Sunday, March 31, 2013

Jesus is Black

Over the years I grew up in a church and we had a white Jesus. Despite the gap in the story about his skin color I bought it. After all, in Sunday school and such it was like Jesus loves you now go and color. More like white Jesus loves you. Our hymns havent been updated since the Dark Ages. That is what gets me about the Roman Catholic Church. Our pope is a raging homophobe who is anti-woman to boot, but they are changing some of the responses like that is the big problem and not the pedophile priests. I digress though.

I remember the first time I saw a black Jesus. I was a kid and my parents used to get these leaflets from Mary Knoll. When I opened it I saw a black Jesus. This distressed me. Jesus was fair. Looking back he would have burnt in that hot Middle Eastern sun. Actually he would have blistered like I often do. Me and my fair Jesus baking an dying. Nevermind a dying on the cross. Jesus was going to get heat stroke and in those days they didn't have sun block.

My mother explained Jesus was in their likeness and according to them Jesus was black. There was nothing wrong with it she explained. And it would have made more sense for Jesus to be dark skinned. Still, this was a lot.

Years later, we made friends with a family who were Christian missionaries in Africa. Bringing the word of God to lands torn by famine and war, they rode motorcycles everywhere. I asked if they were scared because missionaries are not often well liked on first arrival. Sometimes they are even killed, and more often than not tortured. They explained, "If you have fear and do not trust God, don't go." They worked amongst the jumping tribe, you know, like the guy in The Air Up There. Anyway they explained that all the Jesus's in those churches were black. I suppose whatever floated their boat, right?

When I got older I delivered a telegram to a black church where I saw a black Jesus for real. I write in my book that I felt Kanye West decorated the place. Personally I began to like the black Jesus depiction a little better. Not only was it more honest and real, but Jesus actually had better abs. He looked like someone who worked with his hands and lived hand to mouth as he was a wanted fugitive from kings. No, not because he was black. Although the hooker gal pal does not help the stereotype and neither does fish eating, but the depiction was more honest. Pat Robertson would have died, and I would have cheered.

I remember visiting a friend's more liberal church, New Light Presbyterian, when he was going to be ordained. In that church God did not have a gender pronoun. For the most part, the church was much more warm and welcoming than the Catholic congregation I grew up in. There was also a large gay and lesbian population. As progressive Christians everyone was welcome as long as they were baptized. I remember once I was talking to a woman and her partner after church about some of the coloring books for the kids and how they were older. They said it was a dead giveaway because Jesus was white.

Over the years I have seen depictions of Jesus as black, white, Asian, Spanish and everything else in between. He's like Madonna, always changing his looks. Wonder that they aren't better friends.

I mean, it's a wonder he doesn't hang out with Bill Clinton too. Jesus could have been classified as a pimp with his hooker girlfriend. Bill Clinton was jokingly referred to as the first black president because he smoked  cigars, liked white women with a big booty, and not to mention played the sax.

Who knows? We have a black president now. Perhaps America is finally ready for a black Jesus. As people we all have many colors. Hell, my third cousins are Jewish, part African American, and part Indian. If they want Jesus in their likeness I am for that too.

Happy Easter Everyone!


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 30, 2013

A Sweet Story

My grandmother recently passed. I miss her because she was so funny. I wasn't in town for the funeral but am in town this week. The first holiday without the deceased loved one is always the hardest. Anyway, we were talking about who was at the funeral.

Some of my aunt's former boyfriend's came, they had jobs and treated her kind so of course she wasn't marrying them anytime soon. Then my uncle's former girlfriend came and made things interesting with this wife, but alas, we don't like his wife. And then my great aunt's ex husband who cheated on her showed up. He still comes to family reunions despite the fact everyone hates him. Maybe he wants free food, I dunno.

One surprise visitor was in fact my cousin whom I will call Deke. A prep school kid, Deke was a tad bit spoiled. Not that my idiot aunt and her husband who claimed to make an obscene amount of money helped. Anyway, Deke had wanted to go to a party and his parents didnt let him. So they were in the car arguing and that is when Deke jumped out of the car. He suffered brain damage, and lost his ability to taste spicey food. And not to mention got some serious anger management issues. Shortly thereafter, Deke had a girlfriend who was stupid and spoiled like he was. Well she wanted to break up and Deke was not hearing of it. Brain damaged, Deke somehow got a hold of a gun and held her hostage for several hours. The authorities did not look kindly upon this and locked him up. I know, it's just a felony right?

Well my aunt being a neglegent mother said it was the criminal gene, not her shiteous parenting. They emancipated Deke, not just to wash their hands of him but to save money because in the state of PA the families have to pay for the incarcerated kiddies.

Well Deke got out, got a new girlfriend, and had a baby. The child is currently missing one foot. But Deke has grown up. He supports the child by working part time as a used car salesman and part time as a lab test subject.

I met Deke a few times. While he is obviously insane and I would probably never actually let him know where I live, he seemed nice enough.

Deke came to the funeral. Anyway the story he told was that when he was locked up no one wrote to him. His parents washed their hands of him. But there was one person who remembered him. That was my grandmother. She sent him several letters a week. Deke often looked forward to my grandmother's letters. Not only because they were funny and sweet, but also because it meant someone on the outside was there for him, wasn't judging him. It meant that he still mattered. Sure, his own mother didnt want him. His father was useless. His other brother was a goofball. The youngest, the so called brain, went to school on ROTC and never speaks to his family, wonder why, but my grandmother let Deke know he wasn't a bad person trying to get good but a sick person trying to get well. And for as crazy as Deke is and for as much as he barely has it together, he remembered my grandmother's kind deed. He knew what it was like to be down and knew my grandmother was a friend. And a friend is someone who is kind to you when life isn't.

I guess that's why I write to my buddy in jail (I haven't been good because I have been busy) and even paid him a visit. It's because maybe he made his mistakes with drugs but in the end, he is still my buddy. He still has a good heart. He took a wrong turn. We all take wrong turns. But there is a difference between a bad decision and a bad person. I think my grandmother knew that. And I think that's where I get that from. My boy said he would never forget me visiting him in jail. Now I believe him. I hope he doesn't have to go to my funeral to tell the story though. But my mother would probably have a heart attack if any one of us told her. Sigh....


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 29, 2013

"Jesus is on the Cross"

When I was a kid Good Friday was a big deal in my house. In subsequent years it ceased to matter as I became more secular. While I still say a prayer or try to do something it's not like it was when I was a kid. It was Bible Reading and fasting and by the way, of course you are eating fish. Not to mention no television or radio from 1-3.

One year, I think I was about seven or something, my brother Wendell was downstairs. I turned on the TV. Wendell took the clicker-now I am dating myself-and turned it off. I took the clicker and turned the TV back on. There were trash talk shows to be watched and/or cartoons. Wendell then took the clicker and turned it off again. This is how the exchange went:

Wendell: Stop being an ass clown, Dad says we can't watch TV.

Me: Screw you. I am watching TV and don't call me ass clown you idiot.

Wendell: No, you are the ass clown and idiot. We can't watch TV because Jesus is on the cross.

Me: Jesus isn't on the cross. That happened a few million years ago. He got off, was buried and rose from the dead like some zombie. I don't think he would mind if we watched TV.

Wendell: Dad would care though and he is upstairs.

Me: Good point.

Wendell: Besides, we only have two more hours.

Fast forward almost twenty years later. This morning my mom and I were running errands. We are in the car debating about what my sister Skipper and my dad are doing. My mom says, "I hope they arent reading the Bible or something."

"Knowing Dad, he wouldnt be watching TV." I said. But on the other hand, as I have aged my pops has softened. Who knows? Sure enough we got home and they were watching TV. And they were watching Payback with Mel Gibson Pre-Nervous Breakdown.

We had a fish lunch, cause some things haven't changed. After lunch I announced I was going for a run. This was the exchange between me and my dad.

Dad: Well it's after three. I suppose it's okay.

Me: Dad, I hate to break it to you but you were watching TV.

Dad: Well uh-

Me: See, Jesus was on the cross dad.

Dad: Well-

Me: Either way I think we all have sinned today and let's just have some fish and not worry about it. But we can agree on one thing, Jesus likes a good shoot em up.

Dad: Good point. Now enjoy your run.

Sigh, religion and it's crazy rules. Now off to sacrifice some goats. Tonight I will be watching some Biblical movie cause that is what they have on and see some scantily clad woman lead a man to his doom. Then afterwards I will pray to Baal. Not that he has any real power, he is just the understudy for God and every once in a while he deserves a curtain call or a night to perform. I dunno, just sounded funny...


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

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Work Hard For Your Money (Donna Summer)

Scene opens. I am walking down the street. I see my friend Tommy. I have not seen Tommy for sometime. We make small talk and such. After all, it has been a while.

Just then a homeless, toothless man approaches.

Homeless Man: She is so pretty.

Me: Thank you

Homeless Man: You are one very lucky man, Sir.

Tommy and I exchange an ironic glance seeing that Tommy is gay.

Homeless Man: She is so pretty, that is she were a picture I would paint it.

Homeless Man takes my hand and kisses it. Ordinarily I would have been flattered but I have no idea where his mouth has been.

Tommy and I exchange a glance

Homeless Man: I haven't had anything to eat today. Could you spare some change? Any change? I am not buying drugs or anything.

Tommy: Here is fifty cents, it is all the change I have.

Me: Here is seventy five cents.

Homeless Man: Thank you! You are a lucky man to have such a beautiful angel.

Homeless man exits. Tommy and I laugh.

Me: Not buying drugs my ass. I have five dollars. I was not financing his crack habit.

Tommy: Yeah, he's going to buy crack. But he was working it. I will give him that.

Me: I was feeling ugly today. So now I have some self esteem.

Tommy: Well there you go.

End scene


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

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

The True Story of the Easter Bunny

They say Easter is about Jesus but that is simply not true. It is about the Easter Bunny. In all reality, Easter began much differently. Once upon a time in a land far away, there was a race. Jesus had just risen from the tomb and wanted a holiday because he was a rich kid who did what zombies do all the time-come back from the dead. Much like any rich kid, what he asked for he pretty much got. The zombies of the land were upset about this because they did this every Sunday afternoon. Because Jesus had a rich father he could do this once and get all the credit just like Elvis did for rock ‘n’ roll. Not to mention his Good Friday Show left his soul intact so he was hungry for regular food rather than flesh of passing humans, which depending on the diet of the victim can be rather bitter.
The zombies took their complaint to a local ground hog named Puxsutawney Phil. This great manimal often predicted the changes of the seasons so he was the one to solve this conflict. The ground hog interpreter, a man who drank all day and could not hold a job as he enjoyed wine and woman, said the ground hog did not see his shadow so there would be an early spring. And just then a rabbit hopped by. That is when Phil went and made a ground hog noise. The ground hog interpreter said he now had the answer for the zombies. Jesus would race the rabbit, because none of the zombies could. It being because they did not come from rich parentage, therefore their undead limbs would fall off if they had a physical workout that was too taxing. A rabbit was able bodied, however. If the rabbit won, Jesus would have to fade into obscurity and stop hacking off of zombie past times. If Jesus won, the zombies would have to stop ripping on him and treat him as an equal as far as the rising from the dead accomplishment went.
The rabbit recruited was named Cadberry. He was a good rabbit, a God fearing rabbit, and entrapped into this drama when the zombies threatened to drink the blood and eat his rabbit family. The zombies promised if he won they would get him an endorsement deal on behalf of Jesus. Cadberry had about thirty rabbit children to feed in his hutch so he agreed to the race. Not to mention a nagging wife who made a lot of droppings and nothing else.
The two were at the starting line on that fateful day. Jesus had his hooker girlfriend crying as usual because she had daddy issues. Cadberry had the zombies snacking on a dog who had wandered by because food was scarce this time of year for the undead. Thus the drama began.
Jesus raced his heart out, but unfortunately dying and coming back from the dead makes someone weak, even if they are the son of a very powerful man. Human flesh does have it’s vitamins and nutrient benefits. So while Jesus, being superhuman, was leading for the first half of the race, the second half saw his limbs growing numb cause even though his dad is loaded they are still dead dude limbs. Cadberry however, who was behind, feared for his poor rabbit family, and raced his little heart out.
As the two crossed the finish line Jesus and Cadberry were neck and neck. And then as the rope broke there was a tie. Jesus was a little worn out seeing that he had only died a few days earlier. But as there was confusion for the tie breaker, they looked over and saw that Cadberry had dropped dead. Trying to please the zombies and feed his family while keeping up with a super human who had an unfair advantage had made his poor little body give out. The zombies grieved Cadberry and tried scheming to give him some leftover human flesh in their supply house. However, Jesus figured that he could do a magic trick or miracle as they call it in the Bible. So he snapped his fingers and Cadberry came alive.
Jesus also had a proposition. He would give the zombies their street cred and in turn, Cadberry could be their representative if they had any concerns for his well connected Pops like perhaps the placement of their souls so they could rest as well as Zombie Rights in general. Up to this point, that is until Jesus v. Cadberry, the undead had never had rights and now they did. Cadberry then became Jesus’s pet bunny and had enough dough to support his little rabbit family.
That is the true story of the Easter Bunny. 


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


This is about a girl who makes things up in order to get people to read her shitty poety and listen to her shitty singing. She thinks it's turning heads but she has literally borrowed her life from TV movies and books. I know, because I know my TV movies and books. I have never met anyone more pathetic and phony in my life. So I wrote a poem about her, actually all the wannabes I ever met rather. Here it is.

A wannabe artist
Who owns a cat
One has a litterbox
Sincere it it’s feline exploits
The other insincere
Not real, pure fiction

Science fiction
An experiment gone wrong
A sad, long funeral song
To an identity she never had
And now wantonly steals

First a blonde
Now a red head
Whatever gets you in bed
With the phony man
Who gives you the phony lie you desire

Will you be the beautiful lady you desire?
The girl they all admire?
As you make up another tale for sale
With the angst you claim you have
With your made up backstory sans publicist?

What is this, the bipolar mother?
The lazy genius father?
Not true, why bother
To clear up the inconsistencies
In your story?

My family insanity you whine
As you down it with another glass of wine
Maybe you will drink yourself into obscurity
Because it takes talent to write poetry
Something you don’t have

You pray it will make you a popular writer
You hope it will make you a popular singer
As they say you are a dead ringer
For that girl and her style
Perhaps the next big thing.

Maybe it will make you popular behind the mic
Telling jokes, slamming words
Whatever you like
To boost your lack of self worth
But that too involves talent

Picked on in school, now were you?
Despite being tall and modelesque
That was your fate
You never struggled with your weight
This too is your borrowed tale.

What about your blemished skin?
Unless it was a blotchy disgrace
As you covered your face
But you are as smooth as a baby’s bottom
Actually, you are an ass.

Rough neighborhood oh you did that too?
I guess there were a thousand tales like it
Then there was you
Rich friend let you borrow her address
And then gave you money like Pip in Great Expectations.

A life put together like a trash novel
Ready to sell for a dime on the shelf
Borrowed stories from others
Because it is too hard to be yourself
In this mish mash called life.

A guy who chews you like gum because that’s all you are
Spits you out like dollar store food because that is who you are
Once Coney Island White Trash
Always the member of the lower class
Always on the bottom of my boot like soot

And we all know it including your man
Dirtier and more useless than old cleaning socks
Stomp you into the litter box
As you try to be like Robert Frost
Now go die a borrowed death as he rolls in his grave. 

Ivy League Baby!

Yesterday I found out I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl got accepted as a part of the collection in Brown University Bookstore. This came after a hellacious week where my grandmother passed and I was sick. A good beginning to a good week. I will have to say I love Brown University kids because they are compassionate, creative, bright, and think outside of the box. Not to mention hard working. I am flattered and amazed to be a part of such a wonderful collection.

Now this takes away the blow that my crush blew me off. Not to mention things are starting to open up for me. I am so excited. This weekend I am seeing my family which is also exciting. Oh did I mention I might be doing a book talk there too?

Ivy League Baby!

Yes, in between Brown University Bookstore and Mensa it is true, I is a tuttle geniuz.

On a serious note I am in the music section.


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

Monday, March 25, 2013

Just A Little Crush (Jennifer Paige)

I am still somewhat injured over the perceived rejection of my crush. Nevermind he had no idea how I felt. We had a flirty relationship for sometime but still he should have gotten the memo. But yeah, he had a job, a career, a future and a great personality. So of course he wouldn't want me. Most of the dudes who like me are mandated to some twelve step group(not that it is bad if they are working the program) and have other mental health issues that are outstanding. One time an old boyfriend of mine even stabbed someone. I know how to pick em, right?

I just went and was like, "DUHHHH!!!!" It never ends well with me and crushes. It never has anything to do with me never telling them how I feel. They should be able to read my mind. After they read my mind they should show up on a steed by my balcony ready to serenade me. Then we will ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. It never happens that way. Sometimes they become who they are, as in if they were a pizza they would be Assweed Supremo with a side of breadsticks. Or sometimes they have things like wives and girlfriends and want to stay faithful. Or they cannot fathom my devotion to my puppet children.

I remember having a crush in high school where not once but twice the dude didnt return the favor. The first time I though he did but he liked a friend of mine instead. We are still friends to this day and laugh about it now. And then the second time the guy acted like he had been told he had rabies and they were going to have to shoot him on the spot. He is now married to someone else but decided to make the grand return when my puppet babies and I made national television many a time.

After that was my first year of college when I crushed on an dude who was a third year and made myself look utterly pathetic on several occasions. I did think he liked me though. I mean, the dude did invite me to not one but two parties as his guest. He seemed nice enough and I thought maybe he dug me and my terrible clothing. However the straw that broke the camels back was when I met him on the street, walked with him in the rain because he invited me to do so.And when we got to his house rather than call me a cab or an umbrella he sent me home in the monsoon. To make matters worse he was slated to be a huge star and I was barely academically eligible. But the tables have turned. Now he has no career and look at me and my puppet babies and my book. Needless to say, he is not happy about it. Because the moron signed on another an assumed name and totally trashed me on a gossip site insisting I followed him home. He wishes I made his life scary. Especially since his current girlfriend is FAT. And to think I worshiped him from afar. Sigh....

Now this dude that was my crush totally didn't return the favor. But he is ultra perceptive. I mean he doesn't miss a beat plus he is funny as hell. It wouldn't have worked out. I couldn't have lied to him and cut him out of my life in certain respects like I typically do to my boyfriends. He would have wanted to know about the career and I would have had to tell him. Then I would just have to disappear on him eventually because he would want me to be his girlfriend and wouldn't want me to see other people and wouldn't understand that I have commitment issues. Not to mention he might have a thing or two to say about the wedding I planned in my mind. But the wedding was planned before he even spoke. McSigh Sigh.

This morning I found out the low cut wearing badly dyed blonde thing is his new girlfriend. Okay whatever. Live happily ever after with your stupid cow. I wrote a book. She can't even say her ABCs. I don't even know her then again. Just wishing them both a death from death in my mind. But don't worry I have dumped them both in my mind and now I wish them well.

Either way I just miss Holden. I hate drugs, mental illness, and addiction and how they just fucking destroy. They took the only man I ever loved from my arms.

Off to possibly see if Errant Hottie Lifeguard is working at the pool today. He is such a terrible decision but so much fun. Note, he is for entertainment purposes only.


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

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Asinine Dribble on a Sunday Night

Today I went to the studio to record. I am sure Archie and Anthony are glad my audiobook is almost done. While they probably enjoy my company, my voice that sounds like a mix of Minnie Mouse and Mae West with a bizarre twang from no where is haunting their dreams. I can see it now, they are taking their one day of sleep and there they hear my voice as they close their eyes. And there I am in my usual recording studio clothes, sweats and looking like I rolled out of bed. Actually most of the time I have.

During one of my many pee breaks which I take a ton cause all I do is drink coffee, tea, and water, especially now that I have been sick, I saw this hottie female artist coming in. I mean, she looked good. She was all bestyled and slick. Immediately in my brain I called her every terrible name in the book for looking so hot. I mean, I am there to work not to get a date but still I felt like the fat chick in seventh grade again. In my head I assured myself she wasn't as smart and as funny as I was. Ripping her up in my head felt good. Did she know I went to NYU? Did she know I wrote a damn book that was reviewed by Mensa? Did she know I was a smart woman who needed no man unlike this thing who probably manipulated men?

 I took a deep breath and told myself to stop being such a bad clothes wearing, bitchy, smarter than the rest of the world, female writer. Women are terrible when it comes to each other. A minute later I introduced myself and spoke to her for a few minutes. She was really sweet. My bet is she has a great voice and will make a great record. Where was this terrible wench coming out of? This girl was perfectly fine. Gosh, when April is all work and no play she can be a very bitter woman. Maybe April the Female Writer is April McNoFun.

After I left the studio I swung by one of my old haunts to see a crush of mine. For weeks I have been making subtle moves to get my attention and he has been all chitty chatty. Needless to say, I was ready to make a move, maybe make a coffee date. That is when I saw him talking to this thing with badly dyed blonde hair and this low cut number. YUCK! I felt like crying on the spot. Then I remembered I never even told him I liked him. OOPS.

It's weird for me when I have a crush. I can never tell someone how I feel. I just want to give them a little note that says: "Do you like me? Check yes, no, or maybe." It is really tough for me to talk to guys. I have always been kind of shy. When I was younger I struggled with my weight and maybe that is it. In middle school I was asked out as a joke and I couldn't believe a guy likes me for real. In high school I lost the weight but wasnt allowed to date, and the one time I got the guts to like a guy he totally didn't return the favor. Then there was the disaster fiance.

Yes, the disaster who was physically abusive as well as verbally and emotionally abusive. The disaster who said me or the puppets. Maybe that is why I hate the way I talk. My ex's friends used to make fun of the way I talked behind my back. Perhaps it's better that Mr. Perfect didn't return the favor. He had a great job and a great personality. I am just one hell of a shy hot mess. People say they wish they saw this side of me more often. But it is painful as hell...

That's when I realized for as much as I crushed on this guy I could never love him because there is a large part of me that still loves Holden. I still dream about him. It was tough to end that. We didn't have a fight. He didn't cheat. He never hit me. No, Holden was sick. He was a drug addict, an alcoholic, and bipolar that wasn't properly treated. Sometimes when I tell people about him they call him names. People say I should forget about him. I remember he texted me and said he had six months clean. Six months clean isn't enough people told me. A year or eighteen months maybe. But you can't help who you love...

I went to the pool to take a swim. When I got there there was a cute lifeguard minding the pool. He looked to be about nineteen or so and had this million, billion, mega watt smile. I just remember he walks over to tell me the lane is closed. But this is how the exchange went:

 Hottie: Excuse me, I am closing this lane.

Me: Duunnnnhhhhhh......Okkkkaaayyyy.

Then as I began my kicking in the pool I passed the hottie several times. He probably had some horrid ring tone on his phone. He probably had some same aged teeny bopper girlfriend who dressed in clothes similiar to that female artist who I hated in my mind but seemed so nice when I spoke to her. Actually his teeny bopper girlfriend was probably a loser. Oh well, in the back of my mind I thought of how to make my move, April "Cougar" Brucker. However, ten years ago I too was a lifeguard. Ten years ago I had dirty old men trying to seduce me into the steam room. Ten years ago I detested men like this. Now my mind was in the gutter. In my mind I had the bravado but as I said I am so shy I wouldn't know how to put the words together. So these are the scenarios I came up with.

Scenario 1- I pretend to be drowning in the pool so he is forced to save me. Then as he is performing rescue breathing I slip him the tongue. Yes, maybe he has the teeny bopper girlfriend but I am a real woman.

Scenario 2- I prance around in a really sexy bikini and bend over as much as possible intriguing his barely legal imagination.

Scenario 3- I actually get the nerve to talk to him and tell him all about my skill as a female writer and a ventriloquist and my singing telegram performing making it painfully desperate that I never get out very much thus scaring him away forever.

Scenario 4-I get out one of my puppets. Here is what the puppet says, "Hey Stud Muffin. April thinks you are really fly. Can she take you out for pizza? Despite our TV time we are really poor, but you are a lifeguard so you are super poor."

I glanced over again. He was texting, eyes off the pool in the event someone was drowning. Needless to say if he worked under my mother he would have probably been canned like Coca Cola. I bet you he was texting, "This weird old ass bitch keeps giving me the eyes. I bet she is desperate and I bet she plays with puppets and writes books and doesn't have a man." Sir, your bet would be correct. Now come to my Cradle of Love in five minutes so I can rock your my mind.

Okay, I need to stop while I am ahead. But rest assured there will be plenty of freestyle this summer. As I exited he waved goodbye to me and I was turning so red I almost walked into the men's rest room. But ooops, Hottie waved goodbye. Hottie the Errand Lifeguard. Bow Wow Wow. Get a hold of yourself April.

I stripped and went to the sauna. People get buck naked in there. They let the world see everything. Personally, despite some of the photos I have taken I am quite shy. I always put a towel over my lower half. There was one woman in there that was not very good looking. Then another who was hot as hell. The one that was hot as hell intimidated me. She had the perfect body, just like the girl my crush was talking to. Probably just like Hottie the Errant Lifeguard's Girlfriend. Just like that female artist who was so nice but so beautiful. Gosh I had wished she was mean so I could justifiably hate her. And sometimes I just wish I could sit in the corner with my Golden Girls style cheesecake and bury my feelings. Wait, that is what Lifetime Movies are for.

That's when I dried my hair, hid in my sweats, and cried to myself as I left. This guy stuff was too much. Why couldn't they like my sexy brain and creativity? It dresses in hell fire red lingerie all the time. It even comes with whips and chains. April Brucker however does not. She comes with puppets, punchlines, books, and costumes. Okay, it could still be kind of kinky but most of the time I am friend zoned unless the dude has a criminal record, drug issue, or mental health problem.

I went to get my halal food, chicken and rice. The cart has three guys working there and today the best guy was working. He prepared it perfectly. I felt better. Not pretty, not ugly, just tired after a long day in the studio. When I see that female artist I will apologize (in my mind) because now I feel like a totally jealous tool. When I see that ex crush of mine I will wish death upon him (in my mind) even though he and that ho he is cavorting with never knew how I felt. When I see Errant Hottie I will tackle him like a lioness on a fresh piece of meat (in my mind) as I work out like a well behaved health club member.

Sigh, time to do some work.
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 23, 2013


The other day I helped a blind man avoid a wall. He was walking down the street. Basically he was about to collide with the friendly brick and perhaps get a black eye, broken nose, and maybe even get his teeth knocked out. I could see this, and so I helped him get where he needed to go. The blind man was immensely thankful. I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without eye sight.

In some ways it would be terrible. You could never see a sunset. You could never see a rainstorm. You could never see an art exhibit. On the other hand you would never have to see two ugly people making out in the park.

What one lacks one makes up for in other places. I have a friend Octavio who is blind. Once when we first met he guessed I was about five feet four and was blonde. He had never seen a picture of me and no one told him what I looked like. Once, when a friend of ours was having a moody day he approached Octavio. Octavio said to our friend, “Joe, didn’t see you there.”

Joe replied, “Cause you are blind.” And let out a smart assed laugh.

Octavio calmly breezed, “No, it is because your energy was off. What is going on?” Snap! Damn! And Joe’s crisis came out.

The thing about the blind is they have a sense of humor about their blindness. My mother student taught for the school of the blind. At twenty one she was a double major in physical education and special education at the University of Pittsburgh. When she got to the school and was in the same room with these high schoolers, my mother became aware of the fact she could see and they could not. This sense of guilt for her eyesight that she took for granted became apparent during role call. My mother didn’t want to be tacky and say, “Oh there you are, I can see you.” Well these kids were intuitive. Finally, after a painful minute of my mother’s stumbling one said, “Lady, it’s safe to say you can see us. We know we are blind. Most of us have been that way our entire lives.” Everyone laughed, my mother laughed, and it eased the tension.

These kids told my mother various disability jokes every day to make my mom feel at home amongst them. My mom actually thought this was pretty funny. When she taught them gym they had equipment that made sounds so these kids would know when the ball was coming their way. Despite the small difference to make up for their deficit in sight, they were actually hip, normal teenagers. My mom grew fond of them and was sad she had to go. However, many kept in touch with her and would send her cards from time to time written in Braille. Sometimes I think people get a little sensitive about disabled people and disabled jokes. Ironically, it’s the disabled people who have the best sense of humor.

Maybe they can see the world more clearly than we know.

Once I remember listening to an old episode of Howard Stern with a friend of mine that worked for the show. They had Stevie Wonder on. Usually when Stern has a guest on they insult them and the callers ask every vulgar question imaginable. However this was different. Stern was respectful and in awe of this man and his talent. The callers all called in with various requests. This segment was much different than the normal format in a magical way. Howard Stern did not make one crack at his man nor at the fact he couldn’t see. He was Stevie Wonder. Behind the piano he is a God. This man didn’t view his blindness as a handicap but rather used it at a catalyst to prove his haters wrong. Stevie is a legend, and they wish they had a tenth of what he had.

Point being, in this world we all have our strengths and weaknesses. It is not your weaknesses that stand in your way of being successful, but it is rather how you work around them that determines success. So I guess you have two choices in this world: to be blind or to see. What do you choose?
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

Miss Julie

A poem I wrote a while ago about an August Strinberg character and a real life woman that reminded me of her. It is amazing how stupid women can be sometimes. And I have never been a fan of a stupid, weak willed woman.

Once a street girl

Now a debutante

Awkward in either dress

Trying to be nonchalant

When you can’t pull off either disguise


They laugh at you

Your stupidity

Trying to be a brain

Trying to write poetry

Like a high school girl-


So stupid and so asinine

About a boy

Why isn’t he mine

Why doesn’t he want me?

And then you wonder why you are empty.


You cannot hide your jealousy

Coming from the fact you are so ugly

Coming from the fact it’s the looks you lack

A personality changes for a man

But the mirror you crack


Seven years back luck

Or a lifetime of being you

Fake, phony, easy

However, never sleazy

Just like a train everyone takes a ride


So many jockeys

Oh Miss Equestrian

Over the years there have been a great many men

Riding the horizontal trail

Your happy trail


I heard the ride was cheap

I heard the thrill was hardly worth the price of admit

Most people probably quit

On you the second you open your mouth

With your borrowed rhetoric


What color is your hair today?

Despite being a lawyer’s bitch

You are still a cheap lay

Now you make the switch

Monogamous woman

A woman in a castle with a broken voice

Pretending to defend a woman’s choice

Faux activist your latest disguise

Oh so coy

Until you are seduced by the stable boy

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 22, 2013

Moth to a Flame

Old poem I wrote. Enjoy

Well hello
Moth is my name
I flit, I fly
Don’t ask why
As I eat my cloth
And devour your lampshade
On my latest escapade
Ugly sister of Madame Butterfly

They say it is bad for you
It will kill
But I love the thrill
Maybe it will make me ill
Or maybe tired
Will I be unsure
Or wired
Or scared like a child running from a bee?

Oh the flame is so me
Dear Abby want some advice
I never met a vice
I didn’t like
I didn’t befriend
How does the story end in the land of pretend?
With my friends Tina, Mia and Jack?
Or will it be a stranger I have yet to meet?

I go towards the flame
The flame I admire
The demise I desire
Oh woe is me
Wired to die
But loving the thrill
The past times that make me high
The past time that will kill

The flame envelops me
Oh moonlight night
Death, silence, black
Darkness, howling, pain,
Loss, crying, dear mother
So sorry to go so soon
But wait, not dead
Ready to tackle another adventure

Fuck you Madame Butterfly

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

Chat With An Old Friends

Last night in my yuck of self pity I went to the Duane Reade to get some supplies for my sickness. On the list were cough drops, bubble bath stuff, makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes, oh and vitamins. Plus herbal tea for my throat. Between the singing and talking I do on the regular I need to heal my throat. I do everything you shouldn't do. My last few times behind the mic in the sound booth I have sounded like a fifty year old woman who smoked every damn day of her life.

As I was on my way I saw an old friend of mine. We ended up going to Starbucks and crashing. We kvetched about life. Me being sick, my grandmother's recent passing, and all that jazz. This particular friend got divorced again and his wives were demanding child support, and his first wife is a nag. But the cool part is that he just got in the paper for comedy. We talked about perhaps making videos together. We laughed about people we both knew and how nuts they were. One is a set of twins that is so insane they should win an award for that alone. One twin is famous, the other is less famous but takes credit for their success. It sounds like a movie. No, this is my life. As we were laughing I forgot I was sick. It was amazing. 

Actually we talked about possibly making videos together. Beyond amazing. 

Then when I finally got to Duane Reade I saw another old friend who was getting ready to do a presentation for his MBA class. We spoke for a few which was good and caught up. Then he gave me a Mother Theresa kiss. 

Bottom line, I am feeling better. Sometimes running into old friends puts a smile on your face and makes you to remember not to take life so seriously.

My grandmother always made friends everywhere she went and she was a spiritual woman who trusted God greatly. She always said God had a plan. And maybe whatever is up there, if it chooses to be called God, wanted me to get my ass out of the house.

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 21, 2013

Ebbs and Flows

Lately I have been feeling like a stinking blob of shit. My grandmother passed this past Monday and I have been as sick as a dog. Not to mention working like hell all the time. I am not complaining about working. I am just tired as hell on top of being sick.

I am going through some career stuff right now. My audiobook is nearly finished. I am happy. I love my sound dudes but I am sure they will be happy to rid of me. But a Sunday without me in the studio is no Sunday at all. We all know that, LOL. But I have been running myself ragged and have been paying out of pocket for studio time. I will have lotsa more money. Now lets just hope the audiobook makes money.

After the experience from hell a few years ago and dealing with every failed actor turned agent or everyone who has fucked up at everything else in their life turned manager I was indie for quite a few years. I have appeared on TV more than many of my friends with representation. Not to mention I published a book. Oh and my book got on Britney Spears's website and was written up by Mensa. Their fancy managers never did anything like that for them. Oh and how many TV shows have my puppet babies been on?

After a heart to heart with a friend I have decided to start the quest again. My friend pointed out that while I am not supposed to send unsolicited most of the time I have been on TV enough that maybe I can. Well yesterday I saw he was kind of right. I called several places, one that said, "Don't leave." Their agents reviewed my stuff the same day and said while my TV creds were impressive I was not the right fit. They said the puppets werent a good fit for their department. What the fuck? I have been on TV more than probably half their fucking client list in the past Goddamn week. Still, they looked at my stuff. I was unsolicited which they technically don't do. Not to mention it wasn't personal. Plus I like one junior agent there who's a doll baby. And if I have more stuff without my puppets maybe approach them again. Still, it's farther than I have gotten in the past.

While some of this has made me want to stay indie, on the other hand this was a morale booster because now people will want to deal with me because of my TV time. Plus an agent and manager will be someone else in my corner. These days I have a lot of good people in my corner. Friends, family, and Bart Polin. I also get a lot of whackos wanting to do these bizarre projects with me because I have been on TV a bunch. They have these big plans and I am sick and tired of them wasting my Goddamn time. Plus with everyting that happened with the stalker fan I want someone else to buffer me from such crazies.

Not to mention people have been driving me apeshit with their free career advice. They tell me I should do VO. Do you know any VO agents? Then they say no. They tell me I should do commercials. Do you know any commercial people? Well yeah, but I screwed up our relationship and we are no longer on good terms. Then they tell me I should have a theatrical agent who can market me to kids shows. Do you know anyone? No, not really.

Want some of my advice? Shut the fuck up. Stop trying to tell me how to handle my career when you have none.

I filmed a TV pilot a few weeks ago. No word on what happened. I need to get more TV time soon or I will die. I need something to pop in my life, for serious. I keep reading my Tarot Deck and it is weird and so many damn love cards. I don't want love. I want career damn it. I want to see the pretty boy comedians who have their careers handed to them be crushed under the brutal heel of my stiletto. My big fear is what happened to me a few years ago, to get on TV a bunch and film a pilot only to have my momentum stop.

I work so hard. Oh well. No one fucking cares in this man's world as I am woman against the world.

Give me some good career news soon, PLEASE!

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


Lady No One

A special poem about how women will destroy themselves for men who don't want them and men who aren't worth it. xo

Hello Lady No One
Must be painful to be
No One
You change your identity for a man
Like you change your underwear
I hope you change your underwear
That is, if you can
If your man
Gives you permission

Well Lady No One
You were once a party girl
Spreading your legs for a lawyer now
Is he rocking your world?
Or are you disappointing him?
Is his name Jack or Jim?
Or is it whatever he tells you it is
Well whatever it is
Who are you in this mess?

Sure Lady No One
No one knows you are a fake
Every day you wake and bake
Once you faked a story about a shoplifting conviction
And then sex with numerous women
But now is that part of you gone?
As you are your lawyer's whore
And he calls you a whore
Everyone does Big Easy

Maybe Big Easy is your name
Because you are easily influenced
Because you are easy to pick at
Because you are easily mocked
By your lawyers friends
Who see his ex girlfriend making the name
Who see his ex girlfriend on the TV
And he says that is my ex on the TV
So is that why you hate me?

Well Lady No One
Or Big Easy
You assume my life has been easy
You assume that things are handed to me
And then just to be me
You do everything that I do
I guess I want to say what is best for me
Isnt always best for you
Oh no

Lady No One
Big Easy
Single White Female
These are names they call you behind your back
For the identity you lack
Or you so wish you had
Maybe you could be a good person someday
Someday, maybe you could be a person of your own
Just lady.....

Lady No One
Big Easy
Single White Female
Wandering, lost
Being an activist to please her man
Writing poetry to please her man
Being just like his ex on TV to please her man
Doing so much to please a worthless bedroom companion
Are you really that empty
Sadly, yes

Lady No One
Consumed by a man
Controls her every move
Is she like the ex that broke him yet?
Blonde hair that is not hers
The cat, the pet
To get the ring
There will be no such thing
For this live in concubine giving away her best years.

Lady No One
Cries in her room
Wearing someone else's perfume.
Spouting out someone else's ideas
Spouting out her man's affirmations
Once a party girl
Now a lawyers wife
Perhaps tomorrow an astronaut
Today she wallows her body to a man wishing he were with a love he lost.....

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