Different

I was thinking yesterday about life. Everyone talks about where they should be at certain points. I am 32. One of the Academy Award Winning Directors was 32. Eh. Does it make me feel like a loser? Yes and no. Yes, he's my age. No, this might be his first and last Oscar. Life is weird that way. Life is like an hourglass: there are times the sand is on your side. There are times it isn't.

The sand has and hasn't been on my side in the course of a year. In 2015, my story made headlines over the world and it looked like I might tour Europe. Months later, I was forced to move under duress with a broken heart. Point being, is that life changes on a dime for better or for worse for all of us. Granted, my self-esteem took a huge hit and it was like wandering in a dark tunnel. WTF?! Life happened, it just wasn't supposed to happen to me, right?

I am hardly a failure. I have accomplished some of what I wanted. Yet at times I feel like I have fallen short. I think we all feel that way though. Last year I was credentialed press at the debates, a big change from being evicted and having my ex's mentally ill sister threaten me. Then this year began with me showcasing at APAP. I also did my show again, and might be doing a run. I am excited. Big change from last year where I felt burnt out from my ordeal and uninspired.

One thing all this has done is made me more confident. I take the stage in a different way. When I was younger I wanted to be liked. Now I don't give a fuck. It's strange. Then someone has shown interest in repping my show for touring and someone else wants to rep me for other things. Nothing is set is stone yet. Both seem like nice people. Whatever happens happens. I also did some things for some other stuff I am being recruited for. Whatever happens happens. I am not breaking my ass. That's for damn sure. If they want me they know where to find me and if they don't want me they can go fuck themselves. Simple as that.

I am also teaching a ventriloquism class. I am excited. It means I am a master. It means I might be able to teach at conventions. I am excited and honored and love the idea. More on that later.

I am writing another book about my adventures, too.

While sometimes the telegrams are slow, they have been picking up full steam. Rent has been paying itself, God willing. I do not want for much, God willing. Other work will hopefully pick up too, God willing. But whatever I do I will do my best, have fun, and treat each show with dignity and respect.

And as I begin my journey as a Universal Life Minister, I know in some ways the world is ending and we are all fucked because I am Bishop Cardinal Brucker. But I also know I am going to be alright.

I know I am going to be alright

I escaped a bad living situation and a mentally ill partner

I escaped a physically abusive partner and an abusive living situation to boot before all that

I escaped meeting the fate that some of my fellows did.

I was not taken this far to be dropped.

Is life better than I thought it would be at this point? Yes and no. Is life worse? Yes and no. Do I have everything I want? Yes and no. Am I getting what I want? Yes, but no, because it's not as fast as I would like it.

So it's different.

But I am happier and more at peace than I have ever been. No award can put a price on that. Because my mental health is good, I have faith everything else will take care of itself.

10 Pieces of Advice For Dealing With Negative People

Yes, negative people. We all know them. The energy sucks and drains that try to snatch our spirit and steal whatever other sunlight we have in our souls. They are just awful in every way, and have no redeeming qualities. Often, we leave feeling depleted of any vitamins and minerals, and wonder why we want to punch a wall.

Here are ten ways we can fight back:

1. Wear A Watch- Yeah, here is that energy suck trying to engage you in conversation yet again. However, now you can take control of the situation. Look at your watch, apologize, and tell them you have an appointment. Yeah, it's a lie. But any destination is better than listening to the garbage these folks spew on the reg.

2. Fight Fire With Water- When dealing with a negative person you can't quite extricate yourself from, turn the diss or gossip session into something positive. For example, when they rip Sally Jones apart, say Sally has always been nice to you, or point out a strength she has. That kills the virus right quick.

3. Don't Feed In- Sometimes a negative individual will go out of there way to start conflict and needle you. Don't make a snide remark, although it is tempting. Instead, don't feed in. The opposite of love is not hate, but rather apathy. If you don't care, they will find a new target.

4. Keep Your Side of the Street Clean- Sometimes, a negative person is so problematic they make you crazy. It's them and not you. However, you have control over how you act. They do not pull your strings. Remember that while it is them, it's on you to behave like the bigger, better person.

5. Use The Block Button- The internet is the home for any and all negative people, and it gives their moron muscle balls of steel. It's easy to get sucked in. Knowing this, if they step over the line use the block button. It kills any and all conflict in your path, and also the chaos continues. They can say whatever they want afterwards, but it only makes them look worse and you look better.

6. Maintain A Bottom Line- These individuals are disconcerting, and more often than not are bullies. When dealing with them, set up a firm boundary about what makes you comfortable and what doesn't. If they step over the line, kindly let them know. If they see they cannot push you around, they will stop and find someone new to make their punching  bag.

7. Remove Yourself- Sometimes a negative person pushes you so hard you do want to physically retaliate. That is when you need to either fake a stomach ache and leave, or go to the bathroom and splash water on your face. This will help you get some peace, quiet, and return to sanity.

8. Know You Aren't Alone-When someone is overwhelmingly negative, their Mr. Yuck is almost always universal. Where there is smoke, there is fire. So know while they are mean and nasty, it's not just to you, it's everyone. That won't make it so personal.

9. Get Legal If Need Be- Sometimes, a person can be so problematic you have to get the law involved, and that is the only boundary they understand. If their harassment and terrible behavior are disrupting your peace of mind and safety, go to the police. It is what they are there for.

10. Have Compassion-Some people are harder to love than others. A negative person might be one who is easy to murder in your mind. But know that unfortunately, people are the way they are for a reason, good or bad. Also, maybe this person has mental health issues and isn't getting the proper medication or treatment. Hope the universe in whatever fashion sends them peace and guides them towards happiness, because while they disrupt you, ultimately they do the most harm to themselves.

Hope I helped someone

xoxox
www.aprilbrucker.com

A Bigger Plate

This week has been a busy one in the world of April. I can't even begin to tell you about all the things I have been dealing with. Lets start with I have been BUSY AS FREAKING FUCK. Okay, these are words my mother doesn't like me to use but I went and used them, HA! All week I have been juggling my new hosting gig, the still existing telegram job (Thank God, it pays my bills), filming details for one project and things for two others. Plus I am getting ready to finally delivery my audiobook. It is a blessing because my team is wonderful. Still, it was my phone ringing every five seconds. It's not like I got a moment's rest either.

Last Sunday the day begun when a friend of mine was off his psych meds for bipolar. So during the delusion he got my Booski ended up believing that two people we knew and then a random black dude broke into his home. Apparently he went down to the precinct and filed a report and everything. Did I mention this was before 7 AM. Oh and my mom called me at 5:45 by accident waking me up. So I figured the day had begun, why not? In any event, the way my buddy told the story was pretty funny. I guess I want to know why is it always a random black dude? Then again, my buddy is off his meds, not evil. Well the story ended with him going to the psych hospital, and then coming home so bummed he brought this big thing of food and in his depression ate it all. The best line was, "The only person who's not pissed with me right now is my dog."

I have long ago given up the belief I could have normal friends. It ain't gonna happen. Sigh McSigh. The rest of the day Sunday was spent getting ready to film et al. Monday had some girl drama that I will not get into. The only thing I will say is that the older I get, the more allergic to drama I am. I don't even hate the girlie I had the drama with, I think the unfortunate thing is that the poor child knows no better. But I did a full set with eight of my puppets in Brooklyn. Oh and I also delivered a telegram first thing in the morning. But the day ended with me McMakin and McMackin with a McStud. Oh and I also had to race and run write my column for Sex From Both Sides.

Tuesday saw me doing more stuff for my on camera hosting gig at ITTV. I love the gig and love being in front of the camera. Not to mention some stuff for the project I am filming.

Wednesday I filmed the interview and had a telegram. Plus I talked to the producer of the project I am currently working on.

Thursday I had a project meeting with my business partner and made an ass out of myself at the desired venue. But my new assistant Masimo, a gay kid from Dominica (not to be confused with the Dominican Republic, although both are a butt load homophobic), was a God send helping me with business plans. By the time night came I was tired. I also couldn't enter a contest because of a date conflict but I really liked the lady and want to work with her in the future.

Friday of course was delivering the telegram and more stuff for ITTV events. I was so worn out that I isolated and spent the night in. I ordered sushi to be delivered to my home. Of course I ended up watching Deadly Women, because who can resist a show where men get killed.

Saturday I had lunch with a hot lunch date. I figured I deserved it. However before that I had about three business calls and then had to meet with someone else all before noon. But then of course I went to my business partner/friend's BBQ. He is more like a big brother to me than anything. I love him and his fiance. They are sooooo cute together. He gave me a stern lecture about my choice in men and chastised me for wagging my finger like he always does. I was chilling, having fun, and then my phone just kept ringing with people who wanted shit from me. As I had convo after convo with people on business I missed another friend thrusting a whole Twinkie in his mouth. I just wanted to take the phone and throw it off the damn balcony into the night.

Where would it land? The streets of New York City? On the car of some rich fuck? On the head of some idiot girl who just wanted the idiot husband? Or would it go to space and the fucking Martians would answer?Klatu, Nictu, Baratu, may I help you....

Of course this morning I was on my way to Jersey to deliver a telegram and had to go early as not to miss a train and my mom called me to give me notes on my ITTV interview. As she is giving me notes on my interview I stood up on the train to get off and banged my head leaving me a nice little bump. Of course I let out the following blue streak, "FUCK! JESUS FUCKING FUCK I HATE THESE FUCKING TRAINS, THESE MIDGET CEILINGS AND THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY!!!!!" And then I saw there were children sitting there. FUCK ME!!!!

Then I remembered I am busy because my dreams are coming true. Years ago I was crying because it looked like it would never happen for me. I was lugging myself from open mic to open mic, living on laundry money, and barking for stage time. I would see people with TV credits come in and out and only dreamed of being them but it seemed so far away. I remembered sitting in my unairconditioned apartment writing my book and my then roomie having a nervous breakdown and losing both the friend who inspired me to write again and another friend who inspired me to be myself to drugs. I remembered how much fun it had been to be onstage for the first time in NYC. How cool it was to be on National TV for the first time. How I got my first on the street recognition without even expecting it. How cool it felt to record down the hall from Deborah Harry and see her yappy dogs.

Newsflash, when things start to happen in your life and career, things become hectic. Life becomes full. I used to cry because it seemed nothing would ever materialize. I was so scared of being left in the dust. Now here I am dusting myself off. So the chaos I have is the good kind.

Next week I have my musical stuff to work on, more ITTV stuff, I have to start uploading my audiobook to sell, and then I probably have another writing assignment in there. They say when God/Allah/Universe gives you more than you can handle, you have to ask Him/Her/It for a bigger plate. So here I am, asking for a bigger plate.

A few years ago when I came out of a particularly rough time in my life I got this thing that is still framed in my apartment. It is a little ethnically ambiguous cherub with the words, "When the trials of life seem to be working your nerves and you don't know what to do. Or when it seems you're having so many problems, you've bitt'n off more than you can chew. There's one thing you must tell yourself, when these situations you cannot dodge, I must sit down, calm myself, relax, My God's in charge."

So in times when it feels like I just run around and my feet are falling off, I must remember I am chasing my dreams. From that I must never tire. I must stand up straight for I am an accomplished woman, and when you stand upright the burdens roll off your back. I must tell myself I am too blessed to be stressed, because my dreams are coming true and this is everything I worked for since I was a little girl coming to fruition. Not to mention one hundred want to stab me in the back because of the success I am getting, and thousands want to take my place.

That means I have to stop answering the phone by saying, "What!" when my mother calls. Translated, I have to drop the attitude and be more grateful.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.aprilbrucker.com

Intentions: A Spiritual Blog

When I was younger I grew up in a town where religion was used as a weapon. The Catholics believed in a God that was vengeful and indulged in marches for life. Ribbons-or right to life-were handed out on several occasions. These were supposedly to protect the unborn, but in reality designed to oppress women. Holy days were taken seriously which meant morning masses before school. As for the Protestants, they weren't much better. They just went to church a little later but were still just as crazy. Then there was the megachurch down the road where the pastor declared AIDS was the punishment to the gay population. Not to mention they had a wicked recruitment program in their youth group. As in kool-aid and pizza at the end of the month if the kids go so much fresh blood. Then there were two sects that split off because the megachurch was becoming too liberal. One splinter sect was so crazy it meant that one could not marry outside the this mini church that met in our school's cafeteria. That meant children with flippers.

As if that wasn't bad enough we had a youth group called Campus Life. The sponsor, a strange man with pale skin and white blonde hair, would troll the school cafeteria looking for lost souls to entrap in this Svengali net. To correspond with this, a well meaning history teacher had Bible Studies in his room during lunch violating the supposed divide between church and state. I remember when I was a junior, our school got a new principal. He used the anti-power of Christ to compel this cult master out of the cafeteria. People who were drunk in the daze were angry. Those of us with brains were quite satisfied. Later he was arrested for molesting young boys. Now he is on his knees in jail doing the bidding of Jesus. While Jesus is not the one who died on the cross in an S and M type of fashion, he does have a rosary tattooed on his chest.

Of course these nuts were always on fire. Like Rand Paul they cite the Bible as anthropological evidence. Not to mention they wrote poems about God and how he made them feel safe. One young woman wrote a poem about her closeness to God that read like a pornographic novel. Needless to say, when I was eighteen and moved to NYC I was done with these Jesus freaks.

I didn't want to hear about the Bible and didn't have time for anyone who quoted it. While I never ceased to believe in a Higher Power, I refused to believe it was a racist, sexist, homophobic, and anti-Semitic white man on a cloud. My understanding of life and the world were so different than any of the hate these people preached that I totally wrote off organized religion. I would even quote Karl Marx calling it the opium of the people.

However one thing I got into was meditation. I came across it several years ago as I was going through one of the craziest times of my life and coming out of one even more chaotic. The meditation helped me change my energy. It helped me focus. It helped me quiet my mind. I also met some people who were religious but were peaceful and chose to show their faith by living it rather than preaching it. I ended up attending Bible study at a gay friendly church a few times where I learned about the Bible in a whole new way. Sodom and Gomorrah was not about homosexuality, but being kind to your neighbor and welcoming strangers. It was also lost in translation. I remember the preacher explaining that it had been interpreted as homosexuality in later years, but this was not originally the case in Greek. Another woman whom I became close to also said that God's issue was not homosexuality, but rather the rape of angels. I also met a priest who said, "Listen, if you are gay you are welcome in my church. I also think you should be able to get married. The world will catch up but we are all God's children."

Over time I began to see that faith, when used well, was a wonderful thing. That religion could be wonderful as well, if coupled with spirituality. If it was just dogma alone that is when it was toxic. That is when people put ministers such as Pat Robertson-who looks like an angry elf-on a white cloud and make him God. How people listen to that moron I will never know. But a belief wasn't evil. It was how it got twisted and misunderstood.

Recently, in my meditation, my friend Bernard Davis has inspired me. A former Jehovah's Witness, Bernard has left the fold because that and being gay don't always jibe. However he has kept his spirituality. Before we went to Gay Pride Bernard insisted we do an intention. He said, "When we go out today, may we spread love, light and happiness." And we did. Actually the intention was awesome. 

So lately I have been doing that and my life has been changing. So yes, I believe in good vibes. I am spiritual. I believe it a G.O.D. (Good orderly direction, Gratitude over drama). I believe in the next right thing. I believe in treating others the way I want to be treated. Any questions?

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Follow me on www.aprilbrucker.com

Castles in the Sky

When I was twenty three I was going through a huge transition in my life. I went from being a hot mess that made more messes to a mess who wanted to clean herself up. I felt like a butterfly coming out of the cocoon and now emerging, flying if you will. Replacing nerves that were once calmed by alcohol, diet pills, and destructive eating was the Serenity Prayer. I was also out of an abusive relationship, one that ended in stalking and a different mailing address for my own safety and on the market for a decent man. Enter George Washington.

George Washington had the same name as the president who chopped down the cherry tree. He was set up with me on a blind date by my friend Saul, a friend I worked with on a project. Saul said George and I would be a perfect match. The first time he called me he seemed nice enough and made me laugh. We went out. George underwhelmed me in many ways. He was losing his hair and had abysmal fashion sense. Not to mention that he bored the hell out of me. But he had a nice manner, paid for dinner, and was  a lawyer. Most of the guys I dated dined and dashed and were mostly defendants. My mom had married a lawyer and was happy. I figured I could work around a lot of things. A lot of people settled. Why shouldnt I? Plus he did seem to like me.

Right away George regaled me with his life. Before becoming a lawyer George had apparently played with rock bands and even worked as a substitute guitarist for the Violent Femmes when one player had mono and had been a part of the Detroit Cobras too. He played with many people and played me CDs and even played guitar for me a few times. George could quote Shakespeare and he knew a lot about history. For the first time in forever someone liked my writing. The ex fiance hated my writing and tried to kill my dreams and aspirations. George on the otherhand breathed new life into them and was proud of me. Maybe it wasn't the chaotic love affair it had been with my fiance and maybe he wasn't as hot as the ex cons but I felt like this could be happily ever after in Kew Gardens.

Did I mention he even wrote a song for me?

George used to take me out to the best eateries, only five stars in Zagats. He also told me about some of his former girlfriends. Like me George too had been previously engaged. His ex had been a Smith grad, a Yale grad, and had an impressive job in DC. Apparently she cheated on him. Before that one of his exes had appeared on VH1, then one had been married to Romeo Rojas, a world famous soccer player from Columbia. One had won an Academy Award for costume design. As compared to these women I felt sick to my stomach. My boyfriends had been to jail and maybe had a lawyer from Yale. I knew people on VH1  but had never dated any, I wasn't their type. The only Romeo Rojas I knew sold drugs. I had friends who designed costumes but never got that far. He was probably underwhelmed with me and I just felt this insecurity and chip on my shoulder, something that followed me for the duration of the relationship. Would I ever be good enough for him? Probably not.

Right away George told me of a terrible childhood with an abusive alcoholic father and a grandfather named Shane who was involved with the mob. Jimmy Hoffa had apparently been his father's godfather. My Uncle Frank had known Jimmy Hoffa through the labor unions as well and had even dodged a car bomb planted by Hoffa. Right away he seemed exciting as he told stories of a childhood seemingly plucked from Oliver Twist. I felt for him. Part of me wanted to love him and fix him because he seemed so different than an ex who used me as a mental and physical punching bag.

George wanted to move up in the world and introduced me to his friends. They were born with a silver spoon in their mouths and struck me as snobby and fake. George wasn't born with a silver spoon. Whenever I would tell him just because they were rich didn't mean that they were good people he would fire back about how I couldn't accept his friends. How he was embarrassed because anything could fly out of my mouth. How he wanted to move up in the world. Meanwhile I had grown up among lawyers and judges. I saw how George conducted himself with two left feet. I saw how they rolled their eyes. Whenever I would give him advice it was what do you know?

George was desperate to belong with these people. One of his bosses remarked that he didnt have pedigree and this sent George over the edge. My dad didnt come from a family of lawyers and judges, he was the son of a steel worker. However, my dad was hardworking and brilliant. Not only did he end up doing well but many of these lawyers and judges have my father on speed dial and treat him like the brother they wish they had. George didn't want to go about it that way though. Instead he was always going out to fancy places and spending money he didn't have.

Once he met my mother and took us out for a three hundred dollar dinner. My mom, knowing George was out of law school told him that this was too expensive. She had lived with my dad when they were newly married and  he was working at Price Waterhouse by day and going to law school at night. They had card tables and were dirt broke. George said, "You are a lawyer's wife, this is what you are accustomed to."

My mother, who is the eldest of six and grew up in modest means was taken aback. Sure my dad was a lawyer but we didnt live high on the hog. Most of the time we clipped coupons like the rest of the world and knew money didnt grow on trees. My mom  responded, "George, I am accustomed to paper plates. Applebees would have been fine." At that moment it occurred to me that perhaps George was trying to buy my mother. It felt awkward and sickening.

I also became close with George's mother, an eccentric Al-Anon veteran, husband to a recovering alcoholic, that read my blogs and wrote me letters that God had instructed her to write. In each she would tell me how God was commanding her to tell me that she and her kid belonged together. I laughed it off. She's a mom. What could I say or do? But looking back this was another warning sign.

A week after meeting my mom I met his dad. They seemed like a nice duo. We went to a Mets Game, used Saul's family's box, and hug out some. While I liked his dad it seemed like the two were trying to put on a show for me. From what George told me his dad had been a violent drunk. Now they were getting along great and his mom even called. It's like they were the perfect family, beyond the Clever's, something smelled like an act. George insisted that he had grown up in Corktown, a terrible area of Detroit, but his dad insisted the family was from Ann Arbor. He was hardly the towering ogre descried in his son's stories as well. After the meeting his mother sent me a letter that is still suspicious to this day, "I am glad George's father gets to meet you. All of George's girlfriend's disappear before we can meet them."

During the four month mark in the relationship George told me that Alex Kelly, the man responsible for being the first one convicted of date rape had grown up outside of where he was from in Detroit in a gated community. Anyway, one of the victims was from his part of town. George told me after Alex Kelly was captured in Europe where he had been hiding with family money and brought to the US his friend's dad was the prosecutor that coined the term date rape. I remember going on wikipedia and looking this stuff up just to see his friend's dad's name. What I found surprised me. Alex Kelly happened in Darien, CT, not even remotely close to Detroit. At that moment I began to wonder, was I in a relationship with someone who lied for the sake of lying? The thought raced through my mind. I found myself ashamed and surprised. George had always done what he said he was going to do. He had been a man of his word. Maybe it was a similar story.

As the relationship went on however problems, major problems began to emerge. A lot of George's stories about ex girlfriends in particular were constantly changing. This would usually come out during one of my jealous rages. He would tell me I was bad with timing. We made a vow never to talk about exes or the past but something always lingered in my mind. He treated me well and spent lots of money on me. Why was I always fighting with him? I found myself acting out in rotten ways too. Whether I was getting the  number of a different guy or lying about how I was single I couldn't stop. Friends told me the relationship was a good one and I was scared. But what was I scared of?

Around this point the truth about George's financial situation reared it's ugly head. He was in debt, big debt. It started when I accidentally answered a call from a creditor. Then he confided in me that he hadn't opened his bills or paid them for several months. We went from fancy dinners to me footing the bill. I didn't mind it. I loved him and told him he had to make it right with the creditors. At the time I had a little money and even offered to bail him out. He told me he could handle it when really he was falling deeper into debt.

Our already fragile relationship plagued with fights was put on further thin ice when George's friend Jenny moved in with him. Apparently they had accidentally gotten drunk and messed around when they were kids once but didnt want it to ruin the friendship and they had since been seeing other people. My friends all warned me to be weary. But George let me know I had nothing to fear and that she was happy about me.

 Jenny seemed nice when I met her, and told me horror stories about what a psycho George's ex fiance was. I heard how this woman wouldn't eat, how she just ran all the time, and was miserable to be around. I also heard about how she forbade George's friendship with Jenny. But Jenny told me this woman had been such a wreck she already got fired from her job in DC that she had lobbied so hard for.

But the second Jenny moved in she began to demand all of George's time acting as if she were the girlfriend. In an attempt to drive a wedge between us she demanded George take off work to take her to the doctors. Then she also would purposely break things so George would have to fix them when I was there. Jenny would also make allegations that people assaulted her so George would have to risk his law license and threaten them physically. One time she even poisoned her dog in order to have George drive it to the animal hospital. The fights became more intense and the unhappiness more profound. I stopped eating and my moods changed. This was hell. Either she had to go or I would. I didnt want to but I made the demand with George. He told me I was imaging things and Jenny didn't know not to keep bringing up the ex fiance that was gone.

The beginning of the end was during a dinner with an obnoxious couple George and I knew where the husband took a jab at me because of my past. My boyfriend didnt step up to defend me. Then his wife was equally obnoxious. After they left Jenny told George something and a huge fight broke out between us. We had two more fights, finally ending in complete hell Labor Day Weekend. When he called me to break up I was done and gone already. I had erased his number from my phone.

I was hurt and crushed. But my dad said something important to me, "April, the secret to being in a relationship is you actually have to like them. And also, lawyers are nuts. I don't even like other lawyers. When I can avoid spending time with them I do."

Two days later I ran into a lawyer friend who knew George. He said George had not been employed for months because of judicial misconduct and was in danger of losing his license. I wanted to find out what else Mr. Fabulous, JD was lying about. I googled the Detroit Cobras who are a revolving door band and list all their members. He was no where to be found. I also googled every ex girlfriend he ever mentioned. The Playboy Model was so well known Google couldn't find her. Romeo Rojas was not famous for playing soccer but owning a paint company. The chick on VH1 that he met at the Comedy Cellar never plays their, she is an alt girl. As for the winner of the Academy Award for Costume Design, the year she supposedly won the award went to a man. And his Violent Femmes concert on CD, I found the Haitian who sold that in Harlem on bootleg. The tie to Hoffa was fake as well. Everything was fake.

No wonder his girlfriends disappeared before anyone could meet them, fake women do that. I still remember the picture of his ex-fiance from his law school graduation, looking miserable like Emily Dickinson dragged out of hell and wanting to kill him. Out of morbid curiosity I googled her and found out not only was she happily running and winning road races but had gotten a promotion with the Department of Justice, the job she supposedly lost. I went from being jealous as hell to feeling bad. I gave six months to this perpetual truth adjuster while she had given two years. Poor thing.

At first I was angry I had been lied to like I had been. Had I been so wicked and awful that he felt the need to bend the truth? I felt violated. George knew about all my trust issues and went the extra mile just to lie to me because I was so clearly so desperate. People told me I should have been more careful trusting, meanwhile it took me so much work to trust him. I was so angry that I could have just beaten him with a baseball bat. For once I felt like I had a good man only to be played by the greatest liar of all time. More than anything, I was angry at myself for being so stupid.The kicker was the song he wrote me was playing on the radio about a week later. It seems Snow Patrol stole it.

Angrily I blogged about him. My mother begged me not to because she insisted his mother was crying. My response was, "Let the bitch cry. She's a psycho who tried to pawn me off of her kid. God hates them all." I also rebelled by dating the worst guys possible because at least they were honest. But the truth was, I couldn't go back to dining and dashing. I couldn't go back to paying someone's way. I had been treated to well by George Washington, attorney at law. That made the whole thing sting even more.

I found out about a year later he told some story about having cancer. I told a mutual friend I had doubts about the cancer being real. Our friend yelled at me and said, "What if he dies?"

My terse response was, "For once in his stupid fucking life he will be telling the truth."

My dad of course had the best take. He said, "Wherever that boy is going, let him go. Because he doesn't even know."

Stories have gotten back to me from mutual friends and acquaintances that unlike his namesake who could not tell a lie, George Washington, attorney at law, cannot tell the truth. A compulsive liar is someone who's self-worth is floor level and feels the need to alter the story constantly. It is someone who has something to prove. It is someone who is hallow. It is someone who hurts others, and most of the time unintentionally. It took me some time but I don't view George as evil and don't have an ax to grind. If anything I feel bad for him, always living a lie and telling so many he forgot where the lie ends and the truth begins. Always having to remember and never quite remembering who he told what to.

The lessons I walked away with were that I had settled, setting the bar very low because that was where my self-worth was. Some of it was the product of being treated badly, and some of it was just young female insecurity. But I wasn't the gum on anyone's shoe and I certainly was good enough for someone of quality as long as I believed I was. Just because someone had a suit, a job, and benefits as well as a nice pad didn't make them a good person. They deserved to be scrutinized like everyone else. Maybe life had been such a nightmare that I wanted to believe the guy who looked good was heaven when really he was hell, just in a way I never imaged.

For as much as I hated George's friend Jenny I am now grateful for her. If she hadn't broken us up I may have married George, had children, and after six years in some change discovered who he really was. That wouldnt have been painful. It would have been tragic.

I used to tell him when I was going to see him I would rip him up. Tell him to fuck off, fuck his fucking psycho mother, and maybe he would fucking die.

Now I realize he builds castles in the sky, not because he is evil but rather because he is sick and confused. In his mind he lives there, not because he wants to be alone but because the world is too cruel and reality is too painful. When you are in the castle in the sky, riding in the chariot in the wind, you don't live in real time which can be cruel and reminds us all that we fall short. While it's not the road I take, as I spend more time on this Earth I realize there are reasons why people do what they do.

If I were to see him now I wouldn't rip him up. Instead I would thank him for making me run after my dreams and getting me to talk about what I wanted to do with my life instead of dating ex cons. I would thank him for treating me kindly when not many guys I dated did, because for a while he did treat me like a princess. In a way he also raised the standards in my life for a bit.

However, I would tell him, "I know life is hard and lonely for you and I am sorry. I hope one day you do find whatever it is you are looking for. I hope you finally get to move into your castle in the sky."

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

Come to my book signing at Symposia on November 15 at 7 PM
510 Washington St. in Hoboken
Portion of Proceeds go to the American Red Cross to help the victims of Hurricane Sandy

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

Lent and What It Means to Me

When I was a kid my folks weren’t super religious. We went to church every Sunday, did the holy days, and then of course the no meat on Friday during Lent. My mom wasn’t as big on us giving things up as she was us doing a nice thing, like volunteering at a nursing home. It was anything to take the focus off of ourselves and perhaps to find God. Well then again, Catholics as a rule as never fervently religious, but more or less stubbornly adherent to tradition. Heck, the last time I checked our clergy still couldn't marry.
Alter boys anyone.....Okay, I had to make the joke. 

Like all Fridays during Lent, we didn’t do meat. When we were younger and were in that phase, we did fish sticks. My mom threw them in the tray, threw them in the oven, and put dipping sauce on the table. We were so little that we figured they were like chicken nuggets, except they were fish. Sometimes, we even went to Long John Silvers up the road. Usually, the folks that worked at Long John Silvers where I lived had been rejected from McDonald’s and were on welfare much faster than their fry and Big Mac slinging counterparts. Nonetheless, it was a nice way to mix up Friday.

As we got older and grew out of the fish sticks, my mom mixed it up. We had tuna  noodle casserole. I know I am one of the few people in the world who likes the dish but oh well. My mom does cook the best. During that phase in my life my dad’s mother, Ralph, had a host of health problems and needed visitors on the regular. My folks usually took Fridays, and we brought fish from places like Freddy’s II, a delicious restaurant in my hometown. Or we went to Pasta Too, but the problem was the wait time to order was eternal, and everyone and their mother knew about the yummy fish sandwiches.

One time my mom had to go out of town during Lent. I was left to cook and my father, like many men, doesn’t like my cooking. While my dad likes my lasagna, my burgers, my breaded chicken he does not like my fish. The night before, my eleven year old brain failed to properly read the instructions. My sister’s eight year old brain then backed up my stupidity and we burnt one dish and left the middle of another frozen. My brother, being the typical male, failed to help us in the kitchen as he slaughtered opponents on his Sega Genesis. So when Friday came, my dad decided to make it a take out and movie night. Being a woman, not having to cook no matter how old you are is awesome. So needless to say, my dad became the most awesome man in the world at that moment. 

We went to the American Legion and had the greasiest, yet most delectable fish sandwiches ever. There was so much grease on that bun I could feel my eleven year old arties clog, but I didn’t care. It was good, damn good. After that, we watched some shoot ‘em up movie. While my dad often masqueraded as the bad cop when we were growing up, it was an occupational hazard. My mom was the good cop and someone had to balance out in this dragnet. While he was less than happy he had to sign my homework card for an assignment forgotten, on the other hand he told me it happened. My dad also informed me that while one might make mistakes, the goal was to never make them again and just to turn my homework in on time from that day forward. I was surprised. My mother, on the other hand, would have lost her mind, reamed me out. She would have been okay with the failed math test as long as I told the truth. But being a teacher, she didnt tolerate not doing homework or worse yet, losing it.
And being a gym teacher, she would have had a heart attack if she saw the grease entering the veins of our bodies. She would have reminded my father that high blood pressure and heart disease ran in his family, and that we were to eat healthy things like vegetables. To which my brother would reply, "Easy on dad mom. French fries are made from potatoes and that's a vegetable."
 Then there was Good Friday. When I was younger, we were told there was to be no television, radio, or any other things that killed the brain and made noise from twelve to three. When I was about six or seven, I wanted to watch cartoons with my sister. We were home from school. My mother said, “You can’t do that. Jesus is on the cross.” I told him it didn’t look like Jesus was anywhere to be found and both my sister and I proceeded to turn on the TV. My dad, who had come home early, found us, snatched the clicker from my hand, yelled at us, and then sent us to our rooms. Needless to say my sister and I never challenged that rule again.

When I got to college, however, I learned to use Good Friday to my advantage. Many of the Catholic students claimed it was a religious holiday. My first year of school, when I was active in what was the Catholic Center at NYU, I went to church and there was some sort of mass. My second year I used the “holy day” as an excuse to get not one but two term papers done. Sure I wasn’t praying, but I was using God’s time wisely. Third year of college I spent all day doing homework, and then jumped on the train to spend Easter weekend with my ex-fiance and his friends in NJ.

These days, while I am not a theocrat, I do observe Lent in my own way. It is part of my upbringing that I just never quite shook. I eat fish when Friday comes whether it is a tuna melt, macaroni and cheese, or shrimp and rice from the local food cart. Sometimes, if a diner has it, I go for the lobster bisque.

I also try to do more service during Lent. Whether it is volunteering for causes related to HIV/AIDS education, domestic violence prevention, or any anti-bullying charity. I also have found myself not going on facebook after twelve noon on Fridays. It’s not because facebook is bad, but because it is something outside of myself that takes the focus off of me. When I get that noise out of my head, that gossip, that drama out of my head I remember what’s important. I remember my purpose in life is to do service.

While I do not consider myself terribly religious, I am more spiritual than anything. This is my opportunity that I take once a year to cleanse my mind, soul, and spirit. We live in a world polluted by so much hate, filth, distrust, and prejudice. So I take abstaining from meat and giving up facebook on Friday afternoon/evenings as a chance to get back to basics. To me, God isn’t about a man in the sky, a wrathful being, it’s about peace of mind. We don’t have enough of that in this world.

Sigh

Love

April 

PS. Feel free to tell me if and how you honor your spirituality. Or if you don't and why not.