He was just about as beat as I was. It seems the holidays put Miracle Grow on everyone's defects of character. He didnt look at me. I didnt want him too. I just think we both wanted this trip over with.

I got on my plane which was delayed on the runway. In between there I slurped down some coffee. Then I got home where it is snowing. From the inside it looks like a snow globe, on the outside it is windy and annoying.

Did I mention I already did some of my shopping and it is insane? We need to get my Mema a certain sweater and some of the colors looked like death. She just had a health care and is in a nursing home. SHE DOES NOT NEED A DEATH COLORED SWEATER BURLINGTON COAT FACTORY. THESE ARE MY NEEDS. LISTEN TO THEM!!!!!!!!

But all my shopping is not done.

I can't wait until Christmas is over. The Carols are killing me. Maybe I will convert to Judaism and celebrate Hannakah. Eight days of presents. Rich, good looking men. But then I realize they have their own holidays they hate with a passion. That I would not be off the hook. And that Hannakah Harry enters through the front door and not the chimney which is kinda lame.

Oh well.

Happy holidays

Bah Humbug

And I am too tired for a visit from any spirits.

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



Come to my book talk
December 27, 2012 at 7
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park PA 15102

Doing My Part For Sandy Hook Elementary School

My heart goes out to the little ones who lost their lives at Sandy Hook. In so many ways, there is so much wrong with the world that we live in. A disturbed young man shoots up a school filled with innocent children, and his mother kept taking him to the firing squad despite his obvious issues. Everyone wants to scream about guns, no one wants to talk about mental health. The Westboro Baptist Nuts want to picket their funerals saying that God sent the shooter because the gays are getting rights, and therefore using the deaths of those babies to do it. Anonymous is publishing the info of the Phelps Family on the internet. I am a woman of peace and a spiritual nature, but the Phelps Family has gone too far in my opinion. I would say that they have a place in hell but hell is too good for those self-obsessed, delusional, bigoted nutcases. In that mix we have the people screaming that this happened because we took God out of the schools and therefore let Satan in.

In this debate about gun control and this discussion of mental illness we forget about the children of Sandy Hook. We forget about the children, six and seven, who's biggest crimes was leaving their toys out, not making their bed sometimes, teasing each other, and perhaps fighting with a sibling. My point is, they were children. They were innocent. They were just going to school, minding their own business when Adam Lanza took their lives. As someone who is an advocate for people with mental illness, I want to believe he has found peace. But I also want to believe he is burning in hell, because heaven is for the innocent victims like those twenty children he slaughtered in cold blood.

We also forget about the living victims, the families of the children lost. The parents who tried everything to keep their children safe, and who thought by sending them to school they were not sending them to their death. The surviving siblings of these children who feel nothing but a sense of longing and guilt. Also, the children who went to that school that survived and will have nightmares forever and that have been robbed of their innocence and childhood.

That being said, I am doing my part to help the victims of Sandy Hook. This Christmas through the first two weeks of January, a portion of the proceeds from my book will go to help the children of Sandy Hook. Donations will go to their school's library to buy books and to provide whatever else those children need in the way of counseling. To see the commercial I made please go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ky3J02_ZMgc&lc=aRGJr7s6AYSMxIPsVbXLwD22FL3FTUOUIt4TjO3-r44&lch=email&feature=em-comment_received

In the words of Martin Luther King, Jr, "It is always the right time to do the right thing."

And it is the right time to help those children. We should not be focusing on the tired argument of gun control, fighting about God in schools, letting the Westboro Baptist Church trample on their dignity. No. We should we concerned about not just the lives lost but the living victims.

Let's all do our part.

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


Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012
Bethel Park Library
5100 West Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

The Case For Santa-Con

It is Santa-Con today here in Manhattan. That means you see Santas of all walks of life. Everyone wants festive egg nog and holiday cheer. I even saw a Jewish Santa I believe. In that mix there are slutty girls who are masquerading as elves and then there is the sexy Mrs. Claus. I can deal with a black or gay Santa but a sexy Mrs. Claus, hells no. Mrs. Claus is supposed to be plump. She is supposed to be like my grandmother. A sexy Mrs. Claus is like a tolerant Glenn Beck. It just doesnt make sense in our world.

Santa-Con is one of those things that starts cute but very quickly becomes messy, very messy. I was walking to brunch with some friends and a girl dressed as an elf was crying bemoaning her man problems. She said, "I can't believe he did that." Did she mean she caught Santa kissing Mommy under the mistletoe last night?

Then on my way to my house I saw two men dressed as elves running into traffic. They were black out drunk and a car was speeding behind them. These two geniuses were trying to outrace the car and were strong candidates for a Darwin Award. I very quickly made my way to my house. There was no way I was watching these two men become elf meat. Then there were Santas getting into drunken fist fights because one Santa called another Santa's Mrs. Claus a whore. An ambulance came and both St. Nick's were booked on disorderly conduct. It looks like they will be getting coal for Christmas.

As I tried to avoid the chaos I thought of this time of year. Yes, all the decorations are so cheery but at the same time it is so damn depressing. There are lots of presents and no money to spend them it seems. Then there is family, while we all love them the holidays have the tendency to put miracle grow on everyone's character defects. In that mix, there is a lot of death this time of year. There is suicides because everything is so depressing. I understand that. When I hear "Silent Night" I want to deck someone sometimes and then slit my wrist afterwards. That is my least favorite Christmas Carol.

And then you start to focus on your life and what you don't have. Recently I got a promotion at work which is good but have been going through some strife on a project. Not so good. Can't go into it now but you know what I mean.

But then I look at the scope of the rest of the world. There is the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary, a reminder that mental illness is to be taken seriously and perhaps we use crazy as a punchline all too often or as a crude put down for what we cannot understand. It is a thought that we need laws prohibiting people with a history of violence from getting fire arms. It is a reminder that we have to learn about gun safety. It is a reminder that at the end of the day, no matter how much our children might give us headaches, they are a gift from God and we must be grateful that they come home from school and get up in the morning. It is a reminder that children are the most innocent of all creatures and measures no matter how big must be done to protect them.

A month ago Hurricane Sandy struck my city and there are people who will be without homes this Christmas. There are children who will be without toys. There are people who wonder what they are doing as a natural disaster wiped out everything they ever worked for. They will pray for a God that they dont understand and ask why?

So as I see the drunken Santas and their slutty elves and the sexy Mrs. Claus's crawl the bars I will laugh. As I see the kids all trying to dress like Ralphie from A Christmas Story partnered by their female companions dressed as the leg lamp I will give them a high five. If I see two Santa's in a fist fight drunk I will laugh. As I see some drunken male elves playing in traffic I will also laugh and pray to God that they don't get hurt.

But Santa-Con is a reminder that the holidays are about joy. It is about not just giving and receiving, but smiling. It is about shaking off the bad things of the past year and the stress of work as we celebrate the good. It is about laughing and smiling. It is about partying.

As for Santa-Con, I'll allow it.

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




Come to my signing
12-27-12 @ 7pm
Bethel PArk Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
15102

The Sun Always Shines on TV (A-ha)

I am feeling that post-turkey blues. In the vein of Thanksgiving there is much to be thankful for. My book is available overseas. One of my articles is being published on a highly trafficked website. I am making contacts to further my book. More on that later. Not to mention my whole family seems to be doing well. Still, there is this blues.

It is cold outside and I am beginning to hate the Northeast Winters. There is a part of me that loves New York and this place has become home. Some of me is not sure though. I hate the cold like no one else. There is a part of me that really wants to move to LA. I hate the cold. I know I have said it before. Plus I just have this feeling that I have done everything I am supposed to do in New York.

While I could do stage and Broadway, I am not a so-called stage actress. Not to mention Broadway wants a true triple threat. I act, sing well but not like some of my competition, and can tumble but don't dance. As for the standup, that used to be the focus. Then some things went down that I just won't get into because they still make me angry. The art form has been dead for years anyway. Plus I am a pariah amongst my so called peers for being an ambitious woman, shame on me for having goals and being pretty. Not to mention the smaller club owners don't like me because I don't fit in the imaginationless mold known as woman, on her knees pleasing them. The bigger club owners don't want me either because while I get on television like a hood girl pops out babies, easy, I am not a "big enough name." But the male comedian who has not done shit in years apparently is. And most bookers either like me or hate me. For everyone one that likes me three hate me. Again it's because I don't fit into this mold known as woman that they created in their male minds. Not to mention sometimes they just don't know what to do with me. I like to travel, meeting good audiences. But some audiences want to give me shit right away because I am a woman, a woman with a doll. It's a nice reminder that while the world is changing it is still a giant boys club.

 I still perform if I like the venue, like the people producing, or am getting paid. All three are ideal. Otherwise, I am probably wasting my time with this so called "art form." Actually to call comedy an art form is generous. But I'll call it whatever it wants to be called as long as they let me sell my book. I am a whore that way.

These days the focus is my book of course as well as my videos and music. LA could be the perfect destination. But life would be different out there. For one I would have to learn how to drive and I have never gotten a license because I am atrocious behind a wheel. In between my road rage and too cautious around the turns I know I am terrible. What can I say? I'm a mess. Not to mention I would have to get bi-coastal management. I have been without a manager for years. I had one when I was younger but when I fired him I got on TV. Ironic. I freelanced with one guy who did not know how to send me out and place me at all. Then I still sort of freelance with one lady. She's nice but really doesn't have the connections. Having a manager means nothing in New York. I know plenty of friends who have them but are still bartending and having their headshots sit on shelves collecting dust never being called. In LA I hear it's essential. Still, they could waste more of my time. I actually do my own best work as my own booker, businessperson, and product.

Who needs a manager when you have you? Hence manager, the first three letters being m-a-n and in my experience they are u-s-e-l-e-s-s.

I am plotting my next move. Part of me wants to move to Europe, get big over there. I have had enough exposure and have fans in the UK. But I don't want to make the move unless I am sure.

There is a lot of thought going on, McRandom. The excess of turkey makes me have strange dreams. I had a dream last night that I was interviewing at Smith College and Diane Sawyer burst into my interview drunk and declared there was no way I was going to be accepted. The interviewer said they were split down the middle. Diane said I had no woman friends. I didn't know what this all meant. But I woke up relieved that it was nearly ten years later.

After that I went back to sleep and had a second dream where I was being seduced by a booker I once worked with who looks like a rat. We went on a romantic weekend. It was weird because in real time I think he is a weasel and so unattractive. Maybe it is this holiday madness getting to me. Not to mention being associated with this person would be career suicide. He's got a drug problem and claims to book people who don't even know him. Must be the turkey eating away at my brain.

Either way I can't wait for the holidays to be over. Christmas music will be playing in the stores annoying everyone. New Years Eve will be a reminder that I am getting older and that my goals are being reached and may never. Then we will be hit with winter. Okay, I am being a downer. Bring me my slut dresses and sunshine please. I miss them.

Maybe I  need love. I know I am no prize. My ex fiance was a psycho stalker and I dated a compulsive liar. Oh and then there were the ex cons and the fugitive. I know a decent dude won't want me. Perhaps I am damned to the ex cons. But they dine and dash at the best places and steal the best presents.

Sigh.....

That's all for today.

Die Santa Die!

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

Book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park PA

Dead Babies: A Brucker Family Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving with my family went smoothly for the most part. Our last evening out included seeing the new James Bond and going to Hibachi. The trip to Hibachi looked as if it was going to be a disaster. The waitress brought my father cold saki. When she finally warmed it up, the grill man, an Asian by the name of Charlie, began to do his magic. My dad, ever the germophobe remarked, "Could you clean that grill a little more over there?" My brother Wendell and I exchanged a glance. My Pops did not. But yes he did. Charlie however was a good sport. As the warm saki eased into my father's system he became jovial. During the course of having dinner cooked in the middle of the table Charlie was squirting saki into the mouths of the patrons. My dad was eager, so eager that he took a squirt for almost a minute. My dad became Charlie's biggest fan. He gave the saki chef a standing O and then a nice monetary reward. Age has changed my dad for the better. He votes Democrat, goes to Springsteen concerts, and even supports my dreams as an artist. Not to mention he is a college professor, loves his students, and his students love him in return. He talks about the young people making it the right way. Back in the day he voted Republican, hated Springsteen, and told me to "get a real job." I got my Pops one of my books too. He loves it so far. The man has changed for the better in sixty years.

So has my brother Wendell. At the Hibachi Wendell sat next to his wife Veronique. They shared sushi and kisses. As they have aged they have calmed down, but when they first started dating it was bizarre. In  high school Wendell had been a football player, a shot putter, and a power lifter and had been a champion at all three. In college he had been captain of his football team. His favorite movies were anything with violence. Now it is whatever his wife likes. They still watch violent movies but she falls asleep and magically wakes up when they put a chick flick on. Wendell is finishing medical school with an MD/PhD and is currently working with transgendered kids at a free clinic in his town. He likes the work and is good with this population. Wendell treats them medically but also treats them like people, something the world fails to do. I was impressed by my brother. He has come a long way. Much like my father, in his thirty years he has changed for the better.

Some things, however, never change.

Once every holiday Wendell and my father have their mandatory fight. Usually it is because my brother Wendell says something and my father gets on a soapbox and won't back down. Instead of just letting it die Wendell keeps the issue alive, but my father is on his soapbox and must be heard and Wendell must fire back. There is screaming and yelling and usually awkward stares muffled with silent laughter from my mother, sister Skipper, and his wife Veronique. Happy holidays. This year was no different.

My sister in law Veronique was talking to her brother Pierre who is currently a medical resident. Pierre had lost a patient and was taking it hard. Veronique knew about loss because she is a child cancer specialist and occasionally loses young patients herself. Loss and death are hard. I have been to many a funeral where the person in the casket left a good looking corpse and it isn't easy on anyone. Wendell filled us in and said it was best not to ask. Skipper would have agreed except she was not in the mood to talk. She was doing what she was doing best, sleeping. This was after of course she put the DVD of Cowboy Del Amour: The Ivan Thompson Story in the player.

The fight then started. This is how the exchange went:

Wendell: Well Dad, Pierre is taking the loss of the patient hard. Veronique knows. They lost a baby at her clinic. So it's probably best not to bring it up when she comes downstairs.

Dad: I work in law enforcement with the prosecutor. Parents get upset when they lose children. The law gets involved because we have to. But babies die all the time.

Wendell: I know, and a baby died at her clinic.

Dad: Babies die all the time.

Wendell: Dad, that's not the point.

Dad: Babies die all the time.

Wendell: Dad-

Dad: Babies die all the time!

Wendell: That doesn't make it right.

Dad: I work in law enforcement. I see it quite a bit. Babies die all the time!

Wendell: That doesn't make it right!

Dad: Babies die! Babies die!

Wendell: I know babies die but it's not okay to have babies die!

Dad: Well babies die all the time! Babies die!

Now those two are arguing and it is getting awkward. Skipper has awoken to witness the fight. Ivan Thompson is on screen with some hopeless soul. My mother is just letting this roll possibly for her own amusement. I am trying not to laugh because they are just going back and fourth. It is the Scorpio father on a soapbox and the Gemini child who just won't get it. Finally I have had enough.

Me: Hey guys, see Ivan Thompson on the screen? He is fixing people up so that they can make living, healthy babies.

My father and Wendell still are not hearing me.

Wendell: Dad, you arent getting it.

Dad: You arent getting it. Babies die.

Me: Guys, look at all the living, healthy people who want to find love on the screen in this documentary. Much like us they were once healthy babies who grew into healthy adults.

Wendell is starting to defuse. There is hope. My father is on a roll though.

Dad: Babies die.

Me: Dad, one more word and that will be on the menu for Christmas.

My dad has finally gotten it. We all begin to watch Ivan Thompson try to find a bride for some reject in Mexico. The man has paid ten thousand dollars. My father and brother have shifted their focus on making fun of this man. We are a happy family once again.

But seriously, I am putting dead babies on the Christmas menu. They go quite well with stuffing and gravy.

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

Come to my signing
DEember 27, 2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA

Princess Dropped Down to Earth Part Deux: The Hair Cut

Growing up my mom always had a way around things. Woman always gets her way hell or high water. Sometimes it is genius, sometimes it is hair brained. Today was hair brained. Usually when my mother is engineering some scheme I am her unwitting right hand. Whether I was eight, eighteen or twenty eight. To make a long story short my father's birthday is tomorrow and my mom wants to look great. She had her hair cut but her hairdresser was having a boyfriend crisis and gave her some bizarre looking mullet type of cut. My mother was beside herself and had me cut her hair. This is how the whole thing went down.

Mom: April, will you cut my hair?

Me: Sure. You mean trim that mullet in the back?

Mom: Yes. We need to into the bathroom. I have the perfect pair of scissors. I can't believe Lizzie did this to me. Maybe I should call Lizzie and have her squeeze me in.

Me: Yeah. I hang around hair dressers. I dont cut hair.

My mom runs down the stairs. I am off the hook.

Mom shouts from landing

Mom: I don't feel like driving over there and your father is coming home soon. Cut my hair now!

Mom thrusts the scissors in my hand.

Mom: I want a centimeter or two off like this.

Mom demonstrates with fingers.

I begin trimming.

Mom: No, not like that. I don't want you to cut my hair straight across like a man. I want the cut up and down like shark teeth. Let me demonstrate.

My mom demonstrates the cutting technique clearly out of my skill range.

Me: You should do this. You have a better idea of what you want.

Mom: Shark teeth. You can do this.

Me: How about I trim the back? Get rid of your mullet. I am not a hair dresser but that I can do well.

I begin to cut.

Mom: No! Not straight across. Shark teeth!

Me: I have never cut hair before! This is a free cut! You wanted to save money and time well here you go!

Mom: It is my holiday and I want a shark tooth cut! My daughter will give me a shark tooth cut!

I grugingly begin cutting. I now have no choice.

Mom: Up and down, the jagged edges, up and down. (Repeat three times)

Me: Mom, my friends in hair school diagramed for six weeks until they attempted a cut like this.

Mom: You are doing a great job.

My mom has second thoughs about her compliment

Mom: You didn't get the other side. Now one side is longer than the other!

Me: I hate you.

Mom: Stop being an asshole and cut my hair.

Me: You're the asshole, screw you! I never cut hair and now I am. You get what you get. You should have asked Dad.

Mom: Oh him? The last time he cut my hair it was atrocious.

April: Serves you right.

Mom: I love you. Now cut my hair on the other side please.

Me: Okay.

Grudgingly I cut the other side in silence. My mother periodically commands me. I have surrendered to the madness.

Finally we are done.

Mom: Oh shit, now I have to clean this up.

April: You wanted a hair cut, remember?

Mom: And now there's no blonde left in my hair. Only dark roots.

Me: Sorry, you wanted it cut short. You wanted the shark teeth. I gave you what you wanted.

Mom: I need to color it.

April: Do you have hair coloring?

Mom: No.

April: Then go get some.

Mom: I am going to the Rite Aid.

April: Tell Skipper it's her turn. My sister has done nothing all day.

Mom goes to leave.

I go downstairs. Mom is having tea.

Me: Did you go to the Rite Aid? Are you going?

Mom: No, your dad's gonna be home and it's time to cook dinner.

Me: Okay.

Mom: By the way we are having shrimp. I need you to see which pack is the freshest.

I turn over all three packs. One says use best by 2-1-11, the other says use best by 2-1-12.

April: Mom, one pack is a year and a half old and the other is several months old. How long have you had these shrimp in the freezer?

Mom: Oh I just forgot about them.

Mom goes to throw them away.

Mom pulls out another pack. It says use by 2-1-13.

Me: This one is more current.

Mom: Then throw them in. Pasta and shrimp for dinner.

To Be Continued.


I love my mom, she is the greatest woman in the world. Not only is she sweet and endearing with a capacity to feel deeply and a passion for personal fitness, but she is funny as hell.

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

Come to my book signing
12-27-12
Bethel Park Public Library
5100 W. Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA
7pm xo


 

Homecoming

Tomorrow I am going home for a few days to see the family. It should be nice. This is sort of a double hitter. It's my dad's birthday and then Thanksgiving the next day. This is a big birthday for my dad too. He's the big 6-0!

I think this is going to be a good trip for me. Lately I have just felt worn out. Between the hurricane, working, book stuff and other things I feel burnt out. I need some of my mom's cooking, some time in her hot tub. It will also be nice to see my cousins and grandmother.

Family drama of course is always paramount. But he way I look at it is there should be a ticket taker at the door saying, "Enjoy the show."

Just kidding. I love my family. Anyway it's the time of year I get to see my family most. Thanksgiving, Heismans, Christmas. It's the season of the Brucker's. We are nice to turkeys and darn it we let it snow.

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

Come to my book signing
12-27-2012
Bethel Park Library
Bethel Park, PA
5100 West Library Avenue
7pm

See you then!

Christmas Picturing and Other Matters

Today my family took a family picture. It had been years since we had taken one. Actually, the last time we took a familial pictorial was when I was at NYU, my brother was finishing undergrad at Brown and my sister was still in high school. It looked like Ronald McDonald did my makeup while on crack for the last one plus I was a little hefty. Perhaps it was best we took another.

So we did. This picture was a little different. For one we weren’t all in white which was nice. Being a coffee drinker I would have most definitely stained my shirt ruining the entire photo. Of course there was the fact I fired Ronald McDonald as my makeup artist. Then there was the edition of the Santa hats. Oh and lets not forget my brother’s wife Stacy. Yes my brother Billy is married as hard as it may be for me to fathom. Brenna isn’t married yet, thank God. She doesn’t have a child yet which is good because she is not married. Actually Brenna is in her third year of medical school at Brown and is doing well. So that brings me to myself. I almost got married at twenty one and thank God I didn’t otherwise it would have been a nightmare. Oh and we have no progeny as a result of our hot mess of a union.

Another thing we did was stick Santa hats on and stood around a Ginger Bread house. It was actually sort of fun. At first we were dreading this nightmare. My mother wanted a family picture and whatever Mama Brucker wants Mama Brucker gets.

While getting photographed I saw some former classmates of mine. Darah was there with her husband Denny and their daughter Audrey. I remember it was just yesterday Darah was cheerleading and Denny was a star hockey player. I always liked them both. Denny was a guest on Apriltalk back in my BPTV days and I believe Darah was actually a cheerleading captain I believe. She was always trying to get me to go out for cheerleading. I was popular but I always said I wasn’t a cheerleader. Okay, I wanted to be one deep down but truth be told I couldn’t do the straddle jump. I was awful at it. Then there was Angie, Denny’s sister, perhaps one of the sweetest girls ever and president of our class. I still remember what a wonderful job she did at commencement. Now she is married. Oh and her folks were there with an African American child Calvin that they adopted. I have a soft spot for people who adopt because I have six cousins who are adopted, two from Pittsburgh and four from Russia. So when people adopt and open their home freely to children who have been given up I can appreciate the sacrifice and know what good hearts those people have.

We went to a different Christmas mass than we have in previous years. My parents changed churches over the last year because of stuff that happened with the pastor. Anyway we went to this new mass and I actually did end up liking the church. The pastor was funny, a change from the church I grew up going to. Plus the people were HAPPY TO BE THERE.  Another change from the church I grew up going to. The children were there in full force. Something that was absent in the church I grew up going to. Actually the priest in my church going up was pretty freaky. He crashed our CCD class once telling this disturbing parable of about a boy who wanted to behead a cat and then asked what Bible verse matched up. Oh and they would have these freaky visiting priests who barely spoke English that would talk ad nauseum. Here there seems to be none of that nuttiness. Heck if you were to visit the church I grew up going to you would probably never want to go to church again. This church on the other hand is a wonderful community. I think my folks have made a good change.

Tomorrow I will get to see my family. I will get to see my grandparents and my baby cousins and hear all about what Santa gave them, how they are doing in school and how Case and Notre Dame are treating them.

Bottom line: At the end of the day when you start to hate Christmas remember the meaning of the season is about finding meaning outside of yourself.

Yes, no matter how much you want to kill them it is about family. Love April