Tunnel of Love (Bruce Springsteen)

For the last several weeks I have been working at The Horseman's Hollow Haunted House in Sleepy Hollow. I can say that the gig isn't perfect for a lot of reasons (no job ever is) , but I LOOOOVVVVEEE WERQQQIIINNNGGG IN THE HAUNTED HOUSE EVERY WEEKEND, OH YEAH!!!! It is nice steady side money coming in. Not to mention I get to work with full body puppets. In my journey as a puppeteer, I have worked with ventriloquist puppets, hand and rod, Bunraku, and Balinese Shadow Puppets. Never have I ever full body.

I love the people I get to work with too, which is not the case with every project you do. We even have a theatre family which we nicknamed The House of Cards. Alex, my little friend, is one I have easily adopted. He's not my son because that is too gender affirming but my moon. You get the idea.

Anyway, tonight I was minding my own business working in the Den of the Wailing Woman. You always see me when you walk in. My puppet, whom I have named Priscilla says, "Hey Sugar Puff, I am the ghoul of your dreams. You shoulda swiped right."

To give you an idea, the Den of the Wailing Woman is completely dark aside from glow in the dark florescent skeletons. I am there with 4 other puppeteers. In between patrons I turn on our black light to make sure no one has died since I have the walkie. But enoygh about that. Let's talk about Priscilla

Nevermind she is an 8 foot skeleton. Most folks laugh. Priscilla has become a sort of hit in a way as patrons have returned several times and say, "Swipe right."

Or tonight I wasn't doing the Tinder joke as much, so one kid said, "You have Tinder don't you?"

Several youngins even told their parents how funny I was and how they were begging them to take them to see the attractions, but they got a kick out of yours truly. Anyway, one young lad took it a step further.

During the walk, he asked Priscilla to marry him. I was perplexed. My character is 300, he's 13. To make it even more romantic he got down on one knee. Although the age difference is probably illegal in the State of New York, he asked better than the previous two men who wanted to marry me. Plus he wasn't a total loser with a psych illness or anger management issue. So I said, "Sure Sugar Puff, let's make this happen."

Needless to say his mother decided she didn't want her son to have a zombie bride. So she yelled, "Get up, c'mon, let's get going."

My dreams of romance evaporated into the night air.

Sigh. I am having a great time. The last time I was this happy was at the RNC in Cleveland. I feel like I am having fun, learning, growing into my own skin, learning new things and making a few bucks. I am also falling in love with theatre like I was in college. Plus I might have met my future ex husband.

Did I mention I sold a few calendars? Life is good

Calendar

Jesus Freak (DC Talk)

This past election season I have received a lot of hate mail from The Christian Right. These men and women of God have told me to kill myself, that I deserved cancer in some instances, and even that I should die for blaspheming a man of God. (Donald Trump was that man of God).

Yesterday I got into a bit of a twitter war with right wing nut job and blogger Matt Walsh. In case you didn't know, you and Jesus would probably hate Matt. Jesus was a liberal Jew who embraced all people. Matt is an anti-Jewish, anti-gay, and anti-woman bigot. Matt is also pro-life, because why would someone so tolerant hold any other view. He blogs for The Blaze, which is where all bigoted, closed minded, fearful morons like himself flock. Apparently he is popular. That is, popular with those who can't read.

As a matter of fact, some of the brave men and women, especially the ones with the KKK avatars, follow Matt. Color me surprised.

I was first introduced to this ass clown via his facebook page. It was filled with hate of course. His followers believe all Muslims stone women and are traitors. They are all pro-lifers who want to cut social programs for single mothers whilst they terrorize women in crisis. They believe being gay and transgendered are choices, and LGBTQ people commit suicide as a cheap ploy for attention. One even went on a limb to say that rape wasn't real. Nice people. I trolled him a few times because it was fun, but gave up the ghost because it was no use. You can't fix stupid.

So yesterday the controversy began. Mike Pence apparently is not allowed to dine alone with another woman, and his wife is not allowed to dine alone with another man. WOW, Telling your significant other who they can and can't talk to. Looks like unhealthy codependency to me. Take it from someone like myself who has experienced DV.

Matt of course defended Mike Pence. Why would Matt not? He clearly knows how to treat a woman by keeping her barefoot and pregnant on his alpaca farm. Matt stated all healthy married couples didn't dine alone with members of the opposite sex. Nevermind if it was a boss or a work colleague. Or a childhood plutonic friend. Or the husband or wife of one of your friends. No. Sex was going to happen.

I told Matty McMatt Matt he was as qualified to talk about a healthy marriage as I was moon rocks. His followers, who probably chew moon rocks and wonder why they are crunchy, informed me moon rocks were not complicated. I guess that's why we have NASA because space is simple and rocket science, well that's a breeze.

Then I tweeted about combating codependency and Matt told me if I had to combat codependency then it was clear I wasn't good at marriage. Well Sherlock Holmes, while I have been in two LTRs I am not married. I told him I thanked my pagan Goddess for my freedom, because if the men on the market were like him I was screwed. Matt tweeted two asinine tweets back. Because he's stupid like that. I told him by his metric that because he was tweeting to a woman that wasn't his wife, he was having an affair. Others even came to my rescue to tell the sexually repressed Matt Walsh to stop flirting with me.

Needless to say his followers were even stupider than he was. They told me I was unsuccessful because I was single and childless, when meanwhile their marriages are so successful as they aren't allowed to talk to other people without their spouse's permission. Others also defended codependency as a good, loving thing.

Codependency is NEVER a good loving thing. Codependency kept me with a partner who was physically abusive because I believed I somehow deserved it. Codependency kept me with a mentally ill partner who, while he had a heart of gold, was irreversibly broken because of his refusal to comply with a medication regimen. Yeah, I had a role. But codependency is never a good thing. Domestic violence sometimes ends with someone dying. So when someone refuses to take meds, has violent mood swings, abuses drugs or hits you, RUN LIKE YOU SAW GODZILLA.

When I explained to someone I left because a partner was abusive, she told me I deserved to be hit. Yes, a woman of God. A church goer. YIKES!

So I lost it. I told her she was a cunt.

She responded back by telling me that I dissed the sacred institution of marriage and therefore I deserved what I got.

Yes, nice woman.

So I told her that her telling me I deserved DV was like me telling her she deserved a sick child. Needless to say seconds later, twitter blocked me.

I was in twitter jail for 12 hours. Ha ha ha.

Today Matt Walsh posted and called someone a bigot. It was a tale of the pot and the kettle. While fighting with him would have been fun, it is also a waste of time because he will always be a steaming ball of hate.

And one of his followers who reported me to twitter messaged me to let me know he did it. Now is that what Jesus would do?

Needless to say, I had a chat with a buddy who's son has severe autism and is a woman of God. She told me people who quote scriptures like that are actually from the devil and not God, which I found interesting and actually believable on a strange level. She also said evil was cowardly.

Yes, like the Matt Walsh's and his followers, so free to hate behind a keyboard and such mice in person. Cowards.

My friend also pointed out Jesus wasn't a coward. Jesus not only helped the poor, he helped the lepers, the HIV/AIDS patients of the era. He helped the widows and the people on the fringes. He helped those Matt Walsh condemns. Jesus died because he spoke out on behalf of social justice and told the truth. Jesus was brave.Jesus didn't need to hide behind a keyboard.

 These people claim to know so much yet they know so little.

That being said, I hope they all find peace, serenity, and come to know a higher power that loves them as well as anyone else.

www.AprilBrucker.TV

Strange Dreams

As of late I have been having some odd dreams and I don't know what any of them mean. One dream was that I got back with an ex of mine-one where things ended badly, VERY BADLY. (I don't want him to know where to find me kind of badly). Not only were we back together, but we had just gotten married and we were talking about having a baby. YES, A BABY!  In any event, we discussed a plan so I could conceive and he suggested taking out my IUD. I thought this was A GREAT IDEA. Anyway, I was all so excited to have his baby. We even planned on having his friend who is a complete leech and waste of flesh who owes everyone money act as the Godfather.

Then I realized what I had done. I WAS HAVING HIS BABY!!!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!! I HATED MYSELF BUT NOT THAT MUCH! I panicked at the bad decision I saw myself making. Not only was I ruining my life, but creating a mutant who had no chance. So I woke up screaming, but then clamed down once I realized my IUD was where it was supposed to be and my uterus unpolluted by his damaged DNA.  So then I got a glass of water, went to sleep, and had an okay dream I really can't remember.

The next strange dream I had was set in the back of a chapel. I was getting ready to get married. In any event, I was given a wedding gift by the grooms mother. It was an old antique purse filled with Bubble Yum. I was told it was their family tradition that the bride must chew bubble gum. So I put this bubble gum in my mouth and it was really thick and sticky. I tried to open it, but it was so thick and sticky I could barely chew it. Then I had three dresses to pick from. The first was this beautiful form fitting dress. The second was a nightmare of lace, and the third was nice and ivory. In any event, I picked the first but there was no time to get changed. A wedding was being had. So they pushed me down the aisle in my street clothes towards this husband who from far away looked non-descript.

Then I woke up like WTF?! Yes, like what the freak just happened?! I'm not seeing anyone. No hell no way. And wow, just wow. Either way, it was a relief to still be single in real time.

The final weird dream was that I was 11 years old and was doing gymnastics again. It was hot and the Olympics were on TV and we were all following them that summer. So here we were in the gym, and I had just mastered my half twist. I was doing a perfect routine, and even did a perfect layout on the tumble track. However, I had forgotten to bring my water. Yes, my freaking water. And the worst part was, I didnt know where to get any water. My instructors were clueless as to assist me, because we had trampoline next and that was their big priority.

All of a sudden I start coughing violently. I can't breathe but we have to go to trampoline next. I needed to make it to trampoline. But I had to get to trampoline BUT I COULDN'T BREATHE!!!!!!!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!

And then I wake up coughing and get some water.

So who knows what any of this means.........Sigh. Maybe it is that a lot of my friends are having kids and said ex has been coming up quite a bit on convo. Maybe it is my sister's wedding. Maybe it has been watching gymnastics on youtube. Either way, these dreams are spooky. Sigh.

Love
April 

Someday My Prince Will Come (Snow White)

Last night I took some Advil PM because I had neck pain and a severe headache. As I dozed off, I went through an Aldous Huxley-esque door of perception. Everything felt so incredibly real and in living color, and life was wonderful. If this was Brave New World, I would have taken what they termed a Soma holiday.

In the dream, my boss Bruce booked me for a singing telegram. It was for the prince of this obscure island nation. His name was Rainier, like Grace Kelly’s husband, Prince of Monaco. Anyway, his people had seen my photo on my boss’s website, and Rainier had relayed that he had seen every single video I had ever made. Rainer’s wish was to meet me. He requested that I do a singing telegram cop strip to a bikini, and then perform a puppet show afterward. I googled the locale. It was in some part of New Jersey I had never heard of. The bus and cab would have been an unworldly amount of money. I told Bruce this, and he informed me he knew of a special bus that could get me there for very little money. However, when the prince heard of my ordeal he chartered a car.

When I got to his estate, a secret no one knew about, his advisors told me to be careful. People wanted to catch Rainier red handed, and put him in a Bill Clinton/Gennifer Flowers pickle. He was next in line for the throne of the island nation. Rainier had to be careful.

Rainier was a fellow who was not particularly handsome but rather kind. Despite his station in life, he was humble. He and his advisors were excellent audience members and laughed the entire time. The Prince regaled me by knowing every one of my youtube videos, line for line for line. He told me he was charmed and wanted to see me again. I was taken by him as well, and didn’t want whatever this was to stop at that instant.

The following day, Rainier sent a dress and necklace to me from both Tiffany’s and Alex Wang. Rainier also invited me to dinner, and instructed me to wear the outfit. Ordinarily I would have told him he wasn’t the boss of me, but the outfit looked stunning. We ended up going to an eatery that was quite posh, and a plate there costs more than most people make in a week. Rainier was a gentlemen the entire evening, and did not once lay a hand on me. He also knew about my painful past with men, and didn’t judge me either. Oh, and of course he bought me dinner.

Even afterwards he didn’t demand sex. Instead, he continued to be the perfect gentlemen. He told me he wanted to see me again, and enjoyed talking to me. Rainier told me he found my honesty refreshing, and my strength my best quality. Just as he was about to kiss me I woke up.

Damning my existence I screamed, “FUCK YOU DISNEY!!!”

Then it all made sense. Of course he was  a dream dude. No guy spends that amount of money unless he intends to get sexually serviced in some way. Not to mention with men it is all a great big dick slinging contest, and any past you have with guys they take as an affront to their sensitive male ego. Most of the time, even a prince would break out a coupon in an establishment that expensive. Again, fuck you Disney!!!!!

Having my fantasy life disrupted irked me just a little. It makes the screeching voices of those who have been lucky in love and therefore judgmental all the more real. Yes, the idiots who tell me I have to look harder for a good man. Or the ones who live happily ever after telling me that my balls to the wall honesty depresses them. Then there are the idiots who keep telling me to go on 100 coffee dates as if those people live happily ever after.

Prince Rainier was too perfect. He didn’t reveal the chip on his shoulder from childhood. He didn’t reveal that he was an adult man child looking for a mother in the form of a lover. Plus the Prince in the fairy tales is always suspiciously present when the princess gets pricked and falls into a coma. And there he is, getting all sexified with her. I trust Millificent. I know she’s evil. Him, I think he roofied that needle. As for Snow White, she was technically dead when he made a move. DISGUSTING!!!

I have no idea what triggered the dream. Maybe it’s the dating talk with my mother. Maybe it’s my father telling me every conversation that I have with him that I need to settle down. Maybe it’s my very married brother telling me I am getting old and need to get married. Maybe it’s my sister Skipper who’s getting married. Hell if I know.

Either way, it’s ripping open every visible wound I have in that area. Yes, there were three times I nearly did get married and almost gave my parents the son in laws from hell. I still have a different mailing address because of Sean. Scott lied and misrepresented himself so badly that when this attorney at law insisted I could trust him, he came across as a bad legal commercial. Holden wasn’t dishonest, he wasn’t paying child support. He had legal issues. He had bipolar disorder and a drug problem. My family should be happy somehow I spared them those disasters.

Then of course there were all those times when I was accidentally the other woman aka Prince Charming had a queen at home he didn’t tell me about, or he led me to believe the castle was breaking up. Oh, and while I liked dudes in high school, they didn’t make a move. However, some of their dad’s were fearless. Translated, I know the Prince is sometimes a wonderfully disguised toad who broke into the royal closet and stole the crown.

I think what triggered the dream was the possible bipolarity of my life lately. I am princess or pauper depending on the day. Either I am so happy I could catch the sun, moon, and stars because things are so good, or I am depressed like I landed on a bed of nails in The North Pole because things suck so bad. It changes from day to day. I even read my own Tarot, something one should never do. I got both the Sun and the Tower in both readings interchangeably. The Sun is the best, The Tower is the worst. Even my psychic signals are bipolar, not that it is an exact science. But thank you Tarot for this vague reading.

Then there is the off chance that because my life has had no middle ground whatsoever this year that I am lonely and perhaps secretly crave a relationship. However, I have also experienced a shitload of sexism in my comedy career. So much so that when I walk in my door, all I want to do is slam it and be safe from the world at large. I have been degraded my male headliners, pressured for sex by bookers, and talked down to by club owners because of my gender. At times, I feel like to sleep with a man is to sleep with the enemy. And why would I want to spend time with the enemy? Why would I want to make myself crazy when all signals point to the fact I would be better off at times if I were born a man?

On the other hand, most of my fans are dudes. I like dudes and I like the levity they bring to any and all situations. I enjoy their support, and enjoy the fan letters they send. I enjoy sending them sexy photos when they request them in the mail. I enjoy laughing when they post crazy comments. I enjoy fighting with stupid third wavers who have no freaking idea what feminism is, and defending my loyal male fan base. Oh, and I enjoy cracking jokes that piss those stuck up feminists off.

Yeah I like guys. I just hate sexism. Sure I want true love. Yet I don’t have faith it exists. Prince Rainier might be nice if he shows up. April the jaded battle axe might scare him off. If he is a cartoon, I can make him say what I want. I can also erase him.

I dunno. Too much thinking. Time to get ready for work. Enough with the Advil PM. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

Cherish (The Association)

The last few days were spent on the beach. Yes, I had a girl’s get away with my mother and sister in South Carolina. Staying in a rental property my parents renovated, it was originally planned as a celebration for the fall birthdays. Mainly, it was my mother’s. However, sometimes they tack me on too because we are both fall babies. However, my father was unable to come because of some drama at work. Of course my brother Wendell and sister in law Veronique could not score the same days off. So it became a nice pool party break in October.

Shy of two weeks ago, Skipper became engaged to Boomer. Often I say these two are the Lover archetype in Tarot and Commedia Del Arte. With a love that is pure and untouched, one is the other’s sun, moon, and stars. Sure, their public displays of affection are more sappy than a Vermont Maple Tree during syrup season. However, as a duo they are also endearing and thoughtful, always the first to reach out to others when they achieve a goal or to wish happy birthday. I can safely say like Odysseus to Penelope, it is Skipper to Boomer. Yes, they are soul mates is what I am trying to say in a conceited, intellectual, academic, and overeducated kind of way.

During one of our many beach walks, Skipper gave us the inside details of Boomer’s proposal. In order to drop the surprise, Boomer planned a lavish romantic weekend on the tropical isle of Key West. However, in an effort to get the ring insured the agent informed Boomer it could not be covered under his home owners. It wasn’t his property, it was Skipper’s.

Thus Boomer came to pick up his future bride at 4:15 AM. Skipper, always with impeccable hygiene, was brushing her teeth as Boomer was pretending to make sure all was in order. Then with tooth paste running down her mouth, Boomer popped the question. “Skipper, will you marry me?” He asked, dipped down on one knee, oblivious to the drool. This was daring, since my sister is not a morning person.

Skipper for once didn’t care about the early bugle. Seeing the ring she yelped, “I DO!!!”

While the trip to Key West proved romantic, Boomer had looked at the scenery rather than the culture. Translated, Boomer got whistled at. While the gay men were respectful of the newly engaged hederos, they did jokingly ask Skipper to pass on Boomer’s number when she was done with him. This did not put a dent in the vacation of The Lovers. Rather, their love was so deep and this new step so immense nothing could put a black blob on their pastel painting.

As we walked on the beach, Skipper informed us Boomer picked the ring on his own. We marveled at Boomer’s straight queer eye. While a man’s man, Boomer loves camping. He and Skipper also spend time at the rifle range. Skipper has a head eye for a target, but Boomer can give her a run for her money. Sure, he wears the same shirt over and over, but like all dudes in love, he strikes gold every once in a while. His pick was better than the one Skipper originally wanted. It was glamorous, beautiful, and like their love would hopefully stand the test of time.

Like a curious child, Skipper smiled silently as she realized her ring glowed a heavenly color in the noonday sun. Lost in thoughts of Boomer, my mother and I continued to chatter until we came across three Canadian fisherman up ahead. Three of the men looked like they could be swing members of ZZ Top, and one even had the beer belly to match. Two were much younger with matted hair that looked like it had not been washed in days. There was no woman around to supervise these untamed beasts. On second thought, maybe they were tamed, just allowed out of their cages for the occasional recreation.

My mother decided to strike up a conversation with them. Part of it is her social butterfly status, and in part because she believes despite my fan base being mostly male that I don’t talk to men. Skipper then snapped out of her Boomer induced trance and played hype woman to my mother. It is because Skipper always is, but also Skipper is slightly afflicted. Translated, like any people in a serious commitment, she now feels like she has to pull any and all single people into the net throws of her freedom losing cult. It’s not her fault. It’s almost something one has to sign in blood the second they put a wedding or engagement ring on. While some calm down, others eternally throw arrows at their single friends and family members.

On holiday from Toronto, the men relayed they were on the beach trying to catch sharks. Apparently, they had some luck. Right away, they were ready and willing to brag.  “Caught a tiger yesterday.” One of the young ones said holding a photo. He wore a Parris Island United States Marine Corps shirt. He wasn’t a Marine though, because if he was he would have told us that the second he saw us. Marines are like that, they feel they need to get it off their chests.

Speaking of chests, ZZ Top 1 then changed the subject. “We are having some issues over here.” He relayed, beer in hand. “You see, we want to know what women prefer, hair on the chest or no hair on the chest?”

Yes, women we have never met, this matter is of urgent importance. We realize there is the usual genocide in the Sudan and a war in the Middle East, but this matter is number four on the list of our worries because economy has to be number 3. This is life or death, please advise.

My mother, despite being affable to male company, is still a married woman. In all correspondences, verbal or written, she always considers my father’s feelings as if he were there watching like a hawk. I suppose this is what helps keep her union with my father going strong as it is. There was no way she could be their Solomon. Then Skipper stared at her ring as a reminder of the absence of her beloved Boomer. While in reality he could not get the time off to accompany us, from the look in Skipper’s eyes, Boomer had gone off to fight a war possibly never to return. So the duty fell upon me to settle their debate.

The second ZZ Top pointed to the middle where I was to stand to settle this matter. Chest hair wasn’t just chest hair, it was everything to these men, Goddamnit. So, as if I were a wise tribal chief, I stated,  “It’s not the hair on the chest, it’s the man behind the hair or lack thereof.” It was a noncommittal response to their plaguing question, and that way their fragile egos would not be crushed by a complete stranger.  

Our neighbor’s to the North seemed satisfied and let out a loud whoop. Then my mom said, “She’s an entertainer in New York!” My face turned bright red. It felt odd already talking to these randos and settling their masculine debate. Now I wanted to jump into the ocean and have a shark eat me. There is nothing like trying to have your mother force you to flirt.

 “That’s awesome! A singer too!” One of young, unwashed slurred in his drunken state. That is when my mother posed me with the young man who hugged me afterward. He was nice looking. Perhaps I would not make myself shark food today.

After we wished the Canadians well, I asked my mother what she was thinking. My mother explained that she was trying to initiate “the hook up.”

“That’s trashy. I don’t know them.” I protested.

“That just means to say hi.” My mom said. “I heard them say it on TV.”

“Mom, it means to have sex. Never use that word again.” I told her.

Skipper agreed. Then we switched the subject back to the chatter at hand. Yes, the stupid things men fixate on. Chest hair and penis size. The luxury of being male, especially a straight white male. Always on the upper end of the paradigm, sexism is a real and lifetime struggle. Suddenly, I felt the feminist in me boil up and got ill. I confessed in my next life I wanted to come back as a man and enjoy the perks. My mother told me she used to feel the same way, but then she explained, “Then I realized there was a lot of chest pounding involved and that might get old and hurt after a while.”

Then we began to wonder why men got caught up on these stupid things like chest hair and penis size. Skipper then relayed that during her job at the hospital, she encountered some Japanese men who suffered from Shrinking Penis Syndrome. These men did very real and dangerous things to ensure their Johnson was not shrinking. While the condition was psychosomatic, they believed their Love Wand was disappearing.

Skipper also explained that there were also penis implants available. She made the hack joke and explained an ER patient of hers requested a black penis because he thought his luck with women would improve. Then Skipper also informed us that a man came into the hospital requesting a horse dong but this could not be done because it was species to species.

As my sister chatted away, explaining to us that she met Boomer while manually retracting an anus, a phrase she uses serious and sober as a judge to tell the story of her meeting with her fiancé, she looked like a princess. Skipper was marrying her prince. They were The Lovers. Of course, it made me think of the time I was engaged and how that ended in disaster. Then of course I also recalled Holden, the fugitive I played house with for several days before he had to leave the state. I would have married Holden in a heart beat.

As I looked at the ocean I know in my heart I got close to being married but never did it because I know it isn’t for me and may never be. No man owns me, and hopefully he will never tether me by making me take his last name, a brand of slavery under the boot of an oppressive overseer. Yet at the same time, my sister was taking the plunge into forever with Boomer. While it is brave to defy convention, it is also brave to say the words “till death do us part” and really mean it. Granted, maybe you will be wielding an axe when they leave this world but still……

Is Swashbuckler a sexual preference? Yes, I am a swashbuckler. The ocean is like me, untamed. Adventure is my middle name. I would have gladly found the Canadian fisherman myself if my mother had not made it so awkward. Still, my swashbuckling and adventuring gives my trunk full of puppets and closet full of costumes lots of stories. A swashbuckler belongs to the wind and world. My art is my first love. No man can rip me away.

Just then I remembered good old Robert Louis Stevenson, the ultimate swashbuckling adventurer despite is consumption, was reeled in by Fanny Osbourne and had his butt kicked frequently by his combination wife and mother. Maybe there will be a time that I stop my swashbuckling. Maybe I will feel the need to stop my sword swinging, adventuring, and storytelling life. Maybe I will want the wind and the world to give me up to one man. Maybe I will let the paradigm make me it’s minimum security prisoner. Nah…..

So I looked over at my sister. Skipper’s ring continued to emit light like a heavenly orb. Prince Boomer could rest assured no harm would come to his fair maiden. My father could also rest assured no harm could come to his queen. They were in the company of a true swashbuckler.

Thus the three of us continued to comb our way down the beach: The Princess, the Swashbuckler, and the Queen Mother in between them. The entire way, we talked Skipper’s wedding and gossiped about the simplicity of the male species.

And with no men around we lived happily ever after.

The End. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

Night of the Living Blow Job

Last night my friend Nishu had a cook out party for his friend Marcurio. A weird mix of hodge podge, Marcurio is part German and part Latvian. However, he was raised in both Brazil and Argentina, depending on where his parents worked. On top of that he lived and worked in Puerto Rico and NY. It was the big 50, a milestone. A membership to a new club. The night before, the recently divorced Marcurio had partied until the sun came up, drank as much as an errant sailor, and was still going.

Nishu, notorious for being the ring master of a crazy cast of characters, invited some of the usual suspects. Juan came with his Japanese girlfriend Koko. Nishu’s girlfriend Hedda was there as well, the one who has normalized him. Over the past six months, she has acted as a sedative of sorts. Nishu has gone from dating fetish models and answering ads on craigslist to having Hedda on his arm. Last night they were talking about the tentative wedding they were having in India where Nishu is from, and the possibility there would be one dog in the equation. The whole thing is good and odd at the same time. It is odd to see and hear Nishu using the love term when it comes to a woman, let alone only sleeping with one woman at a time. It is also good to see him so focused and so grown up. Despite his playboy past he is actually a good boyfriend. I think he had it in him though, because he was always a good friend.

Marcurio brought two guests with him. One was Marco, his good friend who he met while in high school in Argentina. Now Marco owned a private security firm and rode Harley’s. And there was a woman in the mix with those two. Her name was Sandra. A tall, leggy blonde, she worked for the Catalonian government in Spain. However, she now lived in NYC. While she was not lively as the rest of the group, she seemed fine, like she was blending in. Sure, we can be nuts as a whole, but she was adjusting, and Nishu was making her feel welcome.

I chatted with Sandra briefly. Apparently there is a movement for Catalonian independence in Spain I was not aware of. I asked her if it was similar to the Basque movement. She said it was less violent. I likened it to the Scottish movement for independence. She agreed, and we both discussed that and the IRA. I found her reserved but intelligent. Things were still smooth, still good.

We began to talk about various types of relationships, swinging and such. I mentioned I knew people who were swingers that had a healthy, honest, open relationship. Juan and Koko knew a couple where the swinging got out of control, and the woman developed feelings for her male swing. The subject came up about how feelings come and go, and people can’t turn them off. Sandra got silent, almost judgmental. She shot a hateful glance our way. Shortly afterwards, those two departed. Apparently, they needed to catch an early flight to Japan to visit Koko’s family the next day.

Then I asked Marcurio if he had ever been married. He mentioned he had, to the daughter of a famous baseball star. His ex wife, a Dominican, had tried to kill him on several occasions. Once she had stabbed him with a pair of scissors. Then she threatened him with a kitchen knife. After that she held a gun to his head. We asked why he stayed. Marcurio said, “It’s not her fault.” We laughed. Wow. Then we asked if they were still talking. Marcurio said despite their divorce they were the best of friends. WOW!

After which, I mentioned that as a recently divorced guy we should take him to a strip club. There were several in the neighborhood. I told him he needed the diseased booty of a stripper all over his face as well as her augmented breasts. The party agreed. The question was, which club to take him too. At some, because of the high stage fee, the girls were tip sharks. At others, they didn’t go full nude. These were such crisis and we arrived at a dead end. Still, this man needed lots of action from a dirty, loose, woman with no morals.

And then the name Matilda came up. Yes, he had met Matilda at the surprise party we threw for Hedda’s best friend Meg. Matilda was from Croatia, and up until two days before we met her had been living on a boat with this random Indian dude. They had no where else to go, and someone lent them the boat. Matilda baked these crepes laced in Jack Daniels. I mistakenly had one as a nondrinker not knowing. Within seconds, I offered the rest of mine to a slightly sloshed drinker friend. Anyway, Matilda was ready to rock ‘n’ roll.

A free spirit, she struck up a conversation with Marcurio about blow jobs, and then offered him one. 

Marcurio apparently declined, but got her digits. I blurted out, “You were recently divorced, what the frickety frack were you thinking? It’s a free blow job and you don’t have to pay!”

“Yeah,”  his friend Marco agreed. “Man, that is an offer you can’t refuse.”

Hedda agreed. “When someone offers a blow job for no money you just say yes.”

“And if you get this offer again she might have no teeth.” I reminded him.

“That is the best kind of blow job.” Marcurio informed.

“But she might have a crack habit and AIDS.” I said.

“That is depressing…..Never thought of that.” Marcurio replied.

“I have Matilda’s number, let’s call her and have her come over.” Nishu suggested.

We all agreed. Perhaps Marcurio could finally collect on his birthday present. All the while, Sandra sat there, with gleam in her eye that read homicide. I could tell she didn’t like me especially, but whatever. Mario agreed an up front offer for a blow job would have been a little odd, but he would have considered it. When we asked Sandra, she said in a stilted tone, “If I were a guy, I think I would be turned off by that.”

“But you aren’t a dude.” I countered. Everyone agreed. At that moment, a scowl set in across her face.

Nishu tried Matilda again, no luck. Finally he got her. She said she was in Queens somewhere and might come over. Apparently she was piss faced drunk. Probably laced it in her own food again. The good news was, she now had a residence and was no longer living on a boat. Meanwhile, the wine had run out for the drinkers and Nishu ran to the liquor store. The rest of us were left to debate the evening and the subject of BJs.

We goaded Marcurio into collecting on his much promised present. All the while, Sandra withdrew and got moodier and moodier. Hedda and I teased Marcurio about what had happened, and Mario joined the fun. Hedda suggested she should make the same offer to Nishu. When Nishu returned, Sandra was now downing liquor and unhappily sucking on a cigarette. She was waaaaayyyyy too uptight for our group. Meanwhile, we ordered a pizza. When it arrived, Nishu and Hedda disappeared to find the plates. They were gone for sometime, and we sat there. Mario, Marcurio, and I continued the blow job gag, and even joked about collecting money to get the birthday boy a high priced call girl.

I went inside to see if they needed help finding the plates. The hate from the direction of Sandra was much too much. When I went inside, Nishu and Hedda were both stepping out of the bathroom. Hedda had made the offer and well……That is when I said, “You both did not?” They giggled, got the plates, and out we went. Hey, at least someone was cashing in on the offer, right?

Pizza was punctuated with more inappropriate jokes. Sandra glowered now. Marcurio apologized, “We are a little nutty here in case you didn’t know. Sorry if you feel overwhelmed.”

“I wasn’t even paying attention.” Sandra said, not even visibly hiding her disgust. Hedda, wanting to change the mood from the wet blanket, cut off the lid from the recently finished pizza box and made it into a birthday keep sake for Marcurio. For as nutty as my friends are, they are equally as thoughtful. Nishu and Hedda were trying to make the party a nice experience, and now this woman was just making it awkward.

Minutes later, she announced she was heading out. She claimed she had to work. After she left, Mario, who had been silent for a great while, told us tales of his adventures as a biker. He spoke of the kindness of strangers on the road. We all were sucked into his stories, a nice change of pace from the sex talk that had enveloped the night. A short while later, Marcurio asked, “What did you think of Sandra?” We all bit our lips.

Finally, Marcurio confessed they had met on Tinder, and had only known her about three days. I was floored, I thought she was an old friend like all the others. Apparently she had been his “date”to his birthday party the night before. We asked if he slept with her. Marcurio replied, “Now I never will because you cock blocked me.” 

Thus began a debate about if Tinder was a meet up, dating, or hook up app. The jury was out. On the other hand, some of us felt bad about not knowing she was Marcurio’s date. If we had known, we wouldn’t have called Matilda and pressured him into collecting on the blow job he was promised. I felt bad, and so did Mario. Hedda said we had no way of knowing, and Nishu agreed. Marcurio laughed the whole thing off. But now this strange woman hated us all. Yeah, she was a stick in the mud. Yeah, she was on a whore app looking for love. Maybe we should have been a little better behaved.

Then we thought about it. Perhaps Sandra and her uptight nature made her not the right match for the recently single, ready to rock Marcurio. On the other hand, perhaps Marcurio was the reason for his brushes of death with women in the first place. Then we suggested we call Matilda, call Sandra, and have Sandra see Marcurio collect on his present live and in person. But we decided against it.

Instead, we decided to keep laughing and having fun. We decided to keep cracking jokes and to continue frolicking in the Neverland we somehow inhabited, stilted souls never to develop into full blown adults. The pirate who had accidentally infiltrated our lair would never return again, by hook or by crook. And in unison we shouted, “BLOW JOBS FOR ALL!!!”

Gosh my sixth grade self would have thought this was the best night ever.

The end. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

Buy my DVD Broke and Semi-Famous available through EBay

We've Only Just Begun (The Carpenters)

Yesterday marked my parent's 39 wedding anniversary. It is kind of strange they have been married that long. These days, people have a starter marriage, then a second marriage, and maybe two or three others. They are still on their first one though.

It all began at my Aunt Marie's wedding. You see, the back story was that my Nunni had dragged my mom to my aunt's wedding. She convinced my mom, who was a first year teacher, that there were available men at weddings. My mother scoffed. Still, she worked in education, where women outnumber men literally 3:1. Plus my mom taught PE. As a jock, male teachers were intimidated by her. Sure, she is tiny, but she can kick your ass. Do not be fooled.

They came to be invited to the wedding because my Nunni had stepped in to help my Mema Ralph during a rough period. Years before, Mema Ralph had lost her husband to a heart attack. My Aunt Margaret (RIP) had gotten married, and left home. At the time, my dad was in college. As my aunt was ready to make her voyage down the aisle, there were still 4 young children to be accounted for. Mema Ralph had no work experience aside from being a stay at home mom. So my Nunni, who was a nurse, stepped in and helped her get licensed as an LPN. To thank her for assisting in her dire time of need, she plus one guest were invited to the wedding of her daughter Marie and her fiance Frank, a guy who she had dated since high school. (They too are still married).

The reception was crowded, and music was playing. My Aunt Margaret, who was an awesome cook, was catering the affair. Suddenly, out of no where, the bartender had a heart attack, and an ambulance had to be called. The place was filled, because both the Brucker and O'Brien clans invited everyone they knew. It was a German Irish Catholic wedding, and there is one thing people do there. They get drunk. They get drunk to celebrate. They get drunk to forget that they are getting old because someone they saw grow up is getting married. They get drunk to deal with family members that they can't stand. Alcohol serves a purpose, a big one, and the bartender was down for the count.

My Nunni, always being a part of the solution, decided she and my mother would take charge of the situation. They jumped behind the bar, and with members of the Brucker clan, began making drinks and handing them out to guests at the wedding. So what the bartender was gone? They were on their own making the best of a terrible situation, and the guests were none the wiser. Between my mom and Nunni manning the booze and my Aunt Margaret in the kitchen, things moved smoothly. Of course, my dad stepped in as social director making sure there was no hitch. After all it was his sister's big day, and because their father had passed he had given her away, and therefore had to take on the rest of those duties, and this meant cruise director on the big day. Sure, it was crazy, but my Aunt Marie and Uncle Frank played if off as if nothing was happening, and despite the dust up their big day ended up being fantastic.

Afterwards, my grateful father walked over to my Nunni and asked, "Thank you so much. You took a situation that could have been a complete disaster and made it work. If there is anything I can do, ever, let me know."

To which my Nunni replied, "Yeah, go over there and dance with my single daughter."

Meanwhile, my Nunni walks over to my mother and says, "Act like you are bored. Guys like that."

So they danced and the rest is history. Nine months later, they were married. Of course, on her wedding day, my mom said to the DJ, "For my first dance, I don't know what I want. But don't play 'We've Only Just Begun.' I hate that song."

The DJ said, "Okay."

Sure enough, on her wedding day, that was their first dance song. So yeah, that's the story of Wilbur and Annalise Brucker. There you go.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad

Love you

www.aprilbrucker.com

Simple Kind of Life (No Doubt)

During my recent work binge, I was bit by the bug of insomnia. To make a long story extremely short, I went to the facebook page of a girl I went to high school with. In a tripped out too tired to sleep plus the fact she appeared in my feed led me to check up on her life. I will call her Jenny. Back in the day Jenny was a pretty kid. She was a cheerleader, and each year was nominated for Homecoming Court. But while a pretty kid, Jenny also had a good heart. Not all pretty kids do. Jenny and I were never besties or even friends per se, but we had some of the same friends. If we saw each other on the street today, odds are we would say hello and catch up for a minute maybe.

Unlike Jenny, I was popular for my achievements, not for being a pretty kid. However, because my brother Wendell played football, I was friends with the football players because I knew their families. Plus some were second or third generation cheerleaders, so sometimes I knew their families as well. So yeah, I was friends with the pretty kids.

Anyway, I got the five second online update on Jenny’s life. She was doing well for herself, a little interior design business. I remember her being a good artist. And I also saw she had gotten married. Unlike some pretty kids who’s best look days are in high school, Jenny retained her beauty. Some of it might be genetics, but a lot of it is because she was always a nice person. Pretty kids who are ugly on the inside don’t usually age well. The newly wed and her handsome husband are expecting a baby. It’s trippy, because it was only yesterday I was headed to NYU. I had just finished high school. Time passes so quickly.

These days I am just a Princess Pan chasing a pipe dream. It’s odd how the rest of the world has moved on to adulthood in ways I havent. Yeah, I am on my own doing things that would scare most people. Sure, things have started to happen in my career. But I sacrificed most of my 20s and work night and day. And as for husband and children? Who are they and what is that?

Morbid curiosity mixed with sleeplessness I googled to see if they had a wedding announcement. I know, not the least bit creepy, right? Part of me justified it as I was too tired to sleep. The other part of me felt like I was hiding in her bushes outside her house. I still did it anyway. Well I came across Jenny’s wedding website. Her husband, Preston, is a former Marine turned firefighter. They met on a boating trip, where during a strange series of events she fell overboard. One thing about the city of Pittsburgh, is that our three rivers have currents. And if you get caught in them, you could drown. Jenny got caught in a current, and Preston dove overboard. He was able to swim out against the current, put her on his back and got her to shore. The rest is history.

The cynic in me wanted to believe it was a lie or fabricated. But he’s pretty built so there is probably truth there.

I was happy for the both of them. They looked like a nice couple. Good people deserve good things. However, I felt a pang of something in my gut. It’s not jealousy. There are times Jenny probably wishes she could live my life. Note: I make it sound really good on facebook. Not to mention I am doing everything I want to do. It was more like Envy Light, that is, if envy were a soft drink. It was a gentle reminder that when I declared my intentions of chasing rainbows and Skittles and declared my career my first love, perhaps there were some things I wasn’t going to get. And it also occurred to me that in my pursuit of fame and fortune onstage, on screen, and in print I didn’t have much outside of myself. Yes, I live that so called selfish kind of life. It’s a real conclusion when you come to it, and one that can not be labeled in simply one adjective.

I know the life I lead is not equipped for a husband and children. Most guys don’t understand when they come second. This is why show biz marriages always end in disaster. Children always want to come first. They can’t when there are lines to be learned and deadlines to be met. In a lot of ways, show business is not designed for people who want a family. You end up getting married several times and having a bunch of kids who hate you. Or you die alone with your stories and posters with no one at your side. There are the rare few like Jeff Foxworthy who find the needle in the stack of needles, a spouse that supports them unconditionally. Or people elect to have a family, but either do community theatre or teach thus sacrificing the dream. Some are happy, but there are those who always wonder, “What if….”

About a year ago, I was involved with a project where the guy I was working with was getting married. The wedding came first, and the project came second. His bride to be, a woman who was pushing 35 but dreamed of her wedding day since she had been 5, wanted the most expensive wedding ever and wanted to go to Hawaii. That meant he wanted everything for free which doesn’t happen in New York. Needless to say, because he was on the wedding channel, I was stuck doing all the work and everything exploded. I explained to him he had to make a decision. What was more important, the wedding or his career. Another wedding might come along, and this might merely be his starter marriage. However, the way my business is structured, you might not get this chance again. I wasn’t saying scrap the wedding, I was saying prioritize your time. Either way, it ended in disaster.

As I was cracking the whip, people around me made me feel like a piece of shit for making him prioritize. I was called a mean, bitter woman by several people I felt were my friends. If I were a man demanding the same things, I would have been an effective leader. I felt for Oprah when she was ridiculed by women for being honest, if she had chosen to have kids they would have hated her. I felt badly for the character of Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada, because if she were a man she would have been a corporate genius. I felt for both Margot Channing and Bette Davis, women who sacrificed everything for their careers only to be vilified by those around them for not fulfilling a traditional gender role. Then again, if we got Hillary Clinton in here she would know all about that, right?

Either way, I have the better career and my ex business partner gets regular blow jobs. Who is more successful? Depends on who you ask.

But then that leaves me with the aching question in my stomach as well as that of every Feminist. Can women have it all? The Second Wave promised that women could. But as time go on, many women drop the career or compromise it to raise their children. They don’t want to be away for those developmental milestones. Could you blame them? Or when they try to have the heavy duty career they are away from their children, putting them in the arms of a possible sicko who could hurt them and feel stressed and guilty. Or they try to do both but look and feel tired. Then women wonder if Feminism sold them a crock of shit and if it is worth it to have both?

It sounds promising on paper, but then again, so does Communism.

Some of my reluctance at coupling is aimed at the fact I work with mostly dudes. In the comedy world, the make up is mostly male. Some men don’t welcome the idea of female comedians and don’t find them funny. These mouth breathers can be exhausting, especially when they inform you that the only reason you get certain things is because you are a “cute woman.” I also work as a sports talking head. Most of the guys I work with are alright. A few weeks ago, two let me know they didn’t appreciate a woman encroaching on their sacred territory in not so many words. Needless to say, sometimes when I close my door I prefer not to be greeted by the tyrannical, oppressive patriarchy. I don’t want to be chained to the stove, being some man’s stretch marked sex slave fuck you very much.

This past week I did a puppet film with people affiliated with the Harvard Documentary Lab. My child costar was especially impressive, knowing his lines and needing very little coaching. I wish more adult actors were like him. Additionally, the executive producer’s son was a little man. He was funny, bright, and quickly tutored me in the latest video game. The executive producer explained as a single mother she and her son were a package deal. I found myself taken with both children, and hoped if I were ever in a position to have kids they would be like that. Then I realized why people did have children, they were a diversion. They impressed you without realizing it, and made you laugh when you took things too seriously.

Our director lives in the Mississippi Delta with her wife and two children. Yes, she is part of a biracial lesbian family that lives in one of the poorest, most underserved parts of the country. I remember she glowed when she spoke about her wife and kids. No matter what the nature of your family unit, people get a special spark when they talk about their significant other or children. Single people don’t have that. Our director has it all. She has the beautiful family, a career as a lawyer, a career as a filmmaker, and she is happy. Maybe Feminism didn’t lie. So there is hope.

Still, I know I am unlucky in love. I broke enough mirrors to be unlucky for five lifetimes. Maybe I never got the Captain of the Football Team or the Class President, but I had their dad or dirty uncle pursuing me when I was either working as a lifeguard or bagging groceries at the supermarket. Prince Charming doesn’t stop by my window. His married deadbeat brother with a heroin addiction does. Nothing says Monday morning like a black sedan following you slowly down the street knowing you could possibly end up on an episode of Snapped. So yeah, with that shit luck it was easy to say “Bye Bye Love.”

I have no time to focus on love anyway. I have a big event at Don’t Tell Mama on July 3 (Plug). I have growth at Ranter, which has been an awesome opportunity. I have a music video being released. So is my DVD. My brain is leaking. Better pick up the pieces.

Still, there is a part of me that wants to be drowing in Pittsburgh’s choppy rivers, and when all things look down I want to be rescued by an ex-Marine turned fireman. I want him to carry me away into the sunset. Shit, I hate it when I turn into a woman. It really sucks when that happens.

Or maybe I should stay the fuck off of facebook when I can’t sleep. 

What Is Love (Howard Jones)

I had a deep conversation with a fellow comedian online last night. This dude has had a hell of a year. I would tell you but it means putting his personal business out for the world to see and he is not in a place where that would be good let alone helpful for him. Anyway, we were discussing relationships and such via facebook chat where all good things happen. And then the subject of love came up.

I don’t believe in love. I don’t think it is possible. I think that humans should just be polyamorous creatures. It’s hard to be loyal so why should we do it? Love always fades in the end. People always disappoint us. Sex cheapens everything. Just have open relationships and then the cheating factor is out the window.

The dude surprised me by saying he felt like he needed to watch a Disney Movie after hanging out with me. He said that if it weren’t for love life wouldn’t be worth it. Either this was a line to totally bait me, or he is that much of a sucker. I teased him and told him to stop acting like such a damn woman. I couldn’t tell what he was going for, Emo or Shakespeare. Either way, it made me think. Maybe I am too cynical.

I thought of the two men I almost married. The psychotic fiancé and I were so intense I thought it was love. It was really two self-centered children who got high off of drama, conflict, and loved the attention it brought them. When the ex stalked me when it ended it was about control, not the fact he still loved me. I also spoke about it Friday when I was interviewed on camera for a documentary. I thought if I gave up my ventriloquism for someone who was emotionally and physically abusive he would change. Instead it was a testament to my low self-worth, and that is what scares me the most to look at. That I played a role.

The second time he had pretty outsides like a nice job and he could have given me a nice life. I didn’t really like him. I just wanted to live happily ever after. I was happy he didn’t call me a bitch, hit me, and thrilled he had a job. He said he loved me but I never believed him. Maybe it’s because I knew I wasn’t being honest. He spent lots of money on me. I treated him like crap though. Then I found out he had a lying problem. It served me right. I was so fixated on the externals I didn’t focus on what really mattered.

For the most part these days I am happily single. I don’t even think of love. My friends in relationships all seemingly want to jump into traffic. And when they don’t whine about the fact their lover snores or whatever, they are forced to give up their dreams to be baby making machines from hell. And are they happy? I don’t know. They say they are but then they tell me how they wish they had my life. I am broke a lot of the time. I do my own home repairs. I sleep alone. As a result I follow my dreams and am starting to have an inkling of a career. That is why it pisses me off when my coupled friends and rels try to fix me up, as if I am some sad, bizarre charity case.

On the other hand, sometimes I see couples walking hand and hand. Sometimes I just want someone to hold me, tell me it is alright just like the womanizing friend in Wedding Crashers. As I get older too I wonder if I will die alone. It’s weird. Sometimes I just want someone. I want to believe love exits.

Then when I get a boyfriend I want to strangle him for being human. I want to yell at him for not being perfect. I berate him for not saying the right thing or getting my script in the mail. And then I get bored when I realize he has needs and can’t always be about me. Oh and I will end up hating his friends. And then if he snores I hate him more. Then I want to smother him with the pillow. As I look around my room and see my costumes and puppets I think I am better off with them.

Love

April

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

www.aprilbrucker.com

www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr 

Husband, Babies, and a Fireplace

I am a career woman. To someone like myself Hillary Clinton is a hero. While she is in the Oval Office and I am trying to break into entertainment, we both basically put our professional lives first and personal-what is that? Husband, well hers was fooling around and she was too busy running the country to notice. And then she probably stood by her man because she was too busy to leave. Where was she going to go? Divorce takes time and she had a health care system to clean up. I digress.

Anyway, I haven’t had a guy in sometime. Between writing and publishing a book, promoting that book, recording the audio version of that book and writing the musical version of the book I really haven’t given a guy a second thought. That is, until I was interviewed by a local magazine in my hometown where the guy asked, “Do you want a husband or kids in the future?”

The question threw me for a loop. The answer is I really don’t know.

Honest to God I didn’t know. In middle school I wasn’t allowed to date. My parents emphasized academics, goals, and achievement. My father was the first to get not only a college degree but an MBA and a law degree in a working class family, and both my mom’s parents were educated. My dad was a professor and my mom was a teacher. Television was not allowed until Friday so boys were out of the question completely. As a matter of fact some folks even thought I was gay because the story that April couldn’t date boys turned into April couldn’t talk to boys. But I had my puppets and my tablet with my thoughts. Better than any of the zit faced guys in my junior high class. Sure I had crushes, who didn’t. Still, they were a world away.

High school was more chasing my goals. When I wasn’t busting my behind in school I was taping shows at the cable access station, performing ventriloquism somewhere, writing a column for the local paper, going to a play practice, attending an acting or voice class, and then to support it all I bagged groceries at the local supermarket on the weekends. My dream schools were Smith College, Mount Holyoke, Brown University, New York University, Emerson College, and Carnegie Mellon University and perhaps Julliard. There was no time for a guy in my star chasing.  There was no time for anything that wasn’t getting me ahead. And the three guys I did like in high school all made it clear they didn’t return the favor. But the help with analyzing the Emily Dickinson, oh they gladly took that.

College was an adventure. My first year I was a miss all around. One guy invited me to his room to watch TV. The next thing I know he was all over me. Apparently watch television is code for lets have sex. I so didn’t know that. We didn’t have sex and he felt bad I was in the dark. Later we became good friends and joked about the incident. Still, that wasn’t a high point in my life.

The few guys I liked seriously rejected me in a pretty low way. One in particular was a favorite at an NYU extension and famous acting studio I was later asked to leave. This young lad was tall, dark, and handsome and slated to have quite the career. I, on the other hand, was being told that I wouldn’t. Well tall, dark, and handsome found out about my puppets and we connected. He assured me he had the same struggles and came out swinging. All the girls liked him. Well he used to seek me out to speak to me and even invited me to some theatre party but I was busy or something. Well one day I was taking a stress walk after writing a paper and saw him when it started to drizzle. I was wondering aimlessly, he was walking home. I ended up walking with him in my meandering. Once we got to his dorm he suddenly turned acting as if I was the unwanted overweight companion-I was in those days-rather than the pleasant surprise in the hood. After crying on the way home, risking pneumonia, and then showering I wrote him off and gave him the cold shoulder everytime I saw him.

The fucker capitalized on his short time with me by twisting the story on Gawker-not bad for someone slated to not have a career- about how I followed him home once and it was the most terrifying thing ever. Sir, you wish I were stalking you. Because unfortunately the bitter teachers who were jealous I had a shot and they didn't were wrong. You never had that acting career and never will. Trashing me on Gawker is the closest you will ever get to that career. Now tell me, how does it feel to know you peaked at twenty?

Sophomore year I had my heart broken by a few guys who were just shallow. But I was in a new studio extension and finding success there. Plus I found standup comedy and that took up most of my nights. There could be no man. There could only be Lee Strasberg. I simply had crushes on set up, premise, and punchline. May Wilson got all the action.

Junior year I found myself engaged to a much older man who was intimidated by the fact I was smarter than him and going places. His friends-stupider than he was-said things. First he told me what I could and couldn’t wear. Then he told me how I could and couldn’t dress. Next it was him or the puppets. I gave up my children for six months. The worst mistake of my life. Next he wanted to kill his mother so he could get the insurance money to be with me.

They left that part of the story out on TV.

 Same with the stalking and threatening. My mom hates when I talk about it, but I need to so women in the same situation can know that it will be fine. Plus I was lucky. He only talked about killing me. Yeardley Love probably wishes she could take my place. She probably wishes a separate mailing address was the least of her problems. This Sir Lancelot pops up to “make amends” everytime things go well in my life. Meanwhile he and whatever piece of trash with low self esteem he is stringing on goes on some message board to talk trash. Who would have known with all of his sleazing and sleeping with his stripper ex for money, I would be the ex his new girlfriends would all be jealous of? My ex also took credit for writing my act and my jokes. Watch him take credit for my book next, assweed. 

After that I dated a string of forgettables, one being a lawyer who couldn’t stop lying. Many being ex-cons who could at least tell the truth about the crimes they were committing. Some were nice, but my love of my career and my busy schedule always made things fizzle out. All were fun runs in the sun but nothing more.

Then my friend Chacho passed and I wanted to do everything I could do to make my life and career complete. I thought of all the things Chacho would want for me. Chacho wouldn’t want me to date losers, he had done that and it is what put him in an early grave. He would want me to pour that energy into being a superstar and hanging out with the most fancy people in the world. Chacho would want me to put that energy into nice clothes. Chacho would want me to live big. Well I did. I cut men out entirely, especially when the television time started rolling in. Needless to say, after a bunch of events the schedule became very full. I had no time for a man but ironically had a lot of male admirers. Male admirers who loved me and my puppet children. Maybe a guy could like me for being me.

And there was one who did. Yes, he did. I have blogged about him and gave him a fake name to protect him because I know he was in trouble somewhere. The truth is, he liked me for being me. No guy ever did. Unfortunately he was sick-bipolar he was not taking his meds for and abusing drugs instead. I had to let him go. Not because I wanted to, I had to. He didn’t want to take his meds and he didn’t want to get help. Sometimes I think that if he were to show up at my door clean, sober, and appropriately medicated I would take him back. But that probably won’t happen. Maybe that says a lot about the God I believe in. But unfortunately it’s reality.

I dated a former reality star and washed up comedian who I thought liked me but was just using my visibility to revive his dead career.

There is a part of me that knows I am damaged. I know I am scarred and have a hard time trusting guys. Actually, most of the time they are guilty in April’s Court ruled by the iron fist of Roman Law. I always assume they are cheating and sleazing around-in my mind. Not to mention I never tell them about my career because I am scared they will make me give it up and have their children. I am scared I will have to give up my whole life I worked for. And wait until they see some of the photos I take and the letters male fans write me. Then I know it’s over. Not to mention I am a lousy cook and clean as frequently as the Jets win because I am so busy with my career.

Translated, my relationships end badly for a reason. I could never make a guy happy, and a lot of it is my fault. At least I know that though, right? Apparently men don’t like it when you try to make them puppets.

On the flipside someday it might be nice to have someone to spend forever with. A special someone to have that big wedding with. A special someone to honeymoon with on some tropical island. A special someone to have children and grow old with. A special someone who watches football, snores, rakes leaves, and shovels snow. A special someone who even when I want to kill him makes me laugh a second later and I forget about my grudge. A special someone who lets me know the world isn’t a big, bad, dark, hole waiting to gobble me up.

It might be nice to have kids someday. Kids who are babies that I can dress in adorable outfits. Kids who don’t color in the lines and finger paint to the point that it gets on them. Kids who play Pee Wee football, Pee Wee soccer, Pee Wee dance and whatever other Pee Wee thing there might be to do aside from going to that perve’s playhouse. Kids that do spelling words, even if I have to force them before school. Kids who make me laugh with their explanations and schemes of why they did something. Kids who sparkle and make me smile. Kids who know they have puppet brothers and sisters and as a result can put up with anyone’s differences.

But both the husband and kids are fictional. They don’t speak in these dreams. Plus if they were real they would have to compete with my closet of costumes and room full of eleven puppets. My schedule is busy so they would be fending for themselves in the kitchen and doing all the laundry. And something tells me they would not understand being stashed under the bed when space was tight.

Oops, they aren’t puppets.

I guess for now it is my apartment that looks like a war zone, my puppets, my comedy, my video making, my book writing, my singing telegrams and my music that occasionally gets on the radio.

This week a guy took my number and he has been lukewarm basically letting me know he isn’t that into me. Sigh, just like high school. Now off to my guy free life of a bubble bath and trash romance novel. The guys in those books are what women want. Those fictional men can be into me if I make them into puppets. I better stop while I am ahead. I sound crazy. I can picture one of them writing in the next time I am written up in the Gawker. He can say I forced him into a bubble bath after a rain storm. 

Love 

April

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

877-buy-book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Available on Amazon as a paperback and ebook

Available through Barnes and Noble online in hardback and on Nook

Growing and Changing: My Christmas Blog

Christmas sometimes is a holiday for the young. I guess it is the whole Santa thing. A white haired guy breaks all physical barriers and slides down the chimey despite his size and the fact it killed the girl's father in Gremlins 2. Adults find fault. Children believe readily.

The whole concept of growing and changing started yesterday. My Aunt Jeanie's dog is getting bigger. I mean bear size. Burlgars beware. My cousins Colt and Legran are getting older in school. One injured his foot doing Parkour in the back yard to his mother's chagrin. Then my cousin Mindy announced she was pregnant.

Not just pregnant with one baby but WITH TWINS!!! Wait a hot minute. Does your mother know? Did you tell your husband? I remember when she was a beautiful dancer with city ballet and weight gain let alone pregnancy were the last things she wanted. Now she will be gaining plenty of weight. Now she will be eating all the iced cream and pizza she was never allowed to eat as a dancer. But twins! How time flies. This is insane. I thought it was insane when Wendell married Veronique. Now Wendell is talking about his feelings. This is all too much as my grandparents have not one great grandchild but three.

Meara was with her boyfriend, yes a steady in Georgia. Skipper is graduating medical school and going to be a real doctor. She's bright. She's an adult. But in my eyes she is still my baby sister, slipping in my bed when she has nightmares at seven years old; taking my covers. Kicking me. Being the worst bed fellow ever. But now she is no longer Skipper but Dr. Skipper.

My grandfather got his eyes fixed and he read my whole book. So age is changing some for the better.

On my dad's side my cousin Jayce's boyfriend saw me on Korean TV. I like Brendan. I hope he sticks around. I can wait for a wedding. Jennika also has a boyfriend. She is so young I don't know that it is serious. Mema wants a grandbaby though. Rob Fran, my trumpet playing cousin, released his first album but will probably be a bachelor forever. It's not that he doesn't love you baby, he loves everyone. The curse of those of us born under Libra. My grandma asked me and I was like hell no! Baby would be the last thing I wanted. Then she asked about my cousin Kacie who has been with her boyfriend Mike forever. Oh no. Kacie wants to travel the world and possibly get breast implants because her cousin on the other side did. I think she is a snappy lil number but oh well....

But then she said Kristoff would get married-yes the quiet trombone player in the Notre Dame band. The one Manti T'eo signed the Heisman ball for. And we all burst out laughing. Kacie, Mike and I discussed the wedding. We said it would be a duress, disaster, and a surprise. Who would do such a thing? Not me.

My baby cousin's, all four adopted from Russia, are growing up so quick. I remember them when they were small. They were checking the weather in Moscow. Nineteen degrees. That's warm for this time of year and it is only getting colder. Thank God for America.

My baby cousin Matthew, who I remember when he was little but not so little anymore, made the high school All-Star Team.

My other cousin Jesse and my cousin Apollo danced to a Wii game, while Andre played on his phone. Yes, that is what the kids are getting.

I feel old in some ways. Sophisticated that I am accomplishing things. But still unsure of how to handle this whole grown up thing with dignity and grace. Sometimes it is great to know I have freedom, sometimes it sucks because if I break the law they can stick a needle in my arm-no, not the stuff to get me high. The stuff to kill me. As time flies I want to know what happened to my youth and some of my dreams. Granted, sometimes they were more work than intended but still, what happened to time?

As part of me forges ahead and talks about my plans I feel like a Peter Pan's Lost Boy Rufio being left behind in the fairy dust. Despite my TV time I don't own a TV or bed because they cost money. I may always be poor and have surrendered myself to that. I have no husband or man in my sites. I might never marry let alone have children. It's just my puppets, my books, my jokes, my stage time, my TV appearances, and a warm cup of tea and Lifetime Movie in a chilly winter's eve.

But then my Mema, who is trying to break out of the nursing home, who defies doctor's orders tells me she catalogues all the books she reads. The journal is kept in her underwear drawer. I am entry 2000. She has done this practice since she was a little girl. Somethings never change. And it is all for the better.

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



Come to my book signing
December 27, 2012 @ 7pm (tomorrow)
Bethel Park Library
5100 West Library Ave
Bethel Park, PA 15102