Tuesday, March 19, 2013

It's Alright Have a Good Time (The Impressions)

Yesterday I found out my grandma, my beloved Nunni, had died. It was a shock, totally unexpected. My grandma was quite diabetic but never listened to doctors. It wasn't because she didn't care. She figured she was eighty-eight and wanted her damn candy. My mother tried to get her to go to doctors appointments and she would just cancel. Hey, there was a sale at the mall and there was an All You Can Eat Senior Special at Ean 'n' Park. My grandmother had other plans. She had raised six kids, lived through World War II and Civil Rights, oh and while we are there my grandmother also worked as a nurse and earned a teaching degree after her kids were grown. She figured she could do what she wanted. Personally, I think she was correct.

When I was a kid my grandmother got into a car accident. She had injured her head and they put her in a mental hospital. My grandfather almost died from a fatal blood clot. The backstory was that my grandmother had been doing her yearly role as the grandmother in the local Nutcracker when they were pulling out of the parking lot, someone wasn't looking and BAM! She was doing well in the hospital until they gave her the test. Due to the accident she had developed amnesia a la soap opera. Anyway she was regaining her memory until they made her do simple math as part of the discharge test. My grandmother failed the math test. They wanted to commit her because of what they viewed as long term brain damage. My mother, at the end of her rope said, "My mother is fine, she has the rest of her memory. Head injury or not, she was always terrible at math." And somehow, they got her discharged.

Yes she was terrible at math. I am too and so is my mother. My grandmother was the worst out of the three of us. Anyway, when my grandmother was trying to earn her bachelors in teaching they made her take a math class. The teacher was mean and nasty and there was no way my grandmother was passing. So she did what any desperate student would do. She started bringing the teacher candy. Well it didn't sway him one bit. Maybe he didn't like M & M's, I dunno. So my grandmother's GPA looked to be in peril and once again my mother had to step in. My mom met with her old college adviser who discovered my grandmother didn't need the math class after all and my grandmother was able to graduate. But still, the guy didn't pass her for all the candy she gave him which means he sucks as a person. Even politicos take bribes.

The thing about my grandmother is that she always had some sort of job. After retiring from nursing, teaching, and having six grown kids she took a job as a security guard at Walmart. Instantly, my grandmother was beloved and talked to just about everyone. My grandmother became so popular that they were making a local television commercial and they stuck her right in it. The actors painstakingly learned their lines but my grandmother stole the show on the merit of her personality. Needless to say, I think everyone was speechless. This lead to her being an extra in several films, one in which we say we could see her head.

But this job enabled my grandmother to make new friends, and instantly after befriending these people she would bring them to familial functions. We used to joke that grandma would say, "This is Bob. He used to be a convict but now he's a fugitive."

During one encounter we were having a Sunday lunch when we heard talking downstairs. Fearful we had burglars, my dad made the motion to get the shotgun he kept in order to protect the family. That is when we heard a voice say, "Annie, Bill, you home?" My dad's jaw dropped open. We had left the garage door open and rather than knock my grandmother just came in through the basement. Seconds later my grandmother and a bushy haired woman emerged.  With her she had some friend she met during her tenure at Walmart that she barely knew. My grandmother announced she met the woman that day and that this was her new friend and something else and apparently she had a birthday gift for my brother. At that moment, despite the fact my dad was probably ready to kill his mother in law, I couldn't help but laugh. The whole thing was pretty funny.

The thing about my grandmother was that she did whatever she wanted to whenever she wanted to. When I was a kid we discovered she could write poetry. My grandmother had written her poems on scraps of paper and left them lying around her house. Much like me she was  a hoarder. Anyway, during one cleaning that my mom did of their home she discovered them. My mother said to Nuni, "You need to publish these Mom." So my grandmother did, and at the age of 75 became a published poet.

I sometimes say my grandparents missed their calling as a comedy duo. They had been married for sixty something odd years. On the 60th wedding anniversary invites my grandmother wrote, "We have been married sixty years. We are one step closer to being dead." Of course my mom, aunts, and uncles were horrified. As usual I thought it was pretty funny.

But here was one memorable exchange my grandparents had.

Nuni: Fred, get up and stop being such an old man.
Pop Pop: Pat, being married to you is worse than life in prison. Because at least with life in prison I get the possibility of parole.

But this was only second to the exchange my grandmother had with my dad. Every year, my dad, who is a tax lawyer, did their taxes. After sixty something years of paying taxes my grandmother was fed up. So this is how the exchange between her and my dad went

Nuni: I am moving to Spain?
Dad: Why Mrs. Wallisch?
Nuni: That way I don't have to pay taxes.
Dad: Well Mrs. Wallisch, as a dual citizen you would have to pay two sets of taxes. So you would be paying twice the taxes.
Nuni: Oh-
Dad:Yeah.

Over the years my grandmother said countless prayers and novinas for my career. Not to mention she became the source for countless jokes just cause the punchlines wrote themselves. Throughout the weekend I found myself playing Yenta for not one but two Jewish families and they always tip well for their beloved Buble. But here is the thing, it's because everyone's grandma is somewhat crazy, somewhat whimsical, always adding levity and most of all just cool as hell. Bottom line, grandma rules.

Yesterday as my mother was falling apart I found myself having the day from hell. A job I was supposed to do got moved so I had to cancel my recording. I was also helping my mom write the obit. I don't think recording would have gone as well. But I just found myself at the end of my rope. Then I went to Penn Station and heard a bunch of street performers. They were singing "It's Alright."

At that moment, I looked over and saw a woman who was wearing a hat my grandmother used to own. As I heard the song and saw the hat I think it was my grandmother telling me she was at peace and had gotten successfully to the other side. After all, she gave me a lot of years of great memories and stories that are helluva funny.

And when grandma came, no matter how crazy she was, it was a gentle reminder life wasn't that serious. It was only as complicated as we made it. Hey, it's alright Nuni. I know you are causing some sort of mischief on the other side.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Smoke in the Alley

When I was growing up I heard about my family from Ireland. They were from the South of Ire, the part that was free from the UK. It was some crazy math like 26 plus 4 equals one. Meanwhile I had never been to Ireland and as an American it really didn't matter to me. But from what I heard my grandmother Blanche Haggarty Brucker was all about being Irish.

Her family had come over from a ticket they won on the sweepstakes and she was a pistol. My great grandmother smoked like a fish, drank like a chimney, and loved to gamble. She had a picture of the Pope as soon as you walked into her home and it was no question, she was a Catholic. She was not about Ulster, the Protestant North. She obeyed the Vatican. Meanwhile as an American who has studied religion extensively one favors the Virgin Mother the other not so much. It's really a lot of BS over one small difference but nonetheless they think it's big. Apparently she prayed to all the saints too which in my opinion seems like going through a bunch of operators before getting to the big man. But it was her life and it was the way she did things.

Once my great grandmother saw a woman on St. Patrick's Day who was wearing orange and she got into a fist fight with her. I had to give it to the woman, she did not take it lying down. You did not mess with my great grams.

During the end of her life her smoking in particular was bringing her down to her knees. The doctor told her she had to smoke less. But she was not hearing of stopping. Despite the doctor telling her to stop smoking she kept on. It wasnt about being self-destructive or being stupid, she just didn't respect the doctor. No one ever told my grandmother how. She was the child of immigrants, grew up in a rough part of town, and married a steel worker and had seven kids. She wasn't about to let some doctor run her life.

My grams thought she was slick and she would open the window when she smoked. She thought no one would know. But my grandfather would come into the room and say, "Blanche, are you smoking?"

My grands knew she was going to catch serious heat if she was caught. So she said, "No Bill, there was a fire in the alley."

Apparently there was a fire in the alley several times a day every day. My great grandfather always believed her. Maybe he didn't but just knew better than to fight with her. Either way, she continued to smoke and there continued to be fires in the alley until she eventually died.

I never met my grandmother. But they always said I had her sideways smile, the Irish smile. It used to drive my mother crazy when she would photograph me as a kid. As I got older, one evening, I was watching an Edgar Bergen TV Special and everyone couldn't do ventriloquism but I could. My parents glanced at each other. My mother grudgingly said to my dad, "Bill, it's your grandmother's smile. It's finally paying off."

I know my grandmother died before my time. But aside from the smile I know I am her great granddaughter in many ways. I am not afraid of a fight and never took anything lying down. In an industry littered with men who want to see me stupid and women who hate me because I am prettier and funnier than they are, I do things my own way. They don't know how I always run across the goal line beating them all as I don't follow their rules but play by my own each time. Those rules are hard work and no fear. The Irish don't have the luck of the Irish simply because they are Divinely Blessed, but rather they get knocked down, get up, and keep on going. That is the luck of the Irish, fearlessness in the face of the flame. That is why I don't follow the rules. I don't listen. And when I say there is a fire in the alley it rules in my favor.

Happy St. Patrick's Day Great Grams. Have a cigarette and gin on me. And no worries, you can smoke as much as you want in heaven.
Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Friday, March 15, 2013

Self Care

I have been working myself to the bone as of late. Last Monday I worked, worked, worked. And then had some errand to do that night that was work related. Then Tuesday I worked as well. Wedesday I shot a pilot all day which meant I WORKED. Thursday I did lots of duty with the telegrams which meant I WORKED. Friday night I WORKED and Saturday I emceed a Democratic fundraiser for a candidate which meant I WORKED. Sunday I was recording my audiobook and we are seeing the light at the end of the tunnel but yes I have been WORKING.

In between my working I was drinking a lot of coffee and not eating for as many as fifteen hours. When I did eat it was pure junk like donuts and cookies and pretzels. I was so charged from the coffee and sugar I ate I began walking everywhere. As in from my street to West 3rd. Translated, my blood was so wired I didnt require food cause of all the sugar and caffeine and didnt even feel the tired. However, I turned into a mega bitch.

Let's see. April's greatest hits included a near street fight with an idiot who used her kid to cut in line. Another near street fight with an idiot who opened his umbrella too close to my eyes. And then a third clash with a kid who was being a tool somewhere at some theatre who was just being a tool cause that's what he did.  I should have walked away but I screamed, "Asshole, don't you own a television. Everyone knows me and my puppet babies!" I should have gotten an award for holding it together......not. Needless to say he was quite stunned.

Soon after I spoke to my sister about my work load and she said, "That's a lot of work. I feel tired just listening." Meanwhile this is someone who is training to be an ER doc and spends nine hours on her feet.

When Monday came I was so exhausted I could barely move. I had been on so many trains and buses I felt myself moving. I felt depressed for no reason. Meanwhile I was on TV again, have been twice in the past two weeks with my puppet children-two different programmes. Not to mention my book is one step closer to being in a major chain and oh, my book was also reviewed my Mensa. Not to mention I am working with an excellent composer on my musical. Did I mention I have been recognized from being on TV? People write me fan letters. McBlah blah!

I spent the morning crying for no reason whatsoever. I had no reason to cry. I am working so I have money. My rent is almost 2/3s paid for the month already. I am doing fine and many would want to be in my shoes. Yet when I hung out on facebook I saw people posting their good news and all I could think was fuck you fuckin fucks. I got some coffee and breakfast and felt immediately better. And then convinced the whole world hated me because I had acted like an outraegous fucktard the week before I was looking behind me to make sure I didnt get shot.

I ended up going to the pool where I saw not one but two of my friends and went on a very therapeutic swim. Not only did I suddenly feel better but I didn't feel like this outraegous failure that no one wanted or loved. That evening, I had a booking that got cancelled and then hung out with friends.

Tuesday however, I was back to bitch mode. I woke up again in the morning crying and bumped my head twice and cried again. After that I did my two deliveries, clutch. That's when I visited a woman who is like my mom in Brooklyn, yelled at her, and she said, "Maybe you need to visit your mom. Seriously, you are out of control. You need some sleep."

The next day my mom called and I lied and said I was fine. My mom can always tell when I am lying though. Anyway I took a breath, messaged her, and then said I wanted to come home. I ended up having a mini breakdown on the phone where I told her that I hadnt been eating at all, was walking everywhere, and was TIRED. I also confessed I had been acting like a heel and she said, "I know you have. I have seen you like this and I know how you behave when you get in this state."

My mom is a trainer and exercise psysiologist and we discussed my diet and how to improve it. We both agreed that my diet was probably why I was melting down. It felt really good to get honest with my mom and it felt really good just to have her at my disposal. We also booked my plane ticket. It felt good just to talk it out.

It also made me realize how important it is to eat well. As my career picks up my schedule will only become more demanding. Someone once said, "You picked the hardest profession in the world. You don't need anymore problems." He was correct. And that is why I am saying it now in this blog, health and nutrition are no joke. The food pyramid is not there for decoration. In addition, you are never alone in this world. You have your friends and family. I also realized how easy it is for me to be a megabitch when I am alone and tired.

This week I have been eating better. I am just as busy but I am thinking much more clearly. I am also not compacting everything at once. I scored a job Sunday so I am moving my recording to Monday. I had a job today and had to take a train so I didnt take one that cut so close so I would be running. I also took the night off tonight so I could relax. I might take a bath and am currently watching a movie. I also am speaking to my composer Monday. That way I could do my job today, do the prep before hand, and then didnt have to rush him off the phone.

It is amazing how much better I feel when I take care of myself. I go from feeling ungrateful and overworked to being grateful that I am a working entertainer in the greatest city in the world. I also am happy for my sister who matched at Vanderbuilt for emergency medicine and my brother who matched at UConn for pediatriac medicine instead of pissed that the world is leaving me behind. I also feel happy for people who get good news whether it is a TV series or show rather than pissed that they have gotten something I never thought I wanted but suddenly I wanted at that moment. It's because I realize I am not a loser. I am someone in the lane, fighting the good fight, and running with the winners so I can be happy for other winners. It is amazing what a difference a hot meal and a good night's sleep makes.

Hungry and tired are no joke. But now I feel more relaxed. I think I will replace my snarl with a smile.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN



 

Thursday, March 14, 2013

"I Let You Shave My Asshole"

The other day I was walking down the street after a long day. I had my puppets in tow and just wanted some food. People were moving too slow and frankly the guy in the front of me in line was using his kid to try to cut. Whatever.

Well I was walking down the street and two drunken gay men were having a disagreement

Drunk 1: I am a good friend.

Drunk 2: I am a better friend

Drunk 1: I am the bestest friend. I am the bestest friend. I lent you money.

Drunk 2: I paid you back which means I am a good friend.

Drunk 1: I am a better friend.

Drunk 2: No you arent!

Drunk 1: I am. I let you shave my asshole!

It is just the three of us on the street. There is an awkward silence. We all look at each other.

Drunk 1: She even thinks I am a good friend.

Me: Yes you are. Only in New York.

Drunk 2: Ha ha!

Sigh, welcome to my world.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audiofile this Spring
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

C is for Classy, R is for Revenge.

The other day I was riding a train to a gig and saw this couple. They were all over each other. The epitome of giving up is to be all over your loved on on a Metro North train headed to White Plains. Just saying. Anyway they were two Guido types just sucking face. And fat too. I wanted to gently tell them to get a room but what would be the use? They might just use the train bathroom and uck that up. After a minute or two the face sucking subsided and I could hold down the spicy halal chicken and rice I had for dinner. Maybe these two ugly people could go procreate elsewhere and then I wouldn't have to see the trial and error process that involved the making of a mutant Snooki.

Just then the girl says to her guy, "You have a big zit right there."

"Squeeze it." He grunts. Mind you, I think he learned to walk upright and speak a week ago, so he is showing off his new skill set.

So the girl follows orders and proceeds to attempt to squeeze his zit. She squeezes it a few times before announcing. "Baby, it popped."

Thank God New Haven, my stop was the next stop, seriously.

Then this morning I was up early and looked up an old flame on facebook. I had known him for a time and we hit it off. Basically he was hot for me, we hung out once, and then he ignored me after that which hurt my feelings. Then after four months of not seeing me he decides he wants to make a comeback but then I started dating the guy who would eventually become my ex fiance. And then this prick gave me the cold shoulder again. He was sort of spooky, chain smoking and had a habit of shoplifting. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, this love.

Well I saw he was no longer doing comedy. As a matter of fact he was selling used cars. To top it off since he quit drinking he picked up weight and wasn't a cute angry guy with a shaved head but rather a tubby hasbeen who was shaving his head to hide the fact he was losing his hair. Oh and he is engaged.

I saw the picture of his gal's engagement ring. He made a crack about being so broke he had to get her a ring from a discount jeweler. I would have said he was joking but unfortunately he is from a hick town so he was probably serious.

Then I saw the picture of the finace. She was a badly dyed blonde. I mean, blonde wasn't even her hair color. I have a feeling she was naturally brunette but she was that peroxide blonde with her roots showing. And her roots were showing badly. She was on the chunky side but her wardrobe had not gotten the memo. As a matter of fact she wore this tight fitting tops that my six year old cousin could have bought at Sears and then these tight shorts that there is no way she could breathe in. But her stomach was hanging out and so were her thighs. I mean, and they had some serious stretch marks. Then the makeup was even worse. It was this frosty lipstick that was smeared all over her lips like she was either blind, drunk, or blind drunk when she did her makeup. And the bikini picture stole the cake. She was posed all sexified in her mind with her fake trash press on nails and her legs spread ready for the activity she loves the most. And then I looked closer. Holy shit! Was that a C-Section Scar? God I did not want to know.

Either way I had to wash my hands after the encounter with that photo. I mean, I hang around May Wilson. I think I am immune to most STDs but she probably had a new and undiscovered one. Maybe I am judging her too harshly. I don;t know her. On the other hand, she liked Sarah Palin's page on facebook. I think I should keep judging her harshly.

Still the whole thing made me feel better. He broke my heart. He threw me out like trash. And now he had the bottom of the garbage bag.

I thought about dropping him a line about all the cool things I am doing and just brag about my book. But then I remembered he probably doesn't know how to read. I have only gotten hotter with time. Bet he wishes he was Mr. April Brucker bout now. E is for Ego, kids.

But C is for Classy or Classless, depending on where you are.

R is for Revenge.

Happy Wednesday poppy seeds

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available at 877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available Spring 2013
Portion of Proceeds go to RAINN

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Myself and Myself (Romeo Void)

I have been doing the whole spring fling thing. Well not really. Out of no where I find myself crushing and dating again. It is all so weird. At this point in my life I thought it would be better, easier, more fun and less stress but I am so wrong.

I have been talking to a lot of guys and for once they are all nice and have jobs. But guys make me so skiddish. It is like I am thirteen again. Suddenly I don't feel like an accomplished career woman living her dream but rather a weird girl with puppets. One guy I sort of turn red around, well I see him at least once a week. Before it was like I went in and whatever. Now it's like, "Does he notice I have coffee breath? Does my hair stink from the night before even though I washed it? Oh and does he notice I gained three pounds?" On top of that what does he think of my career?Does he know people recognize May Wilson from TV? What does he think of my singing? God I wish it were better? Does he think I am funny? Did he read my book? Is he amazed at my ability to write or does it make me weird?

It all makes me weird I decided.

I mean on the downside I am not some stupid ho with big boobs who is brainless. Guys prefer that don't they?

I dunno. It is all so complicated. They say they love you and then they leave you for some tramp that is easy. They say they want to spend time with you but really are still hung up on an ex. Or they just lie about everything. Yeah they are easy to get but hard to hold on to, like a banister smeared in butter, slippy.

On the flipside they make you play guessing games. Does she know I like her? Does she know I want to know her better? Does she know I want to take her out and blah blah blah and then when you don;t know it is all your fault.

I think I will stay single. No guy can tell me I am unfunny. They can't tell me my singing sucks. They can't tell me my writing sucks. They can't take my puppet children away.

But single gets lonely

But men are so complicated.

Is there ever an easy answer?

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available at 877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com
E-Book available at Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available in the Spring of 2103
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN

Monday, March 11, 2013

Writing Right

I haven't been writing jokes like I should be for a lot of reasons. One was when I left the club that shall remain unnamed by forever live in infamy in my mind, I expected to be picked up by a bigger club. Well other doors opened. My focus became my online broadcasts, my videos with my puppet babies, and my music. And then I wrote, rewrote, proofread, reproodread, rereprofread my book. Then I released my book. Oh and my book is 333 pages. And I cut the content. Believe it or not it was almost 666 pages. I know I am the devil.

I have been performing live a lot more now. Some of it is that I do miss performing. Yes I have my attitudes knowing that being a woman works against me no matter how talented I am in this man's world. But on the other hand I am funny and like making people laugh. So I want to start writing again.

This past weekend I did a good show. Emceed in East Haven and had a good night. I had not emceed on the road in sometime. In between being in almost famous land and writer land, an anti-social place, I had not done a fire hall show in some time. It was actually fun, but I forgot how emceeing is a work out. It's like you step up on the stage, and pray to God they laugh. It was a political fundraiser and I opened with a barb at the idiot Republican opponent. Okay, got them. But as I went on it was like wowsa, some of my stuff is pretty rough sometimes. I dunno. I need to write some new shit.

They liked May but some crowds don't know what to do with ventriloquism. It's like okay, whatever. They got into it but definately wouldn't have expected it.

Either way this weekend was an indicator that I need to write more jokes. My book is done and I know I can write. Now is time to write jokes.

In the back of my mind the chip on my shoulder is working overtime. I hate open mics because I have more TV time than many people there ever will. Not to mention I feel like slitting my wrist half the time when I am there with what I see and know as anti-comedy. I don't want to go back to the club I left seeing I put them on TV and gave them a ton of press where they thanked me by firing me. I want an A-List club but I am not a young male comedian which is ten strikes against me and I am not a fat, complaining woman which is five. I have a prop. Even when I don't I am a woman who speaks out against men. I am not pretty and stupid with my legs spread like a moron either and am not willing to blow my way at the top because men are vile when they feel they are jilted. I have had it in my personal life. I don't need it in my work please.

But there is one thing I can control. I can control being funny. I am funnier than most of those bitches, especially the mom comics that I deplore-yuck. No one cares about your kids ladies. I am more famous than the regulars at the club I got fired from. Touch that bitches. They say shit about how I get my TV time but I still have TV time and those bitches never will. Maybe I am not a male comedian but most of them are morons and my Mama didn't raise no fool. I am not a fat woman which maybe the clubs don't want me but the TV does, no one wants to look at a fat ass as she stuffs her face with ho hos. I have a prop and she is damn cute. They all are, Mama Foxxx has some pretty babies. I am a woman who speaks out and I am not sorry. While I am pretty I am not stupid and attempting to blow my way to the top because you can only blow your way to the middle. Ask any of the pretty unfunny regulars at most city clubs ;).

There is only one of me and a thousand of them. Good luck standing out because at the end of the day they remember me and forget you and your stupid, hipster, at, whining beard.

On the other hand, for as much as I talk shit I do want to write again and just don't know where to start. All the talented people around me have been inspiring me. Whether it is Elaine Williams and her positive attitude that just keeps going. Johnny Watson, one of the first true friends I made doing comedy, who's energy is unmatched and just gets upgrades for no money at all. Kevin Lee, who has been doing comedy for almost as long as I have been alive and is just awesome and makes me wish I could be that awesome. Chip Ambrigio who loves comedy and even does a podcast with his kid. Larry DiFelice who is funny and makes me laugh everytime he does Stewey. And of course Johnny Rizzo who is funny as hell off the top of his head and could improvise an hour with his mad genius. The list goes on.

The list humbles me. The list wants to make me write.

Take a photo of me in my sweats. I am good at getting on TV sometimes. But don't get too close. I am busy writing new shit. Girl has to think. And we know blondes don't do that. Actually we do. Just don't tell the horny men. It will ruin their vision of love.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available at 877-Buy-Book, Amazon.com
E-Book available at Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available in the Spring of 2103
Portion of proceeds go to RAINN