I Wear Cowboy Boots

I haven’t blogged lately because I have been busy. Valentine’s Day is crunch time with the telegrams. It’s the day of the year that basically pays the rent. Plus I had a few that needed redelivered because of the snow and got more money for those. Oh and then I had some stuff I had to do for my writing. Basically, I have been busy. Yeah, I said that. Busy and tired.

Valentine’s Day was certainly busy. I ended up delivering four deliveries which was supposed to be seven but three were moved because of the snow. I did my first and got a nice tip. Went to the second, dude was in a meeting. Sprinted to Brooklyn, and then went back to LES to complete the third. All three of these folks threw money at me which was a surprise. Then delivered to a girl for her birthday as a cake. Later I sprinted to perform with La Familia, a multicultural collective I belong to. I finished the day with five good shows. I was so tired I forgot about it. And then I went home.

After which I rolled out of bed and went to another delivery. Yes, I went to Westchester, Larchmont, and walked up a snowy ravine. For some reason I never tire of adventure even when it almost kills me. Hell, my life almost kills most people but nevermind that. For the record, I spent the rest of the day in bed.

Sunday I recorded a podcast with Matt Bailey, a young ventriloquist living in the city that attends Pace University. I am on the episode after Terry Fator. At the moment, it is tough to see who is king of the Ventriloquists, Terry Fator or Jeff Dunham. I respect them both. Terry and I have a strange relationship. We have never met, but people compare us. They either ask me if I like him and say we are both good, or tell me how much I suck and how much more superior his brand of humor is. I’m happy for the man. He’s making money and has a hot wife.

Monday was spent running errands and doing a favor for a friend. Today I had three redeliveries. One was a lesbian secret admirer. The woman on the receiving end was a little confused, the contact was in Milan, and everyone was like Ohhh la la. I think she thought it was from a man, she said so herself. But my instructions were to slow dance with her. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay, but this woman might be a little surprised when she finds out her knight in shining armor is Joan of Arc. Who knows? Maybe this might be the love of her life. Then I did another that was awesome and got a hug from the client. Third was downtown to an AIDS crisis center.

Then I had to fight crime on my facebook friends. One of my followers put up several avatars on my thread spewing white power with photos of Hitler and with the sayings “If it ain’t white it ain’t right.” So I had to block him. Then I sent my writing off to some people and blah blah blah.

Either way this is all possible because I wrangle and wrestle with the best of the cow pokes. Yes, I am talking my zebra striped cowboy boots. I got them in Nashville with my sister. They have been the footwear that has seen me through all these adventures. As I said my life would kill most people. But my cowboy boots keep me in line and keep me kicking ass and taking names. 

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.aprilbrucker.com

Beating the Blues

The winter has been bitchin to say the least. While the weather has been depressing, it seems that death has been in the air. I lost a friend earlier this year, actually two. One was a hair dresser buddy shortly after New Year’s. The other was someone I had lost touch with, a young man whom I quite liked that had gotten cancer that progressed quickly. Oh and then there was an acquaintance I met once known as Phil. You have been reading quite a bit lately. He talked me down from a literal ledge I was in during the hot New York July where it seemed the heat sweltered to the point where dogs could talk.

On top of that work has been slow. It always is in January. Translated, the demon of financial insecurity has come to April’s home. On top of that, people have been approaching me for shows and jobs. When I ask if they pay they skirt the question. Turns out they want me to work for shit or work for free. I am not being greedy, I want to eat and pay my rent. Or people act like they are doing me a freaking favor all the time by paying me shit or having me work for free. It’s fucking torture to be recognized on the street or to get a fan letter and know that your rent check may have bounced. On top of that, I would say fuck it and get a good day job but I have two problems. One is that people know who I am and I will have jealous coworkers harass me. Or better yet, I won’t get hired because they know that I will leave once I get a TV show. I like the telegram thing, but in January I sweat.

On top of that there has been some career angst. Someone who was supposed to get me paperwork took their time. When this happens it means the project has been shelved or you have been dumped. They got it to me, but waiting was making me ill. On top of that, a literary agent rejected my book. Basically, I did what he could do for me on my own, and he didn’t feel the sales were robust enough for a bigger publisher to nab me up. Translated, I had done his job and he didn’t have the juice to further me. I should have been somewhat flattered because he wrote the letter of rejection keeping the door open. But I was like fuck being a capable, smart, intelligent, woman. Fuck it all. Being a smart woman sucks sometimes it really does. Then I submitted a few pieces to some magazines. I have been writing more because most of my show dates have been cancelled. One chick mag rejected me flat out. What, I didn’t bitch and moan enough? Mcseriously.

Monday as I debated killing The Ground Hog I had a show. I was stopped by a man on the street. He had looked at my calendar and my shows weren’t listed. He asked why. I didn’t want to tell him I was wallowing in self-pity and depression. That would make me look crazy. At that moment it clicked. It was selfish to be depressed. The show ended up rocking. I felt better. The next day I still felt good, high from the show. Wednesday it started to hail and I thought, “The only thing stopping me from killing myself is that I don’t have the perfect outfit to die in.” Then I had a thought. January was over. The ugly sister of all the months was leaving the party. I could press restart.

And so I did. My rent somehow got paid. I also had a novel idea to improve my surroundings, clean my house. In addition, I am also taking a different approach to my writing and going a different route. While I don’t know the result yet I am letting go. Instead of asking God for answers I am letting Him direct me. I am also not letting self-pity fester in my veins by living in inaction. I am taking action. While the results might not be instant I know that they will come. There is a temptation to rest in that I don’t know the outcome so why bother? The answer is sometimes in life, you aren’t supposed to know, that’s what makes it so spectacular. That is what makes a surprise so special. That is why when I enter someone’s office or home as a singing telegram people are happy. No one expected it. And if a crystal ball predicted it, the experience wouldn’t be so exciting and amazing on both ends.

The future is uncertain and dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It is uncertain and dark because we do not know. I have been the fledgling starving artist. I have been the reality star. I wrote a book. In the fear based gut that I was given because I am a woman there is the part of me that says it’s over. My fame is fading. My fans will forget me. I will die a fat, ugly, cat lover eating ice cream with her bare hands in government housing. Truth is, I am not fading. I am just getting started. Maybe I am temporarily down from my mountain top. However, it is because I am getting ready to climb another one.

When I am angry and depressed, I cannot spread my message of peace, love, tolerance, and equality. When I yell and scream, people do not hear me. No one wants to listen. Anger is bad for you. I wish I could remember my own advice.

The other comfort is that everyone is tired of the winter. We all can’t wait for it to be over. Maybe I can’t control the weather. However, I am responsible for how I feel. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. So therefore, I must feel grateful.

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.aprilbrucker.com

Roasting Punxsutawney Phil

I hate winter more and more every day. It is turning into a canker sore on my soul. I hate this season. January sucks, February is better because work picks up but still sucks. Either way, when I think of winter, I think of death. Sometimes it gets so depressing why not die?

There is nothing like dying in the winter. Then again, a lot of people do it so the notion is kind of hack. Of course in the winter you are more likely to be alone so death is more likely to occur. However, death never comes when you need it to or want it to. So you are suck in your bed looking like a miserable fool. Then there is the thought of killing yourself. Yes, one could use the Sylvia Plath method but they made gas ovens in those days. We have electronic now, so scrap that. As for the overdose, everyone's done that too. Jumping out the window, so tempting but useless if you have the wrong outfit. Truth is, while winter sucks you are better off living.

Still, the little fat bastard Phil has sentenced us to six more weeks. So far this winter has been very dark for me. I am sitting in a lot of career uncertainty. Basically, I don't know what's next for me. Hey, with death at least you know you're gonna die. With uncertainty it's this dark tunnel. The outcome might well be wonderful, but then it might end in a barren desert. Of course, when you try to relay this to people they try their best/worst to help.

"You had a good run April, but it's a time for spiritual growth."

"You know, you could always do my project. You've gained exposure. I mean, I can't pay you but...."

"You're young, you have time."

I wish I could point to some path that looks like there is light at the end of my tunnel it feels like I am travelling in only the darkness. The fall/winter was kind of dark. Things got busy with work and I found myself poised to save Christmas. My grandfather died, too. It seemed all I did was work my fingers to the bone. As for this winter I was hoping to get a break but no. It's the slow time of year for my job. Money is tight. It's cold. My writing has been rejected from a few places. As a smart, ambitious, capable woman I am once again kicked in the face and forced to settle for crumbs.

Then those around me cannot wait to take cheap shots at me now that my chest is open. Whether it's washed up women showing uterus pictures on facebook or men seeking to oppress me because I have opinions, I feel as if I can't win. Oh and Phillip Seymour Hoffman died. We met once when I was having a bad day, but I needed a friend and he comforted me. I didn't know it was him until he rode off on his bike. What hurts the most is that he didn't realize how wonderful he was when we had him. Oh, and the Broncos sucked. While Bruno Mars did rock out a good half time show, it is proof America celebrates men who hate women, and women in this country don't have a voice. The only good thing is Amanda Knox might be going back to jail.

The only thing I have on my side is that it has to get better because it can't get any worse. Winter sucks for everyone. I have six more weeks of this cursed shit and so does everyone. Instead of dying I think I will just find the nearest groundhog and make groundhog burgers.

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

Birth Control

When I was fourteen, my sister Skipper and I had a babysitting job. Our next door neighbors were going out, and our job was to babysit their newborn baby, Talia. Anyway, basically, the kid was easy. We changed her and put her to bed, right? She was a baby.

Well everything went well. Skipper and I changed her. We put her to bed and she started crying. The kid needed changed again. Who would have thunk it, right? Well we put her down again. Talia started wailing. We held her, we sung to her. Nothing was working. Our mother was next door, Thank God. She came over, picked Talia up, and gently rocked the child. She put her hand on Talia's head and said, "This is a sick baby." From there, my mother took over. She knew just what to do and successfully calmed the kid down. As the baby was able to finally sleep, I was like wowsa, having a kid takes work.

Shortly thereafter, a childhood friend of mine named Keyona fabricated a story that she was expecting a child. This turned out to be a pitiful cry for attention as well as a complete lie. The following year, a girl in my freshmen class got pregnant. Like many a desperate teenage girl in trouble, she tried to hide it all under baggy clothes. When someone asked her what she was going to do she responded, "I am never going to tell my parents, EVER!"

My hometown of course was ruled by iron fisted Fundamentalist Christians. Through protesting, they got the school to have abstinence speakers instead of Sex Ed. As a result, our pregnancy rate rose. We didn't know about condoms or birth control. Instead, it was just say no. Of course there were the girls who wore the promise rings. One such alumna of this trend was a cheerleader type who got knocked up by a football player. He was a troll looking dude and he got her pregnant with twins. They had to admit this in front of their youth group, their sin. And then he had the nerve to ask if the kids were his. Ouch.

Before I went away to college, my mother sat me down. She said she wanted to talk about sex. Some of my friends had parents who were progressive enough to put them on the pill. I thought perhaps my mom was doing the same. Instead, my mom sat me down and said, "If some boy wants to have sex with you, and you are in the moment. Think of all you worked for. Think of how getting pregnant will ruin your life. Think of how getting pregnant will make you fat. See my face over his shoulder."

When I was nineteen in my first semester of college some idiot boy invited me to his room to watch television. I was so naive I really did think we were watching a movie. Next thing I know we are sitting on his bed and he is putting the moves on. That is when I saw my mother's face. Not only was it scary, but it ruined the whole experience. I don't know what was worse, disobeying my mother or the thought of her watching me get it on with some zit faced dork. Either way, I pushed him off of me and ran like I saw Godzilla. I will never forget the stunned look on his face. After that he told everyone I was crazy. Even now, when former classmates of mine trash me online they say I am crazy. I have a feeling he helped sprout the genus of that rumor.

The older I have gotten, the more I realize men are driven like slaves by sex. I used to blame them for it, but now I blame biology. Whenever I think of screwing up my life with the wrong person who might feel good for a minute, I see my mother over my shoulder. I also think of the girl from my freshmen class who went into labor and had her parents find out at that moment. I also remember the baby daddy, who went to jail and is not a part of his kid's life. In there I also hear the faint cry of our next door neighbor baby, and my sister and I not knowing how to take care of her. I still can feel the relief of my mother next door knowing what to do.

So when it comes to kids I like them. But ah, not sure I am ready to have one just yet.

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

Snow Globe

The world is a snow globe as I sit in my apartment. I am living in what is known as the Polar Vortex. When I was a child it was simply known as winter. I feel like this is the beginning of a terrible movie about the future. The bad opening line if you will that is used. However, it is true. It is my experience.

The snow comes outside my window. As I sit in the warmth of my shoebox, it looks harmless. Yes, it is like a snow globe. I still remember my dad had them in his office when I was a kid. Someone gave him one, an old client I think. It was Dickinsonian in theme, or at least looked like Victorian England. I still remember shaking it as a small child, enthralled at the chaos I created. The tiny figurines were at my mercy. Yet as the sparkling white flakes fell, it had a look of beauty.

Now Mother Nature creates the same scene in New York City. The sparkling white flakes land on the ground like pieces of powered sugar on top. The snow on the ground resembles icing. Of course, as the powered sugar falling from the sky lays on top it seems like it would be the ideal sugar cookie, one that would bring you to the dentist because it would produce a great many cavities. From inside my house, the snow is harmless. It is a friend. Winter weather is the best writing weather. I have my blanket, my coffee, and my candle burning. I always burn a candle for luck, The Archangel Michael. While not as religious as I was growing up, I was learned according to Revelations he led the army and defeated the evil Lucifer. So I burn the candle for my own peace of mind. It's not some fundamental razzmatazz. It is just my little ritual to keep negative energy out.

The snow also produces old memories. When I was a kid my grandmother collected old houses. These were Christmas Carol themed. We all got a house every year for our birthday. My Mema Ralph keeps them to this day in her home in a glass case. As a child I used to have nightmares that she had magical powers. That if someone angered her she would shrink them, making them live in the small houses and submit to her will. When I told my aunts and uncles this, they thought it was hysterical. My grandmother did too, thank goodness.

I also think of sledding in the backyard. My brother, sister, and I created our own course. We always went out when the trash TV of a snow day got to be too much. Then we created our own course. One year we even had our own ice skating rink we fashioned. While ghetto in some respects, it did the job. We played music in the shoddy attempt at winter fun made in our basketball court. Snow fell and we celebrated winter. As a family we even cross country skiied. We went to the park as a unit. My sister was always really good at it, because it requires a svelte body. On the other hand, I was always kind of slow. It wasn't my thing, so thank goodness my family came to America instead of us living in Germany or Austria where our ancestors were from. One time, when we had a blizzard, we even cross country skiied to church. Most families stayed home but not us. We had a way in and out. And then there was the line running we did in the snow. Of course since we were so little we didn't last long. However, my father explained they did this in Finland in order to train the team. I would try to explain that we weren't living in Finland but it fell on deaf ears.

Somehow, I also remember being sixteen years old. I was the heaviest I had ever been. At the time, I was on a special liquid diet. Going through the awkwardness mixed with teenage rebellion, I wore bright red lipstick with matching blue eye shadow. I hated math and was failing it most of the time anyway. I loved reading. At the time my favorite class was AP European History with Miss Garber. I liked her because she had been to Europe and China and all those places. Her grading style was kind of crazy, but I did well. A bigger lady, she was stuck to the chair but her love of history was awe inspiring. At the time, I wanted to go to New York to become a superstar. I wanted to go to NYU. I wanted to write novels. I wanted to get the hell out of where I was. However, the Colton and Palmer textbook became the escape for me. The characters in European history were amazing. Phillip II wore monk's clothes and had to be found in the palace by his staff and cleaned up for visiting ambassadors. Martin Luther took longer than planned to translate the Bible from Latin to German because he believed the devil was trying to stop him, and would throw bottles of ink behind him thus thwarting his own progress. John Calvin put Bibles in the bars of Swizerland. When that failed he closed the bars. Sometimes the king of Poland thought he was the king of Germany and vice versa. The book was fun to read too. One sentence read, "The pirates raided the coast, ransacked for gold, and lusted for booty."

Now I am in New York City and it snows. There are people in my life who question my choices, my goals. They wonder why I don't opt for a bourgeois existence. Such is not the luck and lot in life of an artist. Not everyone understands the calling. As I sit in uncertainty about the next step of my life, those closest to me want for me to be more ordinary, more normal. If this were the case I would have stayed where I was. Following one's passion is a mission of faith. While the unknown is scarier than death in some ways, because with death one know they will die, it is also exciting. The unknown holds it's own possibilities. The unknown holds it's own design. The unknown is like a snowman. Sometimes you start with one vision but the outcome is different but more spectacular than imagined.

As I go out into the snow, New Yorkers bravely shovel their sidewalks bundled up against the cold. Armed and dangerous with salt, they pave the way so that others will not slip. The corner store floor is wet and slippery with melted snow from the boots of others. As we all enter, we get coffee, tea, or hot coca to keep ourselves warm. We greet each other as we pass, sort of bonding. The truth is, none of us can control the outcome. We are all in this together. While the weather sucks and the winds blow in more ways than one, it is a comfort to know none of us are facing the cold alone. This is not an individual struggle but something we are fighting as a group, a unit, a city.

The Polar Vortex is similar to following the dreams of one's passion in art. Sometimes the future is uncertain and you are thrown a curve ball. You sit in the discomfort of the cold unknown. However, it is best to be where your feet are. It is best to have a positive attitude. That way, not only will you see yourself through the storm but any crisis that arises. With the belief that this too shall pass, you know that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Eventually if you stick with it and smile, everything is going to be okay. In the words of Winston Churchill, "When you are going through hell, keep going."

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

Mean Girls

I don't like mean girls. I haven't since I have been a kid. It is probably because I have never been in a position to be a mean girl myself. My parents didn't let me watch TV and I was a reader. Not to mention I didn't have the mean girl build and didn't have the mean girl mentality. Yes, my mother raised me to be strong. She raised me to know not to clique up with other people who had low self esteem. My mother told me that the right way to go was to include everyone who wanted to be. It didn't matter if they had a scrunchie, what job their father had, if they even had a father. You get the picture.

As I grow older I can deal with most personalities. In comedy, being a woman means dealing with men who put you down constantly. However, you can win the respect of your male comrades. This can be done by not being a professional victim. Also, simply by being funny and shutting the hell up. Oh, and then there is not taking yourself too seriously. It is being victim to the women are not funny jokes and learning to let certain locker room talk slide. Some of it is sexist, but the longer I am an activist the more I know if I fight to censor speech I lack ambition. Rather, the fight is in legislation for victims of sexual assault and stalking. They need protection from violent predators, not simply from verbal jabs.

However, one group I can't gel with are the cliquish girls to this day. They are these princesses who live in glass castles. Yet these pretty little brats forget those who live in any glass enclave should not throw stones. These girls are so obsessed with their wedding and plan it from the time they are five. Godzilla better run cause Bridezila is a comin. Of course, they exclude other women. They gossip about other women too. Lest we not forget that they gang up on other women. While they are in the neighborhood, they even condescend to other women. They need to be in charge. They need to win. They need to make you feel less than.

I have met versions of the Bitch Sorority in adulthood. They are just as menacing as they were in junior high. However, they are more pathetic because they didn't get the memo that we are no longer thirteen. Some of these women were sorority girls in college. Not the nice kind that got drunk and were easy, and invited all that could to join the party. These were the mean ones who fought to blackball someone because she didn't wear the right outfit or have a father who was rich enough so the family could have a summer home. These were the girls who were the Queen Bee's of their cliques back in the day, ganging up against a loner girl simply to intimidate her and make themselves feel superior. And then on top of that, there are those girls that you know were cheerleaders. I have nothing against the nice cheerleaders. I was friends with the captain in high school because she was a good hearted, natural leader. No, I mean the girls who again, gang up on someone that they feel is less than. And of course these dreadful spirits always have toadies and others who fail to stand up to them. They command fear because they are bullies.

This is why I have always had issues with women's only events. While I consider myself a warrior for my gender, my people, we have anarchy and disloyalty to the point where we would make any African Republic seem like it has stable leadership on any given day. Once I was trying to talk to a woman who wrote a book and this wannabe buts in. Of course she has all these suggestions about how the authoress should market her book. She kept cutting me off too. Basically, it was a power struggle. Finally, I walked away. I was getting angry and wanted no part of it. This authoress showed she was no better recently. The wife of a semi-successful comedian, she is somewhat arrogant on facebook. Recently, she opened a thread asking the comedians to name people she thought were up and comers that were worth watching. The whole display of nonsense reminded me of a Stalin/Hitler tactic. To name names is so 1938. Still, it was a mean girl thing. The irony of it was that in her book she kept driving home how she wasn't a mean girl. Don't tell me, show me. Nonetheless, I found her writing less than imaginative and found that she plays the violin of professional victim way too loud. Not to mention she doesn't want to help other women. So it's appropriate those two harpies would have hit it off.

I had to deal with a mean girl yesterday and my blood pressure is still boiling. A vampire looking woman, this particular creature is pushy, bossy, and condescending. I have had run ins with her and her toadie before. These are two weakling professional victims who often make me apologize for being strong. My book is in collections of colleges these two would never have access to. I have been in a situation where I have had to deal with them, and have honestly tried. However, it is hard when you aren't a mean girl and therefore don't want to be exclusionary. Week after week, they have take cheap shot after cheap shot at me. Two weeks ago I let the one idiot have it. Those around me said she wasn't worth it. She is a weakling compared to the true fangster out of the two. Anyway, yesterday the vampire bitch was on the war path and I had a run in with her. I had some words with her. And then I sent her a nasty text. I called her a pushy, condescending bully. I also told her she was not to speak to me like that again. I haven't heard back. Bullies never know how to deal. I can picture her weeping about what a meanie I am. Oh well....

I cherish my female friends who are positive. This morning I saw one who was witness to the mean girl drama yesterday. She told me that the woman was bad mojo and just to stay away, don't worry. I agree. I like my girls who are positive like the ones I brunch with on Saturday. They laugh, they have fun. Most of all, they are confident. They like to talk history, and have no problem doing so because they are on the same educational level I am. They like to talk about theatre and literature. They like to talk about music. They like the laugh. Oh, and they don't make me apologize for being strong.

I know my role is I let mean girls get to me too much. Still, it is kind of hard not to. It is also kind of hard not to get upset as an activist. Behavior like this is why women are treated as second class citizens. Antics such as these are why sexism is still one of the most acceptable form of prejudice. There is talk about eliminating racism and those evils, but sexism is just as damaging. When women act exclusionary towards each other and clique up, we do not hurt one woman but we hurt everyone. We take away the ability to work together. We eliminate opportunities for our own advancement and let the patriarchy win and continue to crush us with the heel of the boot of chauvanism.

Bottom line, when mean girls are mean to one girl, they are mean to everyone shutting down the advancement of women who fought for their inclusion.

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

Devil Inside (INXS)

I was raised a Catholic. It is one of those things that kind of stays with you. Even folks who leave the church can't quite shake the feelings of guilt or the extreme dogma shoved down our throats. While I went to church on Sundays and was late to school on holy days of obligation, my folks were raised RC through and through. They went to Catholic schools. Kids got beat in those days. Now the church has toned down a bit. In those days they spoke Latin in school and the masses were in Latin. As a choir boy, my dad even sang in Latin. When I was a kid, sometimes he would sing it for us. He was a soloist back in the day and had a decent voice, so it was pretty. 

My dad wanted us to know the Bible. In adulthood, even among my secular friends, I know a tidbit or two that sometimes are lost on others who weren't raised so close to the church. The fact I knew Ishmael was the father of Islam got me a free cab ride once. Like many families, we had a family Bible. Everyone from several generations onward was listed in the front. 

Both my parents were raised German Catholic. My dad's family was more from Austria, and my mom's from Bavaria, the Southern part. South Germany is very Catholic by the way, as the North is Lutheran. Anyway, when the German's came to America, they opened their own churches and schools. One of their favorite tactics was to scare the hell out of the children into behaving like good citizens. So they told them frightening stories about Satan and such so they would not be sucked into that world. While my family has not spoken German for sometime, and we had representatives for America in both World Wars, the scare your children stayed with us. 

I still remember as a kid my dad tried this tactic to teach us about the devil. My dad told my sister and I this crazy story about how the devil nabbed children who looked in the mirror for too long. He would take these spoiled children, according to the story, and make them slaves in hell. Anyway, the devil made a mistake and sent his henchmen to kidnap the two little girls. They were dragged to hell and scared because there was screaming. I still remember my sister and I were freaked out because my father named the children April and Brenna. Anyway, according to the story the two little girls had faith in God. So they asked Jesus to save them. Because they had faith God sent the Archangel Michael to save them. After Michael defeated Satan the two little girls were brought to safety. I was scarred for sometime. Couldn't and wouldn't look in the mirror. My mom of course yelled at my dad because my sister and I had persistent nightmares. Needless to say there were no more two little girl stories after that. But looking back, I had to give my pop's credit. He made the whole thing an action adventure. 

As I have gotten older, I can laugh about those crazies stories my dad told. They are funny because again, they are a Bible action adventure. They are also funny because in his own twisted way he was sincerely trying to help. Truth be told though, I do believe in a God just as I believe in a devil. Before you go saying I am trying to convert you, that is just one name for the positive and negative forces in this world. Some call it good chi, bad chi I dunno. The thing is, I don't believe it is red, has a tacky pitchfork or fake horns but is alive in our present time. We humans we have many names for it.

In my travels I have met rotten people who have believed certain points of view towards others, particularly that it was okay to discriminate against certain groups, was okay. I have also encountered zealots who thought they were getting the guidance of a so called God. Oh and lump in there people who embezzled and stole without thought. Lest we not forget people who were so angry that they took it out on others. Or then there are those who used people that were unwitting for their gain. Of course I was always taught while evil is cunning and bold, it is never smart. It is always caught. The Postman always rings twice. 

I have also seen the so called devil or negative force in my professional life too. When comedians get something that others feel is owed to them, the fangs come out. The gossip about that person starts and soon the water is polluted with lies. Sometimes, the person is slandered online anonymously by their so called friends. I know because it has happened to me. It's like that green eyed monster comes out and enters the body of people. I remember taking it all so personally too. Suddenly, I was an angry victim. I was lashing out at everyone. I was ungrateful. I didn't care about being funny and suddenly was chasing the glamour of being on national television. As my ego got bigger, I covered it up with bravado to hide the fact I felt empty, alone and miserable. In feeding the negativity, I was blocking the light. I was blocking out people who wanted to see me succeed and to help me. Most importantly, I failed to see the ability to make others laugh is a gift. It is something to be shared with the world, not just for my own self gain. But it is easy to feed into. 

I have also been of course bitten by the green eyed monster in my comedy career. Yes, there have been male comedians who have bumped me because I have been a woman thus being unfairly shafted. Or there have been people who have had doors open for them based on filling a niche whether it be a look, a need for an ethnic friend, whatever. No one said show business was fair. And it is a difficult thing to see someone who is just a pretty boy move ahead because they cliqued with the right group. Or someone who doesn't work hard get a break because they were at the right place at the right time. Or worse yet, you slave for a long time and it never seems your day will come. Therefore you take it out on yourself and everyone else by being miserable. Or you get angry at someone for taking what you believe is yours. I have done all of this and more. Of course it is all fear based. We never believe we will get what we want and we have this gnawing phobia that we will lose what we have. Fear. The negative force feeds right into it and we dive right in.

Then of course there are the negative people. They try to steer us away from our ambition, tell us it can never be done. Or they are romantic partners who put us down. Of course there are abusive, pushy people we cross paths with on the regular. Truth be told, the devil/the negative force/bad chi walks around on two legs on this planet every day and we have to choose. 

Today started with a message from someone from my past who is negative. Let's just say he is mean spirited, abusive, and tried to cheat me out of some money. I got this individual banned from a comedy club I once worked at. Without thinking of it, I blocked him making the boundary and our lack of a relationship clear. I didnt feed into him. I also had a run in with a mean girl and stood up for myself. This is someone who is bossy and always has to win. She and her toadie sometimes gang up on me which isn't very nice. I let her upset me for a minute but then remembered I had to go talk to a hospital about doing shows for sick children. The negative people of the world need a beat down, but the sick children need to smile more. 

Maybe as I get older, I have more faith and know I will be protected. 

Maybe as I get older, I know not to feed into the stupidity of negative people because they are meaningless. 

Either way, the older I get the more I realize I shouldn't give stupid bullies my energy. I shouldn't fearfully envy others believing I will never get my turn. Rather, I should concentrate on my own side of the street and my own game. I should use my gifts to benefit the world as I benefit myself. I shouldn't look into the fires of hell and feed the negative spirits that wander the Earth looking to suck energy from whatever source they can. And whenever I feel weak, know that there is a better way, a light. 

Maybe, just maybe, in the twisted world of Bible fan fiction the Archangel Michael is my homeboy after all.

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

www.aprilbrucker.com