Boogie Nights

Last night was kind of wild. I boarded the train to do a burlesque show in Brooklyn. When I got on the train I found myself minding my own business when my friend Pauly steps on. Pauly and I go way back and well, he is Pauly. In the season of the Aries he just had a birthday. Not to mention Pauly is crazy as hell and is on a permanent fitness kick. It had been forever and a day since I saw him because he moved downtown.

So Pauly is telling me about his life and is showing me a picture of his Filipino girlfriend who is very pretty. She is a nurse and apparently she can cook quite well. I was glad things were working out so well for him. While I will probably be single forever, I can enjoy when guy meets girl and it doesn’t end in a high speed chase.

Just then I hear someone say, “Are you April?”

I look across and it is a young, nice looking black male in a track suit. Very quickly I am thinking, how do I know this young man? “Yes.” I reply. This is very strange. I am telling myself he is probably not a stalker. A stalker wouldn’t be as friendly. And I don’t believe I owe him money. But who is this mysterious stranger is the track suit?

That is when he says, “I am Dorian from Younow.” I am like WTF?!?! How many times have I chatted with this sweetie that graduated from MIT via chatroom on YouNow during my tenure as a host on there? I always found Dorian smart, sweet, and witty. Not to mention he was knowledgeable as heck about a lot of things. My mouth dropped open. This nice looking black man in the track suit was not a stalker or a former boyfriend but someone who I dealt with many a time via chat room, email, and any other online communication. Not to mention when I opened up about some shiteous things that happened in my past he and his friends were mucho supportive. So lets just say it was a pleasant surprise.

I asked how he recognized me. Dorian said, “I saw you through your sunglasses and heard your voice.” Wowsa, I will never be able to prank call anyone ever.

I promptly introduced Pauly and Dorian. Two stops later Pauly departed and Dorian and I caught up. I asked this youngin, who had been but a zygote out of MIT when we met, how life was treating him. Dorian was still hard at work at YouNow and was living in Clinton Hill. Oh and that pretty girlfriend that he had that was working at Google was now his fiancé. My jaw dropped open. Oh how these kids grow up so fast. I asked him how he proposed and apparently Dorian sent her on a scavenger hunt and then the last stop was the first place they met and he proposed. How romantic! Oh and the wedding is this July. A few stops later Dorian departed but it was awesome to finally get to meet him in person. Lesson learned. A mysterious man in a track suit is a friend you should have in your neighborhood.

I finally got to Lucky 13 Saloon in Park Slope. When I walked in the bar TV had Santa Claus Versus The Martians playing. It is one of the best/worst movies ever. As I glanced on the screen I saw Santa had just been kidnapped so the Martian children could have Christmas. Of course the dialogue was less than audible, not that it was really worth hearing, over the heavy metal music. First was Korn, than Slipknot and then a slew of other angry white kid bands that I liked as a teenager. I met one of the people affiliated with the show who told me they were very anxious to see me and to make myself at home. Then I promptly walked over to the bar where several scantily clad go go girls were doing their thing. One was dressed in something skimpy and black and the other in a Catholic school girl outfit. I told myself whatever happened this evening would be memorable.

Just as I got my soda I heard, “You’re April Brucker!” I turned around and standing there was a man in a suit with a red tie. He had on a stylish hat and sported a small chin beard that was a mix of soul patch and goatee. I prayed I hadn’t accidentally dated him or owed him money. However, seeing him after seeing the stranger in the track suit that turned out to be Dorian Dargan was a little crazy.

“Yes.” I said.

“I’m Chad Russell.” He extended his hand and I shook it. Chad Russell! Chad and I had been talking online for God knows how long. He was a fan of mine and online friend who I was quite fond of. Chad had been plotting to come see one of my shows for sometime and it just simply never worked out. But now here he was and I was about to perform with May. Needless to say he hung out at this bar all the time and just happened to walk in. This was a pleasant surprise and beyond wild. I told him about my chance meeting with Dorian and asked if whatever was up there was trying to send me a message. Chad and I talked about whether or not his was an omen. While we both believe that God or whatever higher power runs the universe can send one omens we also think omen is a big word. But maybe this was all an omen. Either way, there were nearly naked women jiggling on the bar top in a biker den. This was how most omen like stories started in my experience. Now I was in one perhaps.

The performers on the show trickled in, and with them was Angry Bob. It had been forever since I had seen Bob who was one of my first friends in comedy. I introduced Bob and Chad and we all caught up. Soon joining the part was Todd Montesi who was also on the show, and then Jessica Stern. Jessica and I had met at Ray Payton’s funeral. To give you an idea, Ray’s cousin wanted to roast Ray at his wake and Jessica started the roasting. She said Ray had hit on her. And then I went next and mentioned Ray hit on me too. This was followed by every woman in the room coming to the realization that Ray Payton had hit on them. We talked about coming to Ray’s grave in lingerie teddy’s just to screw with his dead spirit this summer. All jokes aside he was our friend but still. Jessica and I laughed and were jumping up and down screaming like two school girls on crack. It was fun and the show hadn’t even started.

Finally the show began almost an hour late and the host took the stage. Steve was funny in that dufus absent minded kind of way. I told myself with the biker types at the bar this show could either be sink or swim. The girls were all tattooed, and the guys looked like they could win a prison fight. The entire time before Steve took the stage they had been oogling over the scantily clad women and putting dollar bills in their G-Strings. Hey, you gotta pay the rent, right?

The show began with the burlesque dancer and than more naked women jiggling on the bar top. Angry Bob then took the stage and freaking killed it. I always like seeing my friends kill it no matter where they are killing it. Bob took down the house and sold a few CD’s. Bob’s victory over the crowd felt like a good sign for me. Usually crowds that like Bob are usually crowds that like me. And those crowds are rough and tumble people who ride motorcycles and might be likely to bite off your ear. But hey, they wanna laugh, right?

The burlesque dancer did a few more numbers and then there were more scantily clad women and more comedy. As the night progressed, I found myself floating in and out of the bar. Because there was a lot packed into one night, it was getting very late. During the course of the evening a guy with long, curly hair by the name of Chris entered the bar. He looked slightly like someone who would have worked or partied with Madonna back in the day. He had skin that was a caramel color, sported a leather jacket, and had long hair. During the interlude with heavy metal music I found myself thinking, “You are cute enough to ruin my life with.”

We went outside and talked where he revealed he was a Libra. This was already trouble. A Libra man is a flirt who has a girl in every port, and is most often the lollipop that everyone has licked. Still he was adorable. He revealed he played guitar and that was his only woman. Also that he was a Columbian from Sunset Park. My experience has told me to give up Latin men for Lent. However Lent is over and it has been a terribly long winter. Still I told myself to be careful. That is when the Columbian who introduced himself as Chris took me in his arms and kissed me. I was totally taken aback. Sure I was attracted to him but never expected the instant passion. I kissed him right back. Why not? Then I was interviewed as a part of the video for the show and Chris jumped into frame with me as my man candy.

As the night went on it finally came time for me to perform. After much go go dancing they were ready for what I had to offer. I knew it was going to be a task but I had to wake this crowd up. So I did some crowd work, they laughed. Good sign. As they were hooked I took May out and immediately they were charmed. In a burlesque set I usually do I had a male audience member take off my trench coat in order to reveal a bikini. The audience went wild. Then I invited two of the Go Go Girls to join May and I for a brief dance. Maybe this wasn’t standup per se but this was a wild night. Sometimes the best thing you can do is just roll with shit. The audience loved it and people got photos. May and I finished our set and I put her away. Then I made a hottie who wandered in my human puppet and he totally ate it up as did the audience. Maybe this set was not getting me on Comedy Central but it is what they would call “fun as fuck” in the world of basement comedy.

When I was done I changed into my sweats. It was getting cold wearing no clothing. I wonder how porn stars do it for serious. I ended up hawking a few books and making some new friends. Of course I went outside to get some air, Chris followed, and then he took me in his arms and kissed me again. I kissed back and it is safe to say we made out a little. Believe it or not I am sort of on the shy side so he had to do all the pursuing. But it didn’t last that long. I had to go in for Jessica’s set and girl rocked it out!

We ended up leaving as people were eating the sushi that was put on one of the Go Go girls for edible purposes plus more. Jessica was my ride home, and the entire time we lamented about all the crazy Latin men we had dated. As we were cruising down the high way remembering our jail bird boyfriends in that mix we accidentally almost ran a red light or two. I made a joke about how a high speed chase would have been perfect for an evening such as this.

Well then it was time to take the Easy Pass lane. Jessica tries to find her Easy Pass sticker while driving. We are laughing and she is trying to drive and we almost crash the car. So then I offer to find the sticker. I do as we don’t die, good times. Well then we try to make the sticker work but it doesn’t work, it’s low on funds, McShitstorm. So then there is no one working at the toll booth. That is when Jess decides to back up and pull into the other toll lane. Well then as we are there this mean, nasty cop appears. He tells Jessica that her maneuver is going to cost her two points on her license. As if! Because of the phantom toll booth action going on we had to do whatz we had to do McYo Yo. So Jess starts trying to bargain with the cop because he came out of no where and there was no one in the toll booth. Finally I beg the cop to let her go and not to shave points off of her license. So he lets us go. We learned our lesson.

We got out of there and talked about how if we failed in comedy we could either be traffic cops or toll booth operators. Neither really work it seems. But we almost got our high speed chase. Nonetheless, I think I have a new friends. Actually new friends.

To more adventures with Chad Russell!

To more wild gigs with Angry Bob!

To more run ins with Dorian Dargan and broadcasting online again!

To more fun with my new girlie pal and more adventures with Jessica Stern!

To more ruining my life with long haired guitar players! (Okay maybe not but it sounds fun).

LoveApril
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

Boobs and Pussy: McWha?!?!

I sometimes don't understand guys. Actually, make that never. They are fascinated to no end by boobs and pussy. Seriously. When they see tits they go ga ga and when there is a mention of getting laid and getting in the magic box they go even crazier swearing to be doctors, lawyers, and Native American tribal leaders if it does the trick.

Personally I have boobs and I don't see what the big deal is. They are a pain in the ass if you really want to know. They serve no purpose whatsoever. Most of the time I have to worry about what bra to wear with what and how to make sure my bra straps are not showing. Not to mention I have to wear a sports bra when I exercise to keep the useless things from flapping about and to keep from getting stretch marks. Not to mention that I am likely to get cancer there and have to have someone grope them every so often to make sure there are no lumps.

And guys are fascinated with these things. WOW!

Then the pussy is the one that really puzzles me. The thing is kind of weird. It bleeds for anywhere from three to five days once a month which already makes it a pain in the ass freeloader of female anatomy. Yes, it is a pain to deal with. What liners to use, and how to avoid getting toxic shock syndrome from tampons. Oh, and have you ever looked at a vagina in the mirror? When it is hairy it looks like a bizarre, scary, bearded creature that lives in a cave ready to shallow whoever enters. When it is shaved it looks like that bizarre, scary, cave creature on chemo. But men can't get enough of this. They scheme on ways to get it. They go out to clubs set on getting inside of it. I have one and personally I don't see what the big deal is.

Again, WOW!

And then there is the whole Wonder Woman thing. Guys think a Wonder Woman costume is hot along with any chick who could potentially kick their ass. They think that this is kinky. Of course this is coupled by the Catholic School girl outfit and the lollipop. And then there are the pornos with no plot that they say, "But she's hot." Yes, and I suppose this is why you spend money and watch these idiotic laced films in private. It is certainly not the dialogue. I really just don't get it. Oh and then there are the cheerleader outfits some guys like their girls to wear when they role play, along with the naughty nurse and french maid. Either too many pornos or men are just warped, confused, and twisted.

I don't think they are warped, confused, and twisted actually. I just don't get them. I will admit it. They oogle over a hot billboard and whateves, she's decent looking. But useless mammary glands and a freeloading part that has the street nickname of a feline, many women have them and find them a pain in the ass, and we can tell you that they are not special in the least.

Maybe this questioning is a nagging insecurity that deep down I know that if I were to ever get a man I would not have the first clue on how to make him happy. That there would always be someone better looking who could keep her mouth shut that could cook a better apple pie.

Maybe it is the fear of getting old.

Or maybe it is that men are such bizarre creatures that I don't understand them. They oogle over the useless organ and the freeloader of all female anatomy. I am just puzzled. I have one of each and can tell you that it is no big deal. It's not like you have to do anything to earn them.

Either way, if I ever get a husband or some sort of male life partner I will alleviate these worries by telling him the football game is on. He can oogle at the scantily cheerleaders all day long and exert his testosterone while watching a tackle or two. Both will keep him occupied as me and my girls and my gays have an afternoon of Golden Girls reruns. We can do our own thing, it will be spectacular.

Of course men are oblivious. He won't even realize I was gone. The secret to a happy marriage.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
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12=27-12 @ 7pm
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15102

Strippers on Strike

Back when I was twenty years old, before I turned into the trainwreck who keeps this blog, I was actually a nice kid. I was off the bus from Pittsburgh attending NYU and had dreams damnit. Now I am getting older, look back and say, "April, you were such a dumb ass in those days. How did you not get herpes from touching the wood?"

By wood I mean May's wood. May Wilson was wooden at the time. I had tried to upgrade to a figure much like George Dudley, Otto Petersen's partner in crime. Man did that girl get around. One night we were scheduled to do a show at a run down strip club. I remember walking in with my suitcase and some dress that had pathetic written all over it, May even told me so that ho, and feeling like I already needed a bath. They were playing, "You Shook Me All Night Long" by ZZ Top. At the time I had gotten my young, stupid, pathetic heart broken. I figured this was what men wanted, right?

Walking in, there was a lot going on. There was a skanky girl on the bar top. So skanky it smelled like low tide and I was only standing by the door. The patrons, probably ex cons and others who were fated to have female company only if they paid because God did not bless them with looks tossed small bills her way. I took a look at her. If this was what dudes wanted I quit. It was another reminder that I had left my Sylvia Plath on the night stand. Yes, the brave poetess left by her less talented husband Ted Hughes for some hussy who too would later gas herself in an oven.

I have one words for Sylvia's copycat suicide half wit other woman Assia Wevill: Hack.

Immediately I felt like I didnt belong. I walked over to the bouncer, a big black bear of a man and babbled, "I am clearly not a stripper as you can see. I am here to perform in the comedy show. I do not know where to go." The black bear of a man laughed and patted me on the back. He said, "I figured. You looked out of place and were afraid to touch anything. Show is upstairs sweetheart."

How did he know I wasn't a stripper? Was I not tacky looking enough? Perhaps I wasnt even pretty enough? Maybe I nose wasn't bleeding because I didn't use it like a snowblower. Either way it was a knife to the heart, it was what guys wanted. May Wilson on the other hand wanted a job and wanted to see if she could start immediately. I mumbled going up the stairs, "I hate my fucking roommate."

Luckily my mother had mailed me penecilin. I was taking some as soon as I got home.

When I reached the top of the stairs I took a seat. The whole place said herpes, or this was probably where the last outbreak had occurred. Just then I was approached by a broken down middle aged woman. Her hair was a terrible blonde, almost if she got her style from the broken down 2 AM tranny at the Port Authority. The makeup on her face was melting off, partially due to the fact that it was cheap as the tips the woman downstairs was getting and partially because there was no air conditioning. She wore a tight fitting dress, that exposed breasts that were augmented, and were losing their luster as the whatever cheap stuff they were filled with was probably getting moldy. While her tried to suck it in, her stomach was losing it's lining and hanging out. And she wore lucite shoes. I did a double take. Was this a middle aged stripper?!?!?!

She turned around and bent down to pick something up. All I saw were ripples of cellulite. I didnt know whether to puke, turn to stone, or run. No wonder the strippers here were working for small tips. They were ugly. I was in a club with a bunch of ugly women who took their clothes off for money. No wonder the bouncer didnt think I worked here as a stripper. Not only was I so insecure about my body that I kept my clothes on, but I actually looked good.

A minute later the woman introduced herself as Darla. She asked if I was a new dancing girl. I explained I was not and was doing a comedy show. Darla said she knew about the show and was coming up to watch. I started to talk to her and while she was run down and had a few hard nights in her life she seemed to have a good heart. Hey, just because she be a ho does not mean she is evil.

Darla then said she identified with what I did because she too was a performer, and taking off your clothes was an art. When you got onstage it was an act. You had to think of what you were going to do beforehand, charm the audience, and have a start and finish not to mention a well thought out character. I nodded. While I was working hard to write jokes and learn my craft rather than reduce myself for the adoration and approval of men who probably learned to walk up right last week, I would give her half credit. Plus she acknowledged ventriloquism was a lost art form and perhaps older than the exotic dancing she herself partook in.

The entire time May Wilson screamed, "ASK HER IF THEY ARE HIRING!!!!"

Just then five other strippers came up and began to join the convo. While two were decent looking, for the most part they looked pretty banged up. It was six sex workers, a slutty doll, and a woman who never really had a boyfriend. This could have been a reality show. Just then one of the strippers who identified herself as Bambi explained that the owner was what she referred to as a "shit" and until things changed the strippers were not stripping. They were only working partialy nude. I asked what this would accomplish. Bambi who was stripping her way through law school and was in her sixth year-law school only takes three to complete-said it was because there was going to be a stripper strike.

Curious I asked what the greviances were. Candy, a red head who had danced at some of the top clubs before hitting thirty (her words) explained the owner was an "ass clown" and wasnt letting the girls keep their tips. Plus the stage fee was much too high. Stage fee? Then they explained you had to pay the club to dance. I began to feel sorry for these women. Perhaps they did have hard lives other than the fact they spent their spare time swinging from poles and giving others things that makes one burn when they pee. These women were working hard for their money. Those shoes werent easy to walk in. And guys if you cheat on your damn wife use a condom. That pole took some skill. This owner was an ass clown. Strike, strike, strike!!!!!

Just then the producer arrived. So did the comedians and the show began. The strippers as a part of their strike were dancing partially clothed downstairs, but when they were done, came up to enjoy the comedy show. Some were committed to the strike and skipped dancing all together and enjoyed the show. Not only did they all turn up and completed an audience when it looked like we would have none, but they laughed at everyone. I began to view these women less as sluts and more as friends that perhaps had taken a wrong turn.

May finally asked the question, were they hiring. Candi replied, "Our boss would pay you in nickles and dimes because you are fake. We only get small bills because we are human. Work at Scores. Not only are the guys kinkier but you will get more bang for your buck."

The night ended with me getting drunk with the strippers as they plotted the next phase of their strike. When the morning came, I finally got a cab home and wished them luck. I never did see them after that and never got an update on their progress. I hope the owner's heart softened and that he treated them better. Because one thing is for sure, no horny male wants a partially clothed woman, no matter how many rough nights she has had.

In case you are wondering, the next day I took my penecilin with orange juice and took a nice long bath. Actually two baths.

Love April

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

www.buybooksontheweb.com

877-Buy-Book