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

Day After Thanksgiving

It is the day after Thanksgiving at Casa Brucker. My brother Wendell and his wifey Veronique are out on a walk. I guess that is married people stuff. My sister is still sleeping. I don't know how Skipper can sleep so long but she always does. My dad is lifting and my mom is AWOL. Perhaps that is married people stuff too. I don't know.

Yesterday and the day before were both incredible. My dad's surprise party went off without a hitch. He was surprised and well, that means it was a success. The food was good and each of his siblings did a toast. They told stories, even my grandma. My Uncle Don stole the show though. My Godfather drew stick figures of various memories from the time they were young to the time they were quite old. Apparently my Uncle Don was my dad's best man and needless to say, they had the bachelor party the night before the wedding and he was no where to be found. My Uncle James, a life long alcholic with a liver of steel knew what to do with the young man. He put him in the bath tub of my parents new house. In the days before cellphones no one could find him and this was a crisis. However, they did eventually find him in the tub-no water mind you-and got him to the church on time. But the whole presentation was hysterical, especially when he said I came out wearing red lipstick. Explains everything.

My grandmother surprised everyone with a story about my dad getting peed on by a skunk. My father denies this but it was funny to know that in his sixty years on the planet he had been peed on by a smelly woodland creature. Youth, childhood, parents. Family, they never forget and they never let you forget.

Of course my Uncle Jay talked about how my dad went to the Springsteen concert with them. Prior to the Springsteen Concert my dad hadn't liked the boss. But VIP tickets from his best friend at work made him start chanting Born in the USA. Needless to say my dad had his pocket scarf and off he went. I wondered what the hell happened to my father and when were they bringing him back? But when he began to call Romeny a poser and Rick Perry a moron I realized I liked the change. Now my dad is  a Springsteen fan.

I saw my Aunt Dee, the wife of my Uncle Don both days and I would have to say I love her. We differ politically, but agree that there needs to be an easier solution. She is a bright lady, a pharmicist and bought three of my books. The whole family is reading it which is cool. By the way, Aunt Dee periodically reads my blog. Hi Aunt Dee! My baby cousin Colin went to Ireland with the Notre Dame Marching Band which was cool. Jamie and Jill both turned up. Jamie had me sign her book and we met her boyfriend Ryan. Meeting the family is stressful.

Of course there is my Mema Ralph, my dad's mom who is currently reading my book. She keeps a record of all the books she reads in a notebook stored in her underwear drawer-a place that no man or woman ever goes-at least I would hope. That is, no man or woman except for my grandmother. Anyway, I am entry number 2,000. Mind you this is in the midst of all the trash romance she reads. I will admit trash romance is a guilty pleasure of mine, but I always feel like I need to pray or take a bath after reading too many.

My Mom's family was good. My cousin Miera is now teaching at Emory. Her boyfriend Dill, a Southern Gentlemen, came up to visit as well. Lindsay my former dancer cousin and her husband Mike came with their baby son Malloy, who by the way recently turned two. Cousin Fred who works in an art gallery and is a painter and musician displayed some of his new work. My grandfather, since having his eyes fixed, has read my whole book. He yelled at me for some of my misadventures in the rougher areas of town. Then he told me a few of his own. Of course my grandmother-my mom's mom whom we call Nunni-dressed flamboyantly as usual and told outraegous stories. Luckily she didn't tell us about their sex life. She did that one Thanksgiving and needless to say the turkey came up the wrong end.

My Aunt Renee takes care of both my grandfather and grandmother in between stints at the Ren Faire. She is seeing one guy who works in a factory and does not drive but is a loyal Ren Faire participant. She was engaged to marr a man named Josh years ago but left him at the alter when Mick, her loser ex tried to make a comeback. Of course none of it panned out as Josh and Renee became Luke and Laura. Well now she is seeing Bob from the Ren Faire but is still in love with Josh and Josh is trying to make a comeback but it is just too much drama.

Casey is trying to be a visiting nurse, she is my cousin with the same birthday. I think she will be good at it and will be seeing the world which is exciting. She is young and this is the time to do it. Plus she is a cutie so she could snag a doctor.

My Aunt Laura took a job at Kohls working overnight for Black Friday and we all joked we would come and harass her. My cousin Apollo and I were all about going. However my Aunt Laura told us we could not. My Uncle Jay told my Aunt Laura she already had a job. But my Aunt Laura does clarical work and misses being around people. Her children, Baby Jay, Gabriel, and Jason all were busy the next day. Baby Jay is home from Case Western and is resuming his job at the bakery. Gabriel is delivering flowers now that his senior football season is over. Jason, a slight lad who aspires to play pro-baseball, is trying to sleep in but will be helping Big Jay with the lights.

My Uncle Francis and my Aunt Marie are active in local politics as per usual. We were missing little Frankie because he is travelling over seas with his band. However he had called to wish his mommy and daddy a good holiday. Aunt Violet and her kids, DJ and PJ were good. Both danced and sang their own renditions of popular songs.

My family all had various things to say about my book.

Dill and Miera: "We aren't readers because we travel a lot. So get the book on tape and let us know when you do."

Aunt Violet: "I read the whole thing in one sitting. It was wonderful. Was I Aunt Violent?" (My family members names have been changed)

Aunt Dee: "Great job April. To many more books."

Mema Ralph: "I am not that far through but you are entry 2000. I have been keeping my book in my underwear drawer."

Jamie: "Sign my book. It is awesome you wrote it. And put something in there about moldy cheese." (Inside family joke)

Fred: "I have yet to read your book, is there any symbolism?"

Grandpa: "Loved your book. No more going into rough areas."

Uncle Don: That was cool you wrote the book April. Good job. Knew you were born with red lipstick.

My Mom: I am so proud of you baby!

Aunt Marie: Awesome.

My Dad: Well it's selling.

This Thanksgiving, for as much as they make me crazy, I am truly blessed to have my family. They are insane, colorful, but when push comes to shove they are there not just to crack me up but to have my back.

Gift from God is an understatement.

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

Bethel Park Library
Bethel Park PA
5100 w. Library Ave
12-27-12
7pm
 

Princess Dropped Down to Earth Part 3: Vacuuming

It has been a busy day today at Casa Brucker and it isn't even noon. Today is my dad's 60th birthday. When you think of it, that is a huge milestone. He has had a rough year health wise. My Pop had nose surgery a month ago, and then before that they were scared he was having a stroke during a stress test. He exercises on the regular though, and even attended a Springsteen Concert. My Pops also voted Obama, so how bad could he be, right?

Anyway, today is insanely busy because we are having a surprise party for my dad tonight...SHHHH!!!! He thinks he is having dinner with my grandma and my aunt and uncle. Plus he is blissfully unaware that my brother and his wife are coming in tonight as well. He thinks they are flying in tomorrow. But the whole family will be there which will be nice. It will be nice then. Now my mother, well she is just flipping out.

Already today she has agonized over should we give him the presents before or after the party so we aren't obvious. How do we sneak him in? Where do we hide the gifts? Not to mention the dance moves for our happy birthday song. I told her I needed another cup of coffee before this convo.

I went on my run to burn off all the food I have been stuffing in my mouth. My old high school has been ripped down. They have built a new one. A piece of me has been destroyed-my life. On the flipside all the crap memories called high school have been destroyed too. Some things change, some things stay the same.

Some things stay the same.

When I got home my mom was cleaning and putting pool stuff in the hot tub. Then she yells, "Can you vacuum?"

"What?" I yell. There is banging because there are fifty chores happening at once. My mom is a Libra with Capricorn and Gemini rising. It must look pretty but it also is chaos in the process.

"Can you VACUUM?!? THE VACUUM IS RIGHT THERE." My  mom says as she is spaying the hot tub.

"Do I have a choice?" I ask.

"No." She says.

"This is my vacation." I whine.

"Do you see me resting? You must vacuum!" My mother commands.

That settles it. I must vacuum. I go over the carpet once, twice, three times. Then my mom yells, "Don't forget to do the stairs."

I lug the monster up the stairs. Ouch! I have failed Domestic Goddess Class. I will never have a man. I am a career woman. I was on The Today Show with my lazy puppet children. They should be vacuuming. People recognize them, especially May Wilson. She really needs to step up her game. Wait, girl made other plans. I was featured in Gawker and they were gossipping about us. People like us don't vacuum.

Wait, yes we do.

"Make sure you get the foier and then the steps going upstairs." My mother commands. She is less tha five feet tall and means business.

Is this the time where I remind her less than a month and a half ago I was featured on Britney Spears's website? Britney Spears probably never has to vacuum. I try making that arguement. Then I remember she is still the mother. I am the child. This is her home and her domain. Sure I can pull the diva trip. But my mom is a trainer. She runs and swims daily. She teaches seven days a week. My mom can kick my ass and just might.

Grudgingly I do as I am told. I have no choice. The chore of vacuuming is ego reducing. As I run the vacuum I secretly hope I will wake my sister Skipper up. Why does she get to sleep until noon basically and I am stuck with all the chores? I ask my mother this and she remarks that Skipper is a fragile child.

Fragile my ass. I have vacuumed and now this! Skipper is doing the trash. I put this out in the air. My mom agrees but Skipper is slick. Skipper will find some way to make me take up the trash. People featured in Chat Magazine don't take out the trash. Yes we do. I will probably be taking out the trash later. What am I talking about?

There will be more cooking and more cleaning I am sure. I can picture me holding a Pulitizer Prize/Academy Award/Emmy/Tony and my mother saying, "That's great, but we are having a party in an hour to celebrate. The neighbors are coming. Could you do me a favor and vacuum?"

I would say, "Do I have a choice?"

And my mother would say, "No." And then she would put the vacuum in my hand.

I would tell her David Sedaris/Kate Winslet, Jay Leno/Hugh Jackman don't have to vacuum. And then I would remember that when they come home, their mom's house is still their mom's house. Much like me, they probably have to vacuum, mop, cook/clean, and take out the trash. As a matter of fact I got to work with Jeff Foxworthy once. I have a feeling his wife is sending him out to get the ingrediants for the stuffing about now, and as he is on his way I have a feeling Lynn Spears has Britney busy dusting.

The space ship has landed. My tiara is lopsided. The Puppet Princess is home and must cook lunch.

Some things  never change. xo

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 signing
December 27,2012
Bethel Park Public Library
Bethel Park, PA
5100 West Library Avenue
7pm
 

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


 

Princess Dropped Back to Earth: Pre-Thanksgiving Adventures

I am back in Pittsburgh. This means only one puppet and it's all about the business. I am cooking and cleaning too. It's weird being back home. Some things change, some things stay the same. I am about ten years older than I was when I left. There is still a part of me that is soft, loves Pumpkin Pie. There is a part of me the big city had hardened. I guess adulthood changes you. Part of me is like, "I want my mommy!"

Then when she shoves a vacuum in my hand I am like, "Eh, maybe I like this adulthood thing better than I thought."

The day before I left I had to unclog my sink. My apartment looks like a bunker. Then again, I am promoting a book. My book is now available overseas which is exciting!!!!Go here to find out more  http://irishcountry.ie/index.php/i-came-i-saw-i-sang-memoirs-of-a-singing-telegram-delivery-girl.html

Anyway I had to go to the hardware store to buy Drano. YUCK! That was an adventure. Which Drano do I buy? Not the kind that makes meth. Wait they all make meth. Bad joke and I couldn't resist.

Today we are doing all the pre-prep work for Thanksgiving. We are getting the pies and getting ready to surprise my dad for his birthday. Don't tell him. I have go get him a present too. I don't know what I am getting him yet. Almost got him a book but didnt know which one to get him.

Some girl who used to date the quarterback and graduated with my brother is getting married. I remember when she was a ditz, now she will be  a married ditz. She still has terrible peroxide blonde hair. My gay haidresser friends say that stuff is bad for your roots. Woman, how do you have a scalp.

My mom is already pestering me with morning chores. My nails are chipped like a homeless crackhead begging for your change. My lips are a little chapped. My mom is also telling me that my nails are chipped and my lips are a little chapped. But she did like the new Spiderman. Somethings do stay the same.

Somethings change. My sister was interviewing to match for her residency. These days her hair is one color. I never thought that would happen. In high school she was blonde, eggplant, red, eggplant again, red again, blonde again but for the last few years has managed to be almond colored. Who would have thought the kid would stick with one shade? Then again J. Lo never did.

I am currently rethinking my stance on love after seeing Spiderman. I believe in love again and want it for Christmas. But once I get it I will mess it up. I know I'm a mess. What else is new. Still, my messiness makes for good stories. Within the last year I dated a comedy legend, convicted felon turned fugitive, dead beat father, washed up reality tv star, and wannabe sound engineer. Who's next? After Hurricane Sandy I would say the Con Ed line guy.

Anyway, that's what's new here. I will be cooking turkey Thursday and eating all day. Tomorrow is my dad's birthday.

YIKES! SO MUCH TO DO!

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

 

Kiss My Ass-Another Fan Encounter

I was walking down the street in my Hell's Kitchen neighborhood when this woman walks by in her leather boots. She was fierce I tell you, Sasha Fierce, Fiercy McFierston. Anyway I complimented her on her boots and she had a male companion with her. He turns around and says, "You're that puppet chick from TLC!?!? I just saw you on TV." WOWSA. JUST SAW ME ON TV?!?!? Sure my puppet kiddies and I have been on the tele quite a few times in America as well as the rest of the planet but I still get warm and fuzzy when I hear it.

"Yes, that would be me." I said sheepishly.

I got Sonny out, the man who lives rent free in my purse. The man who is always trying to pick up women but is never successful. The man who is and always will be a bachelor. The puppet destined to be the 40 year old virgin of our generation. So the girl who is mad fierce begins talking to Sonny. She asks if Sonny thinks that she is cute and Sonny says yes. She asks if Sonny can send her flowers and Sonny says he doesn't pay for women anymore, that they must take him out to dinner. So the girl says this is unacceptable and the only way Sonny can win favor with her is to kiss her butt. Now I don't know what is crazier. The fact that this woman is talking to Sonny as if he were a real man, the fact that I don't know what to do, or the fact her gay friend is getting this whole thing on camera!

"Kiss my ass puppet. You know you want to." She says and points to her derriere. So I know what to do, the camera is on. Sonny kisses her butt.

"Buy me flowers by two o'clock." She commanded and Sonny promised he would. The two walked off into the sunset and I found myself smiling. The whole thing is still cracking me up.

But Sonny is the typical man. Getting physical action and then making promises that he never intends to keep.

Sigh.....

I told them to follow me on twitter. Perhaps they will buy my book.

Either way, I am (almost) a superstar. Better ride that cloud. I have a sink that needs Drano and when I get home tomorrow my mother is going to make me cook, clean, and vacuum.

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

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!

Crazy, Stupid, Pathetic Women and Why I Hate Them

I hate women who feel the need to change themselves for a man. As in empty headed things who have no original thoughts of their own. Things. Yes, I said things. They are not human. They aspire to be Stepford Wives. Do you have an original thought of your own Stepford Wife? Or are you just a pathetic drone copying someone else? Do you even have a favorite food you pathetic thing with boobs and curves? Or are you just wasting our time? I lean towards the latter.

The other day I ran into an old beau of mine. He's dating someone who is on the youngish side. I don't care. I have been robbed from the cradle plenty of times. However I was a little different because I didn't act young and didn't come across as obviously parroting a man. I had crossed paths with this teeny bopper before. She aspired to be a Broadway Star of some sort and then a pop singer and did standup for a minute before she discovered that took talent and dedication. Anyway, my ex introduced her and apparently she was quick to say she didn't like rap because it denigrated women but instead liked rock. Not to mention she also quoted something from history, from Winston Churchill. Finally at the end of the five minutes we were hanging out she made a remark against African Americans that wreaked of veiled racism. I was taken aback. This was not this chick at all. When I knew her she bopped to hip hop, probably didn't own a book, and even was dating a black dude. Then it occurred to me, she was parrotting my ex's views!!!!! My ex hates hip hop and goes on these rants about how it denigrates women. Not to mention he loves history and Winston Churchill is his personal hero. Lastly, a number of years ago he was rightfully decked  by an African American man for being out of line and since then he has been a racist. Well it's a good thing this moron is an ex. Apparently he has a weakness for feeble minded women and so far that is one thing I am not.

Of course the top of the pathetic women list are the former girlfriends of the ex fiance who went ape shit after our breakup. Old high school girlfriends, my ex wrote to them and assured them they were special. The one I had the most contempt was special. She had a kid in high school and as a result had to marry the baby daddy. Well she didn't have to, it's just that she is one of those right to life whackos and thinks all life is beautiful. So she decided that my ex was the man to rescue her. Yes the man who lives in his mother's basement. She tried to make a play when we were together. Then when we broke up he got her to write me all sorts of nasty letters. The kicker was, she called me a bitch and a bulimic and misspelled both words. But what would I expect from a woman who lists The New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys as her favorite groups, and Z100 as her fave radio station and the Jersey Shore as her fave show? This tusker, easily over two hundred pounds, then goes as far as to go on some forum to diss me and say I was stalking my ex and that she had to block me. I didn't know about this until a friend of mine McGoogled me and asked what this idiot was talking about. I told him the story and he laughed. Maybe I should tell her to kill herself, she'll feel better. Or maybe just toss a soon to be extinct Twinkie in her fat cage, remind her that Jerry Springer is casting, and walk by with one of the Jonas Brothers with May Wilson on my arm. Then maybe she'll jump her crazy ass off of a bridge.

The winner of the most pathetic woman of all time is Dimsdale's ex. Dimsdale was a very famous comedian I had dated a little over a year ago. Actually, Dims is a legend. Anyway, he had a groupie who he had kept as one of his many gal pals who popped out his love child. After ten years of being strung along the skank magically got preggers. Well Dims, not wanting a family but wanting to be honorable sent her some dough. This whacky trainwreck, being rather greedy, demanded the child support to be tripled. Well Dimsdale severed ties with her and said he wasn't seeing the kid. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but I got to know both the love child and baby mama. Both talked incessantly about how Dimsdale demanded them and capitalized on him any chance they got. From the play about their courtship to trashing him in the press, they get their money's worth. Anyway, as soon as I started seeing Dimsdale I got a series of hang up calls. They were always before and after my dates with him. Sometimes when I got the calls some woman's voice would yell, "BITCH!" Then she would slam the phone down. I knew who this was. His cray cray baby mama. I ordinarily feel bad for a woman who has been screwed but she made her bed and she needs to lie in it. She had that kid as a cash cow and not only ruined Dimsdale's life but the kid that didn't ask for it. Yeah, you gave birth to your little money maker but you need to pay slut. I told my mom about this and she said that while I was dating Dims that was none of their business and what they were doing was illegal. Either way, whenever the bitch love child sees me she won't look at me. Someone feels a lil guilty? But I don't blame her as much as I blame Mommy Dearest. To do it again I would parade with Dimsdale in front of them. Add insult to injury and let her know that she was just another groupie to him and the child he didn't acknowledge, well it was all her fault too. I think she is the epitome of pathetic. Just saying.

Sigh. Not a fan of pathetic women. From women who change for a man, to women who do a man's dirty work, to crazies who won't let go. They make having a uterus seem like such a terrible thing.

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

More Photos for the Hell of It

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

Next Public Signing
12/27/2012 @ 7pm
Bethel Park Public Library
Bethel Park, PA
 

RIP Twinkie

This is my eulogy to the Twinkie, my forbidden friend and lover. I come today not to praise Twinkie but to bury him. He has lived a good long life. It has been quite a love affair. There were other women, there were other men. It sounds so salacious but it really is love plain and simple. Everyone loved Twinkie. Actually, his full name is Twinkie Hostess. He had a lesser known but equally as loved sister Little Debbie who has passed on too, but she is not significant enough to have a eulogy.

I first met Twinkie when I was but a lass. Growing up outside of Pittsburgh we were forbidden to eat you. My mother was a gym teacher/exercise nut and she said you were bad. But you know how I tend to like men who are bad for me, men who have issues. Maybe you started this craze. When I was seven I tasted you for the first time, every creamy layer. I liked you. You gave me comfort. You said you were never going to put fat on my thighs. Like all men you lie, but I liked the lies you told. I was hooked on you Twinkie.

My father made fun of you after my piano teacher- a mentally unstable woman-stayed in bed after a break up and cancelled our lesson. He joked that she ate an entire box of you. I know I would have. Twinkie, you understood our feelings. You were the comforter, friend, and destroyer of all heart broken women. You were there to listen, there to relieve, and there to pack on the extra pounds so we would never have a man again. It didn't matter though, we had you as well as your sister Lifetime.

There were good times. There was sixth grade when someone brought in a box for their birthday. You helped us celebrate the special day and made it so much brighter. There was seventh grade when I split one of you at a forensics match and made a new friend. You were always helping me to make new friends. You were a bit of a man whore because you didnt care that women shared you. But Twinkie, you were unselfish that way and that's why we loved you.

There were also the times you saved my life. Yes, it was true. At seventeen I was working at a supermarket and feeling lightheaded. You were the first thing I grabbed and gave me a nice energy boost. Then at nineteen I got really drunk with my college friends and was falling over. I didn't know alcohol could act that fast. I needed to eat something to sober me up so I had three of you. I know it sounds shameful but it's true. You were delicious and perhaps it should have been on some Triple X super lovers sight, but who couldn't love a man who came in a whole box the way I loved you?


As I got older and more of you equaled more trips to the gym, I stopped buying boxes. I just got the two pack. You made me laugh again after a bad night of standup. You were the man to rescue me and ruin my waistline after a breakup. You were the only man in the world who could sit there and watch Lifetime Movies and let me eat him and let me tell you it sounds so dirty but there are so many women in my same damn boat.

I sit in my cold, damp apartment. I am writing this blog late into the night naked. I am watching reruns of Soul Food seasons 1-5. I cleaned my house and ate real food, food that fits on the Food Pyramid in health class under categories that are not other. Life is not the same as you can see. I am a wreck without you.

Some called you a simple carbohydrate, meaning you gave a spike in energy and then it faded. But your charm was eternal. Professionals who made their lives making people physically fit like my mother condemned you outright as a bad food, but you were a bad food with a good heart. Then there were men like my brother who ate boxes of you and wouldn't share, selfishly hogging your goodness because they needed to put the weight on to play football. And people like my sister, a runner and academic who viewed you as a snack, a slam to what you really were. Of course there were those who OD'ed on your lovin and had to go to OA and count days off of your sweetness. But all of this and more don't even begin to explain what you were to me and so many others. Twinkie, you were a man of many layers.

I am distraught without you, distraught.

In the background I play the old R and B song, "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?"

I am a shell of a woman. Hostess murdered you! TWINKIE I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU!

But then I remember all Twinkies go to heaven and you will always be my special star. The man who was misunderstood. The one who got me through breakups, makeups, drunken nights, made me friends, and was the best to watch Lifetime with.

RIP Twinkie. It has been a good run

Check out my book
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com

Available on Amazon

Triple Negative

The past two days have been negative man days. I don't know what it is but it's like they know where to find me now that my life is somewhat on track. It's weird, the whole negative man thing. Then again, negative men are like cancer, they always spread their disease and attack when you are most vulnerable.

Emotional cancer.

Two days ago I got a text from Holden Caulfield. I hadn't heard from him since he called me high on some substance where he was clearly up for days. Apparently he had been living with some older woman and being her kept man-his dream. Anyway, despite life on the lamb (yes the lamb) Holden would still keep in touch. Part of me does still love him. He is a troubled soul with a good heart. Addiction and bi-polar are a killer combo. Well Holden texts me, his Jane Gallagher, under his Hawaii number to tell me that he has six months clean. There is a part of me that still loves him. Holden was able to just put up with my crap in a way most men were not. Plus there was a part of me that had a heart of ice after a failed engagement. Holden was able to melt that ice. But I had to ask myself if I was ready to deal with the baggage of his six months of sobriety. The continual psych appointments? The getting him on the right meds? His legal troubles which still havent been sorted out and not to mention over 60k in back child support.

I had to ask myself and love was not enough. The answer was no.

Then as I went to get things sorted out with my land lord over my Sandy emergency with my bank I was exiting the office and saw another old male acquaintance. I had known him from that twenty-two year old interesting phase in my life. He had befriended me when things were going crazy in my life. Anyway, I said hi and he started talking and babbling on about how he was working as a waiter. Not to mention he already wanted to take me out for New Years Eve. Where Mr. Waiter, somewhere that we either eat for free or that I foot the bill? It had been a long time since I had seen him and there was something wrong. He smelled funny and looked weird. Then I figured it out. He was drunk! It wasn't even ten in the morning yet! Damn! Wait until you at least hit noon. Sure I felt like I needed my old friend Jack Daniels after the horrible financial errand but I was going to be okay. And I wasn't going to meet my friend. Point is, we all have our moments but the key is not to hit the damn bottle before ten in the damn morning.

I made an excuse and made a bolt for it. I didnt like what I was feeling.

Yesterday morning I woke up and got an email from guess who? My ex fiance. In my grief over the anni of my buddy Chacho's passing I made the decision to unblock my whole blocked list. It was grief and stress that had mutated. Not to mention being shut in my damn apartment. I glanced at the pages of everyone on my unblocked list, ex included. Sure enough he and some angry woman were talking and he was saying I had problems. Nevermind the fact he was emotionally abusive, physically abusive, and verbally abusive. Just edit the story if you will to edit out the fact I have a different mailing address. Well the ex writes me to say that as long as I keep unblocking him he is going to keep writing to apologize to me. Part of me is glad he's sorry but I know it's insincere. Plus it's funny this comes after my many TV appearances, release of book, and other good fortune. But alas, he will never be a safe contact. So I reblocked him and he is blocked forever. My ex is sick. When we broke up I tried to be his friend, and when I began seeing other men he began stalking and harassing me.

Plus Chacho would have never wanted me to grieve. Mascara, unless water proof, is not meant to be worn during crying. And in the words of Chacho, "One of the big reasons you have a boyfriend is because they are supposed to get you presents."

Either way, my triple negative is out of the way and I told them all no. They say God tests you, but a woman who is like a spiritual adviser to me says the devil is the one who does the testing. Well the devil tested me three times and I passed. Perhaps he can go bother a different woman, one who apparently loves jerks as much as I do.

I do deserve someone nice. Someone with no drug problems, no criminal record/current troubles with the law, no one that has any mental health issues and a part time job would be fantastic.

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

Pictures From Book Signing Event

Great night last night. Thanks to everyone who came out and made it a success. To many more. Big A. you are the best. You touched May Wilson and well, she is still talking about it. You are the most awesome man on the radio. Opie and Anthony should be happy to have you. I know you are the bestest friend ever. Thanks for reading my blogs man. LOVE YOU!!!!!

Other dates include:

Bethel Park Public Library December 27th @ 7 PM

New York City TBA

Bethpage Public Library Long Island TBA

Brown University TBA

New York University TBA

Walking With Faith

The other day I went to see the show of my friend Billy Hipkins, For the Benefit of Miss Jennie Gourlay. Billy like many theatre professionals has had almost nine lives in the profession. Basically, we have one dream and the universe has another. He has been an actor, dresser for Phantom of the Opera, playwright, back to performer and now solo performer. For as hard as he is on himself, I feel from time to time that he has more of a career than many of the people who are so called stars. Man has done everything.

When you see a friend’s work it is either really good or really bad. There is no in between on the gamut. When it is good you are blown away. When it is bad you congratulate them for “taking a risk.” You tell them it “needs polished.” You want to be honest but not brutally so. After all, they are friends, right? You might need a favor someday-remember?

Billy put so much of himself into the piece. It was funny, poignant, and personal. Billy’s ability to soldier on and wear many hats in the theatre left me feeling inspired. It made me feel as if I could. In the words of Barack Obama, “Yes we can. Yes we can.”

As of late I have been wandering in the land of career uncertainty. While I feel on one hand I should be a part of the New York Comedy Festival, I am still banished from a world I was once a part of. It was a mixture of things that made me become the bastard child. For one, I am a woman which is already a strike. I was told his once by a potential manager. Second, I had a puppet. Third, I was ambitious. That seemed to be a deadly combo for some. Especially the women who think I just simply sleep around and the sexist male headliners who view me as an open pair of legs and luscious pair of lips to give them fallacio when they have little to show as far as instrument and career.

Yes I was banished. I put my home club on TV. They fired me. I was bitter and I still am. Actually bitter is the wrong word. It’s more like I have been fucked hard. Fucked out of what is mine and fucked out of what I believed to be my dreams. Jennie would have had her big night but Lincoln was assassinated. Maybe she knows how I feel. Maybe she doesn’t.

Since being banished from the community I once believed I was a part of, I have done a lot with my life. I wrote a damn book and published it. I also recorded a song that was number one on the internet for five weeks. Not to mention my career as a talking head for younow.com, my series on Koldcast that almost got picked up, and my short that made the Manhattan International Film Festival. In there were my other videos and a musical I collaborated on. I also did some poster girl work, and became number one at my telegram company.

But the question is, where does a former reality tv star go next? Where does a self-published almost star do after she is published and is doing signings? How does she get to the next step? What if she doesn’t get what she wants when she wants it?

I have said this before. I don’t know where to go. Should I start doing standup again, the depressing open mics where I know I don’t belong. Aside from having TV credits and have worked with the best I should not be paying for stage time. Not to mention I am more talented and qualified than the regulars at those second tier clubs where I am seemingly banished from. Sure, I still do alt rooms and stuff, but for the most part don’t step on the stage unless it is a venue that I like, unless it is a show produced by a fan, or if I am getting paid. The club dates aren’t coming in like they once were. Part of me misses not performing as much as I once did and remembers why I loved performing when I hit the stage. Then I remember as I continually get cheated and bumped aside, in part because I am a woman, an independent, ambitious woman, why I don’t do it anymore. But the gift strangles me and sucks the life out of me. I am funny damnit. I am outgoing. They said be me. Well being me got me banished.

One manager I worked under at my old home club, a bottom feeder, told me that we all had dreams in this business and we had to settle. No, you settled, you gave up on yourself. I expected a flagship club to scoop me up. I was funny and on TV. No such luck. Should have been a man. Am I destined to perform again like I once did? I don’t know. Depends on what God wants for me. Sometimes it seems like yes, sometimes it seems like no. The signals are so confusing. Can you be banished and have a home somewhere at the same time? Maybe.

Of course then there is the talking head/personality route which made me realize immediately I wasted a lot of years slaving in the clubs. I was bumped aside for youtube celebrities and people who had nothing to offer but personality. But it also gave me a second breath at life. I had been so angry when my home was the dingy, dark basements. When I was a talking head I was happy and inspiring. Gone was the bleeding angst and in it’s place was a care for young people. The selfishness was replaced with a concern for them, their feelings, their words and their issues. Armed with my puppets I became an activist. I had dreamed of it but never felt the pull. I wasn’t afraid to say that there was something wrong. I was a popular talking head too. But things happened and I took a pay cut because well, they wanted to spread out funding. It was too much of a cut for all the work I did so I said, “Buh bye.”

Part of me wants to go that route again, but I don’t know what to do next. It showed me I could do a syndicated, weekly show and get paid for it. Where to go next with that dream and goal, I don’t know. Despite my chasing no other offers popped up. Maybe if God wants it for me he will throw it in my lap.

Then there is the acting route. I went to college for it, and while some people continue to study I got burnt out on classes. BFA means that either you can act or you cant. How many more classes do you need? I did a lot of acting in college of course, studied with the best teachers, and did a bit of stage out of college as well. My pilot on Koldcast almost got picked up. I did some commercials too. Even had a commercial agent a few years ago. There is a part of me that misses the stage and misses being taken seriously as a performer.

But everyone in NYC is an actor. Everyone does the method. Get me more napkins. Which way to Broadway? I can act quite well but so can everyone else in this city. If God wants that for me he will tell me. He goes in and out with that dream.

Then there is the writing route. I won writing awards in school and initially took to standup because it was a chance to create my own work. I blog all the blessed time and wrote  a book. Actually, I wouldn’t mind having a career as a screenwriter and novelist. I am good at it. While my writing is not for everyone, an artist’s paintings aren’t for everyone as well. It would be cool to write for Letterman or Conan or even weekly on a sit com. Would love a weekly column somewhere as well. I could do gigs if I wanted to, or if I didn’t want to that would be cool as well. People respect you more as a writer. They believe you are smart.

Drawback, there is a part of me that loves being onstage and I could never give that up. End of story. Who says I have to? Still, in a way it feels like you do. Plus again, it’s another field where there are a million people going for the same spot.

Lastly, there is music, the venture I got into this past year. Where my song was number one on the internet for five weeks. Where I surprised myself. While it should have been obvious because of my job as a telegram person, I never knew I had the voice I did. My songs sounded so good people wondered why I wasted my time with the comedy. I did too and did a lot of music. It was fun. It was great.

But the drawback is that I actually have no musical talent naturally. My cousin is a genius with the trumpet.I can barely read music. Not to mention competition of the people who are supremely talented is steep.

But seeing Billy made me realize one thing, everyone’s journey is their own. Billy trusted the process and had an idea. He wrote it, performed it, reworked it, performed it again and it has taken on a life of it’s own. Billy has his feelings about his career. His life. He has poured himself into this piece and it is paying off.

Billy is having his day and his recognition as a performer. He has taken the reigns and it is marvelous. As I see him ask if Jennie Gourlay is happy and examine her life and make an impromptu hoop skirt from the match box track, I feel inspired. Not just to create but to trust the journey. Billy trusted the journey as he had all his lives in theatre. All the different facets of being a theatre professional. He has embraced soldiering on,and therefore I embrace it.

I don’t ask where to go next. Now I know to trust my gut and follow the light. Billy trusted his gut and followed the light. Whether God wants me to be an actress, ventriloquist, comedian, singer or writer or all at once, I have to stop asking questions and trust. I can’t ask where to go but just ask to be guided and I will follow the spirit wherever it takes me.  I cannot question the destination but rather embrace the journey. I can't keep shaking my finger when I don't get what I want but rather just be thankful for what I have, graciously accept what I need, and be open to all my nine lives whatever they are. Billy has been and the returns are marvelous.

His journey with this piece has been a rollercoaster,sometimes happy and sometimes frustrating, but it has been worth it had as a result he has a brilliant one man show. Props to him. He is an example to all young performers.

Much like Billy Hipkins I will walk with faith.

Love

April

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

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

 

Come to my signing tomorrow

Hoboken

Symposia Books

510 Washington St

7pm xoxoxo

Come Eat Some Cookies and Buy My Book This Thusday

Come eat some cookies and buy my book this Thursday

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

Symposia Bookstore

Hoboken

510 Washington St.

Come eat some cookies and ask some questions

There will be puppets

7PM see you there xoxox <3

In case you havent seen them here are some screen shots of my Amazon Pop Ups and other photos

 

Princess Dropped Down to Earth

The last twenty four hours have been something else. Yesterday my phone started ringing again, yipee! I got a telegram and didn't think it was a big deal if I left the house looking a little bit of mess. My winter coat was tattered. While white is a terrible choice for NYC I liked the color and design when I got it. I'm a woman. There is a part of me that strives to be as smart as Sandra Day O'Connor and Hillary Clinton but I have the vanity of Marilyn Monroe and Mae West. What I am trying to say is that when I see something pretty that's all I see and the common sense turns off.

I got to the London Hotel and was directed to the Hyde Room. When I walked up the stairs I saw a gaggle of girls. Apparently One Direction was in town and they were all camped out. As I am climbing the stairs and see these teeny-boppers one who was quite pretty asks, "Are you the puppet girl from My Strange Addiction?" I told her yes and shook my head gently. She mentioned she had watched my entire episode on youtube. Then again this generation is all about the YT. Anyway she's like, "You acted like you knew me." Well you have seen my episode, met my puppet children, and technically met my mother and sister so you know me. Why not?

We kabbitzed for a bit and they asked if I had puppets. I pulled Sonny out, my puppet boyfriend. Cause they were young I kept it clean, well we did. Anyway they asked how the show had helped me. I don't bring Sonny on dates anymore. They asked how Sonny felt and he said relieved. They also said I deserved love because I am a beautiful woman.

AWWWWWW!!!!

Anyway they asked what I was doing and I told them the truth, a telegram. They thought that was awesome. But I did mention on my episode I delivered telegrams in order to support my little puppet children, or occasional ingrates as I refer to them. They also told me they met Beiber and he was mean to them. Then again, he had just had his heart broken. They asked me which member of One Direction I liked. I felt like a pedo even thinking of crushing on those barely legal boys. One of the girls mentioned her forty-four year old mother liked Harry and Harry likes MILFs.

I am not eighteen. However, am I MILF age yet? On the otherhand, Harry does have money.

The telegram was a success. I gave the girls my tweedily deet so they could KIT. Keep in touch, I am writing like I am signing a year book now. These youngins.....

I left the hotel and saw a girl who was also there to see One Direction. She said she was coming from the Rockaways. Where she lived they had no power and were improvising for heat. She shared that coming to Manhattan seemed like crawling out of the end of the world zone, the city of the mole people, and re-entering the modern world where there were things like lights, cars, and technology. I asked how she was dealing without electric. She said she was used to it at this point and didnt care whether or not she got it back. Still it was crazy. It made me grateful.

I got home and discovered I might have the oppertunity to have a part of my book published. I also might get a new writing job. More on those later.

MCAWESOME!

So awesome I chirped on the phone to my Mama.

Then I got a nasty email from my bank that I had insufficient funds :( WTF!?!?! I had deposited checks, paypal, and then written my rent check. Granted, it said the transfer was going through and usually did. I checkd my paypal, the money didnt go through. They had usually been pretty good. Then it occurred to me, this was all the fault of Superstorm Sandy, that bitch. I had transferred the money the week a lot of people lost power and when a lot of the banks had computers that were down. Somewhere along the line the money did indeed get transferred, but because the technology had been screwed up because of Mother Nature I looked like a moron.

I called my bank and they confirmed me. The transfer had never gone through. They said they had quite a few people having this issue because of the damage from Sandy to the computers and such. They also said that I had most of the funds in my account and perhaps my landlord's bank had a different policy and may have cleared me. But just in case I was told by them and everyone around me to give my landlord the heads up. This wasn't my fault. Screw you Sandy, insert middle finger.

This morning I had a seven in the morn delivery. I looked like I had rolled out of bed. With my chicken suit on my back I walked down the street wondering when it got so cold. Then I realized it was November. While it seems surreal it had already snowed once, actually we had a blizzard. Mother Nature needs her Prozac. Then again with all the pollution in the world we have made her bi-polar.

That's today's adventure, as in later today. Either way, I didn't lose my power. I just have been put in a place of financial insecurity. I still have my property and my well being. It's just a taste of life after a natural disaster and a prick from a thorn. Still it was an unpleasant surprise.

I found myself walking along in my beat up white coat. My hair was messed up because I had just rolled out of bed. I could hear my friend Roger hissing from the after life, mad as hell in his Chanel with his Gucci, "Stop looking broke and poor when you see me. If you keep it up I will give you a cup so you can beg for change. As long as you are going to look it why not act it?"

I went to get my coffee and greeted my coffee man by the name Boss. It is a term of endearment for our coffeemen and deli people in NYC. He corrected me and said he preferred my friend. Then he proceeded to give me free coffee, a free donut, and free hand sanitizer. I didn't look that bad.

Or maybe I did and he was giving me free things.

I went to deliver the telegram and woke the girl up. When she saw a giant chicken I am sure she regretted every brownie she ever ate in college. Then she realized I was real and for a slit second probably wanted to kill her brother. But then she laughed. I didn't want to kill her brother, he gave me a forty dollar tip.

I wanted to kiss him. MWAH. Maybe he is the hot man and the good man I deserve. I just want someone who has a part time job, minimal track marks, and a GED. It's not a lot to ask for but these days it seems so. Sometimes you have to work around things. Like for example, if he believes he turns into a werewolf every full moon but is a generous provider, just pull the blinds down so he can't see the moon. Solves all your problems.

Walking home I felt good. Everything was going to be alright. The worst was over. I still had my crown; that wasn't broken. My hair was just a little messed. Maybe I need to start dressing hotter in case I am photographed. Maybe next time I pay rent I should write on my check, "PRINCESS DROPPED DOWN TO EARTH" on amount. No money, just a phrase. I am on TV, I have published a book, fans know me and my children. Why should I be subjected to trivial things like bills?

Then I remember even Obama pays taxes and that the US stressed in their Constitution that there should be no royalty.

Either way, I have already gotten to work and got paid and it ain't even ten.

Okay, the hair is messed up, the space ship has crashed, but bitches this tiara ain't cracked.

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

Come to my book signing
Thursday November 15 (tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Hoboken
510 Washington St
Symposia Books
7pm
See you there
 

Nicest Book Review Ever

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

None are true but it makes me feel important.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Matter of Trust (Billy Joel)

Last night I found myself feeling a mix of better and worse. The last few weeks have been intense. I could go into detail about the hit the telegram business took, how someone hacked into my bank account via paypal and stole some of the little money I had, how someone else owes me a lot of money (money that I need) and is being McShady. Not to mention the tremendous physical pain I feel and this gnawing depression because every headline is depressing, and the Romney supporters won't shut the fuck up.

I have news for the angry white men and the Bible thumping morons, you lost.

I have gotten some glimmers of decent news. It looked like I had a job Wednesday, another this weekend, a and a third today that all just fell through. On top of that, I have the issue of being almost famous. Yes, I am not famous enough to throw around my dough but yet famous enough that fans take photos with me on the sidewalk as well as famous enough to have people claiming to be family members wanting a substantial loan. But not famous enough to be chased by photographers and not famous enough to actually have the cash. I am not famous enough to be on the cover of Rolling Stone but famous enough to be in Chat in the UK. I am famous enough for people to take photos of me at the comedy club but not famous enough that I am still bumped for some male comedian that isn't shit and not famous enough to be headlining at said club. I am famous enough to have my name mentioned at the events but not famous enough to be invited. It's more like I am getting them more napkins and they remember seeing me on Rachael Ray. Then when I work jobs I actually get recognized sometimes and even tormented by jealous women because of my TV time. But again, the people in Hollywood somehow don't own a TV.

What does it matter?

I ended up doing an open mic which was fun last night. I don't go to mess around like the old days or to make friends. The friends I have are few and far between in that circle. Some have turned their back on me because of my blonde ambition and others well, it seems like they don't like the new April. The one who seems to do things with her life, the one who never gets knocked down no matter how much the world dominated by fat women and men threatened by her skill and intelligence wants it. Plus I am at a point now where I am moving on up. I am without  a home club. I could easily have one but if I get one again I want it to be a flag ship. I am not messing around. I don't have a manager. There are a thousand morons who will probably want to suck my toes at the next industry party, but lets see who just wants to suck my toes and who wants to actually help. So these days when I get up I do work. I detest paying for stage time. I might as well make the best of it and get the most bang for my buck.

After the mic ended I began talking to another fella who has been at it a while. He had his theories on the industry which were more optimistic. Mine on the otherhand were slightly more jaded and bitter albeit cynical. I know certain things to be sure. Making money isn't the only ticket to get into a club manager's favor. Some of it is do they like you as a person and do you fit into the clubs system. I know first hand because I lost my job at a club after making one owner a shitload of money. We talked about what it takes to make it and fame. I pointed out that fame was fleeing and being on TV meant nothing, case in point. This fella told me that it was all business and marketing. Maybe it was but there were intangibles. There was being the ethnic flavor of the month, being the right gender (usually male), being a certain look, luck. It was a mixed pot. It didn't matter how good your product was, how good you were at marketing, how talented you were alone.

This fella seemed more optimistic and said everyone was going for the prize and to create your own prize. I had tried that before. That didnt even work. Perhaps I had resigned myself at being miserable. We also talked about standup. My theory is that it's dead. It died when the internet was created and when youtube was born. While youtube celebrity is short lived, it is a quicker way in than busting your ass. While CK made it in middle age it is more likely to happen to him because he is a middle aged man. Time is always kinder to men. As a woman, unless you are damn talented, in middle age you need to hang it up because the looks thing is fading.

This fella than cited Phyllis Diller. But she was the exception starting at thirty eight. One of us was drinking from the glass half full and one of us was drinking from the glass half empty. The glass half empty, while more depressing, is closer to reality. But this fella observed that perhaps like the climate was losing it's shit via glbal warming and being reborn maybe standup comedy was going through a reformation or rebirth. Maybe it is. I didn't know and still don't.

The more I spoke to this dude the more I started to like his energy. He wanted to use his comedic talents to help people, to be of service. Then I remembered the advice I got from a soap star friend, "Use your art as a service. Make it about sharing your gifts with others." I found myself parrotting the quote in a sort of wowsa sort of way.

Over my shoulder I thought I saw Joe Cannava, my deceased friend who got me to write my book. I remembered a convo we had once where Joe told me my problem was my bad attitude. I could still remember the slap of his words. Even from the grave he could verbally kick my ass. I wanted to interrupt this conversation cause I was going schizo. To my relief it wasn't my dead friend, just a stranger who looked just like him. Just then my energy began to change. I began to feel a hope and an optimism.

I told this particular fella that while standup was the starting point in the marathon everyone's destination was different. Some would end up with a sit com, others would end up working the road. Some would end up with jobs as writers for film and television. Some would end up managers and club owners. Some would use their talents to help people as motivational speakers. Then there would be those who changed direction, working as counselors or ministers but using their talents of performing and making others laugh and smile. The destination wasn't about where you ended up relative to everyone else but ultimately what was best for you.

This fellas energy began to change. Let's create the cheese. Let's keep doing our own thing.

When I got home I got an IM from my friend Michael Barra, yes the man who sold Andrew Garfield his chocolate milk in the latest Spider Man. He was nominated for Best Actor in a Musical in CT for Hairspray and asked me to vote for him. I told him sure. Once upon a time, during another rather low point in my life, I was a personality panelist on a show called Music as a Joke at Standup NY. Michael was a contestant, my favorite that season. As a contestant his job was to serenade a judge and Michael picked me. Anyway, he scrawled my name on his back with black magic marker.

Since then my joke was that Michael, now that his career was rightfully on the rise, had tattooed my name on him once upon a time and had been the only man with a job and no criminal record to have done so. It was no problem because Michael always makes me smile.

I went to vote for him and as I clicked something bizarre happened. Without me googling it or searching for it the Amazon ad for my book popped up. Stunned, I took a screen shot. I clicked to the next part of the Broadway World site and my pop up popped up again. I took a third screen shot.

While I felt like hell I knew everything was going to be alright. Maybe I should be looking at the glass half full. The chip on my shoulder, now a chip and once a cinderblock, inhibits me from where I need to go. Maybe my new friend was right. Create my own cheese and look at a new way of doing things. Use my gifts to help others. Maybe he had a point. Maybe this meeting was not a coincidence. Maybe I needed to have my morale boosted. Maybe I needed a better attitude.

I then heard my friend Joe gentle admonishing me from another world telling me exactly that, dump the attitude. While sometimes I think I see him from time to time I have to remember that there are only so many faces and body types in this world. Sure that too could be a coincidence, but both times have been when I needed an attitude adjustment. I also remembered the book tour and doll line I had been planning, something the depression of the last two weeks as well as Mother Nature and the MTA sidelined. I could hear Joe telling me, "Get on that April."

Then I also heard him say, "Stop talking to your dead friends and go outside, seriously." And then I realized I was nuts for a minute.

But maybe not.

Either way I woke up this morning and the sun was shining. I felt good. For as rough as things have been I have faith that the worst is behind me. A trainer friend of mine at the gym, a positive energy pointed out that God never gives you more than you can handle and look at how I survived. I can't take anymore. Let's wait another eight months or so for the next spiritual challenge.

But this trainer friend is hot and Joe would have allowed it. He understood the benefit of a hot guy.

I then sent more text for my first signing event at Symposia this Thursday 510 Washington Street in Hoboken at 7 PM.

Then I stopped myself. I believe Friday would have been my buddy's birthday and he would have been thirty one.

I stopped by his page where I had dropped him a note the last time something like this happened. His sister who is lovely had written me a nice reply that actually made me teary eyed. I knew in my heart Joe would want me to design my doll line, write the musical, organize my book tour. He would also want me to have a better attitude about the whole comedy thing. Sure, a lot had happened but I was back in the game. If Joe was around he would be giving me one of his older brother type of ass kickings.

Either way I began to relax. Things had been down for so long that they could only go up. My boss let me know that things had been slow but we both have faith. And maybe I wasn't meant to have the jobs that fell through. Maybe the so-called Joe sighting wasn't an accident. Maybe it was a signal that I had to have a little bit more faith and a better attitude in order to change my luck. Maybe my new friend wasn't an accident either. Just as God had cleaned my house of the shit the second I got on TV he was now replacing the shit with new, good people just as he had been. And now I could add another good friend to my collection perhaps. In the mix I may have helped my dear friend Michael Barra win an award, something I did as a service to benefit someone else, someone who had made me feel good when life wasn't being so good to me.

My Amazon ad has also popped up. It means people are clicking. My book is out of stock. It might mean people are buying.

Let's hope.

Either way I feel better. Relax, the blog could have been named after a Smith's song.

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

Come to my event Thursday
Hoboken
Symposia Books
510 Washington St
7pm