Mad as Can

Lately I have felt like I have been waking up on the wrong side of the bed. It all started Friday. Book release day was like Sixteen Candles in a way. While there were people who remembered, it seemed that a lot of people close to me had forgotten. It was like, “Excuse me! Big Day for me! I get to hear about all the stupid things you are doing with your time and energy, ahemmmm!!!”

I know, it’s the egomaniac in me. They have their own lives and the one woman in particular is going through some heavy stuff with her family. Actually a bunch of them are swamped. But I felt like getting a Dunkin Donuts Iced Cream Cake, a party hat, and celebrating by myself. Friday was also a long work day. I don’t mind long work days because the money is decent. But it was Jersey, then Brooklyn, and then the rooftop. In Jersey I took a wrong turn which was almost ghastly. Then Brooklyn my balloon shop around the corner from me was out of helium. How the hell do you run out of helium when balloons account for a large amount of your sales? I found myself talking back to the non-English speaking help. They told me go elsewhere. I asked if they knew where to go and they said no. Thanks for nothing.

I ended up having to buy a cake for the kid. It was actually easier to transport than the balloons. The surprise gig in the small time frame found me getting snappier than usual with my boss. Then the telegram actually went well. Got a surprise tip. I then went to deliver to a roof top on 5^th where the party was great but this waitstaff was so snoody. Your job is to balance trays and clean up my shit for a living. Please don’t cop an attitude because you are forced to work. I usually try to treat people with jobs like that with respect but don’t snap at me. After all, while I am not the customer I can pretend to be Svetlana who’s next stop will be Scores.

On my way back from performing I was recognized from a past chicken performance and told them about my book. They wished me luck. Will they buy it, eh not until it hits stores probly.

Saturday just found me exhausted. I shot a video with Marcus. I slept with rollers in my hair. Then the dress I needed was in the wash. I had to go to the wash and then carry up a bag of laundry up four flights of stairs. The video shoot was fun though. Then I had a rehearsal. It was great to see Marvin aka Panchito. I hated telling him that I had to bolt from the show because I have a show later in WillyB. I would have told the booker to get fucked but the money is good. While I have a plethora of TV appearances and fans stalking me, I don’t have a dime to my name. My book is out but it is not a bestseller YET! I still need the damn money.

Then of course I had a mini-meltdown yesterday. I just felt like I worked harder than anyone and no one ever recognizes it. I do something and it always just gets fucked up. I push and I only move the boulder so far. I climb the mountain and then always fall a few feet back. Why the fuck does the universe hate me? Then I found myself having another set of meltdowns because well-I don’t know what’s next. I am pushing a book which let me tell you is a lot of fucking work. Then I am creating my own work which is a lot of work. Do I get a proper acting agent again? Do I go back to putting a shitload of clubdates up? I am less bitter towards standup despite my falling out with my homeclub and putting them on tv and them firing me as a thank you. I have written about it a lot and it still makes me angry. People tell me, “You can’t let people get you down.”

I gave these fuckers a shitload of TV time. I was their most recognizable face. I could have given another space the publicity. I have every reason to be upset.

Then this morning on my jog I saw this guy from my hood who is always trying to sleep with me and then midway through always tells me about whatever 12 step program he is in. He’s not addicted to coke anymore, he was probably tolerable in those days, now he’s addicted to meetings. This fool starts telling me how to market my book. He who has never been successful at anything in his life and has a plethora of mental problems is now telling me how to be successful. It pissed me off.

I will be so happy when today is over. Then it’s dinner with Vips and Jen and whomever else comes along. Tomorrow I might just spend the day alone. In case you want to know, I do in fact hate everyone. It’s nothing personal. Maybe someone will walk into me and I can deck them. Just kidding.

For serious I am in a bad fucking mood. Maybe I will meet a millionaire who will ride up on his steed. I was dating a comedy legend a year ago. It could happen.

Love,

April

Buy my book I Came, I Saw, I Sang at www.buybooksontheweb.com or 877-buy-book

The Journey of a Book

It was the spring of 2010. I was delivering singing telegrams, performing comedy, and sweating like a pig in every respect. When I wasn’t performing with my puppets on the street, I was doing odd promo jobs as well. One of my more bizarre jobs had been writing bloids for a now defunct web rag. Usually I would talk about men that I dated. Same with my blog. Then I had a chat with my friend Joe Cannava. Joe was fascinated by the fact I wrote. We began talking about it because in addition to set designing and personal shopping he wanted to write as well. Plus I had been stoked about the writing job.

Joe had heard me talk about the men in my life and would usually yawn when I did. However, he actually heard about the singing telegram job. For years, my mother had wanted me to write about it but I could never quite put it on stage on make it funny. Finally Joe put the pressure on. He asked me why I didn’t write about the telegram job. After all, I had been flirting with the idea of writing a book for some time. I told Joe I was scared I wouldn’t know where to start.

I just remember Joe’s dark, brown eyes giving me the look he typically did. He said, “April, are you afraid or just lazy?”

I sputtered. Then from that day on Joe asked me about my book and how it was going. I lied to him and told him I was hard at work. I thought eventually he would stop asking. Finally, after he wouldn’t stop asking I started to write it. When I put my adventures on paper it became less about writing a book and more about my experiences living my dream. It became about my love for my real life boss, who fictionally is known as Bruce Myles Beauregaurd, the hardest working man in show business. It became about my adoration and respect for my co-workers, accomplished comedians and singers who give you a Tony worthy show wherever they are. It became a love story to the greatest city in the world; a place where I am blessed to  be able to chase my dreams.

My days were spent writing remnants of my adventures on paper, and my evenings typing them up in an apartment that was four floors up and had no air conditioning. For some odd reason I was determined to do this. I finished the book that fall and simply had it on my computer. My parents knew I had done it but didn’t know what the next step was. Hell, I didn’t even know. My sister knew a thing or two about self-publishing but what was that? I had written a book that was in the very rough stages of development. It made no sense. It was just words but they were my words.

For several months I put the book in the drawer. I made videos with my puppet children in light of my  TLC appearance. I felt myself floating along, unknowing of what was coming next. Despite the hard work and publicity I gave my former comedy haunt they repaid me by firing me. I found myself having new adventures, making music with my dear friend Marcus Yi. We had met when he was doing a workshop on his musical. A talented writer and composer, Marcus and I immediately clicked. We began making music. It got radio airplay. It was because for the past several years, though in costume, I sang almost daily.

Then I got a job with a fledgling internet network where many had seen me on the tele. Still, as the network launched and I became a paid talking head, it seemed I was spinning in aerospace. Then I got the opportunity to pitch my manuscript to an agent. My dear friend Dave Rosner, author of Full Metal Foreskin, a memoir about being a Jewish Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines, had recommended me to her. I remember sending her the manuscript, nervous though I had nothing to lose. Then I remember going on to facebook wanting to tell my friend Joe. That’s how I found out about his passing. It broke my heart. I wanted to tell him about the book and how I had finished it and was pitching it. However, I know we are all on loan and God calls us home when we are called. Joe had to go home. Just like my dearly departed friend Roger, he was another angel to guide me on my path.

The agent rejected me. I was beyond heartbroken. In between her rejection and Joe’s death I didn’t know what was next. Then I was offered another publishing contract. The house was a smaller one, and catered to more actors and personalities like myself; people who aren’t writers in the typical sense but will surprise you by writing a book. While they were nice people, they gave me a contract I didn’t like and weren’t willing to budge. I learned a lot about being a first time author though.

During this time, my friend Mandy Stadtmiller, formerly of the New York Post, suggested that I self-publish. She told me it was an easy way to get in for first time writers and a lot of people were becoming very rich from Kindle. I wasn’t intending on becoming rich, just getting my book out there. Mandy made me feel empowered, like I could self-publish. The question was how.

Either way, I knew my book needed more work. Last year, 2011, Labor Day and hurricane weekend, I was walled up in my domicile typing away. Afraid the power would go out and time was of the essence, I was living on black coffee and canned food. In my house/writing bunker I edited away. Either I explained things more, punched some things up, or cut some things out entirely. My neck and back were spasming with pain as I emerge once the rain stopped and Bloomberg reopened the subways like a grizzled war veteran. A friend from the neighborhood told me I looked bad and asked what I had been doing. I said, “Writing a book.” Despite the mad genius look I was still very lost.

Unsure of what was next, I became swept up in the drama of the next few months when my house was robbed and then to cope fell in love with a person who was a bad idea. Then when this person went off and did what he did I was heartbroken. That heartbreak was truly just a distraction because my relationship with the internet network was beginning to deteriorate at a rapid pace. Due to politics, I as well as many of the original talking heads were being forced out to cut costs. Then of course there was the TV show that was set to be on a network but got yanked.  Standup spots were not rolling in. As nothing was coming together my mother pointed out I still had my book.

All winter and into the early spring, my mother and I read my book daily to make sure it was what we wanted. My dad printed at least twelve drafts off of his computer. Each was given their own spiral notebook in my parent’s house. It was like the old days before I moved to the city, my mom and I working as a team. Even until the end of the writing process, she would email me about her imput when it came to the book. Only recently has she been happy with the ending.

The next step was hiring an independent editor to go over grammar. Then after that I had to find a self-publishing house. There were some that were good, and some that were money making schemes with author advocates that served as telemarketers. During my search, I asked one woman if she had a background in publishing. She snapped at me, “Why should it matter if I have a background in writing?” When I pointed out she worked in publishing she scoffed.

After much heartache I came across Infinity Publishing. Many of their people have worked in publishing, book distribution, editing, or in some other facet of the industry. They seemed to care about writers. I had the written book option. The ebook option. The book on tape option. All were endless it seemed. My mom and I talked it over and off we went. On June 25^th I sent in my money, my paperwork, and my manuscript. Off I was. I felt powerful.

Of course in between was the agony over cover art, last minute changes, and how to get the word out. Then last week I learned everything would be complete in just one week. It hardly seemed real. My mom who tells me she has never thrown out any of the tablets I wrote on as a child, and some of the content is pretty horrid, was dancing on the ceiling. To describe the process as exciting is an understatement.

As of yesterday my book, I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Person, is now available online. Some friends and fans informed me that they have already purchased copies. Currently, the book is available through the seller. To purchase go to www.buybooksontheweb.com or call 877-Buy-Book. In a week it will be available on Amazon.com, and in two weeks it will be available for download on Kindle, Nook, and any of those other things.

My next project of course is getting it into bookstores here in NYC. As a smaller house Infinity is less known, but they have placed their authors in larger chain. My father wants to see it become a musical, and that will be the next project.

What did I do to celebrate? Well there was no chance. My boss had three deliveries that needed to be done. How appropros. There’s always Monday. It will involve a lot of chocolate.

Has the journey of this Indiana Jones with a Bette Midler style job ended? Hells no. We’ve only just begun. Xo April

Hate Mail

This exchange comes from Todd J. Zimmerman. I don't know how he became a facebook friend of mine but this was completely unprompted in response to my book. Apparently, he runs a website for discount lawyers. They say you get what you pay for, remember that when the judge reads the guilty verdict. Anyway, he slammed my little book. I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl, is a good little book. I already have someone slamming my good little book and it hasn't even been on sale for even twenty four hours.

I smell a best seller and millions of dollars.

This was our exchange

Todd J. Zimmerman:
Why the fuck should I care about that? (Referring to I Came, I Saw, I Sang)  I rather invest my money in a cheap hooker. I'll wait a month until it's in the clearance bin at K-mart. Oh wait, I'm too rich to shop at K-mart.

Hmmmm........Now I did nothing to this man and he felt the need to send me hate mail. So rather than practice restraint of pen and tongue which I probably should have, I responded. It wasn't out of hate, but rather because this is the closest he probably gets to a real woman being a discount lawyer who uses cheap hookers.

My response:
 Thank you for your love and support. While you might rather spend your money abusing a sex worker that is your choice. After all, it is the closest you will ever get to a woman. And for the record, my publishing house doesn't sell to Kmart. However, I could recommend someone who has some nice picture books for a man of your superior intellect.

For the record, I see you don't own a television. Otherwise you would know I am much too important to be talking to you. Wait, why am I talking to you? You're right, why would you five a fuck about my book? You barely even read, xo

Then I blocked him. Ordinarily I don't respond but I couldn't resist. My book is a good little book. Hate mail here we come. Don't be afraid to send xoxo 

Gold Dust Woman

A tribute to my late friend Michelle Dobrawsky xoxo

It was the winter of 2005. Somehow I was fumbling around the comedy scene in NYC with my puppets. I was twenty years old, and everything seemed so daunting. The guys all wanted to sleep with me because they smelled blood in the water. The women all hated me because the guys wanted to sleep with me and I wore too much makeup. I was sort of a punchline when it came to the more clean cut comedians who made Montreal with no problem. To people like them who’s act has come and gone, easily forgotten, I was an abomination that seemingly had no business being onstage. But what TV shows have they been on again?

 

Trying to find my place I joined the Improv Resource Center. I had done some improv but was leaning more towards standup. Still, I was booked in shows that did both. Anyway, like everywhere else I went it seemed I was an unwelcome guest with no friends simply lost. Within my first week there I got into three fights. One was with an idiot who sent me a nasty letter and got a nasty reply back that he forwarded to the head of the site threatening him. The second was from some fluffy, ugly woman who just wanted to start crap because I posted something unknowingly in the wrong forum. The head of the site sent me a nasty note telling me I was on thin ice. Then there was Gold Dust Woman.

 

She was a moderator who basically came on the post where the nasty canker sore started things with me. Smoothing things out, she informed the internet Gestapo that I was new, didn’t know any better, and that they had to simmer down. Then she sent me a private message telling me to be nice because I might need the support of these people someday, and that sometimes the best way to deal with them was not to feed into them. She also mentioned that they could be a little intense sometimes and not to take it personally. In a bizarre maze where I felt like Alice lost in Wonderland, it seemed I had made a friend.

 

Gold Dust Woman proved helpful on several occasions. Whether it was a venue for a one woman show, possible summer improv classes, or shows that welcomed weird women with puppets she was supportive. It seemed everyone on the IRC liked her. She was sort of the queen of the place, and whatever she said went. But she was a benevolent ruler of sorts. One thing was for sure, those bullies backed off. I started to feel more welcome there because I didn’t take them so personally. Gold Dust Woman was the best.

 

That spring I would get to meet my internet friend. I was at the Village Lantern getting ready to kill or tank, it was either one or the other in those days, sometimes both in the same night. That’s when I was approached by a woman who said, “Hi, you’re April.” I nodded. How did she know me?

 

She said, “I’m Michelle. But you know me as Gold Dust Woman on the IRC.” My jaw dropped. There she was. She was a bigger woman, but was attractive and had a good energy about her, almost a light. Michelle had a huge smile on her face. One that could light up a room. I remember instantly being drawn to her. It was hard not to be. She was the same person in real time as she was on the internet.

 

I told her it was nice meeting her and that I appreciated her coming to my aid because it seemed like everyone was ganging up on me. Michelle let out a laugh, “They can be crazy sometimes. When I got divorced all I wanted was just to have fun and I went out with this guy who was a good time. And they all went crazy and said, ‘Don’t go out with him. He’s going to break your heart.’ I was like guys, I just got divorced. I don’t want love. I want a fling. I mean, I love them, I really do. But it’s the internet and people go crazy.”

 

At that moment I let out a huge laugh. It was nice to know Michelle had a sense of humor about the kingdom she reigned over. I knew I had a true friend in real time and on the internet. At that time in my life, that said a lot.

 

I got to know Michelle pretty well during that first year. She was a force of nature. Michelle had been sort of a Renaissance Woman. Originally, she had gone to Johns Hopkins to be a doctor, but changed her mind and went to law school. She worked as a lawyer, and found her way into standup and improv as her marriage was ending. Onstage she was funny as hell, always talking about her life with well timed punchlines at the end. Offstage, she was a friend and great support to people just getting started and finding their footing in the vast world of standup comedy and improv.

 

She was also an independent woman and was very much her own person. Once, I had ended things with a guy and was having a meltdown. Michelle gave me a hug and assured me there was life before he came and then there would be life afterwards, for as hard as it was to believe. Being pathetic and twenty, it was hard to even fathom that. But somehow, she made it okay. She was a good friend not just to me but everyone she crossed paths with.

 

I didn’t just love her, everyone did.  Michelle was supportive of those around her. She was a member of the comedy community, and one we all adored. It was easy to like her, it was work not to get along with her. That’s rare in the world of comedy.

 

I hadn’t seen Michelle in years because well sometimes that is the way it goes. But I got wind that she was sick a while back. Yesterday, when I was on the train and using the facebook app on my iphone I found out about her passing. It made me sad because she was a good person who was loved by so many people. I just wish I could see her one more time just to tell her about my book that is coming out tomorrow. She could tease me for self-promoting but would buy a copy and tell me how proud she was that I wrote it. I would tell her about how crazy my life was and about all the things I was doing. She would be proud of me but tease me for having the ego that I do.

 

I know cancer got her. She went too young and she will be missed by a great many. On the other hand, I know I was lucky to have known her and we were all as lucky to have her as long as we did. It is a gentle reminder that we are all visitors here and can be called home at any time. Michelle was called home where she doesn’t have to suffer with cancer anymore.

 

I guess if it’s one thing I could say to cancer it would be this, “You may have taken her. But here’s the thing, you can’t erase the memory in my mind of perhaps one of the few people who was kind to me when I was very new and very off in New York City Comedy. So seriously cancer, go get fucked with a big old, wooden, splintery, black dildo.”

 

Love, April

Chivalry in a Coma

Thursday I went to Carona, Queens to deliver a singing heart to a girl from her boyfriend. For those of you that don’t know New York City, Carona is one of the rougher neighborhoods. Mostly Latino, it’s one of those hoods that used to be real bad. These days it’s gotten better, but it’s still not somewhere you want to end up if you are white.

When I got off the train I began walking to my destination. Most of the folks were seemingly family people in stark contrast with the drug dealers and gangsters I heard about. I had dated a guy who grew up in Carona for a hot minute years ago. He had been a rebound from a love that I thought was going to last. Unfortunately, when someone thinks telling the truth is optional that is usually a deal breaker in any relationship. But the guy from Carona was cool. It’s just that he had a kid and well, I wasn’t ready for that.

Walking up the street I got to my allotted destination. I buzzed the buzzer. Nada, zippo. Going around the corner I dawned my heart costume. Just then I heard a young voice, “Hey Miss, are you putting on a show or something?” I turned around and three young kids were standing there. On the short side, they seemed to be about the block. While they looked harmless this was still Carona. I told myself to proceed with caution. They looked harmless. On the otherhand, when one lets their guard down at times like this in a rough part of town that’s when one gets robbed and killed.

“Yes.” I said studying the three young boys.

“Oh, for who?” The one with the red striped shirt asked.

“Stephany. Do you know her?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, they live on the second floor.” The boy in the blue striped shirt said.

“Yeah. Are they home?” I asked.

“They are home.” The third young man replied. Unlike his two counterparts who were dark haired and more pale he was slightly darker skinned and had hair that looked like a little fuzz ball on his head.

“Who’s it from?” The boy in the red striped shirt demanded.

“Her boyfriend Danny. Do you know him?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, he’s good. We saw them kissing the other day.” The boy with the fuzzy hair replied.

“And they denied it.” The boy in the blue striped shirt added.

“How old are you guys?” I asked.

“Oh, we’re thirteen and he’s twelve.” The boy in the red stripes answered. I studied the three. They were very small looking, almost miniature. Then I remembered boys don’t really grow until they are fourteen or fifteen.

“Do you have a man?” The one in the blue stripes replied.

“No.” I said laughing. “And you are not twelve and thirteen. Try ten and eleven.” I said.

“No miss, we are that old.” The boy with the fuzzy hair told me.

“How do you guys know each other anyway?” I asked them.

“Oh, we’re brothers and he’s our friend.” The boy with the blue stripes said. It was as if each player in this drama had a turn to speak.

“Wait, you two are twins?” I asked astounded, looking at the three amigos standing in a straight line.

The boys with the red and blue stripes shook their heads. I asked if they were looking forward to school and the boy with the fuzzy hair said, “Of course. Cause when I go to school I get girls.”

My mouth dropped open. “You date?” I asked. The three shook their heads again. These kids had better love lives than I did. Lately my boast has been a guy in trouble with the law who from what I understand is getting sober followed by a washed up, would be comic/actor and reality tv star. Wow. These kids were something else.

“Why don’t you have a man? You seem nice enough.” The boy in the blue stripes informed me.

“You deserve someone nice to take you out, spend some money on you.” The one with the red stripes told me. I asked them if they knew anyone and they shook their heads no. I bit my lip trying hard not to laugh. I told them they could holler at me in about ten years. They chuckled.  Then the three proceeded to dish the dirt on Danny and Stefany and apparently they had been caught kissing behind one of the cars, sort of making out, but they denied it. But overall, they gave Danny their stamp of approval.

Now it was time for business. The twins tried the buzzer but no one. The boy with the fuzzy hair tried the buzzer, no one. I called Danny who asked if I was at the right house.  Assuring him that I had the correct address, the boy with the red stripes informed me, “Tell him you are with the twins.”

Danny, upon hearing this, chuckled. He told me he was calling Steffany and she would be down momentarily. The twins, ready for action, hid me around a corner while the boy with the fuzzy hair served as a look out. Just then Steffany ran down the stairs. The twins both told her that they had a surprise visitor with her. The boy who was serving as the look out then led me over. Steffany was more than amazed to see me.

I began to sing to her. Squealing like a young girl in love, Steffany was every inch smitten with her new man and understandably so. With my selection of love songs, her affection began to grow. However, her father, walked by with a look of contempt and suspicion. I think that is Dad nonverbal comminicae for, “You two are sixteen. This is moving too fast. If I am a grandfather in a year I will kill you both.” Then I handed her the message. Steffany’s eyes lit up again.

Why can’t I get a guy to do that for me I wonder?

Afterwards I began to talk to the twins and the boy with the fuzzy hair who asked me again why I didn’t have a man. The twin in the red striped shirt said, “It’s because guys are jerks and she probably has dated a few jerks.” Man these kids were good. They had been reading my blog methinks.

“We take good care of our girls.” The boy with the blue striped informed me.

“And we get a lot of girls. But we treat them well.” The fuzzy haired boy informed me.

I found myself dying with laughter. They had a point. Then as a group they informed me that they were always on the block. They also told me to get someone who treated me nice. It was an order and I was off. On my way back to the train I realized it had been some time since I had a date. There was the ex-fiance that beat me. The ex cons who stole things for me. The lawyer who lied to me. The almost boyfriend who got obsessive. The fugitive who stole my heart. And the washed up comedian and actor who tried to use me to revive his basically dead career. So my record isn’t so good. How did these kids know?

I guess I don’t believe deep down I deserve someone nice sometimes. But I do. I do deserve someone nice. Why couldn’t these kids be older? I told them in ten years to holler at me. Still, whatever girl gets them as a boyfriend should be so lucky, and if they are smart they will hold on to them.

Chivalry is not dead. It’s in a coma. My three little angels in Carona proved that.

Love,

April

Cleaning House

This past weekend was fun. Friday night I thought I was going to see a friend’s band. But the truth was, I was much too tired. It had been a rough week. My stalker has started to calm down, but going to the cops at the start of the week is never fun. The fact this man obtained my information off the internet still makes me ill. The friends around me have stepped up though which makes me feel good. Then there was the (former) friend who went off at me, blaming me for everything that is going badly in his world. It could never be something like his drug use. Why take responsibility when you can  blame someone else? Oh and then being snubbed by another former friend, one who was slated to be a star when we were in school who isn’t working. Again, why blame yourself for being lazy when you can pin it on someone doing the work. For serious. Of course there was the entanglement with the old flame who felt the need to start in the middle of the train station.

Yes I was tired.

So I started cleaning. Friday I tackled my bathroom and the common room. It wasn’t the old throw it in the closet and hope for the best routine. I actually swept, scrubbed, and dubba dub dubbed. At first I felt like shooting myself. Why was I cleaning? A clean house is a sign of a misspent life I used to tell myself. To me, people who were neat and tidy were as annoying as shit not to mention repressed in every way possible. However, when you are walking around and there is glitter on the carpet not to mention you can’t find anything and are tripping worse than a college freshmen on acid it’s time to make some changes in your living space. Plus Mordecai the Magic Mouse was beginning to get a little too comfortable.

Time to clean.

Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice I wanted my mops and brooms to come alive. However, there was no such luck. After much cringing, I had the ego deflating experience of cleaning my bathroom. After the bathroom I started on the common room. Both tasks drained the living freaking life out of me. Of course there is my bedroom. Should I just throw my damn costumes in my closet and hope for the best, only to mess it up when my boss calls me for a delivery?

No.

Instead I organized my clothes, my costumes, my makeup and everything else. Translated, for once in my filthy, freaking life I know where everything is and I feel good. I have been sneezing less because there is not as much dust in my apartment. There is no glitter on my carpet anymore. Sharon Needles has taken her street fight elsewhere. Although me and the lady have never met, I am sure she would love the statement of the glitter war on my carpet.

Sigh. Tuesday. My book comes out Friday. I am like a kid at Christmas. Except my mother isn’t telling me that everytime it rains I am making Jesus cry and Santa doesn’t like fat children.

Just kidding. I do that sometimes. But I am excited about my book. So excited that I think you should buy it. Go to www.webuybooksontheweb.com or call 877-buy-book to order I Came, I Saw, I Sang this Friday at 2PM EST.

Love,

April

Peter and the Wolf

The forest is dark

Running from the beast

Will he have a feast

Or will you dodge his teeth

With sweet music?

 

Wandering deep,

Through the brush and trees

Deep in the pitch black of death dark

Over your knees

Over your head-

 

The wolf

He wants you dead

Do you fight?

Do you run?

Will it be rope?

Or the gun-

 

What lies do you tell?

Are they by the roadside

Or in a jail cell?

Your eyes flicker with fear

They always do

 

The wolf,

As he comes to get you

You cannot lie

You cannot escape your head

No matter how many psych meds

 

The man may give you

No matter how many hugs

Your kids may give you

No matter how much love

Your mother may give you

 

What about your ex-wife

You call her a bitch

A supervillan

But you strapped her down and sucked her blood

Feet covered dirty mud

 

Running from the wolf

She didn’t understand how fast you had to go

Running at top speed the world does not know

That this is the Aztec Ball Court

And you might not live to tell the tale

 

I tried to save you from the forest

I tried to guide you out of the darkness

I tried to take you to the sun

I declared my love

Believing you were the one

 

I reached out my hand

But you couldn’t see

You wanted me to come to the woods

As you tried to run away from me

In a bizarre, twisted, contradictory paradox

 

Lost the creatures taunt you

In the deathly forest

The wolf appears

His teeth so shiny bright

Will you fight?

Will he crunch on your bones and blood?

 

And have a feast tonight.