Goldfinger (Shirley Bassey)

In ninth grade, right before Christmas, Mr. Angle decided to take the theatre arts class on a field trip. We were going downtown to The Byham Center to see the matinee of “a real play.” After that, it was back to school. For weeks, my friend Mikki and I had been plotting our adventures, but alas, true to form she picked that week to get mono. As I dreaded the long, friendless trip I thought, “Damnit, Mikki, your timing sucks.”

Aside from being the coldest day of the year so far, the play was a real bust. The acting was great, but the plot was unremarkable. It didn’t help that I sat near David Gehring-lacrosse co-captain- who spent the whole play snoring. Not only was it annoying, it distracted from the theatre going experience for the rest of us.

Last year, my brother Wendell had been forced to tutor David at the behest of the lacrosse coach. Wendell described the lost cause by saying, “When I look at David, I know somewhere, a village is missing their idiot.”

The reason the Theatre Arts Curriculum had inherited David was his parents-painfully aware their souffle didn’t rise to the top-were trying everything they could to change their son’s friend group. This past summer, David had been busted smoking weed with the lacrosse team in Simmons Park-where all good things happened in town. After a trip to the magistrate and probation, David’s parents, worrying for their son’s safety and salvation began their mission to save him by bringing him to their mega church’s youth group. The Teens For The Testaments had a conversion program. For every new convert, Teens For The Testaments got a point and with enough points got a pizza party at the end of the month. Helping this cult fill their quota, Teens For the Testaments welcomed their newly converted wayward reprobate with open arms.

Another reason David was in theatre arts was his girlfriend, Bethany Kensington: Abstinence Queen Bee. The reason being was The Teens For the Testaments did plays and concerts to teach people about Jesus and she wanted David and his “movie star good looks” to be ready for his big role. Bethany was hard to take even on a good day with her big, vacant smile, scarecrow skinny frame, brown hair pulled back into a bun and crucifix front and center. Making it her mission to convert her classmates regardless of how much it made them uncomfortable she said, “Jesus has called me to save people and save people I will.”

Unlike David who risked not graduating, Bethany already knew what she wanted to do with her life. She had already applied early decision to Grove City, a Christian college where students had to sign a pledge not to have pre-martial sex, could be expelled for homosexuality and the parents of perspectives had to be interviewed to make sure they came from a Godly home. Bethany said, she wanted to, “Bring Christ to the pagan children of Africa.”

While Bethany, who viewed David as a project, could not have been more different than her boyfriend they agreed on one thing, instead of celebrating Halloween, the devil’s holiday, they had exchanged promise rings. Taking the abstinence pledge in front of their pastor and youth group, they swore to wait until they were married to have sex.

As we walked out of the theatre and boarded the bus, snow fell. I was being introduced to a new sensation, being genuinely pleased to return to school in time for math. Taking a seat close to the front of the bus I thought, “Damnit Mikki, your timing sucks.”

Turns out Mikki wasn’t the only one with craptacular timing. Taking the seat behind me was Alyssa Clayton, school super tramp. Alyssa had badly dyed jet black hair and skin that was an alien orangish color courtesy of Alta, the local tanning salon that was the home of the rest of the super tramp crowd. I could tell Alyssa dreamed of Miami Beach on this Pittsburgh winter day where the mix of snow and rain fell from the sky, but was she aware those dreams could give her skin cancer? Alyssa wore jeans that were three sizes too small, a shirt that could have probably fit one of my baby cousin it was so tight and frosty lip gloss. I felt a smell hit my nose and began to cough. Then I realized it was Alyssa’s perfume. Before we got on the bus she had snuck a cigarette and this was how she was going to disguise it, a scent so strong she could have killed a small animal. Alyssa’s sexual exploits were always the subject of rumor and intrigue. Or as it was said, “Alyssa Clayton was in bed all weekend but didn’t get much sleep.”

It would only make sense that Alyssa was a super tramp as her mother was known as the most super, duper tramp of the town. Mr. Clayton, a former school administrator, was known as a conservative hard ass. Her mom was the opposite. Darlene, who had her children and their friends refer to her by first name, a questionable parenting decision that negated all boundaries, taught yoga and pole dancing, carried healing crystals and made her children meditate daily. While the coupling was strange, their older son Eric was a star swimmer and got a full scholarship to Ohio State. When Eric went away to college, Darlene began to feel the pangs of empty nest and realized that she had fallen out of love with Mr. Clayton and had been in love with her son’s swim coach, Mr. Rendell, all along.

Apparently Mr. Rendell, the twice divorced men’s coach with a winning record and even more winning toupee collection, felt the same way. The two began an illicit affair that went on for months. However, they were busted when they were discovered after hours when Bob the Janitor, afraid the school had been broken by unruly teens, followed protocol and called the police. What Bob the janitor and the cops discovered was not unruly teens but Darlene and Mr. Rendell doing some very X rated dry land exercises closeted in the kickboard room.

Angered that he had been cuckolded, Mr. Clayton was merciless during the divorce. Darlene, citing what she termed years of emotional distress, attempted to retain my father so she could begin her life with Mr. Rendell. Darlene and my father had creative differences: he wanted paid and she wanted him to work for free. Suffice to say, it seemed the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

As the last of the students came on the bus I heard a voice say, “Is this seat taken?” It was David Gehring, my most unfavorite theatre ruining peroxide bottle blonde.

Alyssa said nothing as David slid in. When the bus pulled away David said, “What you think of the play? I thought it was lame.” How would you know, Sir? You slept through the whole thing!

Alyssa said, “It was alright, I got out of my math test. I’m failing anyway.” Eye roll, of course she was. Wendell was tutoring her now too. While she was another lost cause she was a better student than David. Then again, who wasn’t?

David said, “The entire show, I kept dreaming of you on top of me.” David remembered his dreams, nice. Too bad he couldn’t remember to dream quietly.

Alyssa said, “What about Bethany? Didn’t you exchange promise rings? You can’t have sex or even talk about it and stuff, right?”

David said, “Nah, that’s more her thing. My parents just make me go to that weirdo cult because I got busted smoking weed with the guys. But you see, the Promise Ring…..we haven’t been keeping the promise if you catch my drift.” Holy mother of God, Jesus take the wheel!

Alyssa said, “That doesn’t sound like Bethany.”

David said, “Nope, the God girl is a front to keep her parents happy. Bethany’s a nympho. I went to her house when her parents were gone and she answers the door naked. Before I can talk, she just tackles me. We did it in every room of her house. She even nicknamed my dick 007 because he’s the spy that loved her.” I faced front pretending not to listen but wow, this was some good scoop. Bethany Kensington, the ultimate God girl, was a slut on the low. Move over, Super Tramp, you have been dethroned.

Alyssa giggled, intrigued. David continued, “We didn’t just do it there but in the pew of the church one day after youth group and in the hot tub.”

I didn’t want to bring up the episode of Seinfeld about shrinkage as Alyssa giggled again with that familiar, super tramp giggle. David said, “Those church chicks are off the chain. I am telling you. But I am sick of her and those church weirdos. I want someone like you. I am settling for someone with a flat chest but what I really want is someone like you because a man needs something he can grab on to.” Bethany Kensington was irritating, Alyssa was a super tramp who was currently suffocating me and David had destroyed my theater going experience. I wanted to vomit. Alyssa giggled again as David said, “I could just eat you out if you so desire. Do you want my digits so we can get down?” Sigh, now I knew who and what she would be doing this weekend. David and Alyssa then exchanged numbers.

Cheating was trashy but so was Alyssa. David deserved garbage. These two were a perfect match. However, Bethany being a slut on the low was something I couldn’t keep to myself for too long. Gosh, I could not wait to tell Mikki! The promise ring had been promised, and the promise had been broken. Oh what tangled webs we weave. As I exited the bus I thought, “Damnit, Mikki, your timing sucks.”

The next day on my way to third period, I saw a crowd gathered in a circle in the hallway. This could only mean one thing, a fight. The day was young and had been rather uneventful and Mikki was not back to school yet. Risking a tardy but wanting to see what dumpster fire was taking place, I inched my way in to get a peep.

In the center of the circle was Bethany Kensington. She had tears streaming down her face, and David on the defensive, “Baby, you know Alyssa is a lying slut just like her mom.”

Bethany said, “Maybe Alyssa hasn’t accepted Jesus Christ into her life and her mother broke the commandment about adultery but she was one of my best friends in middle school and is still a good person which is more than I can say for you! And lying is against the Bible too!!” While I didn’t agree with Bethany on practically everything, it was clear those tears streaming down her face were real and the tales David told about her being a slut on the low were vicious fiction.

David said, “Baby, c’mon….you know I love you and took that abstinence pledge for real.” Sigh, as a silent witness I knew he had not.

David moved into hug Bethany but she swatted him away, “Liar! I told you how important this was for me, for us, and you agreed! When you tried to pressure me, I told you I wanted to wait until we were married because that was what God would want and you said you loved me and understood! Instead, you lie and tell everyone I had s-e-x with you because you were mad I wouldn’t put out as you guys say. And what…..you claimed I named you THING!!!! 007! You broke a promise to God and now you will have to think about where you want to spend eternity!”

I disliked Bethany most of the time, but I understood her anger because David’s behavior had been wrong. As revenge for her not putting out he had lied about them breaking their abstinence promise to sound cool and then tried to cheat with Alyssa. When Alyssa turned on him, he tried to use Alyssa’s sexual history and her mother’s infidelity as weapons. Bethany was right. David was a jerk face.

Bethany was now angry. Her voice being replaced by that similar to the possessed Linda Blair from The Exorcist, “MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL!”

David, trying desperately to control the situation said, “C’mon, Baby, you sound crazy.”

David was about to learn the 13th commandment, thou shalt not call an upset woman crazy. Winding up, Bethany decked David right across the face with the hand that had her promise ring and knocked him down. Impressed by her right hook, the crowd applauded. The promise was broken, and now the promise ring had become a weapon. David fell to the ground knocked down by Goliath sized rage. Hell hath no fury like a God Girl scorned.

As David lay whimpering on the ground it became apparent that Alyssa might have made some mistakes but she was never trash. He was. Instead of sleeping with David and creating a situation that resulted in a catfight she told her former middle school friend the truth and now the real villain lay on the ground suffering. However, I felt like trash for judging Alyssa as badly as I did, especially without knowing her. The peanut gallery of our peers had determined her reputation, but her character was pure gold.

Bethany, victorious, wiped her tears away and made a dramatic exit like a boxer who had just won a prize match. Sure, her beliefs were outside of the realm of my understanding, but she wasn’t letting David pressure or humiliate her which I respected. On her victory walk, Bethany received high fives from people who shared my sentiment and were also surprised she had that much of a swing, myself included.

The bell rang and the portly history teacher, Mr. Donotelli, who doubled as the JV football coach said, “Okay everyone, break it up. Get to class. Show’s over.”

David, who was still on the ground said, “Mr. Donotelli, she cold cocked me on the hand with the promise ring. That thing is gonna leave a scratch. Send her to time out or my parents will sue.”

The students who were dispersing booed David, and Mr. Donotelli said, “Son, you are lucky that is all you got. The way you have been running your mouth if this was my sister, you wouldn’t have any teeth. Get to class.” David and his injured pride picked themselves off the ground and skulked away.

I finally spoke to Mikki that night who’s health was on the mend. She said, “Damnit April. Is it just me or does my timing suck?”I told her it did, but she could make it up to me by getting back to school pronto as our was more rife with drama than an English countryside on a BBC murder show.

After Bethany dumped David, she received the happy news she had been accepted early decision to Grove City. Not only did she thrive at Grove City, but met her future husband and married him shortly before graduating. The two became missionaries that traveled around the globe before settling in Texas. Bethany voted for Trump, is pro-life, anti-vaxx and Christian home schools her four kids. I would tell her that her views suck on facebook but I have seen her right hook.

Alyssa, with the aid of my brother Wendell’s tutoring, brought her math grade up from a D to a C. She graduated from high school, got her cosmetology license, moved to Ohio and married a biker. Alyssa, by all appearances on facebook, looks like she mastered hair dye and the proper use of the tanning bed, now owns a full service salon that is highly rated. She looks happy and I am glad, because it makes me feel good when okay people are happy.

As for David, he ended up playing lacrosse at a party school who’s name escapes me, flunked out and pretty much fell off the map. I don’t know if David still calls his dick 007, but unlike David, Bond was a true gentlemen. Taking his martini shaken and not stirred and always getting the girls even at the peril of the security of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, he knows a true spy never lies let alone kisses and tells.

That’s all folks.

Visit me at AprilBrucker.TV

Crazy (Patsy Cline)

                                                              

Several years ago I dated George Washington. His mother named him after a founding father hoping he would do great things. At first, I thought the name was appropriate as George was a rising star criminal lawyer who quoted Thomas Paine, loved the opera and prided himself on his knowledge of Shakespeare.

The name was where any similarity ended. George Washington the president could not tell a lie, but my ex George could not tell the truth. While I could not speak to George’s abilities in the courtroom he had the lying part down pat. Classics include but are not limited to: telling people he went to The University of Michigan when he went to Michigan State, claiming he was a studio musician with The Violent Femmes and Detroit Cobras, waxing nostalgic about a storied semi-pro boxing career, sleeping with three famous actresses (famous outside of the US but too famous for the worldwide web), and finally, telling people Jimmy Hoffa was his dad’s godfather.

After three months, while I was willing to give him half credit for the boxing career as he wore boxing shorts, George’s vivid imagination became too much to handle. After a huge fight because he told yet another fibaruski, George and I broke up.

I was sad as George was sweet, smart and looked good on paper, but being with a compulsive liar was kicking up every trust issue I had. The lies still continued to reveal themselves after we broke up. George had claimed to have written a song about me. One day, while listening to the radio, I had discovered Snow Patrol had actually recorded it. Feeling I deserved someone who could tell the truth and who’s constant garbage didn’t stink up my life, I put George’s memory on the curb.

Enter Lizzy Nebowicz. Tall and angular, Lizzy was a musical theatre drop out and aspiring standup comedian who worked the door at a venue where I was a regular. A long Islander who still lived with her parents and took the train to the city, Lizzy wore flannels sans makeup, smoked pot, and performed a pale imitation of a Carlin-esque act where she boasted of a teenage shoplifting conviction and drug experimentation. While her jokes got laughs, the content was hardly original and blended in with every would be edgy lady comic. If anything, Lizzy’s street persona was a mere put on for the 21 year old lost follower.

Offstage Lizzy was affable, friendly, and was a welcome sight at a venue riddled with behind the scenes drama. One day I said to Lizzy, “Find me on facebook and let’s do coffee. I like you.”

“You too,” Lizzy said, “It’s tough to find girls that arent petty bitches.” After that, we high fived rocking out to Nirvana as the club janitor put up the chairs.

Lizzy never found me on facebook and I let it slip from my mind as life became a busy mix of singing telegrams, other survival jobs, road dates doing comedy, first drafts of manuscripts, lovers coming and going, roommates coming and going and my brother’s wedding.

That is, until Valentine’s Day when I got to the club and my $100 poster and $50 post cards were gone. I worked three jobs to pay for those things, and had worked even harder to promote the show running my immune system down. My posters also helped with foot traffic which was at times fifty percent of my audience.

Kirk, the club manager, who was usually a hard ass, contrary to his nature reimbursed me for my stolen posters and post cards in cash. Uncharacteristically apologetic, Kirk not only promised it wouldn’t happen again, but as a good will token booked me in the big room where the national headliners performed, an honor for a little fledging who looked up to those folks.

As my show for my five audience wrapped, Lizzy arrived at the club. Instead of her normal self, Lizzy looked like a shell of a human. Blotchy face and puffy eyes, Lizzy looked like she had been crying. Valentine’s Day was the day for love but the day for loss, so I decided to say hi and to comfort my friend. Lizzy responded by letting out a yelp and running away as if she had seen Godzilla. I scratched my head, what the hell had just happened?

In the back I could hear Kirk tearing into Lizzy who sobbed like an injured animal, “I don’t care if you are dating an asshole. You destroyed property and cost me money! I want to see you succeed. Do it again and you are fired, understand?!” No wonder she was upset, she was having a crappy day. Yeesh.

I didn’t connect the dots as Kirk was usually melodramatic, and painstakingly planned my March show. The show date arrived, and I saw my post cards and posters were stolen yet again, and Kirk apologized and reimbursed me for a second time. I also heard Lizzy had been fired, but Kirk fired people constantly. Shortly thereafter he hired her back, but this was typical Kirk.

I decided to take a break from producing the next month as not only had my things been thrown away by an anonymous hater, but busting my butt to perform for five people two months in a row was disheartening, especially when I was being sabotaged. Plus I had scheduled a trip to the beach with my family.

When I got back from vacation, I ran into Benny, a mutual friend of George’s and mine. Truth is, until I saw Benny I hadn’t thought about George in so long that I barely remembered his last name.

Giving me a long hug on the street that seemed to last an eternity, Benny said, “April! What a pleasant surprise! Hannah and I would have loved to have had you at our wedding!”

 “Then why didn’t you invite me?” Benny had talked about his wedding to Hannah, his NYU Law School sweetheart, constantly. Even to strangers.

Benny struggled to form the words, “We thought it would be too hard.”

“We’re friends and I want to see you happy. Why would it have been too hard?” Now I was confused. Although we hadn’t spoken in sometime, Benny and I had remained friends after I parted with George.

“George said you were so distraught over the breakup that you tried to kill yourself,” Benny said. Shocked and flabbergasted at this ridiculous claim, I burst out laughing. Sure, the year and a half leading up to this was filled with struggle and getting my teeth kicked in more times than I could count, but I would be Goddamned if I gave up. It was also a relief to leave that relationship.

I said, “Benny, honey, sweety, tell George the only place I was distraught was his dreams. So while I did not try to commit suicide, George’s credibility just did.”

Benny said, “April, just so you know, George has a new girlfriend?”

“Is she real or made up just like his cancer was?” Shortly after we broke up George was facing discipline from the legal board for trying to punch a colleague. He told everyone he had cancer, but in six weeks he had been cured, curiously in enough time to save his legal license.

“April, no need to get bitter….”

“Bitter! The ass hat lied about having cancer and just tried to kill me off!”

“True, but the girlfriend is real. I met her and she’s also a comedian and she knows you,” Benny said.

“What’s her name?” I said, curious to know who this broken creature was.

“Only met her once. I think it’s something like Julie but I know that’s wrong. She’s real young, like 21 or something….”

While I knew I should have cared less, morbid curiosity had gotten the best of me. Going home, I logged onto facebook and went to George’s profile. He was in a relationship with guess who? Lizzy Nebowicz. I thought my head was going to explode. First he has to rebound by dipping his dick in my pond. Second, I knew I was looking at the girl who ripped down my posters. Now everything made sense. Maybe George had lied about me trying to kill myself, but if I saw these two in person I swore to God I would murder them both!

I was livid, but my friends tried to talk me down. One pointed out perhaps George had changed, but if so why was his girlfriend destroying my property? Others told me I had no proof, but sometimes a woman’s intuition is all the proof you need, especially when the man involved is a walking shit pickle. The majority of my social circle assured me that Lizzy had George which was punishment enough and I should just work hard, ignore the ass hats, and soldier on like I always did. Instead of picking up a felony I chose to do the latter.

I wanted to move on to a bigger venue, but Kirk reeled me back in by pleading that he needed content and by personally promising that my stuff would not be stolen. Kirk, despite his flaws, was a man of his word. Not wanting to risk Lizzy’s moods, I invested in a simple $20 poster in case it ended up in the trash.

When I arrived at the club to drop off my poster, I discovered Kirk had sent me a text. His father, a movie theatre mogul, had a heart attack. Kirk needed to drop everything and head to Jersey. Like Cerberus at the gates of Hades, Lizzy there to greet me.

Not in the mood, I eyed the back entrance. Too late. Smiling like she was about to kill herself and take six people with her, Lizzy ran up to me and gave me a long hug. Picking me up, Lizzy twirled me around giving me the easily some of the most terrifying ten seconds of my life “April, I missed you!!!!”

“Missed you too,” I said, as Lizzy set me down, my head still spinning from the unwanted twirling and surreal experience.

 “We need to have that coffee and talk about boys!” Lizzy said jumping up and down, her unwarranted excitement coming from no where.

“Speaking of boys, you seeing anyone?” I knew the answer to that.

Lizzy now swayed nervously, “Yes, a lawyer in Queens!”

“I was seeing one of those too. Lied like the sun came up. But it’s probably not the same guy,” I said, hoping to plant it in her head the next time she felt like destroying my things. While I could tell she knew she had been caught, I also pitied her as George was the best she thought she could do. I didn’t want George back, but I wanted to work and mind my own business so right now I had to stand my ground.

 “Yeah. But seriously, we need to get that coffee and talk about boys!” As she spoke her tone mellowed which made me second guess myself. Maybe I was overreacting and George had changed after all.

“It was weird, you never hug your man’s ex,” I said to Sally-my palm reader friend-as we both shared a cigarette on her stoop.

Sally said, “April, she was hugging you because she wanted to strangle you. And she trashed your posters because he still talks about you. And she is going to take them again.”

“Kirk promised…..”

 “Hell hath no fury like a jealous woman. You don’t have to be a psychic to see that,” Sally took a puff of her cigarette, “April, you want out of there anyway. This place annoys you and pays you shit to begin with. You have better things coming. Just cancel the date now and move on.  I’m tired of hearing about those assholes.”

Sally was right. Two days later, I found out from an inside source my poster had been trashed again. I scratched the date fibbing about being double booked. Kirk however had seen the poster in the trash and fired Lizzy. While the hands of justice made me happy, I had also gotten another opportunity that would serve me better in the long run. All and all, this was for the best.

George and Lizzy became an after thought until one night I was walking down the street. George looking shriveled and tortured like a gremlin who had given up on life, skulked behind Lizzy who was wearing a dress that resembled a garbage bag. Pulling him along as he dragged his feet, the coupling resembled a man being marched to the gas chamber rather than two people in love. I tried not to snicker, but this was karma in all it’s splendor.

Later that year, I filmed for My Strange Addiction with my puppets. As a result I got a job hosting a web show, was cast in a horror movie, got the chance to model, record music, and had international magazines interviewing me. As fan mail from all over the globe poured in, I had my pick of future ex husbands and ex wives from all over the world. George again became a blip on the radar.

That is, until I logged onto facebook Lizzy appeared on my feed. Instead of the mousy brunette or badly dyed whatever, Lizzy was my exact color of blonde, which would have been a lot of expensive salon visits to get to. Unlike the woman I had known previously, Lizzy who never wore makeup, was now wearing Sephora shades similar to mine. This didn’t strike me as odd as performers change their look, especially at the urging of managers, all the time. Lizzy was also kickboxing and auditioning for reality TV, again performers go on trendy fitness kicks and reality TV was a quick way on TV. Then I I saw Lizzy signed up for a puppetry class. This was single white female come to life!

Whenever I posted a video on facebook, Lizzy would post one of her own within the hour. One day I posted two and Lizzy did the same. While her singing voice was better than mine, it creeped me out that she was watching my every move. She had her own talents, why couldn’t she just focus on those? When the platinum was growing out of my hair, I low lit. Within a day, Lizzy proceeded to low light her hair, too.

Some friends thought I should be flattered and told me my “psycho girl stalker” officially made me famous. Others suggested I strip naked, shave my head, smear myself in chocolate, and run down the street screaming to see if she would do the same. I needed the laughs, but it was also apparent Lizzy was deeply disturbed.

Through the grapevine, I heard George, was telling people he was the infamous fiancé from My Strange Addiction, the one who made me choose him or the puppets. George would lament that my love for ventriloquism ruined our relationship, but he was proud of me and had become a fan. My friend Rick said, “April, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t your ex-fiance a different asshole?”

Yes, Rick was right. My ex-fiance was a different asshole, but asshole George was gaslighting Lizzy and now she was sucking me into their codependent abyss. More sad and pathetic than anything, I gradually got better at ignoring her.

Shortly thereafter, George moved Lizzy into his Queens pad and got her a cat. Once cohabitated, Lizzy announced on facebook aspirations to teach high school English, and then plans to attend law school and clerk for Justice Ginsberg. While this was shocking for someone who bragged of never attending college, studying or reading, Lizzy was focusing on positive goals and leaving me alone and that’s all that mattered.

That fall, I released I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl. This meant being profiled by Mensa, signing at Brown University, and pitching my ideas to network TV. These opportunities were hard won after writing the first draft the two summers before in an apartment without air conditioning coupled with endless hours of revising that I thought would surely kill me.

One day, after submitting a writing packet to an editor, I got a call from a blocked number. I ignored it figuring it was spam, but the number called again and again. Figuring it might have been in regards to my writing packet, I picked up. A woman’s voice on the other end screamed, “STAY AWAY FROM MY BOYFRIEND, POLLY POCKET!”

Immediately recognizing the voice I said, “Better Polly Pocket than Lizzy Borden, Lizzy.” CLICK.

Like the alien monster the crew thought they slayed, Lizzy had not in fact died but was back for the sequel. Recommitted to her resentment towards me, Lizzy created a blog of her own. Using her virtual blank canvass, Lizzy penned angry poetry directed at me. According to Lizzy, I was her sworn “psychotic enemy.” She ranted about how I was mean, told lies about her, tried to break her and George up, lacked talent and was delusional in regards to my goals. I would say the poetry sounded like it was written by Lex Luther, but Lex Luther’s understanding of rhyme would have been better, metaphors more original and he definitely would have used spell check.

Lizzy, not wanting to limit herself merely to poorly written poetry, branched out into the personal essay. Opining about the pain of being bullied as a teenager, struggling with her weight and battling cystic acne, the words sounded so familiar it was as if they were mine. Then I realized they were, because Lizzy had plagiarized my work!

Part of me wanted to beat the hell out of her, as plagiarism is a capitol crime in the writing world. I also wondered why she couldn’t write about her own shitty life, I mean she did sleep next to George every night. Ranting about her as I always did my friend Sally said, “April, block her now, she is making you as crazy as she is. And you are becoming just as obsessed with her as she is with you, and you are making yourself sick over this bullshit person and that’s what she wants,”my friend Sally told me.

“But that bitch is trying to pass my work off as her own!”

“Let her. She can’t write, she’s a marginal singer, and she looks terrible trying to be you. Lizzy is better than any joke you could ever write,” Sally said.

Taking Sally’s advice I blocked Lizzy. Redoubling her efforts to cause chaos, Lizzy told anyone who would listen that I was “a mentally ill drama queen” who cyber bullied her because I was jealous of her relationship with George. Lizzy also claimed that I had plagiarized her work in parts of I Came, I Saw, I Sang. Those who knew me knew this was ridiculous as I was guilty of being married to my work and had little time for flimsy flame wars. Even people who disliked me would give me that. However, Lizzy successfully managed to manipulate those who had either only known me in passing or had never met me at all. I had people confronting me in person or sending me nasty messages online, and each time I said, “I have no idea what a Lizzy Nebowicz is.”

I was going high, but Lizzy, being the ultimate succubus, was determined to drag me right down to her hellish level. Posting a comedy sketch she had filmed with her friends on a site she knew I trafficked, a character named April, described as “a fame whore,” had was jumped and beaten up junior high style by Lizzy and a group of girls. I reported the video and it was taken down. However, Lizzy had crossed the line from shrill annoyance to dangerous stalker.

I had repeated nightmares that Lizzy broke into my apartment to kill me. My stomach began to have issues and I could barely keep food down. On the street I feared running into her, so I found myself snapping at strangers. Focusing at work became a challenge because her harassment was sucking all my mental energy. I was being bullied, it wasnt fair and I was honestly scared of this woman.

I had worked hard and was reaping the rewards, yet I was always having to apologize to this real life gorgon who’s mental state was threadbare. Instead of ending her dysfunctional relationship with George, the thing actual causing her pain, I had become the scapegoat. Sick and tired, I took to my blog, a place I knew she compulsively visited, and let this boundary allergic chicklet know the next time she tried to contact me for any reason I would make sure she broke out into handcuffs.

I found out through the ever open gossip channels what triggered Lizzy’s latest burst of fury was George was growing unhappy in their relationship because Lizzy refused to work, drank all day and terrorized him nightly when he got home. As a result of the stress from Lizzy’s behavior, George developed migraines and a twitch. I couldn’t feel bad for him because he had created this monster. Desperate for better times, George was vocal, saying he wished he had been better to me because maybe his life would be different. An avid reader, George purchased a copy of I Came, I Saw, I Sang. Lizzy of course found it and went ape shit.

 Interestingly enough, I was not the only ex of George’s that Lizzy harassed either. One-a law school sweetheart of George’s who at the time was clerking for Ruth Bader Ginsberg-wrote Lizzy a cease and desist letter. Another, a high school English teacher in Lansing, was so upset that her husband called George angrily and threatened to drive to New York to shoot him if Lizzy ever contacted his wife again. While Lizzy’s ability to multi-task was impressive, it sucked to know I was no longer special.

Shortly after I put my foot down via blogosphere, George decided to commit to Lizzy for real in a surprise wedding ceremony at the courthouse. This took Lizzy off of all of our collective hands thus ensuring peace and quiet in all the land. As an added bonus, Lizzy abandoned all of her literary endeavors which was a victory for all humankind.

Lizzy and George left NYC and moved to his uncle’s pig farm outside of Dallas. He no longer practices law and plays guitar while Lizzy sings live in bars local bars. George manages Lizzy, so George might just get the music career after all, and Lizzy gets to use a gift that her own. To pay bills between gigs they shovel manure on the farm, which means they are both knee deep in mutual shit, but the most important things is these soul mates are doing it together.

THE END

Bizarre Love Triangle (New Order)

There are some people you meet in life that are in the chorus of your story and they remain there indefinitely. Such was the case with Mikki Luckinbill for a time. I didn’t like her because she was irritating and was clearly shtuping her way to the middle, but didn’t dislike her either because that would involve caring.

Mikki was the quintessential divorcee who’s therapist suggested she try comedy. It was because Dr. Finkelstein, her Park Avenue shrink, was tired not only hearing about her successful Columbia psych professor ex who was bopping a TA, but about the crabs she got afterwards. According to her “act,” after the affair Mikki moved out of their Riverside Drive apartment and back into the home of her parents: a doctor father who emigrated from India and a debutante mother who went to Radcliffe when it existed and was “rather disappointed” when Mikki was rejected by all the schools she applied to and could only get into her safety, Skidmore.

Whenever she graced the stage, Mikki’s act was a monotonous monologue that couldn’t even pass as tragedy, because alas, tragedy is interesting. Listening to her after one minute made you consider slitting your wrists, and after five minutes you wanted to draw up a warm bath and then throw in the toaster.

Sucking onstage is one thing, but sucking off stage is another, and Mikki was the master at both. A student of Jed Kemp, a one time rising star who coked his comedy career away, he assured Mikki she would be the next great female comedy superstar next to Chelsea Handler. It wasn’t because Mikki had talent, it was because she was sleeping with him and would tell anyone who listened.

As his star student and paramour, Mikki was all over Jed’s website, giving testimonial videos clad in low cut dress that her melon breasts hung out of. Acting as his ambassador, she tried to recruit other comedians to be a part of this “school.” Then Mikki would try to get these students to sign their friends up for a discount, thus creating a pyramid scheme that exploited hopefuls. After a while, she said she wanted to dump Jed because he could only get her so far and wanted a bigger fish.

Mikki was hard to stomach, but we also never had a bad encounter. When I could I avoided her because she was annoying. If I saw her on the street we would exchange a quick hi and kept it there, because that’s how you treat a chorus person in your play, right?

However, Mikki was soon to be upgraded to guest star in a dramatic arc lasting several episodes. Enter Isaac Rabinowitz, my on again/off again flame who I had recently decided burned me for the last time. After a series of events the complicated relationship had lost it’s luster and appeal. Finally, to the relief of everyone around me, especially my mother, I ended it with Isaac once and for all.

Isaac did not take it well. After a text where he accused me of being “cold”, we had a long two hour phone conversation where I was forced to hear about Isaac’s feelings, and I kept telling him to eat shit and go to hell because I was sick of his mind games. Isaac said he wanted to be a part of my life as my friend because he liked me as a person, and I believed him because I felt some of the same.

Despite our differences, when it came to my comedy and my puppets Isaac was always in my corner. As a comedian, every joke writing instinct he had was completely and utterly wrong, but he had a sixth sense as to what bookers would like my act, how to approach them, and ideas on how to guide my career. In return, I was always gung ho to guest host his shitty open mic  if he couldn’t make it. All and all, it was an awesome development, or so I felt.

 

 

Don’t get me wrong, Isaac could be a pick but at least he was an honorable one. Extending the olive branch, he invited me to do the guest spot at his open mic which meant I didn’t have to pay $5 to perform. Arriving at the club on that sweltering August day, it was a record breaking high. Not only was the place jammed with sweaty hopefuls, but the air conditioner was broken and the fans were going at full blast. To add to the ambiance, the place, which usually smelled like rotten urine, had an extra pungent odor.

I was icky and grungy, because in addition to the smelly scene the subway had broken and I was forced to trek thirty blocks with May Wilson in tow. My makeup was messed up and my clothes were stuck to my body. If that’s not a way to greet your most recent ex I don’t know what is. That’s when in walks Mikki Luckinbill with her jet black hair styled just so and wearing a low cut white dress, generous bosom bouncing with each step looking better than ever.

As his eyes caught site of her, Isaac ran over and was stuck to her for the rest of the night like Gorilla Glue, leaving his usual hosting corner so he could sit next to her. Smitten with his new squeeze, Isaac auspiciously placed his hand on her leg. I wanted to vomit. Why did it have to be her? On the other hand, it was making me realize I had done the right thing by ending it. I knew better than anyone how Isaac could be. Now he was Mikki’s problem.

Sunday Isaac texted me to have brunch as friends. My instincts told me not to go because the breakup was not only still fresh but I had just started seeing a new guy, Sean, two days before. Isaac and I were just friends, and if I wanted this friendship to work I had to give it a try, right?

I met Isaac at a diner in Murray Hill around the corner from his apartment that his millionaire father financed. As we ate, we talked comedy and our favorite mutual subject, The Marx Brothers. Bruch turned out to be more fun than I thought it was going to be. I said, “I forgot how much fun you were to hang out with.”

Isaac said,  “Me too. I am glad we are friends, April. It’s weird because we used to date.” My instincts had been right after all, “Come on, April, you can’t just pretend we didn’t used to date.”

“I am doing it right now. It’s not that hard, Isaac,” I said.

“How can you say that? I still care about you.” Isaac said.

“Just stop with the games,” I said, angry at myself for not seeing this was the usual Isaac trap of him reeling me back in, me taking the bait, him hurting me and then the cycle repeating.  

“Just so you know, I don’t want to get back with you anyway. I am seeing Mikki Luckinbill. We were talking about you. We both agreed you are self-absorbed, immature and are completely ruthless when it comes to your ambition.”

Now I officially had enough, “I think Mikki is a better match for you. She’s not funny and neither are you. And as for immature, I am looking right at him. So I am going to be the adult and end this once and for all. Have a nice life, Isaac because you are sure as hell dead to me.” I got up, threw my napkin down, and walked out onto the busy New York City Streets free of Isaac and his bullshit.

Two weeks later, Sean and I became engaged because why settle for a love triangle when you can have good old fashioned soul crushing codependency? Upon hearing about my engagement, Isaac became more determined than ever to win me back. He began texting furiously, telling me he was only with Mikki because he couldn’t have me, and if I said he the word he would dump her for real and we could be together. I ignored him and even went so far as to block his number.

To no ones shock except my own, Sean turned out to be a terrible fiancé. Even on it’s best day, the relationship was text book dysfunctional. Controlling and jealous, Sean made me choose between him and my puppets, and I chose him feeling it was time I forget my dreams and become a good wife. When Isaac heard about this development through mutual friends, he confronted Sean and the two nearly got into a fistfight.

Isaac blamed himself for this development in my life. He told anyone that would listen that had he been a better man to me I would never be engaged to Sean. Of course as usual, Isaac was making everything about himself. My bad decisions were my own and my own alone goshdarnit. Meanwhile, Isaac was still seeing Mikki who was growing to steadily resent me.

Back at the ranch, Mikki was not only becoming increasingly jealous of me, but tired of Isaac and his wandering eye. Sloppy as usual, Isaac left his laptop open. This led Mikki to discover that in addition to trying to win me back, Isaac was also seeing two other women: one was Emily, a childhood sweetheart, and the other was my former friend Sharon, who he would later go on to marry, and referred to her in their exchanges as his “girlfriend.” To compound the drama, Mikki had introduced Isaac to her family at Thanksgiving the week before. If this is making you dizzy reading this, try living it.

Mikki’s frustration came to head when she was onstage one night at a show Isaac had produced. Unable to contain her age any longer, Mikki exploded at Isaac confronting him about me, Emily, and Sharon. In front of a free comedy show audience, Isaac denied the accusations. This infuriated Mikki further as she laid into him about his epically small penis size. When her verbal assault was finished, she hopped off the stage, slapped him across the face, burst into tears and ran into the night. While I was not there to see it, witnesses claim this was the funniest thing either had ever done.

I eventually dumped Sean, picked up my puppets, and recommitted myself to becoming a professional ventriloquist. Fortunately I was able to shake that mistake, and it got me a Daily Mail UK article that went viral before COVID made it cool. Each of the other players in this dramatic story faded into the background.

That is, until years later when I saw Mikki at an audition. At first I was shocked because it had been so long, but I was also glad to see she was still in the game. She still looked the same, except the low cut clothing was replaced by an all black motif that most first year drama students wear to look tortured and emotive as they wax nostalgic about Shakespeare and Chekhov.

Because time plus distance equals comedy, I had developed a sense of humor about those painful early days and regarded them as coming of age follies. When I gave her the big hello, she looked at me as if I was the Baby Ruth that invaded her pool party. She said, “I will have you know that I am doing well. Really well. I have an MFA in Acting.”

Before I could respond back she snarled and  stomped off.  For the heck of it, I went to her facebook page to see what she had been to later that day. In a five paragraph rant, she talked about seeing “the ghost from her past who was the succubus who seduced her boyfriend once upon a moon.” Then she called me “fame hungry” and said I was used, “as a regular Method substitution for an evil person.”

In honor of the completion of Mikki’s MFA in Acting I will quote he late, great William Shakespeare, “Life is a tale told by an idiot. The sound and the fury signifying nothing.” With that, I logged off the computer and relegated her back into the chorus of my story.

Getting Married In The Morning

Several years ago I was in a push, pull with a self-proclaimed “nice Jewish boy from Bay Shore” who dubbed himself “Isaac The Incredible: International Playboy of Mystery.” Isaac wanted the benefits of being my boyfriend without having to listen to me cry at 2 AM on the phone or kill a spider. The long and the short was, he wanted a booty call. At first I did the dumb girl thing of eating the love crumbs hoping he would change his mind.

Needless to say, I showed up at his house drunk, professed my undying love and puked on his floor like a true woman of grace and dignity. Despite my state, I had the sobering moment Isaac wasn’t worth it and the next day gave him what he deserved, a breakup via text. Isaac never got over being dumped in what he described as a “cold” fashion. He cried all night on his teddy bear that he secretly still slept with (yes) and whined to his mother who called him at 1 AM every night just to kvetch. Normally, Mrs. Rabinowitz was the bane of her son’s existence, but in this case he drove her off the phone. (Note, as I write this I acknowledge my extensive puppet collection and my own eccentric overbearing mother).

As things were winding down with Isaac and I was finding new and better looking bad decisions, I made a new friend named Sharon Northwood. Originally from Dallas, Sharon had come from old oil money. She went to boarding school in Europe and some top notch liberal arts school where she did cocaine on the weekends. After one night of partying landed her in the hospital, Sharon’s family bought her an apartment on 5^th Avenue, doorman and all. She also wanted to reinvent herself as a standup comedian and actor, but really had aptitude at neither. Sharon’s hair was either black, blonde or red depending on her psych med and she defended her too expensive taste in clothing by saying she had “a passion for fashion.” Despite all that, she seemed like a nice person and was a ready drinking buddy so we hit it off, swilling booze after either bad open mics or even shittier bar shows.

About two months after it was over for good with Isaac, Sharon started seeing him. She knew my rather complicated history with him, and asked my permission. I wished her luck, he was her problem now. Right away, Sharon’s struggles with Isaac were nearly identical to mine, mind games and all. Isaac and his modest sexual prowess became a running joke between us. Sharon admitted Isaac had become too much and she wanted to break it off for real. In a crowded swanky Upper East Side Bar, drunk off her umpteenth Cosmo, Sharon proclaimed, “I AM DONE WITH ISAAC RABINOWITZ AND HIS ERASER DICK!”

After that night, I didn’t hear from her again. I didn’t think much of it as I had just moved, was starting a new job, and was starting to hit the road on most available nights and weekends to do comedy. After a few months I texted her to see if she wanted to catch up. Sharon always juggled guys. I was curious to see who replaced Isaac. Radio silence. I saw her walking Toby, her lap dog, around the neighborhood. Barely a hi. What had I done? Was she mad at me?

Just for the heck of it I went to her social media page. In the three months I hadn’t spoken to her not only had she moved in with Isaac, but the two had gotten engaged. Isaac certainly had an eraser dick, because he certainly erased a lot out of her mind. Now I understood why she had cut me out. I was the inconvenient piece of ass that had come before her. If she wanted to play that dirty the bodies would be hitting the floor because Isaac was not only a giant man child but an even bigger man whore. (His social media handle was lovemachine).

To capture the engagement, Isaac had hired a photographer. He had proposed to Sharon on his knee outside of Tiffany’s. Under the photo Sharon put the caption, “S + I = Forever.” However, it hurt. Not because I was mourning the loss of Isaac, but because I felt a friend had betrayed me. She hadn’t wanted Isaac but when she got him for real, Sharon was willing to kick someone who was a good friend to the curb for a walking dildo. It was official. Those two deserved each other. Bye Felicias.

Fast forward, a year later I was enjoying a quiet rainy Sunday in my pajamas, those two imbeciles the farthest thing from my mind. It had been a long week of singing telegrams and shows, and I decided to spend the day in bed as I was feeling really drained when I heard my DM ding. It was Isaac. Something said answering this was akin to Indiana Jones and the Nazis looking at the Holy Grail, but I was bored and will admit curious as it had been sometime, “Hey, what you up to?”

“Chilling, you?”

“I’m about to get married in a few minutes.”

“Congrats. That’s great!” I really meant it, and might I add that it would be even more great if he would go away because this was just getting awkward.

 “You know I still care about you, April.” When I said Indiana Jones, Holy Grail, now my skin was about to melt and my eyes were about to pop out of my head. So I just said absolutely nothing hoping Isaac would take a hint.

Isaac being Isaac of course didn’t get the hint, “I know I am marrying Sharon, but there is a part of me that wishes it was you today, April.” If these words were supposed to make me storm the chapel a la Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate, they surely failed.

“I think you are doing the right thing marrying Sharon. She is perfect for you. BYE!” I logged off. If it was possible, Isaac had made himself an even bigger dufus than I could have ever thought. Fortunately I wasn’t the one waiting at the alter for him, Sharon was. This clusterfuck in a cummerbund was her problem. I rewarded myself by watching a Snapped marathon. After all, I made sure two soulmates got married. I deserved something nice.

A kind of friend Juliana, a would be actress, attended the wedding. She messaged me the next day saying Isaac had left the messenger window open on his computer in The Honeymoon Suite and Sharon had discovered our conversation. According to Juliana, Sharon had a meltdown and ran out of the hotel screaming. To get her to return, Isaac promised never to speak to me again. I was glad it worked out. S + I= Forever, and who am I to deny the math of true love?

Update on S + I = Forever. They moved to Texas be closer to her family and they now have 2 kids. Recently, another old friend went to visit and posted a photo where Isaac looked like he was beaten down and defeated and Sharon looked like she was ready to buy a life insurance policy and make it look like an accident. It gave me hope for my future. No, not the love part dorks, but that these two will pop up on an episode of Snapped. I can say I knew them when. How else can I get people to my blog, duh!

Rockstar

When I was a first year at NYU, I was passionate about ventriloquism and comedy even though I sucked. (Luckily now I am mediocre). Most of us really and truly sucked, yet we were billed rising stars. The audience grimaced, as if the only thing that should have been rising was their asses out of their seats. Some of us were NYU students and some of us were semi-homeless, but by the way we all dressed really and truly who could tell the difference? 

After getting off the stage with May Wilson, who was then a converted Juro former Jerry Mahoney doll, I was followed by a guitar player. Like all of the alternative rocker bad boys who invaded my teen girl fantasies from the radio, he had an acoustic guitar and sang in a way that reminded me of Layne Staley. He even said he was dedicating his set to Layne Staley. Hot. 

He said his name was Mark and he sported the peroxide hair, smattering of a goatee, sunglasses inside, and leather jacket with Marlboro Reds in pocket despite the warm weather. He was sulty, sexy, and something that made me want to take my panties off right there. I eyed him and smiled hoping he would see me but unsure of what to do if he would. Every girl there felt the same way too. He had hot guy problems. I was wearing a baby doll dress and would have thrown my panties but alas, I would have gotten arrested and would have had a tough time explaining that one to my parents. 

A busty red head moved closer to the stage. I could tell she was one of those dumb girls from a Bumfuck town who majored in lit and thought Mark was singing directly to her. She made no secret of the fact she thought I was below her as she had rolled her eyes when she saw me exit the stage, doll in hand. She was just another shitty element to what had been the shittiest year of my life in a minute. 

New York had been hard on me and my first year of college had kicked my ass. My anxiety had been such an issue that despite my work ethic I was placed on academic probation just because I was so crazy that I misplaced homework, froze up during classes, and just fucked up everything I touched. I medicated my nerves with drinking, smoking and food. All made me crazier and calmer at the same time. I was still stuck on a dude who saw me as nothing who was in college in another state, but his drug habit was getting him kicked out. I was crying over another dude who said he wanted nothing to do with me but saw me as a friend. Another fella I flirted with thought I was gay. I had a crush on a chick. To say there was a lot going on was an understatement. 

My then roommate had a boyfriend who loved her which made me want to jump out the library window but three people had already done that and I am all about being original. However, I couldnt hate her too much because her cousin had been brutally murdered by a Peeping Tom last week and she was back in Florida where she was from to sit Shiva. So when Big Red scowled at me I was devoid of all feeling. Life had already taken a dump and she was just another turd in my toilet bowel. After this it was back to my room and my precious puppet children.  

When Mark finished his growling via acoustic guitar, Big Red marched up to the stage and in a Long Island accent that still haunts me to this day said, "Mark, I loved your guitar. You are soooo incredibly rockstar."

Looking at Big Red I wanted to tell her she was so incredibly desperate but you don't mess with a firecrotch cause a firecrotch is crazy. It's the law of the jungle. (It's also something I heard a drunk uncle warn a male cousin about once). Mark nodded and brushed past her like she wasnt there nearly knocking her over. I bit my lip trying not to laugh as she narrowly missed tumbling. The only thing better would have been if that bitch fell on her ass.

Mark kept walking until he saw me. He said, "Hey you, I dig your puppets."

I wasn't expecting this. My words started to stammer, "Thanks."

"May Wilson is hot. Does she really give good head?" It had been a badly conceived joke and the delivery was terrible but it turned a hot dude on. God is good all the time!

"I dunno, she never invites me." Okay stupidest reply of the century. I have a hot bad boy who wants to talk and this is how I mess it up. Meanwhile Big Red was glowering out of the corner of my eye. I went from being happy to totally elated 

"Want a cigarette?"

"Sure." I took one and we stepped outside. We smoked and talked for a few minutes. Big Red walked passed us and made sure to make an obnoxious coughing noise as she walked by. I liked the fact our smoking made her angry. It meant all was right in the world. 

"Wanna blow this joint and hang out in my room?" Mark asked after we put our cigarettes out. 

"Sure.You got booze?" There would probably be a bad decision involved and my area of experience when it came to sex was like Donald Trump to politics, but why let inexperience stop me? I should have been listening to the words come out of his mouth but he was so Goddamn cute that as Sanford Meisner said, "Words are immaterial."

When we got to Mark's room, we ended up drinking Jack Daniels and smoking more cigarettes. He ended up telling me about his ex, Natalie, who was in the music school too. They dated and the break up was bad. As a matter of fact, she had toyed with his emotions last week. Mark was an artist and a tortured soul and he said, "She broke my heart so badly, I wrote a song about it."

Mark hit play. He growled in his Layne Staley knock off voice, "I fucked you 20 times and you came 20 times and stole my heart. And now you are a fucking bitch ripping me apart."

There had never been such wordsmithing since Shakespeare. The alcohol was starting to hit me, but not so much that I knew to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Mark said, "Let me play you a second track."

Who was I to stop this visionary and original thinker from showing me his work. This selection called Natalie went, "You were the piece of my heart that made me weep, you woke me up by sucking my dick in my sleep."

I wanted to ask if this was a comedy show, because the drunker I got the funnier he became. But this was my chance at action, action that had alluded me all year and now it was a hot guy. I wasn't looking for love. I was just looking for him to be his hot self. Now if his hot self would stop talking that would be the trick, because the more he talked the less attracted I was becoming. Hoping to save the evening I said, "Kiss me you handsome fool."

"Handsome fool, I like that. And just so you know, I'm very focused on my music career and I am not looking to be your boyfriend. So I want to give you some good, clean fun." I wanted to tell him a little less conversation a little more action, but I didnt want to do that. Why? Because that would mean quoting a musician with some talent in front of this Friday night mistake. 

Tom then proceeded to kiss me. Actually it was more like a booze and cigarette tasting slobber. However, it had been a lonely year and I wanted to see this car wreck explosion to the bloody end. I kissed him again. I needed more booze. It's the only way I wouldn't hate myself later. Tom then said, "When I am a famous rockstar you can say you fucked me."

That statement alone made Layne Staley kill himself all over again. No wonder that poor soul chose to be a shut in. I wanted to get on that program too. They say God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves, and thats when Nature took over. The British came to town and I had no tampon. So I told him as he groped me that I would have to take a rain check.

Eager to save the evening, Mark said, "You can still suck my dick."

I lied and said I wanted the whole groupie sex experience and made my exit promising to call him with no intent of ever doing so. While I had yet to meet Natalie, I could safely say that her dumping his ass clown was the best decision of her life thus far. 

Big Red ended up hooking up with Mark a week later, and I know because I saw them together where Big Red rolled her eyes and Mark looked the other way. They would break up the following week, and yes he wrote some song about her that he uploaded online. The words were, "Big Red, gave the best head....." She had Mark and I had nothing, so she could take her superiority and choke on it.

Mark did not end up becoming a famous rockstar. After college, he bottomed out on booze and coke and had to go to rehab where he found Jesus. Shortly thereafter he found a broken and desperate woman who looks like she doesn't make eye contact to marry him. They both operate a therapy practice where they help children with their self-esteem. On his facebook page his bio says, "I wanted to be a rockstar and that didn't happen. Now I help kids live their best lives. I'm winning."

Yeah Mark, glad you grew up. Glad you are less of an asshole. Glad you are helping the greater good. Free advice, don't play your clients any of your music. It will set back any therapeutic progress they might make ever. Just saying, rockstar. 

Photo of the Week

I'm like fine wine. I get better looking every day since I left my ex.

Photo of the Week

Ex: You act like there was never anything between us. How can you do that?!
Me: It's not as hard as you think. 
Ex: So now you're gonna dog me?
Me: Nah, dogs are loyal.

Going Down (Bruce Springsteen)

Men are predictable creatures and they love it when women fight over them. I discovered that hard and fast when I was 21. The more you are willing to cat fight, the more it shows you really care.

My man at the time, Sean and I, had just discovered Myspace. He proposed on the 3rd date and I said yes. What could possibly go wrong? Sure, we had enough issues for several subscriptions, mostly for several months worth of 12 Step Meetings and then some. Hell, if we were a drag family our house name would be Cocodependence.

Anyway, Sean had been looking up his old girlfriends. One was a high school sweetheart who he had drawn blood with, because it was clear everyone here was about good decisions. I asked Sean if he wanted to friend her and he said he wasn't sure. I said Sadie had meant a lot to him and it would hurt me. Sean promised not to.

Well Sean lies of course. And he friends Sadie. We got into fight number one. Sean tells me that at this point in her life she is a single mom who had a kid with a guy she is on again/off again with. She lives in her mom's basement and is much "huskier" than she was in high school. Sadie apparently is still working at the same day care center too. Needless to say he assures me she isn't a threat.

Sadie has other ideas. She starts posting shamelessly on Sean's wall. It's like several times a day every damn day. While I began to doubt her work at the daycare center, I also was getting pissed off at the nerve of this woman. Sean swore up and down he told her about me. But words are useless to a woman who's determined. We had another fight.

At this point it was becoming utterly apparent Sean and I were far from compatible. Nonetheless, we persisted. A third fight erupted when Sadie hijacked his blog. Sean also let it eek that Sadie was back with her baby daddy, Rob. However, she was unhappy and wanted out of her house, her job, and her relationship. She pitched it to Sean to rescue her. We had another fight where I told him it was Sadie or I. Sean, being a man and all about seeing his penis hard, said he wasn't choosing.

So I decided not to be so paranoid and sent Sadie a friend request. If she was just Sean's friend as he insisted, she would have no problem. I went to Sadie page and she was a fan of the Backstreet Boys to the point where I could swear in a court of law that she broke them up. Sadie did not accept my friend request.

There was an event in town and Sean let it slip that he invited her and he was afraid she was going to show up. Now I was done. This was the fight to end all fights. I told him it was Sadie or me. Sean said Sadie wouldn't leave him alone and that I could talk to her. I was ready to claw this bitch's eyes out. I sent her the nastiest, hate laden message ever. Sadie replied back. She claimed Sean had told her I had issues with them still talking and she had offered to back off several times, but Sean told her not to worry about it.

Sean denied this and sent her a nasty message. He then disfriended her. I was livid over the backbone this bitch had. The nerve. I remember kvetching to a friend at the time who looked at me and said, "Why are you saying shit about a woman you never met?"

"Cause she's a cunt who needs to get her own life, her own man, and stop stealing mine."

My friend then said something, "Here's this asshole, he's got two women fighting over him. You're going after her. That's what he wants. Because it takes the attention off of him being a jerk. As far as I see it, he's the problem."

BAM!

My friend's words entered my brain. That worthless waste of space had been playing us both. He had lied from the beginning about friending her, and then was talking about me behind my back. I confronted Sean and he tried to back up his behavior by claiming Sadie's family had been nice to him when he had no one because his mom was married to a junkie at the time. I didn't care. I was fucking done.

I continued to pick fights about Sadie whenever I wanted, and Sean continued to sit in the dog house. The trust was gone, and I just wanted to torture his ass. Each time he did something I didn't like I assured him he could always call Sadie. She would take him back. Needless to say, as our other issues became harder to combat let alone deny, Sadie became a more frequent excuse to fight.

Sean then informed me I was "abusive." To which I replied, "Mutherfucker, I wouldn't be abusing you if you weren't such a worthless liar."

Other problems became harder to overcome, such as Sean's reluctance to work and his willingness to have me support him. Additionally, Sean was pressuring me to drop out of college and move into his mother's basement. Someone had to start making good decisions and it wasn't going to be him. So I ended the relationship.

To no one's shock the break up was terrible. Sadie of course sent me a hate note or five. I thought about tearing into her, but instead I blocked her. By this time, I knew Sean was the problem. For as cheap as the shots that she took at me were, I knew Sean was also giving her the ammo. I also began to pity her, because clearly her life was so empty she needed to do the bidding for a high school boyfriend, and clearly she expected a man with nothing going for him to rescue her. My friend was right, this asshole was the problem.

If I could go back in time I would have said to him, "You want to contact Sadie, go right ahead mutherfucker. You both live in your mother's basement and have a problem telling the truth. I think you are a match made in heaven. You're her problem now."

These days I don't throw down over a man for anything. In the end, it just stroke his member.......I mean ego. And it gives a liar and game player control. It's not worth it, especially since they all have the same toy and do the same two tricks. Babe, if you are willing to fight for him, he's all yours. You might think you are hot shit because I got nothing and you have him. Well nothing is better than the asshole you are pitting yourself against another woman for. Just saying.
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10 Things I Know For Sure

1. Gender is fluid. If someone wants to take a pay cut, be cat called, and put up with general sexism I will call her a woman.

2. Liberals have a lot of idiots on their side, too. I have met screamers who won't listen and make me want to have an ice cream cone.

3. Lots of conservatives call liberals snowflakes, but when you insult them, they cry like school kids.

4. When a woman says she isn't fucking you, it means she wants sex and she's crazy.

5. When a guy says his ex was crazy, he is a lying dirt bag who wants sex and he's the one that's crazy.

6. When a man has his kid's names tattooed on his arm, he isn't paying child support.

7. Women's Rights Are Human Rights.

8. You should have friends from every gender identity, orientation, and background. You don't always have to agree with their politics but the important thing is they are there for you.

9. Writing top 10 lists in sexy pajamas is fun

10. I was tired when I took the pic below, but the older I get the more I accidentally resemble Mae West......the reason I take to the stage and the page to begin with.

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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

10. “Wow…..still living in your mom’s basement. Nice to see you believe in consistency.”

9. “Your kid is growing wiser and smarter. Not only is he on the honor roll, but it didn’t take him very long to figure out you were a loser.”

8. “You gained weight. But at least you’ll be ready to hibernate for winter. Wait, you hibernate every day because you don’t have a job.”

7. “You want your shit? I threw it away. I thought about selling it but it’s worthless just like you are.”

6. “I think it’s crazy you wanted me to wait for you until you got out of prison. Because when you were away, we both cheated with the nearest man who would listen to us.”

5. “I don’t want to be friends with you. You’re like used toilet paper. You’re ultimately good for nothing, make everyone uncomfortable, and a reminder that I sometimes make shit choices.”

4. “You relapsed on heroin? I’m so proud of you. It meant for once in your life you had a goal, got off your ass, and took some action.”

3. “I’m supposed to be jealous of your new girl? Honey, you are her problem now. And when she sees you sleep with the light on because you are afraid of the dark and answer to your mother there are no throw backs here.”

2. “Your new lady seems so sweet. Now tell me, how long did it take you to move in and try to live rent free? Just curious.”

1. “Who are you again? You look familiar but I can’t quite place you.” 

Bonus Disses aka Honorable mentions:

A: "Your family and friends are hassling me because they think I ruined your life. That is the only time you got off your ass and did something for yourself. They say they want you to do well. When I was 6 I wanted my dad to get me a pony and we didn't. Looks like we're on the same program there."

B. "I dumped you. But my mom's disappointed. It's not because you were so wonderful, she thinks you're a loser. She just always taught me to think for myself and never follow a crowd."

C. "Your best friend wanted me to sleep with him after you left. Even he doesn't like you. But he eclipses you in one way, he's a bigger loser than you. I didn't think that was possible. Granted, I hate myself for loving you but not enough to sleep with your idiot sidekick."

www.AprilBrucker.TV

April Unwrapped: My Naked Dreams Revealed

Open Letter To Michelle Carter

Dear Michelle,

I read your story. I read about your conviction. I wish I could say I was sorry you were found guilty but I am not. Actually, I am relieved you will be punished to some degree because I find you repulsive and disgusting on so many levels. Worthless is more of what I was shooting for. Conrad Roy III was a person who had his whole future ahead of him and you manipulated and coaxed him to throw it away. Shame on you. What gives you the power to do that?

Looking at you, I wonder what kind of power you had over the poor boy anyway. You are marginal looking at best. Your eyes have this dead, soulless look. When you walk by you don't strike me as someone who has one bit of remorse, other than that this might interfere with your life and quest to be popular. Your eyebrows are hideous. Oh, and you look like you escaped from the TV series Girls, but they probably cut you because you weren't the least bit interesting. Just another whiny white troubled teenager with problems.

I will be the first to defend free speech. You cannot make someone do something unless a gun is put to their head. Then again, even in that instance one can choose to die. No one can make you feel any way. I get that. But this young man wanted to kill himself. It was no secret he was struggling with suicidal depression. You didn't call 911. You told him to get back in the car. Night after night he talked about wanting to die. You didn't tell an adult about Conrad's plans. Instead, you told him to stop talking about it and take action.

There is no word to describe your egoism, hubris and outright evil.

You listened with glee as he died.

I get that at times he wasn't the best company. People with psych issues who are not properly medicated never are. But if you called 911 maybe he could have finally gotten the help he needed. Maybe Roy's family would have taken it seriously. Maybe Conrad would have gotten the meds he needed along with the therapy.

MAYBE IF YOU DECIDED YOU WEREN'T THE BOATMAN ON THE RIVER STYX WHO TOOK MATTERS INTO HER OWN HANDS YOU TRIFLING BITCH!

Oh and you even told him how much carbon monoxide would kill him. With friends like you along with a severe mental illness, Conrad Roy III had no need for enemies.

FYI, I know how it is to be in a relationship with someone who's mentally ill. I get how painful it is when they won't get help let alone be medicated. I can tell you first hand how incredibly draining the experience is, managing their symptoms on your own and defending your partner to a world that can't let alone won't understand.

I have been in instances where my former partner was not only a danger to himself but me. His breaks with reality were getting worse. To add to the cocktail, he self medicated with drugs and alcohol. Instead of coaxing him to relapse or take his own life, I walked away. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was between him and my peace of mind. If Conrad got to be too much you should have walked away.

Let me tell you, I am no fan of my former partner. Mentally ill people do things that aren't kind. They lie. They steal. They cause chaos and conflict. Unfortunately their sickness is one where they not only bring down themselves but others. While my ex cannot safely be a part of my life, if I found out he was about to kill himself I would still call 911.

It's not because I love him or cherish him. But he is a father. A brother. An uncle. A friend. While he might not be in my life, his life is still worth something. And my hope still is, even as he is homeless and back on drugs, that he gets the help he needs and is properly medicated someday.

On a more personal note, a friend of mine helped me get the nerve to write again after a rough time in my life. He battled bipolar disorder and ultimately took his own life. I am about to release a second book, and my friend is not here with me which makes me sick. You talked Conrad Roy III into taking his own life, and if I could take a time machine I would have talked my friend out of taking his.

My friend meant a great deal and helped a lot of people. Yet he could not help himself. His sister's, years later, are not over the loss of someone who was a baby brother and uncle. Conrad Roy III's family will never be over his loss. They will not forget about it. And now the world will not forget about him either.

Was your sentence fair? On an ethical level yes. On a free speech level, that is still murky. Ironically you wanted to be popular. Well now you are the most hated woman on the internet. We all hate you. Trust me, no one likes you. No one.

There will be plenty of parties in prison where you will be going that you will not be invited to. You're the most hated woman in America. At least they had the nerve to murder people for real there. You were so pathetic you had to do it over the phone. Conrad Roy was sick and desperate, and in you he met evil.

I would tell you to kill yourself because you are worthless. Yet that would be stooping to your level. And if you wanted to kill yourself I would talk you out of it. Not because it would make me feel important or that the world would be lesser without you, but because it is the right thing to do.

It's because I am a semi-decent human being who does the right thing. A lot of us are out there. Hopefully your sentence, however long or short that is, will transform you into one too.

Love
April


The Lady and President Tramp
Wednesday June 21, 7pm
The Duplex
61 Christopher Street

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