Flag Burning......

This past summer in Cleveland, Donald J. Tramp and I stood in the square entertaining. As spokespuppet for STAT (Stand Together Against Trump), he told jokes to the crowd as I was decked out in my cutoff shirt and braved the heat. All because I felt the need to express my dismay at a Trump candidacy.

For the most part, the square was nonviolent. The cops relegated people to two sides: Pro-Trump and Anti-Trump. It was like a music festival more than anything; Lollapalooza with a political feel. The Trump people had their guns attached to their hip, doing the inbred thing with pride. Some took photos with Donny. Actually, a lot were just soaking up the day. It was history for all of us. I had a lot of respect for those who I disagreed with, because we were all in the heat speaking our minds because The Constitution gave us that right.

Since our job was to give our water to anyone protesting, many a Trumpkin drank STAT water. And many of us drank Jesus Water aka Trumpkin water. It’s an unwritten rule that even though we disagreed, we respected the guts we all had. Because once you get vocal about your politics, you have people in every direction turning their back on you. Welcome to free speech. Welcome to America.

There was one group, Rev Com, or Revolutionary Communists. While the Trumpkins had their guns strapped to them, Rev Com were the kind of protesters who showed up just to get arrested. During the march, when they joined, several members of STAT exchanged worried glances and someone whispered, “Oh no. Here comes Rev Com. They can get violent.”

Yes, these disorganized, idiotic, super paranoid, nutcases who probably had the bones of Karl Marx in their basements crashed the march that STAT had gotten permits for. Even when Westboro Baptist showed up to the bridge to protest STAT (your protest always has a protest) we never yelled back let alone responded. Now Rev Com was here. It was like it was our birthday, they were too broke to have their own, so they added their name to our cake. However, we had to roll with it.

Getting my puppeteer protest on

Days before, a girl who was with Rev Com had attempted to light a flag on fire. In her quest to express her anger over Trump, she was going to make a statement. Well instead she lit herself on fire. The cop, who was witnessing this screamed, “You idiot, you’re on fire!”

Promptly putting out the fire on her sleeve he apprehended the flag and ordered, “Go home, you’re done for the day.”

Up to that point I had been politically active. I canvassed for an out lesbian politician the day DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act) was struck down. There was dancing in the street in the West Village where I was. I wrote about domestic violence for The Huffington Post, giving my input as a woman who survived a partner who was physically violent. I even marched in Pride supporting my LGBTQ friends. However, I had never been at an event where a flag was burned. My rage and passion let alone that of anyone around me had ever gotten to that level.

The day of the march, Trump accepted the nomination. We were on the green when we were approached by a Black Lives Matter activist. A young man about 22, he informed me that someone had been arrested for burning a flag. He told me there was a march to the jail as they were going to break this would be revolutionary out, and he was inviting me to come.

What could possibly go wrong?

I was indignant that he was arrested for expressing himself. Maybe tyranny was taking over. Yet I knew the march to the jail could only end badly of course. The members of STAT around me looked into my eyes, begging me to refuse the invite. I did.

As he left, the people around me looked relieved. We had a laugh. Yes, we were peaceful. The whole day had been peaceful and wonderful. However, the laugh was short lived when I saw out of the corner of my eye the young man who had approached us was being coached by Rev Com.

An older hippie informed him, “My first protest, ha! My first arrest, never!”

Seconds later, the older hippies began approaching people informing us the man in the jail was arrested for burning the flag. My mentor, who is an ex cop, was with me. He told me flag burning is legal. However, he was sure there was more to the story. Googling, he found the arrestee had tried to light a flag on fire but failed. However, he had decided the next prudent action was to assault a cop. Needless to say that got him arrested.

I became sickened by the pot stirring, intentional misleading of this group. They had used the young man from BLM. And they got their message out by any destructive means possible. It made me ashamed to share the green with them. STAT had been so peaceful and purposeful with the protest, and we were positive. We believed in what we did, and we know that we were heard.

Rev Com was just there to cause trouble. It made me ill that a cop had to tend, while someone elsewhere in real need was probably terrified or bleeding to death because their hands were being tied by these whackos.

I thought of heroes like Martin Luther King Jr., Nelson Mandela, Bobby Sands, and Ghani who protested peacefully. Their message not only resonated, but therein could bring about the conversation of change. After the conversation came the change itself.

I will not stop anyone from burning a flag. It is their right. I will also not tell them how to feel, their rage is also their right. Their pain is their own and I will not dare to condescend to tone police. Yet I will say that the louder you scream the less likely you are to be heard. And the more you scream the less you have to say. And the less you say the more you inhibit the needed conversation.

So can you burn the flag? Yes. Should you burn the flag? Up to you. Do you need to burn the flag? In my opinion there are better ways to be heard. Just saying. It’s all up to you. 

The Week After: Post Election Let Down

This past year I found myself really involved with politics. Donald J. Tramp, my political puppet, was my nexus that lured me into this latest adventure. The concept came from the fact that Donald Trump is the ventriloquist puppet of the Republican Party, saying all the hateful rhetoric the career politicians wish they could say but wouldn’t because it would cost them elections. And a tramp in old times was a fool or a fop. I invented him when it became clear that he wasn’t going away.

Donald J. Tramp brought me to the RNC. He became the spokespuppet for STAT (Stand Together Against Trump). Along with the brave doctors, nurses (STAT is a medical term meaning right away) and other brave young activists we protested Trump’s candidacy. For days Mr. Tramp and I entertained in the square. Each day, we watched the trainwreck that was the Convention from Scott Baio to the stolen speech. And then we marched. I think I might have been the first ventriloquist on a protest. I dunno.

My protest puppet, Donald J. Tramp, and I in the Cleveland Dispatch

Either way, I met a lot of wonderful young people from all ideologies expressing their First Amendment Right. We were all peaceful. Several young Trumpkins clad in American flags wanted to rub Donald J. Tramp’s head for luck. It was fun. I let them. At the end of the day we are all people and this is America.

A still shot of us in between performances. We literally talked to 200 press people each day, and thousands of pedestrians.

My partner and I then found ourselves outside of Hofstra. Sans STAT, we were simply a ventriloquist and her dummy doing a good old fashioned street performance in the free speech zone. We were true agit prop theatre. Another man showed up with a giant Trump head, and an anti-Hillary supporter even sported a wig and a full body costume nominating HRC for prison.

I also got to see a dark side of the protest circuit. In Cleveland, and even at Hofstra the ones that scared me were never the Trump supporters. If anything, the ones I met in Cleveland were overweight, out of shape, and had their guns irresponsibly strapped to their backs. Or they were young white men who might have been supporting the Donald on a lark.

One of my faves of Donald and I from the march

Marching with STAT

However, the super liberal, third party people were the ones that scared me. In Cleveland, one tried to light a flag on fire. She failed and instead lit herself on fire. The policeman, trying not to break out laughing, screamed, “You idiot, you’re on fire!” Then after he put the fire out told her that she was done for the day and had to head home. Apparently someone in her crew assaulted a cop, and this same group of radicals tried to get a young man from Black Lives Matter to organize a march to the jail to free the prisoner. Needless to say, the constituent of STAT was sensible enough to refuse the invite.

The same held true at Hofstra. Jill Stein and her disciples came and many didn’t have a conversation, only yelled. They also made it clear that they showed up solely to get arrested. Their dreams came true, 26 of them did.

Free speech zone outside of Hofstra, it was colder that day. Oh and it was also my birthday. 

The climax of my adventures was Donald J. Tramp and I, both acting as correspondents, for the Clyde Fitch Report. My puppet partner and I both had official badges, mic flags, and hats. We saw Anderson Cooper napping on the back of a golf cart, and Wolf Blitzer trying to escape attention in a van. I was in the room when Donald Trump uttered the phrases “bad hombres” and “nasty woman.”

I was a part of history as it unfolded. In between Donald and I were on stage nightly in NYC, and also hit a few venues in Las Vegas. We met a lot of Trump people who dug the act. It’s good. A country that laughs together stays together.

On location, Las Vegas

I wish with all my heart the election turned out differently. The night the results came in, I got a ghastly stomach cramp. As HRC gave her concession speech I cried buckets, because the glass ceiling had not been broken. And just as she lost I felt I lost. Not just as an American, but as a woman who has experienced sexism. As a woman who is a domestic violence survivor. As a woman who knows what it’s like when a man torments you and no one believes you.

I was also saddened as I saw Trump supporters gloat, and frightened as my friends who were black, Latino, gay and trans feared losing their rights.

I then became angry at my own party. Angry at the disaffected Bernie people for either voting Stein, writing Bernie in, or not voting at all. Angry that they gave the election to Trump. Angry at my own candidate for her flaws, and angry at her for not understanding technology. Angry at my own candidate for not reaching across the aisle to the Bernie people. Angry at my own candidate for not making Bernie her VP. Angry at my own party for it’s apparent division and not realizing this until it was too late.

I became angry at the Trump people, even flaming out at several. But as I went outside and caught some air, I came to the realization we are all people. I am not angry at the Trump people for voting for Trump. They didn’t do what I wanted them to, but when it came time to vote they voted for who they thought suited their interests. And Trump somehow was able to get the disaffected Cruz people behind him, which is more than I can say for the Democrats. So again, they get an A on the assignment.

Tramp and his campaign manager May Wilson

I even spoke to several Trump people, none by the way who I felt were racist in the least bit. They felt HRC wasn’t trustworthy, and were tired of being screwed over by the government. Many were 2^nd Amendment people who live in an area where a gun is required because cops live far away. Others saw their jobs disappear as a result of Bill Clinton’s legislation. Many, like my ex, were banged up Iraq War Vets who were angry that Obama had undid the work they did in the Middle East, and felt the government was too busy helping illegals and forgot about the vets.

Either way, Republicans in my experience always seek to pretend to help the common man only to get him to vote against their own best interests. Harry Truman said as much. This is no exception. So on November 9 we all lost.

On the other hand, it takes many opinions to make the world go round. Pence got booed at Hamilton and got challenged from the stage by the lead actor. Was it the time or place? Depends on who you ask. But I felt the plea was peaceful and kind. It was also a response to a man who’s positions and party are built on bigotry. The president elect had a meltdown, but Pence took it in stride explaining, “I told my daughters that is what freedom sounds like.”

Better than the president elect, screaming about defeating Isis but unable to defeat the theatre geeks.

As Donald Trump suggests a whole flock of cringeworthy, Southern Poverty Law Watch List alumns as his cabinet picks, like the rest of America, I pray and wait.

But life goes on. There is existence off of twitter and facebook. Thanksgiving is coming up. My sister and brother in law are frying a turkey. My dad also has a birthday tomorrow. He is going to be 64. There will be other elections. There will be other debates. I won’t have my dad forever.

My coverage of the election has brought us closer, and maybe we will discuss it on turkey day. While I have 4 more years worth of material, I need a week off. Actually, I think I would rather discuss football and Heisman picks, two things that have always made America great. 

Just me and my dad

Clyde Fitch and Other Things

Last year my life was a lot different. I was at the mercy of a psychotic landlord who wanted nothing more than to destroy me. My living situation exploded in utter chaos, and he was keeping me a prisoner. Knowing much of my property had been destroyed as a result of the bed bugs and mold he refused to treat, he would not reimburse me for my losses. When I attempted to hold rent in order to fix my situation, he began to threaten me. Even when the city worker encouraged me to bring him to court and I paid him what I owed him, he began to torture me with court papers. Knowing I had no where to go and couldn't afford to move, he knew he could force me out and hold me hostage at the same time.

I had been there for 10 years without a problem.......until he saw that if he could get me out he could triple the rent and made it his mission to do so.

The situation came to a frightening crescendo when I went to my last court appearance. His lawyer initially told me to ignore the hold over suit they filed, but then I was told I had to go to court. They did this intentionally knowing I would not have enough time to notify my lawyer. To add insult to injury, they also demanded I paid them $3000 that I did not owe, extorting me, adding to my pain.

Their lawyer, an over dramatic idiot, believed himself to be Daniel Webster. Except Daniel Webster faced off against Satan and actually was able to hold his own in a courtroom against someone not willing to speak to the judge. I didn't speak because I was scared. For weeks, my landlord had been following me around the neighborhood. He had also shut off my water. I was afraid this man was going to kill me.

The day before, he had called to threaten me and said, "I won't stop until I see you homeless."

When I got home from court, my apartment was filled with smoke. My landlord had also been going through my things, and had been taking photos. I found out from one of the workmen later, but he said to leave him out of it, he had a family he had to support. I called the police who encouraged me to get out ASAP. My stove was red tagged by Con Ed, the thing my landlord had left leaking in order to cause me harm. Yes, he knew I wouldn't be home, and new this could and would kill me. I was scared for my life and had to move in a hurry.

One year later my address is completely different. I work with a mentor who is nothing short of a Godsend. My act is also completely different. I have been on a new level of comedy and the edge of history as Donald J. Tramp was the spokespuppet for Stand Together Against Trump (STAT), and we were ever present at the Republican National Convention in Cleveland. There was not one press outlet that my dear Donny and I weren't in it seems.

To add a little sugar to the suffle, I recently got to go as credentialed press to the 3rd Presidential Debate. I went on behalf of the Clyde Fitch Report, a Pulitzer Prize nominated publication. I was there with Donald J. Tramp to cover the event, and watched groundbreaking news unfold. It was a tremendous gift and incredible fun to be there with other young storytellers who were recording events for the generations to come. These press people were from all reaches of the globe, too. We all took note as the first ever female nominee, and the first ever part pumpkin debated on the important issues.

My life has changed, but for the better. God is good all the time. I know if things had not unfolded the way they did, I would not be doing the things I am now. What a difference a year makes.



http://www.clydefitchreport.com/2016/10/las-vegas-debate-april-brucker-donald-j-tramp-puppet/

Hate Speech

The other day I was perusing facebook like I typically do. I had been down and out with the stomach flu. The week before had been spent at my cousin's wedding, and then on the plane to Las Vegas acting as credentialed press for the Presidential Dates with Donald J. Tramp. Things were shaping up fabulously.

Then I woke up Tuesday morning feeling dizzy. I figured I was tired and got a glass of water. Next thing I know the contents of my stomach are spewing everywhere. For the next several hours I couldn't keep anything down. Not water. Not coffee. Nothing. The next call was to my mom. Then to my sister Skipper. She said to take it easy, rest. This wasn't going to kill me, just be annoying for the next 24, 48 hour time span.

So I decided to see what my friends were up to. One is a guy I will call Mike Spratt. Supposedly, Mike was involved with the mafia back in the day, or that is at least what he likes to tell people. Apparently Mike became hooked on coke and dope, and found the message of God and recovery through AA. Dedicated to his sobriety, Mike attended 3 meetings a day every day, and church daily as well. When he wasn't drinking the kool-aid instead of the booze, Mike was trying to get his own reality show. This is how I met him, for better or for worse.

Mike had come to a comedy show of mine once. He came with another guy he met from his meetings. Mike informed me that his psychic powers had guided him to me, and God told him specifically I needed saved. (What could possibly go wrong?)

The waitress then told Mike and his friend he had to order two drinks. Mike's friend, a nondrinker, ordered a bottle of water and didn't want to make a scene. On the other hand, Mike began to verbally berate the waitress for making him drink. He was in recovery. How could she? When the waitress and Mike's friend explained that he could order a nonalcoholic drink, he got more belligerent. The club manager not only banned Mike from ever entering the venue again, but encouraged me never to invite him to future shows. I felt that this was a wise decision.

Fast forward. Years later, despite his claims, Mike never got a reality television show. Seems like The Long Island Medium had more star power. However, Mike had decided to become political. Since the start of this election, his posts have shifted from the eccentric orders from God to just plain vile. Each week, they have been getting more and more disturbed. In each post, he has been talking about how the Jews and Muslims have declared war on The White Christian Male. Yes, I was at the meeting last week. They are plotting against you and you alone.

This latest post was the straw that broke the camel's back. In it, Mike spoke about how the Muslims were infiltrating the government. He believed Barack Obama was a Muslim, and wanted to make Islam the official religion of America. Mike also said Nancy Pelosi had secretly converted to Islam, and was secretly hiring members of Isis as spies on all the Christians. After which Mike insisted that when Muslims prayed, they were really praying to Satan. Now, Salmon Rushdi called, he wants his idea back, idiot.

The end of his post called for a holy war against Muslims.

This wasn't just paranoid bordering on delusional. It was dangerously removed from reality in every way. Actually, it made me sick to read. In anger, I responded, "You should go back to drinking, you sounded better on the sauce."

Then I knew I was sinking to his level. I would never get through. So I blocked him. Still, it made me glad both candidates were travelling with security. People are too crazy right now. Words sometimes are not just words. We dismiss them as just that, and then the individual spewing the hate does something drastic.

Clearly my pal Mike Spratt has more going on than being an ex drunk who's hooked on God. He needs mental help from real professionals outside of church basements. Hopefully those are just words, but also, hopefully someone else sees his ramblings and gets him help before it's too late. 

Some Jingle Jangle Morning (Mary Lou Lord)

The other day, I got a call from a friend I have kind of become close to in this past year. We knew of each other, but only recently started to hang out more. This past year he went through a terrible divorce with an ex wife who is a real bitch for lack of a better word. The woman fights dirtier than Mike Tyson did in the Holyfield fight. She'll go for the ear.

She did a cheap shot when it came to the house they shared. She an underhanded play when it came to getting custody of his son, lying to the court about how he had a drinking problem which he doesn't. She's an asshole who wants to win at all costs, even if it means using her kid to do so. Not to mention she intentionally quit her job so he would have to pay her alimony. YUCK!

So he was forced out of his house, and moved into an apartment. He misses seeing his little boy terribly every day. I wanted to name their divorce saga Beauty and the Bitch, because this troll has successfully poisoned all of their mutual friends against him, too. Not to mention she has done things to put his career as a musician (he plays concert piano) in crisis several times.


He called me in a daze late Saturday to talk. He was getting used to an empty apartment. He felt lonely. He felt empty. He felt weird. He felt pissed his ex wife had a new boyfriend. No, he didn't miss her. He was pissed this woman was bringing a man he never met around his kid. And his ex wife moved her new boyfriend in. This stranger had taken his place. Yet he was also glad to be rid of the troll he was married to for 15 years.

 It is the pallet of feelings that goes with change.

While my situation is different than his and I don't understand, I identify. You can read my previous blogs to know what I mean. Either way, it felt good to be a listening ear. Change is weird. Change is scary.

Change.

I think in a way that's what attracted me to my current living situation. My landlord, who is very different from my buddy, grew up in NYC when it was really NYC. His stories are colorful. He managed a strip club. As a kid, he and his friends went with the hookers in the neighborhood who would give them free rides. He also had women throwing their underwear in his car. Apparently he was a hit when he was young.

Then he met his ex wife. Yes, she pursued him. Got him gifts. When he tried to break up with her, she hung out with his mom. Then finally after 10 years, 2 kids, and a bunch of changes in her psych meds he left. Now she tries to poison his kids against him. The woman plays ugly too. He wants his teenage  kids to go to college, do something with themselves. She tries to undermines his efforts. She sucks as a human.

When I moved in, it was his family home and he was in between jobs. He was figuring out how to be a single parent to teen boys. He was leaving early to make sure they got to school each morning, because their mother could have cared less. Sure, he's obsessed with UFOs and believes the conspiracy that Michelle Obama is a man, but he's a good dude. Either way, he is looking for work now, and trying to figure out what to do.

Change.

Heck, things have changed for me. A year ago I was talking about getting married. My living situation was much different. And it also looked like I was moving to Europe because I was getting press there, and a few managers even expressed interest.

I had the whole pallet of feelings as shit hit the fan. We always do. Not only was my then boyfriend ripped away by the throws of mental illness and the consequences of the choices of someone who doesn't follow through with treatment, but my heart was ripped out of my chest. My living situation, one that I had been in happily for nearly a decade, went belly up. Thinking about the loss of my last apartment makes me angry but also makes my stomach turn. Europe also went belly up because no one could successfully get me a Visa, and if I was going I was going as a headliner.

A year later, things are very different. Some good, some bad.

My new living situation is safer and cheaper, but the 7 train is a fucktard at times.

As for my ex, I have mostly forgiven him for some of the damage he's done, but the mixed feelings are still there. I get angry, but then I have to tell myself he's sick literally one hundred times. Then I remember his kindnesses, and even his sister said despite his troubles he was the kindest person she knew. Suddenly there is a part of me that misses him, not even to have him back as a lover but just a friend. That's when I remember he can't be trusted and isn't a safe person.

I also get angry about the idiots that weighed in on my living situation and break up. They are out of my life like the human cancers they were.

Obviously I didn't go to Europe, but I am steadily becoming a regular headliner in the states. I am working with wonderful people. My career is not where I want it yet, but it is getting there. Not to mention that while my bank account might not know about how famous I am in some circles, I enjoy comedy more than I have in years. I love getting onstage again.

Sure, the cancer scare sucked but it woke me up and now I am eating better than ever.

Losing everything and applying for aid made me have those difficult money conversations, especially those about the future. Now I'm not scared and want to learn more about how to manage my money.

As I was drinking coffee in an East Village diner hearing two girls bullshit before my 7:45 AM delivery, it felt surreal because that had been my stomping ground in college. I was a Manhattite always and forever. My mom even called me Manhattan Barbie. Alas, nothing is forever.

Thank God nothing is forever. Had shit not hit the fan I wouldn't have gone to the RNC to be a part of history. I wouldn't be working with the cool people I am now. I wouldn't be having fun each time I get onstage. I talk to people about getting paid, and am not a nice girl when it comes to dough. I am more fearless about telling people to get fucked. I am vocal when I have a concern about something whether it's my manager or landlord. I don't wait until my back is against the wall when I can no longer run from the monster.

When the smoke clears, that is when you can truly appreciate the miracle.

This Is Growing Up (Blink 182)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love Stinks (J. Giles Band)

I haven't put my fingers to the keyboard in a while. Partially because my jet setting has left me too drained to write, although blogs about my jet setting would be more exciting than the crap I am about to spew. It's been a good year. I have met some wonderful people who really believe in me. I know I am blessed, yet at the same time I feel as if a meat cleaver is going to land on my head at any minute.

Two weeks ago I was in West Hollywood in an important office with some people. I was scared. It's kind of funny. A year ago I was dating a psychotic Iraq War Vet and had a landlord who was tormenting me with the legal system. My relationship went south after my ex lied, and then my landlord began hassling me in court every other week. His male lawyers stood too close, and put their hands on my shoulders without my permission. It's a man thing in order to make women feel small. Or rather it's the gateway to rape culture. He's a man, this is his world, now it's time to let you know who's boss, bitch.

These guys weren't successful, as I showed them I wasn't afraid. Needless to say, they weren't prepared for that. Granted, I was in a relationship with a dude who was seeing snipers who weren't there. That's scary. These idiots probably couldn't seal the deal with their wives. I googled the one for fun. He's been married 3 times. He parades his current wife around like a trophy. Please, she's a participation ribbon. A guy I delivered a telegram to three months ago was 50 and had a 25 year old wifie who had jugs out to the wazoo. That's a trophy.

However, these goons were tying me up in court as my landlord was trying to burn my apartment down. Needless to say, I had to move and then there was the cancer scare.....

In between, I had my ex's former girlfriend.....a crackhead who claims to be a drug counselor (while still smoking crack) hassling me online. The breeding lump has 5 kids to 4 different men and is the poster girl for welfare abuse. His psycho sister also stirred the pot. Basically, what wasn't happening to me.

After all this, I was still scared to meet those peeps in LA. Now that's the funniest joke I have ever written. No, the stuff I walked out of was scary. Waking up and seeing your boyfriend taking canned goods out of the cabinets because he believes Isis is coming. That's scary. Not being able to breathe in your apartment. That's scary. The possibility you might have cancer. Really fucking scary. Not a bunch of dudes at a table. Especially men. Not scary.

The older I get the more I believe men could not possibly respect women fully. They will always look at you as a sex object or some form of stupid. Or some form of sex slave. Or a possible substitute for a blow up doll with a pulse. But as an intellectual.....never. This is why we need a woman president.

I also believe men are sex crazed goons who only think with their penis and are never fully capable of loving a woman. Maybe it's because my last relationship was the final nail in the coffin of a heart that was already dead, or maybe because I have stumbled upon the truth. Most people are selfish and are incapable of being true partners. That is yet another reason the divorce rate is so high.

I always knew men were a bunch of selfish cretins, but after the ending of my last relationship I knew it for sure. My ex is a fucking liar and still continues to spread shit about me, none of it which is even remotely true. And then when he left the picture, his idiot friends all tried to slide right into his place. I hate myself.........but not enough to be your whore fuck you very much.

As if that wasn't enough, when any dude I encountered heard about why I ended things he did everything he could to smear my ex and assure me that I was better off with him. Yes, he who was trying to stealth his way into my life. He who was secretly, covertly interviewing for the job opening in between my legs. Yes he who was qualified simply because he had a penis. It was disgusting.

There was a part of me that wanted to strip myself naked, paint "FUCK ME" on my chest, and let them all take a turn just to get them to go away. Not only could they take a turn, but we could all be disappointed at the same time. And I would make them feel as trashy as they made me feel. But then I figured their company already disappointed me, my job was half done. Alas.......

My experience with men has taught me they all hate when you talk about an ex but they can talk about the last place they stuck their dick all they want. There can only be one and it's them. One set of rules for them and another for you, sweetness. They all believe they are sex Gods......to give you a second of satisfaction. They all have a motive and that's to get you in bed and basically ruin your life. They are all self-centered in this motive. They all have larceny in their hearts. ALL. If a dude was honest about this when he met me I would give him a whirl. When I tell the truth I am bitter. Eh, bitter is a buzz word for honest.

Did I mention they all also want to secretly use you to make an old wife/girlfriend jealous and they all LIE!!!!!!!! Oh and in between they are looking for a hooker and a mother in the same body.

Lest we not forget they LOOOOOOOVVVVVVVEEEEE it when a woman gets jealous. And they say they don't care, they just wanna mess around. Yet they become all possessive like a boyfriend and then when you find someone you care about, they become a bigger twat than you could ever be.

I dunno. I worked on an exciting project yesterday. It was awesome. It's for kids and will allow me to do a lot of good in the world. I should be blogging about that but instead had to get this bile out of my system.

My sister also got married and I went to the RNC. I should be blogging about that but the thing about adventures is they leave you tired.

My next blog will be about my adventures.

This blog is about my manhate. God does it feel good to be back, internet.