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!

This Is Growing Up (Blink 182)

I am an adult in some ways, and in some ways I am not. Currently I am 32 year old. I live in a house with 2 dudes. One is a talented painter who is never home. The other is my landlord who has funny stories about NYC back in the day and is obsessed with UFOs. His parents live downstairs, and when they need anything they yell up. My home life is like a sit com.

My life outside of home is like a rambling nomad. I live from gig to gig and can live on pocket change if need be. I am working on managing my money better.......kinda......on Mondays. I am living off the snack food my mom sent me. She also has to call me to make sure I eat sometimes because I do forget. Yeah, real adult.

As for my outside life, my comedy and activism with one Donald J. Tramp has been sending me all over the place. First to Cleveland. Then to Las Vegas. After which I went to Long Island. Then I will be at the debates in Vegas again. Life is exciting.

This past July I went to Cleveland during the RNC and marched with Stand Together Against Trump. (STAT). I arrived at the RNC right from my sister's wedding in Pittsburgh. One stressful event to the next. Everyone kept asking me if I was nervous I might get killed.

Truth, as the maid of honor helping to plan her wedding nearly killed me. Everyone kept acting like I should have been jealous or bent out of shape because I'm older. I have had a fiance and 2 boyfriends I talked marriage with. I know full well you kiss a frog and he becomes a price, but alas, that prince becomes a man.

Nonetheless, the wedding weekend was an odd paradox. It was a throwback to my parents' generation, that of the Vietnam War. There was the establishment and the anti-establishment, at the same event. Both well educated. Both able to argue their point.

It was analogous to the time Richard Nixon walked his daughter Pat down the aisle on national television as an example of family values to what he viewed as the disruptive protest generation. My dad is hardly Nixon, but my sister was dressed in white walking down the aisle representing the establishment. Standing next to her on the alter, the one not getting married and heading to the protest after her fun was done, I was a representing the closest thing we had to the protest generation. The blushing bride and the dirty hippie, side by side at the same main event.

Skipper is hardly political, but at the same time she now had purchased a house and had a husband. Boomer had been a Ron Paul delegate years before in 2012. Now they were settling down. I was a rambling wheel, unattached. There would not be much collateral damage if my idyllic values got me killed. My parents would cry. I hadn't much property aside from my puppets or books. Despite the fact I was older......yeah she's the adult.

During the wedding, I steered away from discussing Donald J. Tramp or Cleveland. It was my sister's day. Skipper was decked out in white. If there was going to be drama, I didn't want it to be because a drunken Trump supporter relative and I got into it.

When my dad mentioned it, they wanted to know if I was afraid. I was excited. You see, my sister was marrying Boomer but I was marrying the revolution. For years I had dipped my feet into the activist pool and then ran away. Now I was being pulled back in to stop a man akin to Hitler. The thought of being political scared me at times, that's why I never committed. Now I was fully committing to my destiny of using my gifts for the greater good and I felt complete. So one could say we both got married in a way that weekend.

As for being afraid.......I was afraid when my former fiance's violent temper came my way. I was afraid when he hit me. I was afraid when he tried to choke me. I was afraid when it looked like I was going to be kicked out of college. I was afraid when my drug addict former roommate was stealing from me. I was afraid when I was living off my laundry money because I was so broke. I was afraid when I was stranded in Long Island in the middle of winter. I was afraid when I was stranded late at night on the Jersey Shore and missed the last train. I was afraid the first time I climbed a mountain which was in a rainstorm and slipped. I was afraid when I was handed eviction papers. I was afraid when I had to go to court on my own in front of the judge as the bully boy lawyer taunted me with his straight, male privilege. I was afraid when my former soldier ex boyfriend had a psychotic break when he thought Isis was watching us and Barack Obama was their leader. I was afraid when his sister called me and threatened me after we broke up. I was afraid when my evil landlord tried to burn down my apartment. I was afraid when I tested positive for the virus that gives one cervical cancer. I was also afraid at age 9 when I nearly drowned in the ocean and grabbed my mother's leg. I was afraid when mold and bed bugs overwhelmed my former apartment to the point where my hair was falling out and I couldn't breathe.

Yet each time God appeared and got me through it, and each time there was a rainbow on the other side. If I got shot in Cleveland I had lived through worse. And maybe if I went out saving the world, or at least trying, I could go out saying I did some good. If the hose, the gas, and the dogs were my fate I would gladly go the way of better men and women before me.

My parents were thrilled I was taking this step, but nervous. My dad is a lawyer and has been involved in politics behind the scenes for local candidates in the past. So he was proud when I was carrying on the family political tradition of being a good Democrat.

As for my mom, she was a Second Waver and led a sit in so the female athletes could get letter jackets just like their male counterparts at her Division I University. Apparently, my mom was also the go to person for the administration, and even was able to get the woman athletes special meal times/study halls like their male counterparts had for years and took for granted. Alas, she had hung up her activist stripes long ago as life went on. She was a teacher, wife, mother, and now mother of the bride and mother of a peaceful protester.

I am not saying Skipper twirls her hair, cracks gum, and only wants to be a wife and mother. By all means this is far from the case. In some ways she has done more for feminism than I have. Skipper is an ER doctor and has lectured on genetics in Washington, DC. The sciences are hard pressed for women and Skipper is a trail blazer among many who is helping to correct that problem. Additionally, she is a champion marks woman who more often than not gets a crack shot. Her area of expertise is gun safety and bullet wounds. Heck, she knows as much battlefield history as I do if not more. We are easily Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, respectively.

Unlike myself, Skipper has always been more traditional and dreamed of being a wife and mother. I have never had the pull the way most women have. Eh....whatever.

My brother Wendell has a fellowship at a hospital and is too busy to care about this election. Sometimes he even sleeps in his lab. Politics are the last of his concerns, seeing sunlight his first.

In any event, the RNC will get several blogs of it's own I promise.

Fast forward to last night.  I did a show with Queerball. Yes, it was an all gay comedy show. An all inclusive safe space for LGBTQ people and allies, it was a wonderfully supportive place to display work. When I got the chance to be a part of this effort, I jumped on it.

Backstage, before showtime, I found several of my fellow performers fired up about the election. Some even took the bus to Philadelphia in order to help local citizens register to vote. Others had phone banked or were planning on doing so.  All were anti-Trump and pro-Hillary.  They were all excited to hear not only that I went to Cleveland, but had protested Donald Trump and had an act that mocked the bigot.

Afterwards, remarked that not only had he enjoyed the satirical jab at the Donald, but liked the fact my act had a message. It made me smile to hear that. This also made me realize that just as Queerball founder Timothy Dunn wanted to create a safe space within the NYC comedy community and the UCB, together, we were using our collective talents to make the world a safer space for all marginalized people.

This extended to safe spaces, LGBTQ friendly improv jams, making videos about things that we felt were unjust, protesting with puppets, phone banking, and signing up people to vote. We were pounding the pavement trying to stop tyranny. We were actively embracing the solution, both artistic and political. We were trying to silence Donald Trump, the scary real life ventriloquist puppet of the Republican party, and push down the crumbling infrastructure of a party built on hate.

"I don't want to just sit at the bar and complain about Trump. I don't just want to vote either. I want to do all I can to stop him." One of my comrades said as he expressed his desire to volunteer for the Hillary campaign.

I will close by saying this. Skipper and I could not lead more different lives currently. Yet my parents raised us both to be leaders. Skipper is leading the charge in the front lines of scientific research, and I am leading the charge with Donald J. Tramp on the front lines of history. We are both trying to leave the world better than how we found it.

 Sure, I am wearing Batman leggings and have yet to shower. Eh, maybe I'm doing better than I thought I was........

Wedding Bell Blues

Skipper's shower has just passed and I am happy she is getting married. However, weddings bring out this odd sort of malaise and feeling and melancholy. What I am trying to say is, weddings have a morbid overtone sometimes. What I mean is, everyone starts to talk about the people who died. Maybe it's an Irish thing. Maybe it's a Catholic thing. Irish Catholic.....obsessed with death.

On the way to the airport Monday we were talking about the Table for the Dead. Yes, how to remember those who couldn't be there because they died. One woman had a table with candles at her daughter's wedding and pictures of the dead people. It's like, hey, look at this morbid shrine feet away from the cookie table and two feet away from the dancing and booze? Why don't we just depress everyone on this big day? It will come after we get the final total of the wedding which is $$$$$.

As if that wasn't enough, this woman wanted my mom to photograph this thing. Why not have the wedding in a cemetery if you like morbid things?! Seriously.

My mom suggested putting my Nunni and Pop Pop's wedding picture on the cookie table. That way they could be remembered in a more happy fashion. My grandparents were fun people. They dressed as Santa and Mrs. Claus, and on my public access show in high school offered to steal me the answers to the SAT's for Christmas. My mom had a near heart attack. They made you laugh. In a recording of The Night Before Christmas they lost their place and just kept going trimming out a large part of the story. They were akin to a comedy team, a George and Gracie. No, they would not be going on the Table for the Dead.

As for my dad's mom, her death last summer caused some drama within his family, and it is a family that loves to battle. Some of my aunts and uncles are estranged but we are working on it. Death does that, but weddings bring people together. It's nice that some of my relatives who had strong feelings about my Mema Ralph's care towards the end are making attempts to send Skipper presents and such as well as congratulations for her impending nuptials. Still, it rips everyone's heart out.

Lest we forget the fireworks that always occur around a wedding. My cousin's mother in law, a country club snob, accused her of being pregnant and that was the only reason her son was marrying my cousin.....not true. Another family friend had her maid of honor make her cry the day of the wedding. Then there was the wedding I went to in West Virginia where two girls were literally fighting for the death over the bouquet toss (One did punch the other......it was weird). Weddings do bring out the worst in everyone. Or as my dad says, "They are just looking for an excuse to be crazy."

Still, it's amazing how now that my sister's getting married, everyone is asking me when I will get married. I have no plans nor do I care. But now they are trying to sell marriage to me like it's a used car. Like I am less of a woman for being single let alone not having a husband. The truth is, I could have been married three times. The first man I would have supported his lazy ass and we could have lived in his mama's basement. The second guy would have given me the world, but he was a goof. The third would have stolen me the moon but got apprehended by the police, but granted he was a knight in shining armor in the suit of armor he stole......and we would have been the envy of the whole trailer park in our double wide.

I know it's okay to be by yourself. Being alone is better than being with a bad husband. But around weddings you see people justify their craptacular marriages. The excuses are terrible, worse than their marriages might I add. I just let it go. Whatever keeps you enjoying your beach front property in The Land of Delusion.

Either way, during the planning of this wedding I have yelled and cursed at all my family members. They have been called a myriad of names by yours truly as I have stressed on getting the big day on track. Skipper probably wants to elope. Yet as my mentor says, "As someone who has been married three times, it's like the circus comes to town and there's this build up. Then the day after, the field is empty."

Maybe that's the scary thing, the field being empty. Time passing. Knowing that we all won't be here forever. Knowing that someday we will all take our place at the table of the dead. Knowing weddings and funerals have so much in common. Knowing that this stressful celebration is one where there is heavy drinking because it is a swift reminder that time keeps going regardless of who or what we fathom it to be, and no one lasts forever........

www.AprilBrucker.TV

Let's Go Crazy (Prince)

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, to get through this thing called life…..” I remember those words spoken back in the day listening to Prince on the 80s throwback. It was my sister and I having a makeshift dance party in our family weight room. It was my dad screaming to turn the music down. It was always our escape during forced family time, when my dad controlled what we watched on TV, and the times Skipper and I wanted no part of it.

This weekend Prince died, and Skipper was having her bridal shower. Both are a sign that time passes, and both a funeral and a wedding have odd ways of bringing the crazy out in everyone. Let’s go crazy, eh?

Weddings as I mentioned are stressful, and this event in general was stressful. Weeks before, at the edge of a near breakdown, my Aunt Marie sent me a rambling email about setting up. She advised me to bring a track suit and then change into my clothes there. I replied to her email, but apparently she didn’t get it because she called my mom. Apparently her daughter Kelly didn’t get it because I got another facebook message wanting to know if I would come and set up.

Aunt Marie is my sister’s Godmother. She is well intentioned but sometimes high strung. Then again, of course she would be super high strung. This was a big event, and the opening act to the main event…..the wedding.

Of course I will come and set up. It’s my sister’s wedding. I am The Maid of Honor, aka family member who gets to sit near the bride and act as her indentured servant at all wedding events. Yes, I have only put this wedding on a physical timeline, prodded my parents and sister to complete the guest list, and make people stick to their deadlines. This wedding only haunts me in my sleep. Yeah, I’m there.

The other stress of the weekend was Boomer, my sister’s fiancé, had his parents coming to town to meet my parents. They had to go to some of the wedding appointments with my mom, and make some wedding decisions. However, their flight from Boston was delayed, and my mom was flipping out because they had appointments to go to. It all worked out, but it was one more stressor.

While the parents were doing wedding stuff, I cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed as well as scrubbed and did a load of dishes. I felt like this was going to kill me, and in no way am I ready to be a domestic engineer. My mother was pleasantly surprised, but my father felt it was still too dirty. I freaked out. I had only spent all day cleaning.

Diplomatically my mother informed me that there was always a new level to clean, and the house had to be perfect for the man party. It was in part so my father could show off his newly renovated man cave. So there was MORE cleaning to be done. And kindly she informed me that at a time like this, there was always MORE CLEANING. Nevermind my parents have spent the better part of the year using their weekends for home improvement projects regarding this wedding. And the fact they changed my childhood room around. Yeah, it looks cleaner than when a teen lived there but damn, I have never felt so violated.

Fortunately the Nelson’s turned out to be lovely people. Mr. Nelson is an engineer, and Mrs. Nelson works with people who have diabetes. Gentle spirits, they too were from large families. They too were stressed about this wedding. At least we were all connecting on that level.

The next day was the shower, and to say the lid was about to blow off the stress pot was an understatement. Skipper went to the salon to have her hair done, and I my mom and I decided to have the wedding timeline meeting with her. During the course of the meeting, I found out one of my sister’s bridesmaids, a young woman who is a trauma surgery fellow, cannot get off for the wedding. However, she is coming in days early just to help out and spend time with my sister. As I was planning, my head nearly exploded.

“I need to know about conforming bridesmaids!” I snapped as I began to chart the weekend. My mom snapped back at me. I had other wrinkles to sort out, such as the fact each girl would need 45 minutes on their hair and the hair dressers had to come at 8 AM to get started. Someone who wanted to act rogue was on their own. When I am in a planning phase I am akin to General Patton on the Peninsula. Don’t get in my way, bitches!

Yeah, I know it’s not my wedding but at this point it’s like I am this far in the foxhole, might as well lead the charge.

I got ready to go to the hall, and my cousin Kelly was supposed to retrieve me. Aunt Marie had been planning this event and now we were down to the wire. However, the clock ticked and she was late. My dad and I plotted on what to do, as Skipper was having her final dress fitting. He advised me to stay calm, weddings made everyone crazy.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“It’s because they are looking for an excuse to be crazy and finally have one.” He informed me. Seconds later, Kelly pulled up to rescue me from a possible impromptu cleaning project involving the man cave.

Kelly apologized, she had to pick up a prescription of horse pills because apparently she somehow in her travels contracted shingles. It’s always a question of what isn’t happening when these things go down. When we got to the hall, Aunt Marie was wearing the proverbial captain’s jacket and gave us orders. To say the place looked beautiful was an understatement. She and my Uncle Frank really outdid themselves. I mean really.

They handmade the decorations hanging from the ceiling, and they also handmade the party favor margarita glasses with bath salts and other treats in them that said, “From my shower to yours.” My mouth hung open in pleasant surprise. Perhaps this was going to be a party and not D-Day as initially dreaded.

Guests came in, and Kathi, a fellow bridesmaid and high school bestie of my sister’s, helped me intercept the present as soon as the women entered. That way they could put on their name tags and socialize. While Skipper and I knew some of the people present from growing up, others were relatives coming from afar. This is the blessing and curse of having a huge family because you always have to pose the awkward question of, “How are we related again?”

Everyone was really nice and the event went smoothly. A lot of people came because they had known my grandmothers, and they had come to their children’s weddings. Others to my pleasant surprise actually have been following my exploits on social media. Many spoke about my dad as a little boy.

Of course the second there was an inkling of down time it was back to work aka opening the presents. Yes, WORK. Kathi and Kelly handed the presents and disposed of the wrapping paper and made a bow. Skipper shined like a diamond as she opened them. And I, sitting to her right, painstakingly catalogued everything. The entire time I took copious notes hoping my ipad would not melt down or crash.

Skipper made out like a bandit. She got so much cook ware that with her medical degree I somewhat worried that if she had trouble paying off her student loans she might resort to cooking meth. But then I remembered she was a good kid. However, she got enough liquor decanters to make many an alcoholic in my genetic line jealous.

However, all jokes aside, she lit up the place and was kind and gracious as ever. Sure, there have been times I have wanted to strangle her in the planning of this wedding, as she is not one to make a decision easily. At the same token, she has grown up into a nice young lady and I was so happy for her and proud of her at that very moment. All and all, she’s a good egg.

My gift accidentally had a moment. I got her the cake cutters and matching flutes as per tradition for the Maid of Honor. I also got her a cake topper back in January from the party store down the street. Actually, it turned out to be too big to be a topper, but I had no clue what she still needed let alone who was throwing the shower at that point. My mother and I were worried it was going to be us before Aunt Marie stepped up. Thank God. Either way, I purchased it because it looked like Skipper and Boomer.

In purchasing this, I had no idea that the bag I would put it in would play wedding music. Either way, when I pulled it out, music played. It was a WTF moment. The whole room ooed and awed at my present. Yes, we all agreed it would be used for the cookie table. (the cookie table gets a blog of it’s own).

In any event, the shower was a success. Cleaning up was like climbing the last stretch of Mt. Everest. Skipper, my mom, and I wanted to go. But Aunt Marie and Uncle Frank had really put their blood, sweat, and tears into this event. It would have been wrong for us to bolt. Plus we had mounds of presents to load.

When I got back to the house, I thought I would get to put my pajamas on and crash. No such plan. There were some men folk straggling. I did what I always do when my parent’s have house guests, visit like a civilized human. However, it was also nice to see men. The party was wonderful and everyone was generous, but after a room full of women for several hours you want to see other civilization. It’s similar to when a chick arrives at a sausage fest.

My dad’s friend Dr. Reb was there drinking with Mr. Nelson, and we discussed the election and laughed. Mrs. Nelson told a story about how Boomer had snuck out as a child, and like a gentle soul she read a book on the experience about raising young men. The Nelson’s were different than my parents. We would have been killed dead had we done that. Skipper and Boomer both turned out relatively well, so perhaps everyone’s parents did a good job in their own different ways.

The next day was spent crafting 55 thank you notes. Skipper, being thoughtful but not so practical, wanted to make each one special. I warned her that she would get tired. She did as I dictated each gift from my master list and my mom addressed and then handed it back to me to steal and stamp. Just when we thought we were done, we had failed to account for the gifts that were shipped to the house, aka shadow gifting. And then Skipper had a few envelopes with gift cards she forgot about in her purse.

There was added drama when there was a gift from one woman named Nanette. She had come with a group of my dad’s family members and no one knew who she was. So we had to call my Aunt Marie who was still in her glory over the shindig she threw to find out. It was a daughter in law of one of my dad’s many relations. Sigh…..

Just when I thought my day was over, my dad wanted me to teach him how to use social media. As I gave this sixty something year old a lesson as we sat in his man cave, I wondered which of the fates I had pissed off. Explaining twitter to my dad was interesting to say the least. He needs it for his job, and I wondered why no one else had bothered to explain it, but why ask?

All this was in between Skipper chronically facetiming Boomer as he spearheaded their house hunt, and her making sure he didn’t fall asleep in the car. Face to palm, these people had taken my last kernel of sanity. If I saw the color white, heard wedding music, or even the word wedding I was going to scream……..

Just then my dad proposed we watch Bridge of Spies. As usual, there he was controlling the TV clicker. The radio stations were all playing Prince. My sister and mom were on my last nerve. Maybe I could dance to Prince alone.

However, weddings are like funerals. You begin to realize you won’t have everyone forever. It’s just not the way it goes. Skipper was getting married. While I would be gaining a brother, we would never be able to hang out like this again really and truly. And if anything happened to any one of them, I would be devastated. The good part is, Prince’s music will live on but these moments won’t.

So I watched Bridge of Spies with my family in my dad’s newly fashioned man cave. My mom fell asleep half way through the movie. Skipper hogged the blankets. My dad and I actively talked history. We all agreed it was Tom Hanks at his best.

During the film my mentor texted wanting to talk. I told him he would have to wait a bit. The movie was just getting good and we were all detoxing from a long and stressful weekend. At the end of it all, they are crazy people, but they are my crazy people.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.”

Strange Dreams

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then I wake up coughing and get some water.

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

Love
April 

Fear and Loathing in the New Year

Winter is finally here, sneaky bitch. I don't like her and don't care for her. I freaking hate this time of year. Granted, I hate the crap leading up to Christmas, from the shopping to the usual round of familial drama. Which reject is going to jail and who is currently unmedicated that needs to be medicated. Who's fighting with who? Who will make this holiday awkward and God who do I resent?

But then something magical happens on Christmas. Even the family members you can't stand, you are glad to see them happy and healthy. You are glad to see people aren't claiming to be abducted by aliens and are on their proper meds. Life is good and you all enjoy a laugh. Then the New Year comes.

And then it just gets strange. It's like the circus set up on the small town football field, did their thing, and now they are on to the next stop. The field stands empty, looking abandoned and depressed like a chunky girl on prom night who ordered her own limo despite having no date. Nothing is happening. Everyone is doing their thing at half speed unsure of what is next. And then it's cold out.

What is worse is business is slow in my business. There is nothing much to do because people blew their money on Christmas and things just slow down. It's the time of year where my parents agonize over my life. It's always when I should go back to school for this or work for this person who has this job where you make lots of money and don't work hard. But said person usually turns out of be a poser. Or my mom calls freaking out about the fact I'm single and even signs me up for a dating site without my knowledge. The cold gets to everyone. Once I am working beyond my ability to concentrate they leave me alone. They roast my brother or sister......they way it should be, LOL.

Of course my sister is getting married. She's going to be in the hot seat for the next several months. Like my brother and I, she will not only get used to being in the shit house but might even buy property there. It's not that she's a bad kid. No. She's getting married.

I am currently having some drama with my bank, long story. It's not my fault (for once). It's amazing how some people can have their job and suck at it fucking up at every turn. Fired.....never. That is why it's amazing to me when people say they can't find work or won't work. I know plenty of people paid to do nothing. It's not that hard, really.

Either way, I go to Vegas soon and am excited. I got upgraded to first  class last week. Maybe things are looking up. Maybe I better stop being a cynical shithead.

Mom: When you laugh, the world laughs with you. When you cry, you cry alone.

Me: But Mom, it's fun being a cynical shithead.

Sigh.....

We've Only Just Begun (The Carpenters)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The DJ said, "Okay."

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

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad

Love you

www.aprilbrucker.com

Open Letter To Susan Patton aka Princeton Mom

Dear Ms. Patton,

I have read about you and have followed your commentary. Before you start baking me a pie and telling me how wonderful your entitled offspring are, I am not a fan. Actually, I am just the opposite. My belief is that you are a frightening anti-example to women. Yes, I said it. Anti-example. I know it's a made up word, but you go on national television with made up facts. Let's give me a little leeway, shall we?

First thing is first, you tell women college is the time to find a husband. In college, young people are anywhere from 18-22. What someone wants at 18 versus what they are going to want at 30 are two different things. Advice like yours not only encourages young people to make mistakes, but is the reason the divorce rate in this country is so high. Many college sweethearts say, "We were too young."

Second, you encourage women to get plastic surgery if it means finding the perfect mate. If a man doesn't like a woman based on the way she looks, maybe he is not the one for her. Have you ever thought of that? I mean, then again you look like a cross breed of Shreck and a troll who fornicated under a bridge one drunken night. So perhaps you should take your own advice. Additionally, looks fade. Dumb does not. In your case you had neither looks nor intelligence. How did you get into Princeton? Did your mother give a sexual favor to someone on admissions? Did your father buy a building? Because so far you make no sense, m'am.

You talk about how women who are non-Ivy grads are not at the intellectual level of your sons. Your offspring having your genes were fucked before they were stains on the mattress. Translated, they have your brains and personality. They have no chance in hell of getting any decent looking looking women with her shit together to even look their way let alone jump into bed with them. That is, unless she is a Russian hooker who demands thousands a night for her pain and suffering.

Okay, I get what you are saying. Women respect your husbands. Yeah, women should respect their husbands and men should respect their wives. Congratulations. You say that if someone is in their mid-thirties they missed their chance to find a husband. People in their mid-thirties get married all the time, and people have children, healthy children, into their forties. What cave do you sleep in? Nevermind, your time machine has not left 1950. Also, before you degrade the maiden aunt, perhaps she didn't want to get married or to have children. Perhaps she wanted to live a life alone with her cats instead of consorting with bloody pieces of used tampons like yourself. Perhaps you were such a misrepresentation of what a married woman should be that she said, "Fuck this, I am spending forever alone."

Additionally, marriage is work. I get that. However, people don't get divorced because they want to. They get divorced because they can't make it work. Divorce is costly and expensive. Not to mention emotionally draining as well as financially crippling. Then again, you should know. You couldn't even make your own marriage work you stupid, worthless, piece of shit. As a matter of fact, your husband probably realized he had somehow degraded himself to marry you and have two children. One day, he could no longer live and drove his car into the river. You just told everyone he left.

As an antagonistic feminist, people like myself have fought for you to attend an Ivy League University, because at one time women were to be seen and not heard. As an antagonistic feminist, I fight to protect women against abusive partners, the ones you encourage them to work it out with because they will not do any better. As an antagonistic feminist, I will continue to fight gender traitors like yourself and win with facts and intellect, rather than making things up on the spot.Then again, I seek to build women up and not to tear them down.

I could call you a thousand names, and you would deserve each one of them. However, you are a sad, fat bake off winner wannabe who did nothing with her Ivy League Degree. Instead, you became a baby maker who's husband too left in the end. Like all people with terrible self-worth, you live in the past. I am sorry you have so much gender conflict and self-hate. Thank you for setting us all back.

Love
April

PS. I hope you crash your car somewhere while drunk in someone's rose bushes. Your terrible mug shot would really make my night

The dog killed itself shortly after this photo was taken. It realized it couldn't go on in it's present circumstances. 

Modern Love (David Bowie)

This Saturday my friend Jennifer Troiano from high school married her fiancé Tiffany Sherbondy in Central Park. Yes, Jenn and Tiffany. What I am trying to say is that it was a lesbian wedding. Jenn and Tiff had been planning this affair for sometime. Jenn and I had been friends in high school. We were different then it seemed, but I still loved her to death.

I remember when we were in high school. She was dating a guy named Cougar. I would see Jenn at Cougar’s house chilling. She was much too good for Cougar of course. The thing I loved about Jenn was she was always a true friend. Always had my back. When prom time arrived and I didn’t have a date Jenn took matters into her own hands. She said to our friend Zakk, “You are going to the prom with April.”

Zakk, scared than Jenn was going to beat his ass said, “I already have a date. But my friend Tim doesn’t.” So I went to the prom with Tim, who adopted my friend Whitney as his date because her original date had been a jerkoff who abandoned her. And we had a great time.

After high school I moved to NYC, and Jenn and I sort of stayed in touch but didn’t. Then it all changed with the advent of facebook. Anyway, Jenn and I reconnected. That’s when I found out about Tiff. I quipped, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you that the last time we spoke you were dating guys.” Jenn and I got a good laugh.

Tiff proposed to Jenn and got her the most beautiful, pink diamond in the world. Jenn in turn did a drag king act at Link where she proposed to Tiff. I followed this all everytime Jenn messaged me on facebook. She then told me they were coming to NYC to get married. I was like wowsa.

So yesterday was the wedding. Because the limo driver they hired was rather inept, I sat in the park chatting with the interfaith minister who was the master of ceremonies. The Reverend Peluso told me about all the crazy weddings she had done. During our wait for the limo it seemed would never come, she showed me photos of a pirate wedding she had done. I was like wow, this is so cool. The Rev and I talked about love and life as we waited for my friend and her future partner to arrive.

Just then, Tiff arrived. Apparently the limo driver had no idea where Belvedere Castle was. In a tizzy, Tiff was ready to get married as her best men arrived. One was her gay friend who performs in drag under the name Trixie Treat. Another was another gay friend of hers. Then there was a friend of Jenn’s. I met Tiff’s family who seemed excited about the wedding. Heck, we were all excited.

Then a little after, finally, Jenn arrived with Sherry her maid of honor as well as her parents. It was wedding time. Jenn looked amazing in her red and white dress. Jenn being Jenn had her hair a combination of red and a little blonde, and Jenn being a tattoo artist had some impressive body art. The wedding then went off without a hitch. Reverend Peluso did a marvelous job as she did the ceremony. She made each say the vows and then they put the sand in the jar, one black and one red, to symbolize a life together.

As each girl did their vows they started crying. First it was Tiff, then Jenn. I guess being used to straight weddings I am just used to the bride crying. But both were crying. Women, we are creatures of our emotions sometimes. However, for as much of a surprise as it was, it was also beautifully refreshing. Both these women had come such a long way. Both these women had been through so much just to have this beautiful day with their families in the park. For many straight couples, this is a guarantee they take for granted and often times abuse. For these girls it was a dream come true.

After the ceremony, we piled into the limo and went down the street to have the reception. I got to know some of Tiff’s friends. Two were nurses, and one had worked at a nursing home where my brother and I had volunteered. One worked in a bank and the other worked for a debt collector before getting laid off. Then one of Jenn’s friend’s sat with us. His girlfriend hadn’t been thrilled he was coming to the wedding because of her fear that he would get drunk and hook up with someone else. I guess gay wedding, straight wedding, there is always a girlfriend with that fear.

During my time with the folks at the table, many of whom were LGBTQ, we talked about the various Pride Parades and the adventures/misadventures there. One guy had gone to London Pride and described it as skanky yet fun.

In Western, PA fashion there was an attempt at the cookie table. I thought it was a kitschy throwback to the weddings I went to as a kid. Although the cookie table didn’t catch on I was like, “Hey!!!”

Like more traditional weddings, there was the throwing of the garter and the tossing of the bouquet. Tiff took off the garter with her teeth, and I ended up catching the bouquet. Meanwhile, I almost got married as a kid. Maybe this next time I will find a husband with a job. I made this announcement to a full house who laughed. When the guy who caught the garter, the one with the jealous girlfriend, put it on my leg, they wanted to post the pics to facebook but we agreed it would be bad. We didn’t want to see him in hot water.

But he did have a job.

Then came the toasts. Jenn’s parents made a wonderful toast, as did the maid of honor. However, Trixie Treat out of drag stole the show with his mini standup act. The highlight line being, “The people working here want us to get the fuck out because they want to leave. And even though everything is being paid for tip anyway!”

After that, we had cake. It was delicious. Afterwards, the rest of the wedding went back to the hotel, and I had to go home because I had an early morning and things to do. Nonetheless, it was fun. A lot of fun.

I think Tiff and her ability to crack the whip will be good for my wild child friend. Plus we said Tiff needed to put a bell around Jenn’s neck to keep track of her. Plus they just purchased a place. This is all good.

In the end, although people acknowledge the novelty of a lesbian wedding, it’s really no different from a regular wedding. I realized this as we clinked the glasses when the Tiff and Jenn kissed. A wedding is the joining of two people in love for a life together. Jenn and Tiff are two people in love journeying down the road to happy destiny together.

To Jenn and Tiff, may the joy be abundant and the bumps in the road be minimal. Congratulations ladies and good luck on your life together.

Yes there will be photos to follow.

Love,

April