My Brand New Place

It has been two whole weeks since I moved into my new digs. The first week was hectic with me getting settled and all. My room was filled with boxes. When we were kids, Skipper, Wendell, and I had a box structure known as Gotham City. Our parents gave it the tongue and cheek nickname because they were remodelling our kitchen, they had leftover boxes, and we made a maze. Of course a groundhog got in there and that was the end of our fun.

These days I do live in Gotham City for real. Well more on the outskirts these days in a sister borough, but I live there nonetheless. My first week there were enough boxes in my new room that I thought of fashioning a new Gotham City. I was bummed there was no groundhog for my mother to chase with a baseball bat, and for Wendell to pretend he wasn't scared of.

One thing I do have in my new digs is a yard with SQUIRRELS. Yes, squirrels. When my mom was in town she saw a black squirrel. Apparently, a black squirrel is a genetic mutation and supposedly attacks the rest of the squirrels. So everything is scared of it. I wasn't aware the animal kingdom was so damn racist. Hack joke. Had to. Make fun of me now.

After all that happened, I was glad to spend this past week going to work and coming home. The 7 train at it's best is like a bullet train. These days I am at work faster than I have ever been when I was living in The Kitchen. In the old days I wanted fireworks all the time. Now I am content with calm and hum drum.

I also bombed this past week onstage, had my first shit fit in my room, and semi-cried myself to sleep on my new mattress. When you have a good cry on a mattress that is how you know a place is becoming home. I would even have a crying corner in my kitchen where I downed cookie dough in times of crisis but that might be just a little weird with my male housemates around.

I had a strange conversation with one this week. He's a good guy, divorced dad of two. It started with, "Not to offend you." We all know they are about to offend the shit outta you when they do that. He told me not to put tampons in the toilet. I feared I might have accidentally, because when I had my follow up at the doc's where they scraped my cervix after my cancer scare, I might have dropped my pad in the toilet after a moment of drained shock. But I didn't. Apparently his niece had flushed a tampon and totally overflowed the toilet. Sigh....a special thank you to the awkward fairy for that moment.

This same housemate saw a special about UFOs and NASA, and a scientist insists that the government is keeping the people in the dark. He says not only are there UFOs, but they created the humans as slaves to do their mining work. And that we are all part UFO. I felt this was a reach but my housemate was fascinated by this and felt that this guy wouldn't lie.

Hmmmmm

My other housemate and I had a chat about it. He informed me that yes, our dear housemate has a fascination with UFOs and conspiracies, but at this point kind of watches way too much TV. Still, maybe there are UFOs. We have some strange acting people on this planet. Who knows? Either way, I like them both and my new living situation much better than the one I left. It's entertaining and most importantly, I am safe.

My UFO obsessed housemate and I have kind of bonded. He is a divorcee with two kids, so sometimes when I chat with him, he sees things from my mom's point of view. While I feel sometimes my parents are crazy, maybe they aren't. Maybe they have some points. Maybe UFOs do exist. Who am I to judge anyone?

This past week I purchased two puppets. My puppet family and I are back to normal, although it has been a rough couple of months for us. I feel more protective of them than ever, and I feel we are all working more as a unit than we ever have. But of course, I left a horrific situation. So if someone believes in UFOs and conspiracies and that's it, I'm game.

No one has broken into my room yet and tried to turn on the gas so I might in fact die. No one has followed me around the neighborhood let alone threatened me. All and all, a better start. Best news ever, none of the rejects I entangled myself with from my old neighborhood know where I am.

Work has gone back to normal as well. Friday I found myself learning "Deep in the Heart of Texas" for a gig. I had it perfect on the train. Then I got there and it was perfect for the most part. One recipient had a weird name that I managed to mangle. Well they all did but this was the weird name I thought I had. But the other weird name was the one I was afraid of messing up but that was perfect. So I got the weirder name perfect but mangled the less weird name. Such is life. The medley was alright. Then the ending worked. It wasn't the way I rehearsed it but I gave them the liquor.

After the gig, I was out on the sidewalk second guessing my work and two people passed me, a man and a woman. The guy says, "That was brutal."

The girl says, "Yeah, a complete disaster. That went real wrong real fast."

The low self-esteem bubble began to run in my head. Did they just come from the party where I was the telegram? I had no idea because the place was so dark. Suddenly, I began to feel like dried dog shit on the sidewalk. A lot had gone wrong in my life and it had been a tricky last few months. I hoped they weren't talking about me. I had no clue, no proof, but the bells began to go off. I began to hope they weren't talking about me. With all that went on, I couldn't lose my most consistent survival job.

At that moment I realized I was tired. Weeks of court dates, harassment, stress, and living in hell had taken it's toll. Yeah, I am in a better situation and look like I am sleeping and eating. I look so good now that people don't gasp when they see me because I am too overwrought to eat. But still, I was freaking drained. Change is exhausting.

I figured the best thing I could do was go to bed. I had no proof they were speaking about me, and if they were fuck them. If they had to endure what I just did they would probably be dead. Actually, there are times I am surprised my life hasn't killed me. Maybe it will someday. It's probably going to be my life, some crazed fan, or the wife of an ex lover.

The client did call the next day with a bitch, but their bitch was legit. It wasn't about my performance, but instead about the fact their ungrateful friends didn't thank them for the expensive liquor. So the bitch was about their ungrateful punkage, not my performance.

My new life has lawn flamingos, Christmas kitsch, and neighbors who own their property. Welcome to life outside of Rental Prison aka New York City. Ten minutes outside the city. What am I talking about? I'm still a renter, what am I talking about, Willis?

Of course there are moments I miss the bustle and hustle of Midtown at this time of year. But when I saw my sister Skipper and her fiance Boomer I suddenly remembered how good it was that I could leave. Yes, I got them matching Christmas cookie cutters and a chew toy for their dog son Cooper. Stepping off the train I only wanted to punch every person in front of me. Yeah, don't miss NYC on a Saturday when everyone and their damn mother has the same idea.

The visit was fun, and made me like Central Park now that I wasn't down the street from it. I hung out with everyone again that night, and bring in an internet friend. We had expensive pizza, and then there was some beer involved. Add in an improv ventriloquist show with Officer E at the same pizza spot. Made me love New York all over again. Made me forget about how beat up and tired I felt living in the pressure cooker known as Manhattan. Made me grateful I could have the city and then travel over the bridge to my home.

I of course made my same prediction about how I might die. We had a laugh. Death is always funny. Sunday I went to my new church which is beautiful but feels impersonal. I need a new church boy crush. Of course I talked to my parents who only managed to stress me out mildly.

Then I saw the wife of an ex of mine, who's only completely unhinged, wrote a tweet about me that was only completely crazy. She called me her psychotic enemy. I mean, that's kind of deep because she's the one who constantly harasses me, and I don't care about her really. So yeah, she's reaching kind of deep. And she was angry I moved into what she called "my borough." Wasn't aware it was yours, sweetheart. Thought you shared it with about a million other people but what do I know?

This woman has been out of control for some time and made me question about whether or not to alert law enforcement because with each passing year she gets more aggressive. Then I decided it was a crush. Now that we are in the same borough, her borough, she can finally just kill me and help the sales of my novel and DVD. But first she's gotta buy me dinner. These days apparently she's in therapy. Maybe she's bitching about me now. Ha ha ha.

At that moment I realized that despite all that happened, I was still on track because someone was jealous of me. LOL. But then I decided to celebrate the actual victory like my new comic book being on the shelf this week. YES, new comic book. And the fact I am going to Vegas to work in January again with May Wilson. And my two new puppets. And the fact I am in a magazine again.

Of course this was after accidentally jogging on Northern Boulevard and watching reruns of Beverly Hills 90210. I like highways and I love cheesy teen trash. New home, old habits die hard.

Prayers for the Rockaways

They call the Rockaways the sixth borough. Technically they are in Queens. However to get to the Rockaways you have to take the A train to Lefferts transferring, and then take another A to Broad Channel. From there you take an S to wherever you need to go. It's their local subway shuttle that is sort of phantom operating when it wants. From there you hit the streets and are greeted with the locals, mostly family type people.

There are Orthodox Jews who mainly don't make contact with outsiders. Cloistered, they are like the Amish. While not unkind they keep to themselves because we live in a world full of prejudice and hate. There are the old time Italian American families, trapped in a lost time where they use the Soprano hair grease and treat strangers with kindness and food. Lest we forget the surfers, surfing in wet suits all year long. The streets are quiet and the people are kind. Not to mention it is so beautiful by the water sometimes you forget you are in NYC.

What is happening with Sandy makes me sad. Whenever I have gone to the Rockaways the people have been nothing but gracious. Once I delivered a singing telegram to a chocolate factory out there. They gave me a hair net and everything. The trekk had been a long one, but the journey worth it. As a thank you they gave me two hundred dollars worth of chocolate. All thanks to the Madelaine Chocolate Factory. Willy Wonka and Charlie would have been jealous. Not to mention they made sure I got back to the train safely.

Another time I was delivering a singing telegram too. It was around the New Year. It was for an old school Italian American Family. They were a tough audience but got into me. They made me work for it which I like. Anyway, afterwards, the woman who ordered me gave me some food and said, "I think I have seen you on TV." And then she told me she knew me from TLC. She mentioned she was a fan of mine and asked if she could take a photo with me and Sunny, one of my puppets. I said sure and we snapped the pic.

Another time I had a detour that way and it was late. A homeless man was making a roucus in the station and trying to talk to me because I was the only one there. The MTA worker in the booth had the option to leave, it was late and he wanted to go home to his family. While the homeless dude wasn't violent, simply going on a rant about how Sarah Palin was probing his brain-a serious problem-he wanted to stay there so I was safe. He also called the proper authorities so that the man could go somewhere like Bellvue where they could undo all of this evil genius on behalf of the woman who can see Alaska from her backyard.

In the wake of Sandy I read about their devistation. It makes me sad to know they only now is FEMA geting there. I have power, I have running water, I have food. These are things these people can only dream of at the moment.

Apparently things have gotten so bad that there is looting. People have made bows and arrows. Thugs dressed up as Con Ed workers are knocking door to door to rob people. There is no fresh milk and no ability to get food for drinking water. There are people stranded without homes and proper clothing and it is freezing.

All week I have been whining about my cabin fever. Like a brat I have been shaking my fist at God saying, "Make this go away. I want to go out and play and work and make money." The truth is, my life is alright. As of today I am working again. My power, heat, and water were never lost. My internet was wonky which made me indignant. But overall, I have nothing to complain about.

As I selfishly ask the Spirit in the Sky for what I want, I have to remember right now some people would kill to have what's in my posession. I have to include the people in the Rockaways when I do my prayers. What is happening to them is truly unfair. Everytime I have dealt with them they have been gracious, generous, and hardworking. They have the toughness of New York City without the machismo. We neglect to think of them because they are so far away from everything, except when we need a beach to go to.

At times like this we have to remember Con Ed truly has the power.

Mark Twain used to say, "The devil is God when he is drunk."

I think in this case Jesus is smoking some angel dust.

Either way please keep the people in the Rockaways in your prayers. The Lower East Side and the East in West Village now have power,light and heat. The subways are running almost normally again. Jersey is getting their power, heat, and light back as well. Now it is there turn.

I guess what infuriates me most is that Furor Bloomberg was using a generator in Central Park for the marathon but yet so many people went without power. The marathon is cancelled and so many runners are whining when they can just enter another road race. There are people reduced to living like the children in Lord of the Flies. They are in a place like Rockaway. Maybe these selfish fitness buffs should look at a map. The Rockaways are part of New York. They are not lost. They pay taxes like everyone else. Just because they are farther out doesn't mean they deserve to be treated like they don't matter.

In this crisis, as New Yorkers, and as a country, we must not fall apart. We must not let our pithy worries cloud are minds. We must not argue about politics giving ourselves headaches over mainstream candidates who will eventually sell out. Instead we must help our fellow man.

In the immortal words of Winston Churchill, "It is no use to say that we are doing our best. We must do what is necessary."

Love April

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

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Show For the Dead

It was the winter of 2009. Life had been pretty hellacious to say the least. In between money problems, the market popping, and my career seemingly stalled I was at a loss of what to do. It was a cold night in late February. The snow was plastered on the ground, stuck there like Velcro, never leaving. I got off the M train to Middle Village, Queens. I had been there plenty of times in the daylight. For those of you that don’t know, Middle Village is cemetery central.

In Middle Village you have the All Faith’s Cemetery, where if you walk around you can see tomb stones from all cultures. Of course you have the Americans but you also have the Indians and the Asians especially who install small fountains. It is sort of weird how people memorialize the loved ones. Then there is the old German Cemetery. It belongs to a Lutheran church and has some interesting monuments. Like all good Germans, the families are buried together in one crypt. Many of the older stones have things like skulls and The Grim Reaper on them because we all know what cheerful people the German’s are. Then there is another cemetery, I believe it belongs to a Catholic church. A lot of Spanish families bury their dead in there. They burn incense and leave rosary beads. Hey, whatever floats your boat, right?

While the cemeteries are a mere fixture in this alcove of Queens in the day, they were especially eerie at night. Getting off the train I headed to my destination. I looked like what I was in those days, a bum. My days were spent giving out fliers on the sidewalk in the bitter cold and then delivering singing telegrams. I spent my evenings haggling for spots like a seller does in a Mideastern Market Place. I usually slept in my clothes and this week was no exception. Because of the bitter cold and no hairdryer I had opted not to shower. While that is not the most sane approach my hair is thick and only days before had it produced ice cycles.

Walking along, I noticed it was a full moon. The moon cast an eerie shadow on the graveyards. I would have taken the bus but I had no money in my pocket. I passed cemetery after cemetery. During my walk I saw shadows in the various graveyards behind the various tombstones. Had the dead come out to play? I told myself there was no such thing. It was the darkness. It was the fact the place was desolate aside from a city bus or two buzzing by. It was the full moon that was just making it creepy. Plus it was the fact I was tired. I had been working all week and only the previous week had I been on a road gig where our car caught on fire on the New Jersey Turnpike.

I continued my walk and noticed the shadows were not stopping. Coming past the German Cemetery, or the judgmental cemetery as I referred to it, I saw a stone statue of an angel. Made to be a benevolent guardian, the moon shone on her and she had an evil smirk on her face. There was a switch in the back of her marble damning me to hell I felt. I tried not to look and tried to keep going, but there were miles of cemetery ahead. I heard a bang and I turned my head. Trying to reassure myself that it was just the wind I looked to assuage my worries. The wind began to make a howling sound. Was it the wind or was it the moan of a woman who had died and was searching for her dead lover? I didn’t want to know.

Turning my head I saw another tombstone. It was marble and decaying, old if you will. However the Grim Reaper was on there. Etched in stone, he was menacing and had a malevolent energy even though he was only commemorated in granite. As the moon shone down again, it spotlighted the specter. I could see his cycle, shining and ready to send me into the next world. I began to put some pep in my step. I heard something rattle again. This time it was the cemetery gates. They began to clang angrily with the wind. They shook almost breaking the lock and the chain. Was it the wind or was it some angry spirits feeling that they had been cheated out of life coming to possess me?

I began to walk faster. Suddenly I heard a low, deep, sad, howling. I turned around. It was an old man with a white beard and pasty white skin. With him was a sad, skinny dog who was making some pitiful sound. Both had vacant looks in their eyes. Dogs knew when ghosts were coming. I had read enough Stephen King to know this for sure. I began to run, and fast. As I ran I almost slipped on a patch of black ice. I didn’t care. The ghosts, spooks, and goblins were not going to get me!

Finally as I rounded the corner escaping the dead people who were determined to steal my soul I saw the parlor of a Gypsy woman. While I have been friends with a Romani family for years and know that for the most part they are quiet people, this woman was spooky. Wrinkled and old, she motioned for me to come in for a free reading. I didn’t want to. I just pictured her dying and coming after me like that scene in Drag Me To Hell.

I began to pick up my step nearly slipping two more times until I got to the venue. When I finally got there I was approached by a young Latino who said, “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Not a creep like you!” I said. Ghosts and goblins had been stalking me for blocks before. I could handle this adult male who thought he was God’s gift to women when he neglected to read the newsletter that all men have the same equipment and skill set. He laughed. “No, sweetheart. I own the venue.” I suddenly felt embarrassed as hell and apologized.

“Look, you wouldn’t be the first woman who’s said that. Let’s forget about it and get you something to eat and drink on the house.” The guy said. I apologized again and he told me it was nothing but a thing and already ancient history. While I felt bad, at least I knew the venue was secure from the supernatural. The show started and the first few comics were alright. Then it was my turn. I got up and talked about how this was Cemetery Central and how I was so glad everyone in the audience was alive. I didn’t know how it would go over but it went over well because I got an applause break.

Just so you know, I didn’t join the dead because onstage I absolutely killed.

Love April

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

www.buybooksontheweb.com

877-Buy-Book