Monday, July 29, 2013

A Ghandi Blog

We all know them. Unfortunately the entertainment industry is chalk full of them. Yes, people who are troubled. Apparently all insurance does not cover therapy so here they are fucking with our time and energy. As in, if they put the energy into the drama onstage that they did into real life they would all be winning Oscars. McSeriously.

I recently had a run in with a negative attention seeker. This young woman made my winter-spring very eventful to say the least. The current girlfriend of an ex of mine, who became literally obsessed with making my life a nightmare for God knows whatever reason. A lot of it has to do with the fact that this woman is unfortunately an alcoholic and a drug addict. I don't think she is sober for more than an hour a day. So basically she is very sick. In addition, she keeps a blog of sorts maintaining she had some sort of tough childhood with some sort of bizarre mother. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't. A lot of it sounds like a mix of fabricated and a spoiled, entitled child blaming everyone but herself for her problems. Addict behavior if you will.

I have every right to hate this young woman. She has slandered me in public. Not only has she accused me of trying to cause problems with her and my ex (have not seen him in years and don't want to), but also has accused me of stalking her which is freaking laughable. However, I will point out that she copied several lines of my writing and tried to submit them as her own. Not to mention everytime I put up a youtube video she followed suite. When I did a show at a venue she worked at, she ripped down my posters to ensure no one would show up. After that, she made a series of hang up calls to me and blocked her number. On one she called me a bitch and told me to stay away from her boyfriend. Oh, and when I went platinum blonde so did she. When I low lighted my hair she went dark as well. And then the best part is, when I released a book suddenly she announced plans to release a book. The bitch doesn't even write. I guess the best was when the Queen of the Chemically Dependents released a video where she and her friends were beating the head in of a girl named April who was a "poser that had famous friends and a rich father." (Hmmmm, wonder where they got that complaint).

There is a part of me that wanted to beat her head in. I will not lie. However those around me reminded me of how sick she was and to let her go.

Well Ms. Wannabe has struck again. In addition to claiming I have no career, which is laughable because the closest she will ever get to my TV credits is seeing them in her living room, she is claiming I am harassing her again. I have not seen this thing in months!!! I wouldn't know about this except my friends relayed the story. She fabricated this story about how I am a mean girl who is making her life miserable. Oh and she also says I tormented her about her past. I did no such thing. She's insane. She's the one who was harassing me and wouldn't stop. This bitch is twisted.

However, on another level these days I am not so angry at her. Actually I feel terribly for her. She is a drug addict and an alcoholic. Her life is very small and very lonely. She is in a relationship with someone who is either enabling her or refuses to acknowledge she needs serious help. That lifestyle is not kind to women. The only road ahead of her is one of pain and suffering. Everytime I get an update on her she is either getting in trouble for drinking again, or whenever I am forced to look at her picture, she is bloated as hell.

While those around me tell me I should be flattered she copies me, it makes me cringe because it is a testament to how truly mentally ill she is. My life has not been easy. Yeah, I have made some career headway but I have paid dearly for being myself. While this is true, April Brucker is the only person I can be. I cannot be Mae West, I cannot be Marilyn Monroe, and I cannot be Madonna. Hell it would be nice to be Cyndi Lauper. But I am myself. We all have our own gifts. Trying to have someone else's is just desperate and pitiful. Not to mention I will admit, Ms. Wannabe is the better singer. She's can't write her way out of a paper bag but she can sing. But that's her gift. Shame on her for not running with it.

Seeing someone you hate look worse and worse should make you happy. Seeing someone you hate fall down the rabbit hole should make you happy. However, this doesn't make me happy. This makes me pity her even more. I know first hand how damaging addiction can be. I have had friends who died as a result of drug use, all wonderful and bright people buried with their boots on. I know the loneliness of being with someone who doesn't want to see you well and to be trapped in a codependent cycle. For as much as I hate what she is doing, I actually don't hate the person. My heart goes out to her on so many levels.

I guess my hope is that she finds a way out of the black hole she is in, where the nightmarish lies she tells herself is safer than the harmless truth of the outside world. I also hope God protects others from her lashing out, but most importantly, her from herself.

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

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Yes, No, Maybe

I have a crush. Yes, a crush. The first one I have had in months. It is an extremely long story. I can't get into it and well, it's just crazy. But yeah, have a crush. It's kind of crazy. Crushes are irresponsible. Crushes are one of those things that are imaginary. Men that I crush on are like Mr. Potato Head. You start from the ground up and build them step by step.

This dude is totally not my type in a lot of ways either. I mean he's good hearted and all. I just have a feeling that it totally wouldn't work out. But I don't care. I am entitled to my crush, right?

I was telling my new assistant Masimo about this. Masimo saw his photo, thought it he was hot -Masimo is gay by the way, and we giggled. Yes my crush is hot. Yes he is that kind of white boy I am not typically into. But I can dig it. In my mind he is Mr. Perfect, but I know otherwise. In my mind he can do no wrong and say nothing stupid, although his facebook page proves otherwise.

This week I did a show for some kids at the Phoenix House in Long Island. They age ranged from 15-20. According to them the 15 year olds were the worst coming in, doing the most drugs and drinking the hardest. When I looked at these kids I realized that they were at the yes, no and maybe age. I wanted to tell them now that I was no longer drinking my social skills with men had improved. That now I could look a dude in the eye without my puppets and tell him I thought he was hot.But that is a flat out lie. I can't. Most of the time when I have a crush I admire from afar. Usually I say something stupid and it's all over. Or I am just myself and they run in the other direction. However I think these dudes picked up on the fact I was awkward when it came to the guys, lol.

If only I had May Wilson's confidence than I would be getting boyfriends at my door all the time. Then again, when May offers sexual favors she doesn't get a stalker that followers her home.

Like an idiot I have been all over my crush's facebook page looking at the women he is posing with. And I have been taking the very female but very mentally unstable action of hating them all. In my mind this dude has gone from my boyfriend, to being the hottest lover ever, and we are breaking up as we speak and we have only talked a few times. And for the record I did the dumping. I know, sexified, right?

I cannot do this whole guy thing. It's just too hard.

Maybe I will stick to puppets. They do and say what I want.

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

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Wrestling With Angels

Growing up I attended church. One Sunday I remember hearing the story of Jacob and the Angel. The story goes that Jacob wrestles this angel and gets pinned. In the tale the angel calls Jacob by name and they wrestle. It was a big deal apparently for someone to know your name in those days. Now it is easy with the internet. Anyway the angel pinned him and gave him a new name, Israel. The way I always understood the story was that the angel pinning Jacob was an allegory for the universe bitch slapping us from time to time back into reality. I am not terribly religious but have always enjoyed the symbolism.
This week has been a hard one. While things are starting to get better life has been kind of rough this month. It has been hot, so hot that my air conditioner is useless. Not to mention my audiobook was taking longer than I thought it would. As for the chip on my shoulder about being a female comedian, that has become a cinderblock. While I have been on TV a few times, I am by no means a household name. Sure, I am funnier than a lot of the guys performing, but this is a sexist business. The women at a certain level don’t help. It’s asinine that I pay for stage time because I am well past the open mic level, I have three fan pages and my followers max out. Some ass weed asked if I wanted to do a bringer. I asked if he owned a TV. My royalty check has been taking forever to get there and I hate having to chase people for money. Oh, and no one around me has been acting right.
Thursday I ended up doing a show at the Phoenix House. It is a therapeutic community, and in this case for young guys. Usually they are court mandated there. I do it with, headed by Keith Godwin. The guys range from ages 15-20, and for as young as they are have hit it pretty hard. For me, the trip is usually a mix of fun and emotional. Fun because I usually have a good time. But emotional because when I was a little older than they were I found myself at a bottom with food, diet pills, booze, an abusive relationship, and other bad decisions. I found it was either get my shit together and join the guys I was dating in jail. I found that it was either get my shit together or get another man like my ex who would eventually kill me. I found it was get my shit together or not live to see my twenty third birthday. I did and am grateful.
The show was a lot of fun and the guys were a riot. The dug May Wilson and myself. As a matter of fact, they informed me they had an extra bed in case we wanted to stay. I would have to say they were a good audience overall. They liked the comedy as well as the improv dudes. It gave them a chance to be a part of something. Of course they were on their best manners helping me with my suitcase because it had been forever and a day since they had seen a woman. I left one of my books with them for reading material. Not only so that they would get a chance to pass time, but to let them know they could do this too if they stopped going the way they were and turned it around.
That is when my boss called me and asked me if I could do a birthday cake show girl. I said sure. It was in Jamaica, Queens. Yeah, it was early but things have been slow and I need the money. The next morning I woke up. I got to the train and made the long trek. When I got to Queens I ended up in front of the place. It was a Health Center. The contact insisted on coming outside to get me. Glancing, I saw a group of men playing basketball and some women chilling. I was at a drug treatment center! What were the fucking odds?!?!? I took a deep breath. Maybe it was a mental hospital. Not that one is ever better than the other. I googled the place on my iphone. Drug treatment center. BINGO! What the hell was God/The Universe trying to tell me?
I was then met  by a guy who asked if I was mandated. I said no. A few minutes later a black butch woman came out and helped me with my suitcase and brought me to the contact. I think she had been hanging out and was a regular trouble maker. But she was my friend. In a place like that you need a friend like her. It’s because the men in there are all gnarly in one way or another, and as a white woman with all her teeth I would be fresh meat. Walking in to meet the contact I felt a walk down memory lane that wasn’t so pretty. Somehow, I got out of that part of my life alive. How I did not end up as a client in a facility like that is an act of God, period.
The telegram ended up going well, but it seemed like the eternal wait in the contact’s office. The people were cool, and a lot were staff. In places like that many of the staff are former addicts themselves. I felt fine after delivering the telegram, and the contact was kind enough to walk me out. What were the odds my ass would end up in two drug treatment centers within twenty four hours of each other?
Just as my shocked ass was riding the bus back I ran to my second stop. My boss called. Apparently I left my hat there. Oh shit, my show girl hat. Monday I go to get it back. Maybe there is still something I have to do there. Maybe it is the fact I still haven’t dumped that little bit of attitude I have been sporting as of late.
Today I passed on a telegram job to do a shoot. In an odd twist of fate my boss’s camera was stolen, the shoot was cancelled, and it was too late to do the telegram job. I talked to my boss at the TV station about what was going on with me after a ten second explosion on my host page. I ended up telling him. He told me perhaps it was the universe telling me I had to be a power of example.
I thought about it. Lately I have been bitching about being a female comedian. I asked myself what was more important, the cinderblock on my shoulder or making people laugh. Thursday night at the Phoenix House showed me making people laugh was more important, and not to let the bullshit stand in the way of what I loved to do. Yeah, the TV shoot was cancelled but there will be others. Yeah, I passed on the shoot but there will be others. But these days I have TV shoots, jobs I love, work for people who love me, and write books. None of that was true once upon a time. Maybe I am not where I want to be, but these days I have a legit shot at getting there.
These days I worry about when my next book talk is, if my sound engineers will finish my audiobook, if I will be on TV again. I worry when strangers don’t recognize me on the street. This shit is what is known as luxury problems. I remember when my roommates wanted to kick me out because my ex and I would get violent when we fought. Or worse yet, when I had to get a separate mailing address so he wouldn’t find me. Those are real problems. Actually, aside from my whining my life is good. I have some awesome things on the burner. Maybe I need to finish cleaning my bathroom now that I work enough to maintain my own apartment. And as I am bitching and yelling I hear some of my friends who lost their lives going down the wrong path yelling at me. I also think of my former friends still going down that path. I think of how they reach out to me from time to time with updates on how shitty the bottom is and how they just keep hitting it. I also think of how blessed I am to have gotten out.
I think the angel pins us all in different ways. I am not saying this to convert you, but life gives us the backhand when we need it from time to time.

Yes, the angel knows my name and I lost the wrestling match. Translated, the cinderblock is off my shoulder and I think I have been humbled.
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl 

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Acting Again.......

I am in a reading of the Hippie Playhouse tonight. I am excited, nervous, scared, and elated. It has been a while since I have acted, acted if you know what I mean. I graduated from NYU and all with an acting degree. I trained with some of what I feel are the best teachers in the world. I know what to do with a role. But since college, really haven't acted steadily or seriously.

The thing about life after college was I chased comedy more or less. I toured quite a bit, and I thought that was going to be my rainbow. The nights I kept were late and I was onstage constantly. I liked the fact anything could happen, it was in the moment, and I could create my own work. The thing about actors was, for as much as I had friends from college, a great number of them annoyed me. They were self-obsessed and everything involved so much prep. Standup you just did it. My plan was to tour, become a headliner, tour some more, and then get on TV a bunch. Instead I toured some, headlined a little bit, and got on TV more than I toured and headlined. The TV credits didn't do shit for me. And my so called "fame chasing" got me ousted in a way from my community. Well former community. Anyway, after an unfortunate chain of events I have shared about at length in past blogs, I found myself without a home club and shunned. But other doors opened for me.

I made music. I wrote and published a book. I was a talking head for a website. But I also started acting again. Really, my first year out of college I did a lot of dinner theatre and downtown stuff from time to time in Brooklyn, but nothing that ever got me anywhere. Most of the pieces I was cast in because of my work with puppets or my standup. I did some day player stuff and an art house film. But nothing that would make people scream, "Actress!"

In 2011, after everything went down and I really wasn't performing comedy anymore I made a movie, Death of a Dummy. It was my first time really acting, acting again. I thought it was a good experience overall, but it also made me realize how rusty my toolbox was so to speak. The whole thing made me want to take classes again and study extensively. It also made me miss my old acting classes where I could safely make wrong choices. It made me miss the gift of rehearsal and exploring. It made me want to go back to basics. I also shot a film in 2012 called the Lottery that is going to be on Netflix this fall.

So here I am tonight going back to the theatre. I have been wanting to act again. I mean, I dress in costume for my job. For months I have been agonizing over what is next for me. Now maybe the whole acting thing is. Who knows? I once had an acting teacher in college tell me for as crazy as I came across once I got breath control I would have quite an interesting range on me. Since that time I have lived a crazy life. You can read my blogs for that shit too. But maybe I have my breath control. Maybe I have my interesting character range. I am the most grounded I have ever been. Maybe I am ready to ride my horse and embrace my gift.

Either way, Carlos and UnCanny Works never cease to amaze me, and Leif wrote a wonderful play. Hopefully I will serve the script tonight.

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

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Real Love (Mary J. Blige)

Lately, it seems a lot of people around me are in love. Whether it is my male counterpart on Sex From Both Sides John Powers and his lovely fiance Jennifer. Or perhaps it is the rash of wedding singing telegrams I am delivering lately. Oh and one of my sound dudes was AWOL for a minute because it was his birthday, his gal pal's birthday, and his anniversary all rolled up into one. Next month my parents will celebrate being married 37 years which is surreal. And my sister seems to be happy with her man these days. She even changed her facebook picture to capture the two of them.

Not that I have written off love, but a few years ago I had a pretty rough break in that department. Without getting into morbid detail, go to my other blogs for that, I ended up getting engaged to a psychopath. It was him or the puppets. It was my writing sucked. It was say you won't leave and don't leave or else I will kill myself right here right now. Okay this is all I will say about that. I have blogged about it before. I have spoken out about dating violence and how it damages a person. I have made jokes about it in my act. I have been there done that.

For a while I sort of settled for guys. Settled being the word. I sold myself short. Sometimes I was with a loser because being alone sort of terrified me. Sometimes I was lonely and then grabbed the first person who said something nice to me. I dont know. I entertained getting a prison pen pal for a bit. But then as my deceased friend Chacho explained, "They will want you to send them lots of money and buy them expensive gifts when it should be the other way around. I found this out when I wrote a murderer myself and sent him my naked pictures when I was eighteen. That is not what you want in a boyfriend." At that moment, the prison pen pal fantasy was dead.

The other night I ran into an ex of mine, another one. Actually to call this dude an ex would be generous because it would mean that he meant something to me. He is married to someone else and has a kid with this woman, which made his behavior all the more inappropriate. Anyway, I initially wanted to say hi to another woman standing there and he just happened to be there. So I couldn't ignore him without being rude. Anyway, he starts acting weird and mentions that he knows I am twenty-eight now cause he was twenty eight when we met, and his wife and I are the same age. And then he said, oh yeah, you were nineteen. I wanted to remind him how he led me on and treated my heart like monkey meat but whateves. Anyho, this woman is telling a story about how she mistreated the best man ever and her amends was simply to nod whenever she saw him. That is when Jerkoff McFee says, "Why can't you do that when you see me?" That is when I informed him he was being silly and was never my boyfriend. So he threw a bitch fit and went inside.

I was like WTF?!?!? Was that really called for? Since our failed outing we have worked together and very well in business. Granted, his wife never cared for me but dude was a Casanova back in the day. Still, it got me by surprise. My only answer to this is that he wished he hadn't screwed up with me, cause now he would be Mr. April Brucker. Granted, his wife is successful in her own right but she is not on National Television as much as I am. Not to mention she hasn't written a book let alone had a signing in an Ivy Bookstore. And she picked up a bit if weight too. Still, for as much as I thought I loved him at the time and for as much a he led me on and just kicked me around, I liked the idea of him. Yes, the older trust fund kid with the big apartment complete with bachelor bar. But I never liked him. He was shallow, self-centered, and not to mention I was much more talented than he was and eventually that would have gotten in the way.

When he went inside of course my buddy that I wanted to talk to asked if I had dated him because he made things so awkward. I told her yes, briefly, but when I dumped him he never got over it.

I ended up telling my mom about this. I said to her, "Mom, I would never think to do anything like this. I would never start anything like this with anyone from my past. Even if they totally dumped me I would either not engage or I would be polite. What is his malfunction?"

That is when my mom said, "Yeah, you never would. It is cause I raised you better than that." Snap. This is why I am convinced my mom totally rules.

And then my mom told me I had my pick of guys, to shop around, and not to let this fool get to me. My mom was so right. God or whatever is upstairs always speaks through my mom, I am sure of it. Either way, it made me think. I don't want to be that person trapped in the past like the dude who tried to throw shade at me. I want to be in the present. Yes, there have been some guys who have treated my heart like monkey meat but I let them. Also, now I am smarter. No one treats my heart like monkey meat.

In the words of my dearly departed friend Chacho, someone who was always looking for Prince Charming with a thousand Mr. Right Now's along the way, "Some people are in our past because we passed them over. When we look back they are right where we left them, doing the same shit and wearing the same bad clothes." My buddy was right. It's a good thing I didn't marry that sore loser jerkoff.

But my mom is right too. I have my pick of men. These days things are good. My clips are still on TV on the regular. My audiobook is almost ready to download. I have started a new hosting gig for ITTV and am part of an awesome family of women. Sex From Both Sides had a celebrity guest commentator last week. Pitching some exciting projects, more on that later. I deserve someone to treat me nice damnit.

If I am meant to be single, so be it. However, if the universe sends someone nice my way I won't turn them away either.

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

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Appearances and Assumptions

Saturday George Zimmerman was found not guilty. I am not writing about how that disgusted me, although it did. I am not writing about how a kid died because he wore a hoodie and had a bag of Skittles, although we all know he did. Hell, I could go on all day about the overzealous Neighborhood Watch cop wannabe now afraid of vigilantes. But the truth of the matter is, that’s not what I want to write about. I want to write about how assumptions based upon stereotype cripple people not only as individuals but as a whole, and how they are crippling us as a nation.

When I first moved to New York City I really didn’t have black friends. Actually I had one growing up, but she did the stereotypical thing of having a child in high school. She was one of five black people in our school, and they were all related. After she had her kid we drifted apart, but we were still friends. I had a friend who dated one of her cousins in high school, and immediately this young woman was labeled. Of course we were told growing up that as white women we should never date black men. Be friends yes, date no. Oh and it was understood that he would be lazy, he would beat us, and leave us stranded with his child. Then I moved to New York and met black women who didn’t have children in high school but went to college. I met black men who didn’t beat their girlfriends, didn’t go to jail, and didn’t leave their women stranded to care for their children alone. Yes, there are trashy black people. There are trashy white people. There are trashy people of every freaking race.

Ironically I became fast friends with a lot of black people. Believe it or not, I was raised more like them than the white prep school kids I went to classes with. Whenever we misbehaved growing up, they got beaten by their dad or mom. So did I. They went to church every Sunday. So did I. As a matter of fact their parents made sure they knew their Bible. Mine did too. More often than not I found them easier to relate to than a lot of the white kids around. Oh, and I voted for Obama. Not because he is black you racist, but because he is a friend to women.

When I moved to the city as well, I had never been around so many damn people who spoke Spanish. Like every high school kid in America, I was forced to grin and bear the language. Every class, there would be people making some joke about deporting Pablo. I’ll admit, I am guilty of laughing. To us people who spoke Spanish were usually illegals. Why did we have to learn what one of my classmates called “the language of restaurant works?” Upon moving to the city, I remember getting on the wrong train in a Spanish neighborhood and having a run in with a dude who had a grill, skin missing, and looking back was probably either schizophrenic or high on crack (both make you sexually rabid). Needless to say after chasing me around the train station and telling me he was going to rape me, I ended up throwing a box of cookies at him and getting on the train. After that, I was not a big fan of anyone who spoke Spanish for sometime.

But that was an unfortunate human error on my part, and a power greater than myself straightened that out. Friends were put in my life who were not only wonderful people, but spoke Spanish as a first language. There are my friends at Vibe West. Then there is my talented friend Carlos. Oh and then Eduardo, or Tio Ude who is the most fantabulous costume designer ever. My dearly departed friend Chacho, who I would have trusted with my life and I know who’s spirit still is around me. Derek and Fernando who are Mexican and legal, and the list goes on. Oh and yes, some of the Spanish folks who work in my hood are illegal, but so what? They are working. They aren’t bothering anyone. They are living quietly. Leave them alone. And they are working which is more than I can say for some people I know. Bottom line, there are shitty people who speak every language in the world. However, there are also good people. For instance Pat Robertson speaks English and he is a dreadful human being. Also, one does not represent all. Thank goodness I figured that out otherwise I would be watching The 700 Club.

Then of course where I grew up there was the belief Muslims were terrorists who were all worshipping Allah is the guise of Satan. When 9/11 happened, several of my male classmates joined the army to “blow up towel heads.” Upon getting ready to move to New York, I was told by several former classmates to stay away from Arabs as well as adults.

Well I moved to the city and found out the opposite was true. A lot of Arab Americans are good Americans. They work and own stores in my neighborhood for the most part. In my experience, they are friendly hardworking people who care about their business, their customers, and their families. Every Halloween they give out candy and put up decorations because they want to fit in the place they now call home. Oh and their children aren’t making bombs because they are working in the stores on weekends and during summer break.

But these hurtful stereotypes set us back. It’s like saying gay people seek to recruit children and are child molesters. Most of the LGBTQ people I have come into contact with would never dream of hurting a child, and they would jump in front of a mac truck before they did. And while there are some gay pedophiles, there are a lot of straight ones too that are equally disgusting and we never hear about them recruiting our children for the straight world. It’s like saying all Jews are cheap. While some may be, I have met generous Jewish people in my lifetime. It’s like saying all Catholics are insane and intolerant, I have met some that are but many more that are wonderful people of faith. I could go on all day.

I had a disturbing encounter with a young woman the other day in a store. Basically she was on the big girl side. She marched up to me, and unprompted told me I was too skinny and needed to eat more. I was really angry because I have struggled with my weight and know how it feels when people are awful to you. I remember mouthing off to her and flipping her the bird, said “this is what a size two looks like, bitch” and walking off. I took my anger to facebook like a mature woman of dignity and grace. However, the truth was, this young woman was spiritually sick. She probably has been tormented her entire life by people who are size two. Meanwhile she assumes my life has been easy which was arrogant of her. Not to mention I used to be forty pounds heavier so I know how nasty people are. However, she was so lost in her despair that she didn’t realize that looks can be deceiving, and perhaps I can identify with her more than a lot of people. While I made the mistake of feeding into it, this addresses a much bigger problem.

That people are guilty of judging on the basis of appearance. We all do it. We all group and generalize because as people, that is what we can go on. What is the first thing we attack in an argument, a person’s looks because it is right there on the surface. Often times it is not the issue. Yes, criminals can be black, but I have white cousins who have tested the system. Yes, creepy men can be Spanish, but I have met some white creepy men as well. Yes, Arabs can be terrorists but did we forget about the white Army of God or the white NRA? I could go on but I am just repeating myself.

Bottom line, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr said not to “Judge a person by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” This also means not jumping to conclusions when someone looks a certain way. That means not to assume someone is a criminal because of their outward appearance. That means not to assume someone is a pedophile because of their orientation. That means thinking before you make assumptions. That means don’t fill your heart with unjustified, uninformed hate. Rather think and investigate before you assume, because when you assume you make an ass out of u and me.

Otherwise, unfortunately, someone else will have to bury their teenage son because they were carrying a bag of Skittles and wearing a hoodie in the rain.

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

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Cotton Candy World

Sometimes I dream of a world made of cotton candy. Where the only currency is a Twix Bar. Where people don't need anything from anyone. Politics and religion do not exist. People are just happy and their teeth fall out. They don't care about teeth because there are no looks. They don't care about dental health because there is no insurance. They just want to be happy.

I got into a fight with a follower last night. I never fight with my fans. I am the type of entertainer that when I meet fans I am always gracious. I am the type of performer that when I hear from my fans I might be wrong I will listen. I am not some bitch who lets her head swell despite what others might think and feel about me.

To make a long story short this all started after some fat girl at the fat store accosted me and for no reason said I needed to eat a sandwich cause I was too skinny. She yelled it at me. I was angry because I have not once in my life made someone miserable because of the way they looked. I used to be forty pounds heavier. I know how lonely and depressed she must feel. But it made me angry because she had no right to say that let alone to testify to my experiences. That is when I told her I was what a perfect size two looked like and walked away. So I took it to facebook. Mistake, yeah. But I make a lot of those. My record ain't so great.

One of my followers who used to be quite loyal ended up telling me she lost respect for me and that I was being "hurtful" by calling this fat bitch a bitch. Of course she didn't say that I was being hurtful but rather posted the comment to fight with me. I have a lot of followers so sometimes trolls come on my page. Anyway it made me angry because she said a lot about me not knowing shit about me either. It was like I was wrong for sticking up for myself against Porky Pig. So she disfriended me, deleted me, and blocked me. Fine. Lost an idiot. But she shouldn't have been fighting me with. Granted I shouldn't have taken it to facebook. I don't know.

Either way I am tired and it is hot. I saw Spooky Juice and we talked. Time to meditate. Time to press restart. Time to envision eating cotton candy

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

Monday, July 15, 2013

29 x/y Is a Must See

29 xy
When I go to a place like the Wild Project I expect to see risky, experimental work. Upon attending the Fresh Fruit Festival, I expect to see work addressing the LGBTQ experience as it changes. Work that is experimental can either be groundbreaking or an exercise in masturbation with no point. A theatre experience that highlights the plight of a marginalized minority now finding their voice can be moving or a pity fest. 29 xy, conceived, written, and directed by Marcus Yi was experimental and groundbreaking in a good way. Despite being in a gay play fest, it was not a whine fest about the LGBTQ experience. Rather, it was an out of the box, fun, avante garde, deep, spiritual moving piece that addressed everyone the questions they had.
The reasoning for the title, 29 xy, is because this age group is on the cusp of Generation X and Generation Y, but also it is a question about one’s gender and gender roles throughout the whole thing. Can women and men feel? What do they want? What do gay people want? What do straight people want? What do we all want? Can we work together or are we forced to be butting heads?
The piece begins with an ensemble number. It was men on one side, women on the other. They asked important questions about what generation they belonged to. Grotowski inspired, 29 xy had much of a physical theatre element to it. The first vignette began with a man and a woman dancing. The voiceover played where the man and woman argued about who was superior and who’s ideas were better. On several occasions there was a competition with push ups, etc. At the end of the vignette it was understood that the two would always be dancing together and against each other as the dynamic of the world changed.
From there the actors did the Brechtian move of breaking the fourth wall and introducing themselves to the audience. I wondered why this was done, but however was going to give the piece a chance to develop. After meeting the actors, and for the record I met London, then there was another series of vignettes. These challenged gender, identity, and ones perception. 
Memorable vignettes included two girls saying things like, “Yeah!” and then playing paddycake. This was a humorous yet social commentary on how women will dumb themselves down in order to either appease a man or to fit the box society has constructed for them. These two young women would later be seen on the stage with two other actresses, dressed in drag. Both the actresses dressed as men also spoke in gibberish and each of the girls were wooed by them. The “men” then fought it out and ultimately the girls walked off with the actor they believed to be more “manly.” This was a commentary again on female roles, but also a Meisner-esque experience in that dialogue is only subtext.
Of course there were other more telling shout outs to the Generation X and Y. One was the vignette where the actors did monologues about things that were “wanted.” One young woman was dressed as a nun and talked about how another deity was “wanted,” a sort of a kinder, softer Higher Power. Another was an atheist who wanted company for the end of the world. The third, a woman who was dressed as a cat was applying for a job as a professional housecat. Laugh out loud as well as telling, she is a testament to how desperate this generation is for jobs. After her was a man who had a fetish, he wanted someone dressed as Super Mario to “come and fuck him.” Lastly, it was a straight woman who simply wanted a lover. This vignette, reminiscent of SNL when it was still funny, highlights Generation X/Y’s dependence on craigslist and all the foolish things people ask for.
My favorite parts of the show, however, were the letters. One young woman, who’s graduate program sent her a request for donations, was unemployed. She basically told them off in a monologue. This spoke using comedy about the alienation this generation feels in the job market, as people washed on the shores during the recession. The other was a monologue from a young man who had just broken up with his wife, obviously a college sweetheart, and was sleeping with everything that walked. In this monologue he details sex with everyone from the barely legal tartlette at the bar to her sister. However, though the humor was something deeper. It was that despite the social stigma on men having feelings, they do. That men do not only feel deeply but also think deeply and love deeply, even if they veil it through inane discourse about their sexual conquests.
My second favorite part of the show was the audience awards. During this portion, audience members are given awards. Later, when I interviewed Marcus Yi himself, he told me this was why the actors introduced themselves. Categories included “Best Lover”, etc. I won the “Terrorist Killer” title for rape and torture of terrorists. I was brought up onstage by the actors and given the award. This was a fun spectacle and got the rest of the audience involved.
Of course then the show was back to the monologues and vignettes. One sweet vignette was a man and a woman performing partially in Russian and partially in English about how they couldn’t live without each other and loved each other. This kind display showed that love knew no boundaries regardless of race, color, sexuality, or language.
Following this was a humorous vignette about a gay man who had his first visit to a bath house and about how when he finally got there, it wasn’t what he expected. It ends with him telling a oignant anecdote about being at the HIV clinic when his friend tested positive. After that was a powerful monologue about a young man who was a math genius that was spurned. The love affair began in math class but ended with him shooting his lover. Whether the lover was male or female was hard to say. Perhaps it was meant to be ambiguous, again, addressing that love can lead and land in heartbreak no matter what the orientation. Finally, another gay man appeared. This time to speak humorously yet honestly about the stereotype that gay men are feminized, and about how women view them more as gossip buddies and wardrobe consults than people. The monologue in this vignette addresses how stereotypes marginalize in more ways than one, and we group people as a whole rather than individuals.
29 x/y then of course ended with a dance party. While I was sad to see the show end, there is something about being pulled onstage by the actors and dancing that makes it all awesome. 29 x/y was an awesome experience, and Marcus Yi is the next great voice in Downtown Theatre. While the piece is woven together in a threadbare fashion, it fits well and the risk is worth watching.
Several Yi ensemble regulars peppered the cast such as Sonia Nam, Richard Glucksberg, and Lauren Gralton. However, one should also watch for these names Alyssa Shari Ross, AJ Heekin, Tatyana Kalko, Amy Melissa Bentley, Leigh Hendrix, Erica Wiederlight, London Griffith, Shane Hall, Matthew Pohlman, Patty Santa Cruz, Luis Restrepo, and Taras Chopenko. All worked as strong unit with not one weak link amongst them. Each has a promising future in the theatre ahead of them.

This experimental work would have made Grotowski and Brecht proud. Can’t wait to see what is next from Marcus Yi, one of the brightest rising stars in the American Theatre. 29 x/y is a must see

Friday, July 12, 2013

Intentions: A Spiritual Blog

When I was younger I grew up in a town where religion was used as a weapon. The Catholics believed in a God that was vengeful and indulged in marches for life. Ribbons-or right to life-were handed out on several occasions. These were supposedly to protect the unborn, but in reality designed to oppress women. Holy days were taken seriously which meant morning masses before school. As for the Protestants, they weren't much better. They just went to church a little later but were still just as crazy. Then there was the megachurch down the road where the pastor declared AIDS was the punishment to the gay population. Not to mention they had a wicked recruitment program in their youth group. As in kool-aid and pizza at the end of the month if the kids go so much fresh blood. Then there were two sects that split off because the megachurch was becoming too liberal. One splinter sect was so crazy it meant that one could not marry outside the this mini church that met in our school's cafeteria. That meant children with flippers.

As if that wasn't bad enough we had a youth group called Campus Life. The sponsor, a strange man with pale skin and white blonde hair, would troll the school cafeteria looking for lost souls to entrap in this Svengali net. To correspond with this, a well meaning history teacher had Bible Studies in his room during lunch violating the supposed divide between church and state. I remember when I was a junior, our school got a new principal. He used the anti-power of Christ to compel this cult master out of the cafeteria. People who were drunk in the daze were angry. Those of us with brains were quite satisfied. Later he was arrested for molesting young boys. Now he is on his knees in jail doing the bidding of Jesus. While Jesus is not the one who died on the cross in an S and M type of fashion, he does have a rosary tattooed on his chest.

Of course these nuts were always on fire. Like Rand Paul they cite the Bible as anthropological evidence. Not to mention they wrote poems about God and how he made them feel safe. One young woman wrote a poem about her closeness to God that read like a pornographic novel. Needless to say, when I was eighteen and moved to NYC I was done with these Jesus freaks.

I didn't want to hear about the Bible and didn't have time for anyone who quoted it. While I never ceased to believe in a Higher Power, I refused to believe it was a racist, sexist, homophobic, and anti-Semitic white man on a cloud. My understanding of life and the world were so different than any of the hate these people preached that I totally wrote off organized religion. I would even quote Karl Marx calling it the opium of the people.

However one thing I got into was meditation. I came across it several years ago as I was going through one of the craziest times of my life and coming out of one even more chaotic. The meditation helped me change my energy. It helped me focus. It helped me quiet my mind. I also met some people who were religious but were peaceful and chose to show their faith by living it rather than preaching it. I ended up attending Bible study at a gay friendly church a few times where I learned about the Bible in a whole new way. Sodom and Gomorrah was not about homosexuality, but being kind to your neighbor and welcoming strangers. It was also lost in translation. I remember the preacher explaining that it had been interpreted as homosexuality in later years, but this was not originally the case in Greek. Another woman whom I became close to also said that God's issue was not homosexuality, but rather the rape of angels. I also met a priest who said, "Listen, if you are gay you are welcome in my church. I also think you should be able to get married. The world will catch up but we are all God's children."

Over time I began to see that faith, when used well, was a wonderful thing. That religion could be wonderful as well, if coupled with spirituality. If it was just dogma alone that is when it was toxic. That is when people put ministers such as Pat Robertson-who looks like an angry elf-on a white cloud and make him God. How people listen to that moron I will never know. But a belief wasn't evil. It was how it got twisted and misunderstood.

Recently, in my meditation, my friend Bernard Davis has inspired me. A former Jehovah's Witness, Bernard has left the fold because that and being gay don't always jibe. However he has kept his spirituality. Before we went to Gay Pride Bernard insisted we do an intention. He said, "When we go out today, may we spread love, light and happiness." And we did. Actually the intention was awesome. 

So lately I have been doing that and my life has been changing. So yes, I believe in good vibes. I am spiritual. I believe it a G.O.D. (Good orderly direction, Gratitude over drama). I believe in the next right thing. I believe in treating others the way I want to be treated. Any questions?

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
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Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Restless, Irritable, and Discontent

I am entering perhaps one of the worst times of year for the business I am in. There is this lull. It's like a death lull. It never lasts forever but feels like it will. For the whole of the winter and spring I have been busy as hell. And now I feel like blah. Actually I have been busy with other projects. But still, it's kind of financially interesting to say the least.

Part of me feels lazy and worthless as hell. But I know it will pass. I am applying for some promo jobs which I hate. Yes it is quick money but it is also bitch work. Oh and on one promo job I was with this chick who told me that she would audition for stuff but that would mean she would have to stop pAArtying. Revolting was an understatement. Then of course you have the bitter former actresses who fell into promos and now they are peppy about it to compensate for the fact they have no career. One time this chick mentioned she was touring and I asked her what show. She told me it was promos. I was like, oh. And she snapped and said, "People don't just tour with theatre, you know?" OUCH McOUCH!

And then you get the promo chicks who are just plain hard to take that take the job so seriously. Relax, it's just a damn promo. Your job is to smile, hand out the flier, and just stand there. No one is rating you. I worked with one chick who was like that. She too claimed to be an actress. I asked her if she was in anything and she snapped, "You have to know people." Okay, duh. And then she was doing some retarded show and I asked how much it paid seeing it as a career opportunity. She said, "None of anyone's business!" I was like WOWSA! I just went to my corner and worked. She was cool when I missed a few days for a job. But the super promo chicks were just jealous as hell and said I should be fired cause I wasnt committed. As if? This job was designed for that.

Things haven't been that bad though. I have some club dates coming up and have some money coming in next week. I also have money from book sales which is cool. The weird thing is, my broke underemployed ass is on TV more than ever. I am getting recognized by fans on the constant. I am like thanks. Now tell my bank statement how famous I am, for realz. It would love to hear it.

I also got some good news on some other projects that is waaaayyyyyyy promising. I am thankful for that.

There is an old saying that this too shall pass. I know it will. So hurry the fuck up and pass.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
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Monday, July 8, 2013

A Real Convo

As many of you know I am active in politics. Anyway, I have done some canvassing for Yetta Kurland despite the fact it screws with my serenity. Still, it means getting my candidate on the ballot. Anyway, I was walking along going to meet someone to talk about a project. So I am walking along and I see this woman bruskly walking. I was like oh, a canvasser. I will help her out. I will be a good person.


Canvasser: Are you a registered Democrat?

Me: Yes.

Canvasser: Would you like to sign to get your candidate on the ballot?

Me: Sure. Who is your candidate?

Canvasser: Corey Johnson.

Me: Oh, I am on Yetta's campaign.

Canvasser: Oh then you can't sign. Your signature on Corey's petition will cancel your signature on Yetta's petition.

Okay, this lady is cukoo cause that is not I was told but whatever. I made a mistake

Me: May the best man win! And if Corey wins I will get behind him because he is still a decent Democrat.

Canvasser: Well Corey has been on the board for eight years! He is the best man!

Me: Okay, I believe you. But I will say this. I got behind Yetta because she is behind women. Corey Johnson has not once mentioned women. Female is my political identity.

I got to walk away. I have now engaged the whacko. Goddamn having strong opinions

Canvasser: Corey Johnson cares about women. He is close to his mother and she is a woman!

WOW, is this argument for realz? I decide to take a joke

Me: Well I would hope so otherwise I would have some serious questions.

Canvasser: Well Corey wants to bring back the flavor in the neighborhood. It used to be cheap and manageable to live here. Now it's impossible to afford to live here. It is missing the old flavor!

Me: The crime rate was also higher

Canvasser: Yes but now you can't afford to live here. The working people are being pushed out of Manhattan.

Me: But I can walk down the street without being mugged.

Canvasser: But Corey wants to help the homeless and mentally ill. He wants to reopen mental institutions to cure the social ills (insert blah, blah, blah because she is just a moron).

Me: Thank you. I have to go. Give me some literature on Corey.

Canvasser: Sure. I would vote for him but I don't live in the district.

WHAT! WHATEVER. Doesn't look like I will be voting for Corey Johnson. He's got some of the craziest, rudest, idiots on his campaign. Sigh McSigh Sigh

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
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Sunday, July 7, 2013

Thomas Paine's Nightmare

A close up of a disaster in progress
"These are the times that try men's souls. That the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, sink from the service of their country...." Words said by Thomas Paine. One of the greatest orators of his time, Thomas Paine was quite revolutionary for a revolutionary. During an era where people relied on religion out of fear, he questioned God. In a time when women were regarded as simple breeding machines, he addressed them in his speeches. When the forefathers wanted freedom despite owning slaves, he chastised them. Then he continued his mission to the French Revolution where he served in their government despite knowing no French. Sure, he was declared an enemy of the Republic later. But yes, he was an activist. As a matter of fact rumor has it that the Constitution was ghost written by Tommy Paine.

So on the Fourth of July my friend Kelly and I decided to protest. It was a last minute thing really. Our friend Vips was just as surprised as we were. In our fury, we wanted to stop illegal search and seizure. We wanted to yell and scream about how the Fourth Amendment was being broken and abused. Our friend Vips however, was protesting the protest. He said this was a surprise to him and he was hungry. So he wanted to eat. Kelly was more fired up than I was. And then Vips argued that he was really hungry. So I proposed we would protest and then eat. We agreed it was a good idea.
Tommy Paine's soul has been tried and he is slitting his wrists in the afterlife

We took a train to Union Square. When we got there the protest had already left. The march went down to Wall Street. How had we missed everyone? Kelly was misinformed and said it had started two hours earlier. So we went to search for the march. We walked along and saw no one. Desperate to get her point across, Kelly held her sign. We went to find a bus and found none. Kelly then went on a rant about Bloomberg cutting the buses. Vips, tired and hungry, decided he was taking matters into his own hands. That is when he hailed a cab and off to Foley Square we went.

Our cab driver decided to take the long way. Partly out of stupidity and partly out of construction. Vips questioned his driving and Kelly began to yell at the cab driver. I told her to save her energy for the protest.

When we got to Foley Square the protest had ended. However some people had left their signs. Kelly suggested we continued protesting. At this point I was so over it. Vips was way over it. Kelly said there were two of us into it, and I was like, "Yeah, one and a half." That is when Kelly decided to smoke a cigarette and had me hold her sign for five minutes. I was like, WTF! It's your sign. Don't have me do your protest. And then she took her sign back. I picked up a leftover sign and we stood there for a few minutes. Instead of being angry, the cops laughed. Then Vips, thinking this was so funny, took our photos.

We then decided to screw the protest and party.

In 1774, the minutemen who had no experience and lots of heart took on the British army. Yes, they were massacred and had no idea what they were doing but knew they were mad as hell. Kelly's sign asked, "Are you a true liberal. Do you like liberty or tyranny? And all these years later, America still doesn't know what it is doing. If Thomas Paine could have seen us he would have rolled around in his grave. However, his grave was moved and his bones were lost so that adds more insult to injury. I think when he wrote Common Sense Thomas Paine saw a utopia. Instead, what he got were two crazy women who were yelling and screaming and ended up missing the protest.

"These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot, will in crisis, sink from the service of their country...."

All dressed up and no protest to go to

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, also through Brown and NYU Books
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Summer
Portion of proceeds go to Ali Fornay Center

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Dear Joe (Jimi Hendrix)

Dear Joe,

It was two years ago today that you left us. I remember the first time we met. You told me you were a Scorpio, a triple Scorpio. And I was like, "AHHH!" You told me I was much too sweet for your sting and I laughed. That was the moment I knew I liked you.

I was immediately taken by your gentle smile and laugh when we met. You were deep, thoughtful, and most of all kind. In life's journey, we very rarely meet true friends. You were a true friend. Why, how did I know this? You told me off the bat when you thought I was being a moron. Granted, it was most of the time in those days. But still, you always knew the words to get me right back on track. I remember one time I had some stupid scheme. This married dude who liked me was trying to worm his way back into my life. You just looked at me and said, "No, April. Just no." And then in the next breath you asked me if I ever got tired of fucking up my life. It was like a slap to my face with a bucket of cold water for days. But you were a friend and that is why you did that. If you weren't a friend, you would have let me go on my stupid way.

The thing I have to thank you for is that you really got me to write again. In my early twenties when I was high on self-loathing I found myself in an abusive relationship. My former fiance told me my writing was terrible and I dropped the ball in that arena. When you knew me I got a job for a freelance rag that is now defunct and I was writing about my former flames. You look a look at it and called it "dribble." You knew about the telegram job and asked me why I didn't write about that because it sounded more interesting. I told you I had always wanted to write a book but was afraid I wouldn't know where to start. You asked me if I was afraid or just lazy. Then you kept asking me how I was coming along on the book and I kept lying to you and telling you I was really busy on it. Finally I just did it. I spent an entire summer writing.

I also remember how you were like the gay older brother I never had. You always had a pep talk and could put me in the right direction. But you also liked dirty jokes and hot guys too. Walking down the street with you was always a treat because you worked on movie sets and knew everyone. Of course, they were always just as happy to see you. I remember during one of your older brother talks I told you how frustrated I was with my career and you told me to relax and not to push so hard. You told me I was too funny to be passed over. You also told me every time I talked I had a responsibility to be positive because people listened to me.

Two years ago today I was pitching the book when I found out you had died. I know you took your own life and there are a dozen reasons why you chose this action. Although it means you left our world and those that love you are deprived of your company, I understand and respect your decision. I know you have found peace, and that is what I want for you as your friend. Every once in a while, I do visit your facebook page like the trainwreck basketcase that I am to give you updates on my career. It is in part because you were always so proud of me when I did well. It is also in part because in my heart and mind I believe sometimes you come in to read it. However, I know you are in heaven. You were a wonderful person. Yes, you had your issues, who doesn't? But we were lucky to have had you as long as we did. Now God has you and I know you are feng shuiing in heaven. The place probably does need a makeover.

My mother once told me energy is neither created nor destroyed. Every once in a while you do pop up. Sometimes I think I see you walking around Chelsea. Sometimes you appear in my dreams like you did the other night. I was going through some stuff and you talked me out of being my crazy, stupid self. Thank you sweet angel. I am blessed because you were right, I am too funny to be ignored. Things are coming together. The book you got me to write is part of the collection at Barnes and Noble, Brown, NYU, and other places. They want me to speak at some high class places. I mention you in the epilogue by the way. It is becoming an audiobook too. I would have never had the guts to do any of this had we never met. I would have still been a scared twenty-something who's voice had been silenced by low self-worth and bad decisions. While I am grateful to have known you, sometimes it still rips my heart out that you are not here with me in person.

Right now I am crying, destroying my mascara as I write. I am having the successful career you always told me I would have. I also know you would want me to find a guy that treats me well and live happily ever after that isn't married. This past week I collected my six year coins. While you weren't laughing at my quippy speeches or crazy stories you were with me in spirit. Rest in Peace Dear Heart, and don't rip on me for being an old lady when we meet again and wearing Alfred Dunner as well as having wrinkles. Oh, and you better save the good gossip for when I come. We will have an eternity to catch up on.


Monday, July 1, 2013

To Wong Foo: This is Soooo GAAy

Gay Marriage is legal. We saw it happen yesterday on the Swish float
Okay, yesterday was Pride as you know and I was out and about with my Booski Bernard aka Teena the Ballerina for the day. Our plan: to crash the parade and make a scene. Bernard came to my place to change into his costume. As soon as he entered my domain, we began to gossip like a good little gay boy and fruit fly. During his transformation, Bernard discovered he was missing his eyelash glue. He could not be Teena without any eyelash glue!!!!

So off to the corner store I went. On my way there I was in my outfit and got the thumbs up from several of the homos in my hood. However I was slightly gay bashed. One old Jew saw me and sneered, "Lesbian!" I thought, if it means I don't have to date you I will be munching rug until the end of time, Pal. What a dickass. But nevermind him, no dick would want to go near his ass.

I came back to my apartment and told Bernard of my ordeal and he comforted me. We would be where we could be safe in no time, the Fairy Tale Kingdom of LGBTQ Land. So off to the Parade we went. As we were forced to walk through Hederoville, we got some stares from families and children but wheves. We would be on Fifth soon enough. And once we were, we heard, "HAPPY PRIDE!!!" Immediately, people were in love with our costumes and kept taking our photos. Of course, before we did this Bernard and I laid an intention to our higher power so that we could bring love and joy and rainbows!!!!!!

We took photos with several strangers and plotted where to break into the parade. That is when we saw Bernard's friend Khalil, code name Heidi. Heidi was dressed in drag with fake tits that spouted liquor. A welcome surprise, it was three brains, one totally biologically woman and two lady for the day. Bernard whined about wearing heals and wondered how women did it. I offered to lend him my uterus next year for the full effect along with a side of sexism. We had a laugh. As we walked down the street there were more and more photos taken when Bernard commanded that Officer E be taken out, aka the gay child in my puppet family.

The photos became more and more and we began to search for a way in. But oh no, 26 street was detoured. So we panicked. I told the homos to stay calm, while they were only dressed as women there was a real one in charge. That is when we went around and came in through 23rd and 5th. We broke in the parade. Bernard and Khalil wanted a float with music and paced up and down Fifth as the parade was going. I told them to behave. We had worked so hard to crash the parade, now we were going to get kicked out. Just then the parade marshall made a motion for us to move, and I yelled, "Step lively, homos!" And off we went.

We ended up initially crashing the Bueno Float and skipping along with signs. I took out Officer E and we were hugging and kissing strangers. Bernard and Khalil and I took a shitload of photos, and we just kept dancing in the streets for marriage equality. We were so good the Bueno camp even gave us signs! The music was good and the pictures were snapping. We were part of Pride. We were part of history. People were happy. As Officer E (Or Officer Bottom as my homos call him) and I were hugging and kissing strangers, I wondered what my mother would say. She would probably be shoving a Z Pack in my direction but alas.

The music on the Bueno float ceased to be good and plus we were losing Khalil and his vodka tits and Bernard had also been MIA on one occasion while taking a photo or two. So we joined the Swish float. They had better music and there were people on there getting wedded. As we were dancing with the Swish float I heard, "APRIL!" That is when I saw some of my friends. Then I saw more of my friends. Everyone was watching me in the parade!!!!! As we danced with the Swish float some girl accosted me for a picture and asked, "I saw you on TV. You have your puppet. This is so cool." I was like McSweet.

Then as we danced down the street and I was jumping up and down with my puppet and I kissing the strangers the Swish float stopped. There was a wedding happening. DOMA had been overturned. Bernard, Khalil and I watched the nuptials and felt tears come to our eyes. Perhaps Bernard was right. I should not give up on true love. As the parade ended I was recognized by a little gay boy who said, "You were on TV with those puppets, right?" I was like yes. And I told him to tell the world April Brucker and her puppet children loved everyone regardless of race, color, creed, orientation and whatnot.

And then as the parade wound down the drag queen announcing told me to shake it. It was like completing a marathon. The three of us, lost souls in the world of drag, danced our way to the parade's end and kissed and hugged several more strangers. We took photos with some folks and then as we made our way in the gaycentric West Village we eyed out for a place to sit down. All the while more friends came my way. This was funtastic.

As we continued taking pics a third girl said, "I recognized your face but when I saw that puppet I knew who you were." I was like wowsa, recognized three times. Do I get a Gay Bingo or perhaps a hot black stud chick to throw me over her shoulder and make sweet love to me? You have to throw in both. It is Pride.

Finally, we ended up getting some greasy fried chicken. Khalil split to meet friends. Bernard and I ate and talked to some straight dude who supported. My friend Justin dropped by and gave me some gossip on people we both hated. Bernard then split to go to a boat party, and I was supposed to meet up with another friend but it didnt happen. I think she was too tired. But anywho, it was a fun day. On my walk home took more photos, made more friends, and kissed and hugged more strangers.

Now to take some vitamins.

The homos are hibernating today. But I am proud of my gay friends being who they are. I am proud to be their friend and that we share our friendship. And yes, even when they realize that being a woman once a year is enough.

Happy Day After Pride!!!

What happens on Christopher St. stays on Christopher St.

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, also through Brown and NYU Books
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Summer
Portion of proceeds go to Ali Fornay Center