April E. Brucker's Blog, page 22

Skipper Getting Married

My baby sister is getting married. Yes, married. She and her fiance Boomer are getting married. Yes, married. I have to keep saying it because it is sinking in but planning the wedding is giving me battle fatigue.

Married.

That is why they say marriage and then death. Not because getting married means you are dying, but planning a wedding might in fact be the death of you. It's  because there is so much to do and when you think you are done there is more.

When I met Boomer I liked him. Whether he and Skipper would get married was a different story. But I had also liked Bobby, Skipper's previous ex. Unlike Boomer who is more rugged looking, Bobby is more or less a Joe Harvard looking type of man. The break up wasn't dramatic. Bobby was an engineer and took a job in Houston, and Skipper continued on with medical school. It was life.
Boomer and Skipper were a cute couple. As a matter of fact, Skipper was in his sister Lili's wedding. She had known Lili through her husband Willy. Yeah, Lili and Willy, ha ha.

I liked Boomer, but was realistic about their future. My sister matched at Vanderbilt in Nashville, and Boomer was working in Rhode Island. Skipper liked Boomer but didnt want to do distance. Boomer claimed he was looking for jobs in Nashville. I half believed him. Then he surprised us all by moving down there. Yes, Boomer sold his refrigerator to get money to move. He lived on peanut butter, bacon and bannana sandwiches. The poor man spiked his cholesterol level. If that ain't love I don't know what is.

They got engaged and the rest is history.

Since then Boomer has become like the baby brother I never had. I would call him my little brother but he stands 6'2," nearly a foot taller than I. Skipper claims that 2 years after they wed they plan on having a child.

NO.

I am not ready to be an aunt. Not to mention my sister and Boomer doing the McNasty, no. It's almost as disgusting as picturing your parents doing the McNasty. I know I exist and the power went out one night. Truth: I wouldn't be on this planet except the television wasn't working and my parents missed Wheel of Fortune.

Since that time, we have all been digesting the news. Aunt Marie, my sister's Godmother had been hunting veils and centerpieces for a year so she was thrilled. So were my other aunts. As for my dad, he likes Boomer but the idea of a wedding makes any father a deer in headlights. My mom was thrilled. As for me, it hadn't quite sunk in yet. My sister was getting married. I had a fiance once. I had a few dudes want to marry me. I know you kiss a frog, he turns into a prince, then he turns into a man. If you don't kill him you have already won.

Skipper only changed her wedding colors several times shortening my mother's lifespan, but those are brides. But the wedding events have been a success so far. The bachelorette weekend at the beach was loads of fun. I had planned that baby months in advance and hoped that my legal troubles (different story), weren't going to get in the way of the work that needed to be done. However, my aunts stepped in splendidly in my absence to fill in the gaps. Nonetheless, making the baskets months in advance helped.....my humble innovation.

Did I mention the male stripper was the best idea ever? Thank God for Jason Stiles. Yum, yum.
So now it was planning the entire wedding. During the course of the weekend, my mom and I listened to church music and overdosed on classical. Then there were also breaks with guitar where you would only play the song when you truly hate the honoree. I will admit Bach sounds like funeral music and Mendhelssohn is hit or miss. Pachelbell is amazing, and I would say I like Wagner except he was Hitler's favorite composer.

Then there was the reception music we had to pick. In there I began to approach the rehearsal dinner like a comedy show. I told my mother this would not be an open mic, no Siree Bob. There would be pre-booked speakers and then I would serve as time keep lighting people when it was time and my alarm would go off it it was over time. Or we would clap. And over Christmas, I began to pre-book.
After that, I insisted the guest list was done. My father was forced to help. Yeah, he had mixed feelings.

My mother and I bonded over this. Apparently, on her wedding day, she was a jittery bride and my great Aunt Hilda gave her a Valium. So my mom confessed to walking down the aisle stoned. Then they got to the reception and hired a band. Well the band leader announced my dad's mom and dad's dad. One problem, my dad's dad was deceased, and had been so for at least five years at this point. And then the band leader asked my mom what song she wanted for her and my dad's first dance.
My mom said, "Anything but 'We've Only Just Begun.'"

Well guess what they played. Granted, it was 1975 and it was hip, but the bride told you not to.
As if that wrinkle wasn't enough, add in the fact both my grandmother's posted the invite up at their work. They said their kids were getting married and to stop on by. Oh, and there was FREE FOOD. So instead of the 250 they were planning on, my parents had close to 500 unexpected people at their wedding.

And so it begins.

The following phases have been uttered so far:

Dad: "We need to sit down and talk about the budget. This wedding is out of control!!!!"

Skipper: "Calm down, everything will take care of itself. "

Mom: I did not raise you like that. My friends are coming. It will be  splendid production and I will not be embarassed. I RAISED YOU TO BE PREPARED. THIS IS WHY YOU WENT TO AN IVY LEAGUE SCHOOL AND I PUT A STETHOSCOPE AROUND YOUR NECK AND THAT IS WHY YOU ARE A DOCTOR TODAY!!!! SO NO, IT WILL NOT TAKE CARE OF ITSELF!!!!!! IT IS LESS THAN 200 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!

Then there was my dad trying to put the guest list on a spread sheet. Me getting yelled at for doing it wrong. My mom telling me we would do it our own way and we were just humoring my dad. And at that moment I uttered the phrase, "FUCK BOOMER AND FUCK SKIPPER. FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKS! I AM GETTING ALL THIS SHIT AND FEELING ALL THIS STRESS AND IT'S NOT EVEN MY GODDAMN WEDDING. IF SHE DOESN'T CARE, I DON'T CARE."

That is when my dad told me to watch my language and ordered me to the shower. And my mom sighed. Later that night we went to hang out with my dad's friends, Dr. Reb and his wife Maybelle. Dr. Reb has been married twice and his daughter got married a few years ago.

As we told him about the wedding drama, Dr. Reb half grinned. He told us that his daughter got married in Nashville, and the week had been hot. However, it had rained the night before and his daughter had an outdoor wedding. And it was only a mere 48 degrees. Luckily the wedding was tented. But Dr. Reb had to rent heaters and they were $5000. Granted, they saved the day, but still.
Dr. Reb looked at my dad and said, "It's not over until it's over. That is why I drank heavily afterwards."

The whole thing was surreal actually as Dr. Reb drank his whiskey and recounted his adventures as Father of the Bride with a strange mixture of nostalgia, love, but mixed with the horror a man feels in the jungles of Vietnam.

I thought of my own life and my own mortality. Yes, Skipper and Boomer planned to wed and procreate. What about my life? I was on my own in the city. Would my dreams ever come true? This year had been a colorful one to say the least. I began to fear being inadequate in my career and feared not getting to the next step.

Sure, the work was starting to pay off but would it? There was so much uncertainty that came with the future. Yeah, the dark road I was walking. Granted, Skipper and Boomer would be driving in their mini van and would give me a lift. But this whole thing was.......there were no words for it. No wonder people drink heavily at weddings.

Then I realized I still had my freedom. I still had my dreams. I wasn't the one walking down the aisle. I had the freedom to help plan the wedding and walk away from it. I also still had the freedom to jet off to Vegas or Europe if I so pleased.

When you are married you don't have those things. But at the same time, you have other things. Either way, while my sister and I could not be leading more different lives it doesn't mean I don't want the best day for her and Boomer. That's what a wedding truly is about.

Game on.

Should I threaten to kill him if he mistreats my sister in my maid of honor toast?

Yeah.

And then we can end with a dancing midget jumping out of a cake.
Sure.

Or Dr. Reb as he increased his brandy intake told a story about masturbating turkeys and then offered to emcee my sister's wedding free of charge. While it would be funny to everyone else, she would never speak to me again. He wouldn't do it for real, but it was just a funny visual as the look of horror would cross the faces of the guests.

Sigh.

Did I mention I was glad I was single?

www.aprilbrucker.com

Festivus

Lately I have been thinking of the concept of evolution. No, not like Charles Darwin but just evolving in general. I took a seminar this summer with a life coach through the Actors' Fund. It couldn't have come at a more perfect time. Shit was hitting the fan in my life. I was in a living situation that wasn't working. My relationship was like an oddly built European car that sometimes worked but when it broke down it really broke down until it didnt work anymore. And then I had gotten some indication that I might get where I want to go with the career but there was still much work to be done.

During this session, there was a woman who was an opera singer. Big, black, and beautiful, she admitted she had never sang at any major houses in New York. As a matter of fact, she had gotten a Masters in Vocal Performance from Julliard. In Manhattan, she temped and sold real estate, but she had done all the major houses and festivals in Europe. Now she was tired of living overseas, her parents were dying, and she wanted to teach.

So she said, "I am transitioning to acadamia," 

referencing a job she applied for at the MM program at Manhattan School of Music. 

This life coach stopped her and said, "No, transitioning negates what you have done. You are evolving."

I felt good when I heard that, evolving. Evolution. We are always in the process of walking upright and learning to walk upright more.

Lately I have been evolving. For years, before this past summer, I had been focused on my work to a fault. My children and I against the world. Between performing as much as I had and being on the run as much as I was girlfriend never really had much of a life. When I did stop to have a "life" I always found I was tired and grinding my teeth as if I was growling. I never knew why I was so stressed. Then again, my money was all going to rent and I hauled ass up four flights of stairs. That would piss anyone off day in and day out.

Last Monday I got my colposcopy results back. My squanderamous cells or whatever the hell they are called came back benign. When I read the word benign a feeling of calm came through my body. Being told a Pap Smear is abnormal makes your life flash before my eyes. Then the scraping which is two minutes of hell followed by the doctors and nurses chatting away.

All after I faced a retaliatory eviction.

So I was benign. I didnt have cancer. I wasn't being evicted. My baseboards are currently on my wall and I dont have bed bugs, mold, and a psychotic landlord making my life hell. I suppose I am doing better than I thought.

Wednesday was new release day at the comic book store. I got there to find my new release was not on the shelf. They said this was Diamond and because I was with an indie distributor my situation would have been different. I was kind of pissed. There was so much of me that looked forward to seeing my comic on the shelf. As a writer, it never gets old seeing your writing displayed. It's like a look mom, see what I did.

So I called my editor. He didnt get the books. SHIT! I thought about snapping at the people who worked there like I would have once upon a time and they would have whispered about how I was a crazy bitch after I left. But then I said to myself, "April, you don't have cancer. Your comic book will be on the shelf. Just not today. Don't be a dick."

I left and then as I am getting ready to go back home I get a call from my editor. The comic books had come afterwards and he was on his way. This was a Festivus miracle. So back I went to the store and purchased myself several copies. And sure enough they were placed on the shelf. Life was awesome again. But the most important thing was, I had my health. While it was cool to have the comic book in my hand, I still had my sanity and dignity. Most importantly, I didnt look like a nut job.

When I got home I figured I would rest up and get ready for the ventriloquist show I had to do for the special needs people. But then I got a call from my boss. It was a Marilyn Monroe telegram in the Bronx. It wasn't just in the Bronx. It was waaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy out in the Bronx. 

I told him no. But he had no one else available during this time. Shit. That was going to be a long assed day. I began to plan my day and dreaded what was ahead. But then as I was in the midst of my dread it hit me. I was working and paying the bills again. Yeah, it wasnt the bells and whistles I sometimes got but I was WORKING AND PAYING THE BILLS. There was no high drama. There was no health scare. Life was good. 

My trip to the Bronx was an adventure. The train was getting construction and I had to connect thus taking longer. Dear God. And then I changed in a Dunkin Donuts bathroom and made the Indian dude who owned the place think I was either shooting dope, overdosing, homeless, or possibly having a baby. Either way, he was glad I was alright and even more puzzled as to why I emerged looking like Marilyn Monroe.

The gig was interesting but fun. The dude I was initially supposed to sing to was sent me from his wife, but he has no wife and this woman is a mere girlfriend. She simply aspires to be a wife. But the guy who owned the car lot, well it was his 89 year old dad's birthday. And he wanted to know if it was okay if the old guy got in on the action. I thought, why not?

Turned out the old dude was a hoot and it was one of the most fun jobs I did in sometime. He was 89 years young, literally. I hope I am that cool if I get to live that long. He kind of reminded me of my Pop Pop, just funny and kept going. Never took anything too serious.

The trip back to the city to chill out for a tad before my next gig was interesting. I had to change trains and the ceiling of the train station wasn't just leaking but having a monsoon of rain/sewer water and I nearly stepped in it and probably messed up my hair. Plus the place smelled like yucky pee.

When I finally got on a train this angry woman reading a shelf help book body checked me. And then a black power dude started with his spiel and I just wanted to bang my head against the wall. Not you, not now.
Grand Central was equally as crazy as people were pushing, shoving, and going crazy. Bah humbug. Did I mention I hate Christmas? I mean hate Christmas and all the bullshit that goes with it? Well if I didnt mention it I am mentiong it now.

As I went to my next gig, hoping to get it over with, I could barely find a seat on the train and some psychotic woman who looked like she either missed her Prozac dosage or escaped from hell yelled at me. When I got off the train it was raining and yucky and gross. Gosh I just wanted to go home.

I got to my final gig of the day. It was the home for the people with cerebral palsy. Immediately, I saw the residence out front in their wheel chairs. Some seemed more mobile than others. Nonetheless, each had personality. They were endearing, as one woman had $1 Ask Me Anything on a sign on the back of her chair. It's New York. Rent is expensive.

I got inside and the health aids were going crazy. One agency had organized the party, and the other agencies didn't know about it. Some of the West Indian health aids began to yell at each other and two even looked like they were going to duke it out. They kept asking me like I knew. Dear God did I mention I hate Christmas! 
I HATE CHRISTMAS! PUT THE JESUS CHRIST ON A CRACKER IN CHRISTMAS BECAUSE IT IS A FUCKING PAIN IN MY TUCHAS!

Just then the dude that hired me, an Orthodox Jewish fellow, came to smooth out the situation. Very sweet, he explained everyone was invited. Some stayed, others didnt. Either way, the party began and he introduced me. I began and realized it wasn't the best room to do comedy in. Plus some of my audience members were more mobile than others. Oh this was going to be an interesting hour.

So I decided to go to them. I went from table to table. At first I was met with trepidation as nothing worked. But I just kept going. Puppet after puppet I kept going. Slowly, the residents began to bond with my puppets. Many had questions for them, and others began to hug them. The client who hired me had a 2 year old daughter who was afraid of the puppets but fearlessly looked in my suitcase. It was adorable, very adorable.

After the show, one woman who could barely speak came up to me. She was in a wheelchair and gave me a hug. At first I couldn't understand her, but something told me to slow down and listen. The woman told me she enjoyed my show and wanted to know if I would be coming back. Clutch! The audience liked the show!!!! I told her of course. Of course I would be back. 

Then it hit me. Christmas wasn't about the crazy but instead it was about being a part of, and it was about GIVING. These people were a part of the population that others forget about, or when they see them sometimes they don't know quite what to say for obvious reasons. As a result they make them feel like aliens. I did a show for these people. They laugh like everyone else does. Not so different. So yeah, Christmas is about giving. GIVING!

Then of course that lesson slipped out of my brain as I was back on the train and the 7 was running express because of track work. And it was raining. Gosh the client review would be interesting. 

The next day I read the client review. Five stars. Awesome! Maybe I was one step closer to working corporate. While comedians thumb their noses at the concept, it is where the money is. Plus like people at the comedy clubs, they wanna laugh too. Oh and I am beginning to work consistently as a ventriloquist again after all this drama. Again, life is good. 

Friday was spent delivering all day and managing to battle the insane weather and people traffic. The day ended with a Christmas Marilyn Monroe-esque party crasher at a bad sweater party. While I was exhausted from all that has been going on in my life, I was also happy to have the work. As I came home, I also realized for as much as the universe seemed to take a giant crap on me with one hit after another, for the first time in forever I enjoyed my work again.

I wasnt the girl on TV or the one with all the press or blah, blah, blah, but instead I really was just having fun and that was all that mattered. When I got home I saw my Aunt Lori, Uncle Joe and her sons had sent me a Christmas card. It made me smile. It made my new home feel like home. 

Next time I have a craptacular train ride I will remember the airing of the grievances, and think fondly of the pole I am decorating.
Happy Festivus for the Rest of us!!!!!!!!!!

Perfectly Perfect

Lately, I have been coming off of a chaotic streak. Okay, between facing eviction, a move under duress, and spinkle in a bad breakup with a liar things have been crazy. Did I forget my cancer scare?

Yeah.

Slowly and surely things have been returning to normal. Monday and Tuesday I open miced it. The mic on Monday was at The Unicorn, and it was fun because I got to go with an old friend. It was nice to be onstage again.

Last night I went to an open mic at the Metropolitan Room. Usually the open mic is a blast in the basement of the carbaret theatre. Upstairs is show tunes, downstairs is dick jokes. It's always fun and supportive, but nothing dramatic usually happens. Anyway, last night this comic starts dropping the "n word." Mind you he's white and usually a nice dude but it's a part of a joke. He says it's a "soft n" which is kinda stupid because there is no such thing. So this black dude jumps out of the shadows kinda and says, "What you say mutherfucka!"

Anyway, the dude dukes the white comic. And the mic stand got bent! Oh, and they had to break it up. The sucky thing is, I missed the whole thing. DAMN! Been a minute since I saw a good open mic fight.

Open mics and I, and I am free to admit it, have a weird relationship. At this point in my career I am kind of "famous." So to be seen at an open mic is like a cool kid in high school being seen shopping at an outlet. At the same time, it is a necessary evil. Also, to me the open mic is like the ex who you break up with, and remains friends with because you like them but dont love them. But at times you see them and remember why the relationship didn't work. Or you also see them and remember why they always make you smile. Yeah, the relationship is weird.

Tomorrow is going to be busy because I have a cake girl in the morning and a puppet show in the noon. How the hell am I going to do it? I am already dreading tomorrow. I booked the puppet show at the last minute yesterday and my boss has a cake girl today. One is in the Bronx. The other is in Brooklyn. I am secretly hoping tomorrow isn't going to kill me, although it is great to be working this much again.

Today my comic book drops at Forbidden Planet.

My new toilet bottom is kind of yellow and still looks like someone peed in it even when you flush.
My man hate issues

My Brand New Place

It has been two whole weeks since I moved into my new digs. The first week was hectic with me getting settled and all. My room was filled with boxes. When we were kids, Skipper, Wendell, and I had a box structure known as Gotham City. Our parents gave it the tongue and cheek nickname because they were remodelling our kitchen, they had leftover boxes, and we made a maze. Of course a groundhog got in there and that was the end of our fun.

These days I do live in Gotham City for real. Well more on the outskirts these days in a sister borough, but I live there nonetheless. My first week there were enough boxes in my new room that I thought of fashioning a new Gotham City. I was bummed there was no groundhog for my mother to chase with a baseball bat, and for Wendell to pretend he wasn't scared of.

One thing I do have in my new digs is a yard with SQUIRRELS. Yes, squirrels. When my mom was in town she saw a black squirrel. Apparently, a black squirrel is a genetic mutation and supposedly attacks the rest of the squirrels. So everything is scared of it. I wasn't aware the animal kingdom was so damn racist. Hack joke. Had to. Make fun of me now.

After all that happened, I was glad to spend this past week going to work and coming home. The 7 train at it's best is like a bullet train. These days I am at work faster than I have ever been when I was living in The Kitchen. In the old days I wanted fireworks all the time. Now I am content with calm and hum drum.

I also bombed this past week onstage, had my first shit fit in my room, and semi-cried myself to sleep on my new mattress. When you have a good cry on a mattress that is how you know a place is becoming home. I would even have a crying corner in my kitchen where I downed cookie dough in times of crisis but that might be just a little weird with my male housemates around.

I had a strange conversation with one this week. He's a good guy, divorced dad of two. It started with, "Not to offend you." We all know they are about to offend the shit outta you when they do that. He told me not to put tampons in the toilet. I feared I might have accidentally, because when I had my follow up at the doc's where they scraped my cervix after my cancer scare, I might have dropped my pad in the toilet after a moment of drained shock. But I didn't. Apparently his niece had flushed a tampon and totally overflowed the toilet. Sigh....a special thank you to the awkward fairy for that moment.

This same housemate saw a special about UFOs and NASA, and a scientist insists that the government is keeping the people in the dark. He says not only are there UFOs, but they created the humans as slaves to do their mining work. And that we are all part UFO. I felt this was a reach but my housemate was fascinated by this and felt that this guy wouldn't lie.

Hmmmmm

My other housemate and I had a chat about it. He informed me that yes, our dear housemate has a fascination with UFOs and conspiracies, but at this point kind of watches way too much TV. Still, maybe there are UFOs. We have some strange acting people on this planet. Who knows? Either way, I like them both and my new living situation much better than the one I left. It's entertaining and most importantly, I am safe.

My UFO obsessed housemate and I have kind of bonded. He is a divorcee with two kids, so sometimes when I chat with him, he sees things from my mom's point of view. While I feel sometimes my parents are crazy, maybe they aren't. Maybe they have some points. Maybe UFOs do exist. Who am I to judge anyone?

This past week I purchased two puppets. My puppet family and I are back to normal, although it has been a rough couple of months for us. I feel more protective of them than ever, and I feel we are all working more as a unit than we ever have. But of course, I left a horrific situation. So if someone believes in UFOs and conspiracies and that's it, I'm game.

No one has broken into my room yet and tried to turn on the gas so I might in fact die. No one has followed me around the neighborhood let alone threatened me. All and all, a better start. Best news ever, none of the rejects I entangled myself with from my old neighborhood know where I am.

Work has gone back to normal as well. Friday I found myself learning "Deep in the Heart of Texas" for a gig. I had it perfect on the train. Then I got there and it was perfect for the most part. One recipient had a weird name that I managed to mangle. Well they all did but this was the weird name I thought I had. But the other weird name was the one I was afraid of messing up but that was perfect. So I got the weirder name perfect but mangled the less weird name. Such is life. The medley was alright. Then the ending worked. It wasn't the way I rehearsed it but I gave them the liquor.

After the gig, I was out on the sidewalk second guessing my work and two people passed me, a man and a woman. The guy says, "That was brutal."

The girl says, "Yeah, a complete disaster. That went real wrong real fast."

The low self-esteem bubble began to run in my head. Did they just come from the party where I was the telegram? I had no idea because the place was so dark. Suddenly, I began to feel like dried dog shit on the sidewalk. A lot had gone wrong in my life and it had been a tricky last few months. I hoped they weren't talking about me. I had no clue, no proof, but the bells began to go off. I began to hope they weren't talking about me. With all that went on, I couldn't lose my most consistent survival job.

At that moment I realized I was tired. Weeks of court dates, harassment, stress, and living in hell had taken it's toll. Yeah, I am in a better situation and look like I am sleeping and eating. I look so good now that people don't gasp when they see me because I am too overwrought to eat. But still, I was freaking drained. Change is exhausting.

I figured the best thing I could do was go to bed. I had no proof they were speaking about me, and if they were fuck them. If they had to endure what I just did they would probably be dead. Actually, there are times I am surprised my life hasn't killed me. Maybe it will someday. It's probably going to be my life, some crazed fan, or the wife of an ex lover.

The client did call the next day with a bitch, but their bitch was legit. It wasn't about my performance, but instead about the fact their ungrateful friends didn't thank them for the expensive liquor. So the bitch was about their ungrateful punkage, not my performance.

My new life has lawn flamingos, Christmas kitsch, and neighbors who own their property. Welcome to life outside of Rental Prison aka New York City. Ten minutes outside the city. What am I talking about? I'm still a renter, what am I talking about, Willis?

Of course there are moments I miss the bustle and hustle of Midtown at this time of year. But when I saw my sister Skipper and her fiance Boomer I suddenly remembered how good it was that I could leave. Yes, I got them matching Christmas cookie cutters and a chew toy for their dog son Cooper. Stepping off the train I only wanted to punch every person in front of me. Yeah, don't miss NYC on a Saturday when everyone and their damn mother has the same idea.

The visit was fun, and made me like Central Park now that I wasn't down the street from it. I hung out with everyone again that night, and bring in an internet friend. We had expensive pizza, and then there was some beer involved. Add in an improv ventriloquist show with Officer E at the same pizza spot. Made me love New York all over again. Made me forget about how beat up and tired I felt living in the pressure cooker known as Manhattan. Made me grateful I could have the city and then travel over the bridge to my home.

I of course made my same prediction about how I might die. We had a laugh. Death is always funny. Sunday I went to my new church which is beautiful but feels impersonal. I need a new church boy crush. Of course I talked to my parents who only managed to stress me out mildly.

Then I saw the wife of an ex of mine, who's only completely unhinged, wrote a tweet about me that was only completely crazy. She called me her psychotic enemy. I mean, that's kind of deep because she's the one who constantly harasses me, and I don't care about her really. So yeah, she's reaching kind of deep. And she was angry I moved into what she called "my borough." Wasn't aware it was yours, sweetheart. Thought you shared it with about a million other people but what do I know?

This woman has been out of control for some time and made me question about whether or not to alert law enforcement because with each passing year she gets more aggressive. Then I decided it was a crush. Now that we are in the same borough, her borough, she can finally just kill me and help the sales of my novel and DVD. But first she's gotta buy me dinner. These days apparently she's in therapy. Maybe she's bitching about me now. Ha ha ha.

At that moment I realized that despite all that happened, I was still on track because someone was jealous of me. LOL. But then I decided to celebrate the actual victory like my new comic book being on the shelf this week. YES, new comic book. And the fact I am going to Vegas to work in January again with May Wilson. And my two new puppets. And the fact I am in a magazine again.

Of course this was after accidentally jogging on Northern Boulevard and watching reruns of Beverly Hills 90210. I like highways and I love cheesy teen trash. New home, old habits die hard.

Changes (Bruce Hornsby)

There is only one constant in life and that is change. Yes, the deadly bowling ball of change. It happens, just not as you want it. The Tower is in Tarot is an unwelcome draw in the deck as the castle is crumbling and there is chaos. But sometimes the chaos and disaster bring us to a place we would have never come to on our own.I have been living The Tower. To make a long story incredibly short I was forced out of my home of nearly a decade. The living situation had become physically, emotionally and mentally abusive as well as draining on my health. The people who called themselves landlords were nothing short of evil, and the people who called themselves property managers were nothing short of profane, vile, and at the very least unprofessional. I was forced to endure hellish conditions that were hazardous to my well being, and was tortured when I said anything. In short, my dream apartment had become a nightmare. The final straw was when my landlord threatened me. He said point blank, “I will not stop until you are homeless.” As if threatening me was not enough, he began to follow me around the neighborhood keeping a tab on my activities. It made me feel ill, and it made me feel unsafe because he had become so obsessed with my comings and goings. The final straw was when he broke into my apartment knowing I wasn’t home, rifled through my things, and took photos. To make matters worse, he turned on my gas stove. It was one that never worked and he knew this. When I came home, I found my apartment in disarray and so hot I could hardly breathe in there. A workman who was an illegal immigrant told me what had happened. I was frightened and called my mom crying. She told me to call my dad who suggested I call the cops. The cops came and were horrified, but couldn’t arrest my landlord because the workman would not talk. However, they recognized the things on my stove were melting and suggested I call Con Ed. The cops also suggested that I find somewhere else to go.I called my friend Nishu gasping for breath. Without missing a beat he said, “You gotta get the fuck outta there as fast as you can!”That Saturday we got on the computer and began to search for a new place for me and my puppet family. It was hard. It was tedious and my head was pounding from all that had happened. In addition to this, I had a romance end badly to put it mildly. Now I had to escape a living situation that was killing me. That Sunday I went from place to place looking for a new home. It felt like a strange fog because the West Side was all I had known. It was where my roots were for a better part of a decade. It was where my friends were. What if I never found roots again? What if I had to move in the cold?I looked at several different places. The first was with an Egyptian family who was obsessed with cleanliness. The second was a pilled out ex-therapist. And the third was a group of roommates I really liked in Spanish Harlem. But it was five floors up. I got outside and felt numb. Looking for a new home really sucked. Fuck you, change. Then of course there was the pad that was more like a college dorm in Chinatown. I liked the people, but I knew I would strangle them if we were forced to live together. I finally ended up looking at a place off the 7. It was the one ad I almost didn’t answer. However, it was only one flight of stairs instead of the four I was used to enduring. Instead of an apartment building, it was a house. Both my housemates would be straight dudes. One was a divorcee and father of two grown sons. The other was an artist living and painting off a grant. Both seemed like nice guys. The divorcee had inherited the house from his aunt, and his elderly parents lived downstairs. It’s more like a two family deal duplex. So after some thinking, I decided to take it. Nishu and my friend Isaac helped me move. We packed my boxes and put them in an uber van and off I went to my new destination. The entire time I thought I would feel this bittersweet feeling. Instead, I felt nothing but pure relief. For years I had held on to a living situation with a real estate woman who verbally harangued me any and every time I needed a repair. For years I had dealt with the rising rent and four flights of unforgiving stairs. My joints often so tired after a long day of work, and at times I even crawled up them. And yes, lest we not forget the shit quality, or lack of quality of life I had.I said it was the address, the location. At what cost, my mental and emotional well being? Having to work like a gerbil to pay a pig landlord who only got richer off of my suffering as he refused to keep his building up? Having to endure conditions that were not only hazardous not only to myself but the health of my puppet family. While I am aware they aren’t human, if they don’t work I don’t work and that’s a problem. Not to mention having to apply for Aid from the Actors’ Fund and replacing 80 percent of what I owned. The only things that kept me from killing myself was I knew my children and I were going to get out of there and head to greater things. Also, googling myself and finding the throngs of international press we received, and how people in the world were in awe of our eccentricity, oddity, individuality, dedication, and message to the world in general. Also, the emails from bookers and a manager, someone quite important, who was finally interested in working with me. Oh and I cannot forget the emails from my fans. They came almost daily being the only thing keeping me from completely jumping off the roof and giving up.I also found that my friends and family were there the entire time whether my landlord was choosing to try to evict me because I called the city on him, and they were by the phone each and every time he dragged me to court making me look like a criminal. They also were there when I was like a pinball too wired to speak. I got lucky, I really did. Of course it was strange because people kept telling me how well my life was going with all the international press I was receiving. Guess you could say baby girl was facebook successful. When I made the final exit out of my neighborhood to my new place in Queens, it felt like a relief never to be going back there. The feeling finally hit when I crossed the bridge. It felt like relief and hope. Things were finally going to get better. When I pulled up to my new place, I felt a mix of emotions because it was real. I was outta there, but did I do the right thing?Nishu assured me I was going to be fine, and that I would find a new falafel cart and corner store. I would find a new gym. But it’s so strange getting a new start. I also had to learn my new address and even programmed it into my phone. I felt like a kid on the first day of school when the mom quizzes them, “Okay, what’s your address and phone number? Let’s rehearse this again because they are going to ask you.” And of course mom gives you a card so you can cheat. Then there are the odd emotions that come with change. I felt this feeling of failure come over me although I hadn’t failed. If anything, I successfully got out of a bad situation. Still, as I walked into The Metropolitan Room, the place where I filmed Broke and Semi-Famous, I felt I would never be at that place again. I felt defeated. Earlier this year, my DVD had been streamed in Finland and I had been on MTV Europe. In the next gaze I saw my poster from the World Record show and my signature along with May Wilson’s. Yes, I was going to be alright. I could do great things again. Life was just happening to me. I just had to chill out. So I ended up getting onstage and rocking some new material. Going upstairs I saw Annie Ross and said hello. Then off to my new home I went. I had the clamor and sparkles of Manhattan and the peace and serenity of Queens. Best of both worlds. Then mind you that as a Manhattanite for so long, the numbering system of Queens was odd to me. I didn’t know my way around at all, thank goodness for jogging. As if adjusting to a new home wasn’t hard enough, my mom wanted to come help me move in. I now dreaded she would piss off my housemates. Granted, my mom is a nice lady, but you never know. I really couldn’t move again. The morning my mom came in, I got a message from my doctor. A test he did for a certain female cancer came back abnormal, and they wanted to do another test. As if the parent visit weren’t stressful enough. Your timing is shit Mom, shit!The first day of her visit I felt dizzy and snapped at her quite a bit. Between the move and now possible cancer, file under shit I really don’t need. However, I got honest. I came clean. To my pleasant surprise, she was really supportive and called my sister Skipper who’s an ER doc. Skipper has been supportive of me during this ordeal as she has spoken to me in between shifts and sleep is at a premium for her. She told both my mom and I that this was no big deal, and just to relax. Of course I screamed to my mom, “All I want is a week where I go to work and go home like a normal person! That is all I want! Nothing extravagant!” My mom assured me I was going to get that again. But it just didn’t stop. And more of a relief, my mom and my housemates hit it off. It was so much so that they didn’t want to see her leave! We actually had a lovely visit where she got me much needed hooks, drawers, and even purchased me a real mattress. I also took her to see my comic books and my World Record Breaking poster. All and all, a nice visit. Still, the big C, cancer was looming over my head. To give you an idea, some of the female cancers are genetic in my family. Just as my life was getting better I didn’t need to hear I was dying. Fuck me!Monday the procedure was done without incident, and the doctor told me my test was only slightly abnormal and they were just doing this as a precaution. However, I was to take it easy for the rest of the day. While I was feeling strange speaking about what happened to my male housemates, to my pleasant surprise they were very supportive. One even had a cancer scare himself. It was nice to have companionship on a day where one would ordinarily throw a blanket over their head and cry. While female cancers are degrading at the least and evil in a way cancers that affect men are not, it was nice those around me understood the stress of the ordeal to some degree.Tuesday was a different story, as I found myself at a magazine release party. Yes, I am in a magazine that is being distributed around NYC and the rest of the country. It was neat because as someone in the magazine people wanted to meet me. They wanted to know all about me and blah, blah, blah. A few people even recognized me from television. In the past this would have been everything. These days I have my health and peace of mind. Recognition and publicity are just extras to the things that are most important. Still, it was kind of cool.It was cool to see that despite all the shit I had to endure the hardwork was paying off. It was cool to see my article in a magazine. It was cool to see people suck up to me because I had been on television. It was cool to talk about how my children and I were on international television. It was cool to feel like myself again, the girl who googles herself and finds she is getting press all over the world. The girl who’s DVD streamed in Finland. The girl who was on MTV Europe and Telemundo. Coming home, I left the sparkle and clamor of Manhattan, the showy sister borough to Queens. Sure, my new home is less showy, less glamorous. But I felt a peace and serenity as I got my midnight chicken pita snack. I didn’t feel the dread as I climbed up one flight of stairs. Sure, there were the strange stairs because I dressed a little funny but it is nightfall in New York. Anything goes. Change.The next day I found myself at an open mic. I was tired but went anyway because I felt the need to get onstage. Boy did I bomb with this new routine, and some asshole dickhead took a jab at me. I wanted to inform him that I was probably more famous and successful than he would ever dream of being. I wanted to tell my international press credits, international television credits, and list of American credits. I wanted to tell them all I had even gone to Vegas to work and yes, I had just been in a magazine the night before. But I did a new routine and put it on it’s feet. Comics are comics. All shitty open mics are created equal, and all bad jokes are created equal as well. So are cunty fucks known as comedians. I kicked myself but reminded myself it was a mic. But I still kicked myself. Then I half smiled and became grateful for consistency.
Some things stay the same. 

Every Rose Has It's Thorn (Poison)

Despite attempts to harsh my mellow via Desi-Gate, he wasn’t successful for long. After nearly being captured as live bait for the vampire mistress of all things blood sucking and joyless, Hump had gone underground. According to Steve, he was spending most of his time at the domicile he actually paid rent at. Also, Hump had started a new romance, one with a lady who had three kids. This match made in Purgatory was through an old friend of Hump’s name Mike who's an ex-con, don’t ask.
Apparently she had no job, was living on unemployment, had three kids, and her boyfriend at the time of their meeting was married. With Hump as her best prospect, that was sadder than any Greek Tragedy ever written.
While he had the attitude and ego of Napoleon, he was closer to Napoleon Dynamite. From what I had surmised, Hump could not handle an adult encounter of any kind and make it out alive. Therefore, perhaps dealing with children might be easier for the man.
Via the internet I had found out Polo was engaged in a seedy affair with a burlesque dancer named Mistress Scorpio Jones. My reaction to this was a mix of horror and just pure judgement. While I was aware Polo liked women of the easy, sleazy variety, he was really dragging the dollar bill through the trailer park here.
I had known Scorpio Jones and was not a fan. Actually, I found her obnoxious on top of already being fat and ugly. So the adjective to round this all out would be repulsive. I had known Scorpio Jones, real name Shiree Jarvis, during my tenure as a burlesque emcee.
Scorpio was a pain in the ass on top of being a fat ass in every way. More often than not, at venues, she had elaborate costumes that took up most of the space in the dressing area. When other performers protested, because God forbid the worthless lard share, she would get into a screaming match with them. If her routines were ever rock solid I would say the woman was worthy of her diva-tude. However, she was sink or swim. When she was a hit, she was amazing. But then there were those times where her costume broke or she was just a lummox onstage. Add in the rare, sexist male audience who was unafraid to objectify and fat shame at the same time. If it were anyone else I would stick up for them. Not this bitch.
As if that werent terrible enough, Scorpio always ate either cake or KFC before every show. If your waistline expands and you want to eat away your psych issues instead of taking meds, that is your business. But when you do a Mama Cass live and in color we want you to choke on the damn chicken bone, end of discussion.
Scorpio supported her performing career by working in a dungeon as a dominatrix. I couldn’t understand it, but apparently some men like pain more than others. In any event, on her facebook page, she listed her idols as Betty Paige and then several pin up shots of her, rolls of fat going over her bikini and all. For an instant I admired her confidence, but then she listed the number of men she slept with at 200. That is when I accessed the nearest barf bag.
As I was digesting this fatty piece of tender rainbow meat, I came across Benjy. One of the puzzle pieces of that motley crew, he was nearly six feet tall and had a stream of tattoos. Much like Steve and I, Benjy was intellectual, dorky to a fault. Educated at the Manhattan School of Music, Benjy could play sax, clarinet, drums, base, and piano. In his early 20s, he had toured with Rusch Hour, a “Jewish punk band” that did every major festival.
However, during his days on the road Benjy’s personal problems took over. One being heroin. Over the years, Benjy had been in and out of rehab, jail, and even did a stint at the Salvation Army. During Christmas, he dazzled the Majors by playing piano, everything from carols he didn’t sing as a child to Beethovan. Because he was a Jewish kid in an All Christian program, he earned the nickname Benjy the Jew.
The moniker, which was completely offensive, followed him into the neighborhood as he gained his footing. Hump called him Benjy the Jew on the streets to the horror of Steve, Polo, and myself. But Benjy embraced his identity, and even has signed job log in sheets with it.
“I can’t believe he’s dating that, that thing!” I exclaimed as Benjy and I were talking on the street. Of course, I had just submitted a freelance article for one of my many writing jobs and was completely fried. Benjy was in between shifts as a food runner at Friendly’s bar. He made his living doing that as well as being Hump’s reluctant and lackluster assistant.
“I can. Polo likes trashy women.” Benjy informed me.
“This one is a complete trash pit. Are you aware she works in a dungeon?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. But here’s the thing you don’t get. You see, some women are sluts, right? They sleep with everything. Well then there are men that are sluts. Polo is a man slut.” Benjy explained.
“But why are women slut shamed?” I wondered aloud.
“Men should be too. I am with you. Polo should be shamed for banging that water buffalo. Usually they are pretty skanky but they have never been eligible to fight heavy weight.” Benjy observed.
“How did this even happen?” I asked.
Then the story unfolded. Benjy’s longtime girlfriend, Kim, a girl who had stuck with him through thick and thin, got tickets to see her wild ass sister Draca dance burlesque. Kim was nice, sweet, and normal. She and Benjy were a strange combo, but they had been together for 8 years at this point. Kim had actually met Benjy through Draca, her wild child sister who had a crush on Benjy but he wasn’t feeling it. Since that time, Draca had decided she was a lesbian and now had a wife, Jane, who was just as butch as Benjy if not more.
In any event, Polo had decided to go to the show, too because he had a night off from the gay bar where he sometimes works as a bouncer. Don’t ask. Polo went to the show and saw Mistress Scorpio take off her clothes and decided she was everything his dreams were made of. The two then went home and had a night of mind blowing sex. Since that time, Polo had not left the dungeon where she worked. If anything, he was posting pictures on facebook giving the world a play by play.
“He’s gonna die. I hope he knows he’s gonna die.” I informed Benjy.
“Oh, not like Hump almost did. By the way, Desi is majorly pissed. I went into one AA meeting and she was sitting there and huffing and puffing about Hump. She kept saying he lied to her and even dropped his full name.” Benjy told me matter of factly. “I was like ‘holy fuck this bitch is steamed up.’”
“Isn’t that against some rule to be telling me any of this?” I asked.
“Kind of, but she said his full name and did put it on her sober stripper blog.” Benjy said as he pulled out his Android, Googled, and showed me the entry.
“Holy fuck!” I gasped. We both started laughing, and then I pointed out that there were only 20 spelling errors in the blog.
Benjy shook his head and continued, “At least Mistress Scorpio has a drinking, drug, and food habit that are still killing her and is a generalized cunt that isn’t robbing everyone of their fun. Give me that Jenny Craig fail over Desi any day.”
“Well he pissed me off so much I hope the fucking encounter gave him syphillis.” I told Benjy.
“What did Hump do?”
“He was himself.”
“Eh, don’t get mad at him. That woman and her three kids are kicking his ass.”
“Good.” I stated. Then Friendly called to Benjy that there was work to be done. Off my pal went.
Just then my phone pinged. It was a text from Jake Judy. Our history had been rather complicated, and to say things were a little interesting or always had been was an understatement. As of late, the next chapter had begun. In my dreams, I was hoping to be the next Mrs. Judy. The catch was, his wife had to be eliminated.
It’s not like it sounds trust me. Just hear me out.
Jake Judy and I had a complex history that went back years. It was complicated. Yes, complicated. First we were childhood friends. Although the Judy family lived one town over, they were in our neighborhood once a week visiting their cousins, the Davis’s.
Karen Davis was a shit starter as a child. There was an incident where my sister Skipper had a bunch of patches on her back pack. As a first grader, her obsessions were Barbie, Hello Kitty, and Kung Fu. While it was a mish mash of things, that is what the petite, strawberry blonde sprite loved. In any event, Karen Davis was Skipper’s friendemy.
So she ripped a Hello Kitty patch off my sister’s book bag. Crying, my sister turned around on the bus. Karen blamed George Welles. A chubby red head with freckles and a pigeon toed gait, he was more The Pillsbury Doughboy than hardened criminal and woman oppressor. But Skipper was afraid because he was twice her size. So she enlisted me. As a third grader, I spit on him and hit him with my backpack.
George, upset, got his older brother Bobby involved. More slight and built like a bean pole, he looked nothing like his younger sibling. At first glance I had a feeling they might have even had different fathers. But Bobby Wells and I soon found ourselves locking horns. The grade school skirmish included a Fort Necessity made of back packs and pencils used as projectiles. Finally, our burned out beatnik bus driver, Chicken, who played oldies and probably had an alcohol problem, had enough. Frustrated, he pulled over the bus until the conflict cooled.
The next day, Mr. Byrd, our principal looked at us through his thick glasses. He explained, “There are two sides to every story.”
Bobby and I explained that we got involved because our younger half was being bullied, we really didn’t know what the hell was going on. Mr. Byrd calmly said, “They are lucky to have you, but in order to get this solved I need the older brother and sister to step out.”
Then the truth unfolded. Karen Davis had created this whole mess.
Jake Judy was the cousin. An awkward kid, he was a year ahead of me in school. A wrestling star one district over, Jake had dreams of going to one of the military academies, specifically Air Force. As a student, Jake was also a stand out when it came to math and science. Socially, he was an odd ball.
Jake’s dad on the other hand was very outgoing. A former college track star who still ran local road races, Jack Judy had a physique most working dads would die for. However, during his school days Jack didn’t pound the books like he pounded the pavement, so he was forced to take a job working for UPS. Jack was a nice guy and well-liked by everyone on his route. As a matter of fact, he and my mom hit it off when it was revealed Mr. Judy ran cross country with my father.
Both were track stars in high school. My father, who was a year ahead of him, was scouted by West Point. However, it was during the Vietnam War and my dad had no interest in being blown up. Although my dad and Mr. Judy were contemporaries, he always regarded Jack Judy as a “play baby.” Then again, my dad worked two jobs seven days a week. Everyone was a play baby in comparison.
Mr. Judy enjoyed his job, but a tad too much. Translated, he was all too eager to make house calls to some of the women on his route. He had multiple who continuously enjoyed packages several times a week, hint hint, and his truck was always auspiciously parked out front of the same three houses. Yes, Mr. Judy was a “cat around” as my mother would say.
Mrs. Judy was a nice lady though, quite sweet and a stay at home mom. Although she wasn’t a knock out, she was personable and long suffering, putting up with her philandering husband. She went through phases where she pretended she didn’t know, then she threw him out, and of course there was counseling. Finally, one day she snapped and threw his clothes on the lawn……
Jake was not like his father at all. More or less, he was quiet. Always rocking a Pirates hat, Jake wore his hair in his eyes. An admitted non-reader, Jake was a gifted math student and dreamed of being an engineer. In sports, Jake excelled as a wrestler, winning local and state titles. At one time, he had also been nationally ranked. Jake’s dream was to attend Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. After high school he did just that.
Here and there, I kept track of Jake and his family. His father, who rented an apartment once the divorce was finalized, informed my mom that Jake hated Air Force. Then in the next breath he was captain of their wrestling squad. Of course there was the update where Jake was graduating and did not want to go to Iraq or Afghanistan. This threw me for a loop. It’s like being a lifeguard and not wanting to get into the pool.
Jake then dropped me a line when he married his wife Jaci. Apparently, the two had met at Air Force and had been college sweethearts. Much like his mother, she wasn’t terribly beautiful but seemed nice. I went to her facebook. There were people remarking that she didn’t let her platoon swear and punished them when she did. Jake had married the fun police.
Then again, it struck me as weird that Jake was getting married at all because his woman skills were a big zero. Yes, Jake was an oddball. When we were little, he often tapped me on the shoulder and ran away. Looking back, this was a stunt to get my attention but it more or less annoyed me. Jake also tried to ask me stupid questions about his summer reading knowing I was a supreme dork and loved books. I would answer his questions and of course the entire time he would stare into space. Once I suggested he actually read the book. This was an idea unheard of. 
Of course add in that Jake had borrowed a pen of mine once for some reason. Next thing I know he’s knocking on my door. My mother answered. There was the awkward, brown haired lad with a Pittsburgh Steeler’s hat on. He said, “Mrs. Brucker, I borrowed a pen from April and I lost it. So I got her a new one.”
“Thank you, Jake. I will be sure that she gets it.” My mom replied trying to search for words.
Standing on the top of the landing, witnessing this exchange, I thought it was the odd just like everything else Jake did. “What was that?” I remembered asking my mom.
“What in God’s name makes that boy think he has a chance with my daughter?” My mother asked, throwing the question out.
“What are you talking about?” Now I was confused.
“That boy really likes you. But he’s too short.” My mom informed me making a declarative statement but then dismissing it. Of course nevermind that she was barely five feet tall herself.
“Mom, he’s weird. He doesn’t like me. Guys don’t talk to me.” I said, filling my mother in on the fact her daughter was the Dork Queen. High school musical, public access television, and then add in local paper and literary magazine don’t exactly put you on the list for the best parties.
“Sweetie, he likes you. Boys like you. They are scared of you because you are smart.”
“Mom, they only want girls who put out.”
“Eh, but those girls get old. You also scare them because you are sort of aggressive.” My mother said. “Stop biting their heads off so much. No man wants a man hater.”
“But you were a member of NOW in college.”
“Yes, and then my boobs started to sag and I wanted my bra back. Saggy boobs makes a screaming woman even uglier.” She fired back and then exited.
File under priceless.
I hadnt thought of Jake until I did a show in the city and he popped up. At this point, Jake had left the service. He was living in Inglewood working as a civil engineer. Harriet, his sister, was a doctor and engaged to the son of a Jordanian diplomat. As for the youngest, Marga, she had dropped out of college and was living in an apartment with her boyfriend “trying to find herself.”
When I brought up Jaci and the fact he had gotten married just because it was the last update, Jake made a face like I had told him the test results had come back positive. His wedding ring was missing in action. It appeared Jake and Jack Judy were more alike than I originally thought. My mother even echoed with the sentiment, “He’s a cat around off the old block. Watch out, there might be a black sedan slowing down with a bullet coming out of the window in your near future.”
Despite my mom’s warnings, I had other plans. Jake and I were calling, chatting, and texting on the regular. He wanted to know if I wanted to catch coffee at some point. As the conversations got deeper, I said yes.
We got together. At that point, Jake, who had grown into a handsome man with chestnut hair and a broad smile, told me his tale of woe. His wife, Jaci, had been a fun loving girl upon first meeting. Like him, she was a math and science whiz. However, she was always “down with Jesus” as Jake explained.
Jaci came from a family in Northern California with a father who was a lumberjack and a mother who was morbidly obese. Her parents had met in high school and got married, never going to college. Jaci’s oldest sister got pregnant in high school, dropped out, and was dumped by the teen dad who would later turn into the dead beat dad. Her second sister joined the army and did well for herself. The third sister was a lesbian, which cause Ma and Pa to disown her. And then there was Jaci.
She studied hard and got into Air Force determined to make something of herself. In her mountain church in the Ozarks as a child she had gotten the message. As an adult, she had been religious. During her cadet days, she punished the plebes under her for swearing and other ungodly language. Now she wanted to become a minister. Jaci attended divinity school at Yale, and God spoke to her. Translated, she had to be pure renewing her virginity. This meant no more sex with Jake.
Jaci explained to Jake that “Even Abraham had a concubine. Where do you think Islam comes from?” So as she renewed herself for God, Jake was welcome to have as many concubines as need be as long as there was no emotional attachment. The story seemed flat out insane but I had heard crazier be true, and I had grown up in an area with religious cults. Plus Jake Judy in my experience did not lie.
As we chatted into the night my heart flew. I really liked Jake. During the IM, he was talking about being “So sick of Jaci that I just want to leave. Fuck her, fuck her God, and fuck her faith. I am getting a Goddam concubine and leaving her ass.”
“Sounds like a real drip.” I said. Then Jake signed off. Apparently Jaci walked in the room and he didn’t want the drama.
During our next outing, dinner and a movie, Jake confided in me about why he had left the Air Force. Apparently, he had been on an Air Craft carrier during his time as an officer, and had gotten sea sick. I remember thinking how on one hand he sounded like a wimp, but I also knew through experience, as someone gets sea sick, that it’s a real joy kill.
After that date, Jake kissed me. It was a long, thrilling, forbidden kiss. An hour later, I found myself facebook stalking Jaci Judy. Not saying I am proud of the low road I took, but I was a woman in love. Jaci no doubt was something else. Inside an army base where she was apparently visiting her uncle she had on a skimpy little number and was posing seductively. Then there were the weird Bible quotes. After which she tagged over 100 photos of her husband in a day, only three of which he was actually in. One was even of a washing machine. Wow, this woman was nuts. Jake had to get away and fast.
The next morning, after paying my rent, I saw Steve outside The Club. Sucking down a cigarette, this spider web tattoo in the inside of his elbow, he straightened his arm.
“Rough morning, Sir Steve?” I asked.
 “You have no idea. I am waiting for food for this establishment. Hump is upstairs doing a remodeling job. Benjy is supposed to be helping him and is late. Hump insists I didn’t order enough spackle or whatever the fuck he throws down.” Steve said in an agitated tone as his puffed his cigarette.
“What the hell is spackle?”
“Hell if I know. And Polo is in love with a psychotic wildebeest who works in a dungeon. What about you? How is the wonderful world of April Brucker?”
“Nothing that exciting.” I replied. “Except I saw Polo’s picture with his new squeeze.”
“I hope he hides his food because that bitch is gonna eat him outta house and home.” Steve snipped.
“What about Hump? Shouldn’t he be minding his new stepchildren?” I asked.
“Oh that mess. The girlfriend of some ex-con Hump knows fixed them up. It was one bad date.” Steve told me.
“Dear God.” I uttered.
Just then Benjy arrived. Taking center stage, he announced, “Listen, Lady and Gent! I apologize for my tardiness in this endeavor! Kim and I had a huge fight last evening and he had makeup sex for several hours. We then had a cuddling session where I fell asleep and actually strangled her. She got scared, tried to call the cops, and then told me this is the third time I have tried to strangle her in my sleep. So I promised her I would go into a sleep study, and then we had even more makeup sex-“
As Benjy rattled off his night Steve put his hand up to stop the disaster. “Just go upstairs. Hump is pissed off enough.” Steve informed him, exasperated.
 “If he gives you shit remind him that he stuck his dick in Desi.” I replied.
“Oh I will if you don’t. That girl is annoying and ugly.” Steve opined. “I was sitting next to her and this writer’s thing and she just kept talking about this woman who she took in that tried to burn her house down and I was looking out the window. Jesus fuck, she’s so mental she would drive anyone to commit arson.”
Just then my phone pinged. Jake. I texted back. He texted back. “And who is she texting?” Benjy mused.
“No one.” I told them.
“It’s someone.” Benjy insisted looking over my shoulder. Then aloud read, “Your wife seems like a crazy bitch.”
“It’s not what it sounds like.” Then the story came out. Yes, I was dating a semi-married man. It was complicated.
“Wow.” Steve said as he lit another cigarette and was simply silent. Benjy just started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“As compared to you, Polo is fine with his KFC eating white trash wafer.” Benjy explained.
Seconds later, Hump thundered down the stairs. “Where the fuck is the spackle! I told you I needed more spackle!”
“More cowbell!” Benjy exclaimed, referencing the Christopher Walkin skit on SNL.
 “Where the hell have you been? I told you I needed you an hour ago!” Hump was less than amused.
“He and Kim were having makeup sex and lost track of time. Have a heart.” Steve said, trying to add levity to the situation. Despite his small stature, Hump was huffing and puffing. Although he was over six feet tall, I felt the fear emanate from Benjy.  
“And we were hanging out with Polo last night and his gal pal. She’s fat and ugly. You should see her.” Benjy offered.
 “Polo has been working all those hours as a bouncer at the gay bar. He needs a girl like that on his arm. With that mustache people are starting to wonder.” Hump surmised using logic of the great philosopher Archie Bunker.
My phone pinged. Jake. “Is that your married boyfriend?” Benjy asked, because he had no filter whatsoever. Steve laughed again, and Hump turned in my direction curious. I smiled as if my hand had gotten caught in the cookie jar.
 “Look, stop making it out to be what it’s not. His wife gave herself to Jesus and won’t sleep with him. She said he can have concubines.” I explained.
“Damn that line is good. Later, I am going to Friendly’s and am using that.” Steve suggesting, smiling.
Well, maybe she won’t sleep with him because he’s a fucking dog.” Hump surmised, delivering his findings as if he had gathered them via university study.
“Hey, at least the last place I stuck my dick didn’t have a sober stripper blog riddled with spelling errors.” I chided.
“Then don’t make it a classic ‘men are dirt’ moment. You recruited this floating turd ball yourself.” Hump fired back.
Steve just kept laughing, and Benjy kept yelling, “Zing!” after each insult.
 “While I would love to stick around, I have to go talk to Jake. At least he isn’t going to make the egregious error of trying to keep me prisoner.”
Egregious. Hump looked confused. “It’s a big word I know, especially since your knuckles drag so often that they bleed.” I said, bitch smile flashing all over my face.
I waved and departed. Fuck him.
An hour later, I got a call from Jake’s phone. He had promised me tickets to the Yankees, so I was stoked. Instead, it was a female voice. “I don’t want trouble, but I have to know a few things.” She said.
“Who is this?” I asked puzzled as to what was going on.
“Are you fucking my husband?!” She asked. It was a tense whisper, one where the person on the other end of the phone was perhaps gripping a weapon to either use on themselves or the person on the other end of the receiver.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Just answer my question.” She commanded.
“Jaci?”
“Yes.”
“Look, he said you were in Divinity School and found Jesus. Jake insists you let him have concubines.”
There was a silence on the end of the phone. “YOU ARE A FUCKING LIAR! STAY AWAY FROM MY FUCKING HUSAND OR I WILL KILL YOU, YOU BITCH!!!!” After that, it was as if the Exorcist entered her body. I hung up the phone horrified.
As the shock washed over me, I felt a ball of vomit in my stomach. I was now officially the other woman, the least liked person in the universe by pretty much everyone. The only people less redeeming were rapists, murderers, pedophiles, and New York City landlords. I sent Jake an angry text telling him he could go fuck his wife and then fuck himself. I was done.
The anger stayed with me mixed with the guilt. Time and time again, I had my heart broken. At this point in my life, I should have been used to men and their bullshit. To clear my head, I found myself at Hudson River Park. My social media lit up on my phone. Jake announced that he and his wife were “stronger than ever” which made me want to barf. Everyone had been correct, especially Hump. God I hated my life.
I sat on the bench and tears rolled down my cheeks. Just then I heard a voice, someone trying to sound like the Hunchback of Notre Dame whisper in my ear, “Why are you crying, Princess?”
I yelped in utter horror. Turning around, I saw Hump standing there laughing his head off. Now I was just plain annoyed. As my face grimaced in plain rage at having my self-pity interrupted, Hump continued to amuse himself at my expense by laughing even harder.
Finally, when the words came out I asked, “What the fuck?”
“You were crying and I didn’t want to see you cry.” Hump replied lighting a cigarette. “A crying woman is one of the most depressing sites in the world for a man.”
“Let me cry alone.” I commanded. “Besides, Desi needs your dick in her mouth.”
“Oh, so speaking of dicks it was the married dickhead you were dating?” Hump guessed. When I didn’t reply, he responded, “I knew it!”
“I’ll be fine. Desi’s waiting for you.”
“Just stop that now. Stop that shit now. She’s not here. I’m here with you as your friend. So you can’t be mean to me, okay?” Hump instructed.
Hump calmly stated, “You all went to college and might know some big words from books. I didn’t. The words you use go over my head and there are times you enjoy a laugh at my expense. Steve went to a thousand colleges, Benjy went to Manhattan School of Music and then you went to NYU. I barely graduated high school, install air conditioners, and put up dry wall for a living. So I must be stupid, right?”
“I never said that.” I snapped. Now I was even more agitated.
“No, but most of you wouldn’t know your way out of an alley. Steve never has enough supplies for his business. Benjy is my best friend, but sucks as far as a helper goes. I did a job for a guy and sent Benjy one day. He put the cabinet in backwards and then the dude demanded his keys and deposit back. As for you, men suck. Men suck. Maybe it’s because you have never had an actual man in your life. You have just had these idiots time and time again and that’s your bad decision. It’s not your shit generalization.” Hump eloquently stated, delivering a smile of victory.
I said nothing, but continued to sit there shocked as Hump lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Doesn’t feel good to be judged so hard now does it?” Hump asked.
“I never meant to….”
“Say facetious things to him…..”
“Facetious is a good word. A big word but a good word. Where did you learn it?” I asked.
“Anyone can say big words, not just you. But you must remember, sweetheart, the tongue is the tool of all sin.” Hump cooed, delivering the final knock out punch. I never realized the man was so well spoken. He was also absolutely right about everything, from Jake Judy to the way I judged him.
 “What book is that from? That’s a good quote.” I asked.
“The Bible.” Hump informed me matter of fact. I sat there even more shocked as he added. “Yes, I know the Bible.”
“I’m sorry I…”
“Apology accepted.”
Just then I looked out on the water. I had remembered on one of our outings Jake mentioned one reason he didn’t last in the Air Force was he couldn’t stomach being on an air craft carrier. I mentioned this to Hump laughing. Hump didn’t laugh back. Instead he just shook his head and responded, “Your friend is full of shit. Air craft carrier boats don’t rock.”
“How would you know?” I asked.
Hump said nothing and lit a cigarette. In the next breath he changed the subject. He asked, “It’s late and I think we are both hungry. Would you like some dollar pizza, my treat?”
“Sure.” I said.
We ended up yacking it up about life and it turned out Hump was much more intelligent than I gave him credit for. He knew all about dogs and revealed that he was a pitbull owner at one point, but had to give up his dog when his new building wouldn’t let him have pets. As I chatted with Hump, I felt we connected which was nice. However, it also scared the living crap out of me. I told myself my senses were off because of all I had been going through.

Either way, I told myself he was just a friend like I always had. But in the back of my mind, I suspected this wasn’t all the universe had in mind for our story.  

Bad Romance (Lady Gaga)

It was the summer of 2014, and my workload had reached a fever pitch. My puppet children and I filmed a pilot for ABC and did a photo shoot for Hearst. As well, I did puppet work for a short film that would later go on to be nominated for a major festival award. In there, I covered the World Cup for an Android app. I also managed to write for a highly trafficked blog while delivering singing telegrams online.Did I mention I hosted a book signing, released a DVD, and even completed a graduate writing course with an “A+” grade?Most of the time I was tired and bedraggled. There were no time for real men, just friends. That is when a man named Humphrey Bogart tumbled into my life. No, that’s not his real name but in many ways is reminiscent of the film legend. Hump, as he was called, worked in my neighborhood doing various home improvement projects for rich people and was a project manager on a night club or two. Whenever he wasn’t working there, he ran an event space with my writer compatriot Stevenson, or Steve for short. Steve was a Queens kid who spent some time in Pennsylvania, partially because of his father’s job, and also due to the fact Steve picked up a burglary charge as a teenager. Although charged as a juvenile, Steve’s parents felt a fresh start would be good for their son and perhaps avoid a future stint in jail. Plus the neighborhood they lived in, once a working class Irish section, was getting worse and worse. After experimenting with drugs and living as a hobo, Steve cleaned up his act and decided to focus on putting pen to paper.An expressive writer and wonderful storyteller, Steve had a handlebar mustache and sometimes bleached his dark hair platinum blonde. His arms were covered with various forms of body ink, some detailing his travels and others as just another artistic outlet. While he had a handful of lasses admiring him, some who notoriously left their panties on his night stand, he wasn’t a player of the jerky kind. Rather, Steve was often up front with his conquests. Still, this didn’t mean one didn’t catch feelings and opine her struggles to the local bar owner, Friendly, who was also Steve’s uncle, and would be laughed off the street. And then there was Cassidy who chased him down 9th Avenue with a frying pan…..Steve was amazingly educated, attending even some foreign institutions but somehow never maintaining a diploma. He was published in several student periodicals, and his selections were often solipsistic in nature. Still, I often enjoyed his style. When not writing or helping to run the event space up the street, Steve was seen in Union Square rolling cigarettes and playing Beatles tunes on his acoustic guitar. Hump was the polar opposite of Steve in many ways. Unlike Steve who always had a new woman every week on his arm, Hump often flew solo. Upon our first meeting, Steve had been talkative and we had hit it right off. Hump, on the other hand, was a different story. He had remained quiet, almost brooding during our initial encounter. He had brown, almost black hair that was matted to his head. His eyes were dark, and he held a gaze akin to a vulture. The entire time he smoked a cigarette like a rebel without a cause that really just needed a hug. As Steve and I talked Edgar Allen Poe and other selections most of the world doesn’t care about, Hump stared off into space blowing cigarette smoke. He did crack a laugh once, but I had a feeling we really didn’t connect. I didn’t care and deep down had no idea why Steve was even friends with such a moody mess albeit an uneducated one. I had no idea Hump had formed an opinion of me either way until I was walking down the street and heard, “YO!”I turned around and there he was, goofy million dollar mega-watt grin on his face. Cigarette cradled in his fingers, he wore a wife beater exposing his ink. Every mother’s nightmare but probably was in fact fun before he destroyed your life, I waved back hoping to make it short and sweet. This was no judgment on Hump specifically, wait, yes it was in a way, but rather Steve’s company. Yes Steve, who’s other bestie Polo loved skanky women and dropped the term “baby mama” regularly. Steve didn’t prefer trash per se, but as a writer he craved experience. This meant friends like Polo who were mad shady, and nights at a gay bar that no ordinary straight man would ever cop up to. “You’re Steve’s friend. Your name’s April, right?” Hump said, his voice deep and scratchy layered thick like cream cheese with a New Jersey accent.“Yes, that would be correct.”“Oh yeah, you write and do that puppet stuff. Steve showed me a video of yours. You’re funny.” “Thanks.”“A little heavy on the man hate, but funny.” Hump observed throwing his cigarette to the curb. “Thank you. Do you live around here?” I asked, curious. Most of Steve’s friends lived in strange situations or experienced some form of homelessness on the regular.“Oh, I work a lot at the club up the street, Steve’s space. I technically live in Clear Channel but sleep there most of the time. So yes and no.” Hump answered. We talked for about twenty more minutes before parting ways. Maybe he was nuts, but like many a Steve friend he was quirky and funny. Over the next several months I saw more of Hump and got to know him better. I found out his astrological sign was Virgo. This meant romantically we would be a disaster based on my past experience with his people. In that span, I also discovered Hump was not only working as an event coordinator at the club in addition to running construction projects in the place, but also was sought out for private jobs by rich clientele. A whiz who was quick on his feet, Hump always made me laugh and also could fix just about anything. Oh, and he was good with animals.Despite not being an inch over 5’7”, the exact height of Napoleon, Hump was not afraid of a fight. Once, a bigger guy was pushing around a homeless man. At the time, Hump was doing a job at the club. Seeing this outside his window, Hump ran down the stairs and informed the bigger man he would “beat the living shit out of him.” At first the big man was undaunted, but when Hump stepped forward he knew he meant business. After which the big man retreated, Hump gave the homeless man five bucks, and up the stairs he went. I gave him credit, he had balls. One evening, Steve threw a function at the space. He begged me to go. I knew this was either going to be an epic hit or an epic disaster. Sure enough, it was somewhere in between. At about midnight I departed. As I walked down my street, I saw Hump on the other side. Quickly, I gave him the big hello and we talked for a minute. He informed me he had a private client who was letting him sleep in his high rise apartment down the street while he was away.I offered to walk Hump home. However, Hump corrected, “It is usually the man who walks the woman home I believe.” Without missing a beat, Hump jounced across the street without even looking both ways. Faster than the speed of light, he landed in front of me on the sidewalk.“Thank you, but it is the 21st century and I live only feet away.” I informed my well meaning but crazy friend.“I insist.” Hump said, flashing a debonair grin. “Alright.” I knew as one of Steve’s friends anything was possible. There was no way I was sleeping with Hump. While he seemed harmless, Polo was notorious for trying to get into girl’s panties after hello. This evening alone I had seen him get slapped and a bottled water was thrown at him. While I found Polo funny, I also understood why he had more near death experiences than anyone I knew.We walked together for two more minutes before I arrived safely at my door. Instead of demanding sex a la Polo, Hump gave me a hug and told me to be safe and have a good night. As we departed, a smile crossed my face. I liked my new friend, I really did. Filing him under nice guy, aside from the fact astrologically we clashed, I knew dating in Steve’s circle would be a match made in hell. Plus at the time, he was entangled in an arrangement with Desdemona Ambrose Honeywell. Desi, as she was known, was a former alcoholic party girl and trust fund kid who had also worked as a stripper. Formerly a Barnard girl, she had abandoned her education and ambition when she met a much older man. Parallel to this, she had been studying Anna Nicole Smith in her Women’s Studies class. At this point mind you she was an atheist. At Barnard, she discovered alcohol and cocaine and decided to embark on a career in the skin industry. Mind you this was after her country club parents, Buffy and Claude, stopped payment on her trust fund. Thus she got herself involved in a check forging scam with an associate United States Attorney General. He ended up getting 10 years in White Collar Prison, and Desi walked away unscathed with 30 days in jail. Rich family works wonders. In jail, she heard the message of sobriety and Alcoholics Anonymous. While this was good for her well-being, Desi began to make it her mission to spread the word of God and sobriety but to rob everyone else of their joy. Determined to “carry the message” as they say, she left The Big Book aka The AA Bible in local bars like John Calvin used to do with Bibles in Switzerland. When she saw this was a lost cause, instead of changing her failosophy, she added further to it by self-publishing her own recovery literature.Her poorly written, spelling and grammar error riddled selections were entitled Can’t Keep A Former Stripper From Strutting to God and of course one selection to especially make one jump out a window, From the Pole to My Soul: A Sober Girl’s Tale of Redemption. As if this wasn’t bad enough, she made youtube videos talking about her drunk-a-logs and other tawdry escapades in a monotone voice. With pitch black hair and a hellish amount of eyeliner, you knew despite her claims that she had changed her life, when push came to shove she could still chain a man to a radiator. Hump had encountered this disaster through Steve. Yes, Steve had met Desi at a writer’s conference. After a bad date where Desi tried to get Steve to stop smoking because “his body was a temple” he pawned his mistake off on Hump. Who needs enemies when you have friends like that?In any event, Hump and Desi actually were happy for a minute. As a matter of fact, I even saw them supping at the Pluto Deli and Eatery. While I didn’t know Desi personally, her fervor and the fact she personally let everyone know “God was her employer” gave me the chills. She was reminiscent of the religious fanatics from my hometown that had the “do as I say but don’t say as I do” attitude. But Hump was my friend and I wanted to see him happy. So I wrote off any possible romance.However, the Desi and Hump were soon to crash and burn worse than the onlookers of the Holy Grail. I found this out when I saw Steve, Polo, Hump and Friendly. While Friendly’s joint did not open until noon, he had the lights on at around 8 AM. This meant either a film shoot or an emergency. I looked in the window. There sat four men looking like they had been beaten by a demon force. The place had more smoke than a speakeasy. I waved. Steve, looking like he had seen ghosts, motioned me to come in.“What is going on?” I asked, sweaty from my morning run and only a few paces away from my house and the relief of a shower. “Would you like some coffee, Doll?” Friendly inquired. He looked like he hadn’t been to sleep either. Rather, this was just dumped on his lap.“That would be great. Now why are four of my favorite boys looking like they escaped from Army of Darkness?” Now I was curious.“How apt you mention that Bruce Campbell classic. ‘Die hell bitch’ should be the phrase of the day.” Steve said, his face twisted in a grin that was absolutely priceless. “What the fuck is she talking about?” Hump demanded. His hair was messed up and he looked like he had a rough night. Then I realized he was merely clad in boxers.“And where the fuck are your clothes?” I fired back.“Relax man, you forget April’s our friend. And she’s not the one who tried to capture you and keep you prisoner.” Polo reminded him. “I knew it from the first time I met her that she would try to do this, man. She had crazy eyes.”“I’m lost.” I told the group. Steve just started laughing. Agitated, annoyed, tired, and now embarrassed Hump bellowed, “This is all your fault!”“Woman troubles.” Friendly informed me. His tall lanky frame approaching with a cup of coffee. As usual, his Harley was parked out front and his signature do rag was perched on his head, blood red in color. If I didn’t know Friendly so well, I would assume he was a member of a biker gang. A thin scar lined his left cheek as evidence of a knife fight gone wrong as a rowdy teen.Then the story unfolded. The first two dates with Desi had been a swimming success, and like two crossed-love struck teens forced apart by an adult chaperone, they were determined to be together. Sexting and talking dirty, Hump and Desi plotted a third date. The first had been to a movie, and the second to a speaker jam followed by a walk by the water. Desi, saying she was demanding respect, informed Hump who was growing ever so horny that she was not putting out until the third date.The third date was where the nightmare began. Hump was forced to go to Desi’s AA meeting, a Park Avenue group that was akin to a mega-church that in some ways had broken away from the fellowship altogether and in a lot of facets resembled a cult. They had come under fire years before when a member, a troubled young woman, was coaxed by a sponsor to forgo her psych meds and to “Go to God to relieve your alcoholism and depression.” The girl went to God alright…..that is, by jumping off the George Washington Bridge. In any event, Hump was forced to wear a name tag and was “weirded out” by the wide eyed, vacant stares of the adherents. Nonetheless, Desi was a much respected member of the group. Desi’s sponsor and sponsor family knew almost too much information about Hump, and they had all Googled him. This weirded him out, but he said in his defense, “I thought I was gonna get laid. I really liked her!”The group laughed as Hump’s face fell. Then the tale of woe unfolded further. Hump admitted that sex did occur. It was wild, passionate, and the scratches on his back, still visible, looked like they had been given to him by a werewolf. The two love birds had sex for at least 4 hours. One round, according to Hump, was even anal. By all accounts, this sounded like every man’s dream girl.Alas, all that glitters is not gold. Hump woke up the next morning with no sign of Desi in site. He saw the clock read 7 AM. He figured by the site of the closed door perhaps she had gone to the bathroom or run a quick errand. As he sat up, it occurred to Hump he had to pee. Approaching the door, Hump went to open it. However, it was locked. Panicked, he tried again. And then a third time. Figuring there was a mistake he called for Desi. No answer. He then tried her on his phone. To his relief she picked up. However, his joy was short lived when she said, “Glad you are still there. I will not return until nightfall. Stay put.”When Hump demanded to be released, Desi cooed, “It’s my abandonment issues. My sponsor and I are working through these. I will make amends to you later. And by the way, I did the sober thing of leaving your wallet but took your clothes. That way you can’t leave me!”With that she hung up. Thinking on his feet, Hump had opened the window and was climbing the fire escape to freedom. However, new to the city he did not know the area. Desperate and in the streets clad in boxers, Hump desperately called Steve. At the time Steve was fast asleep in the arms of a tartlette called Jenny, a conquest that he really didn’t want to stay over but alas, he was too tired to fight. Steve wanted a cheap lay, but she worshipped the ground he walked on.Steve picked up the phone, realizing that while he was in a woman jam so was Hump. By the addresses, Steve surmised Hump was blocks away from Friendly’s bar. Steve directed the half-asleep but rather shocked Hump. And Friendly, who had not yet gone to sleep, heard about the disaster and opened his door to a friend. Of course, Polo was doing the walk of shame from the home of a woman he could not even remember. But in typical Polo fashion, he wanted to slip out undetected. That is when he saw the gathering and they invited him in. And now here I was. “Shit, you almost died.” I said laughing.“Dude, you leave after you fuck her.” Polo instructed. “Hey, unlike that crazy slut I do as I say and say as I do.” I burst out laughing. God I liked Polo. He came correct even if he was incorrect.  “Alright, the three of you really need to clean up your act. How are you supposed to get a decent girl like April here to talk to you?” Friendly quizzed.Polo, a third generation Cuban American scratched his head. Despite his Latino heritage he was red headed with pale skin. Short and stout, Polo, between cigarette puffs, observed, “Who says April’s decent?”“Decent at beating your ass.” I said flicking Polo. The group laughed as Polo threw a napkin at me in faux retaliation.“Get a room you two!” Steve heckled.“Oh, I think that’s what got everyone here into the jams they are currently in, so for the sake of all things living most of our fun for today shall be out of bed for now. What do you say fellas?” Friendly suggested. “Do like April, jog instead of murdering your lungs. Shit, what am I talking about? You need some clothes. You escaped one crazy bitch, lets not have you arrested and see a second crazy bitch in jail.” Friendly suggested and off to the back he went to get Hump the outfit he kept in the back in case he was too tired to get home. Minutes later, Friendly returned with a wife beater and a pair of cargo shorts. While they were slightly large on Hump, the belt made them work. That is, enough to get to the high rise where he was squatting for another week to the majority of his clothes in a bag. As our gathering dispersed, Hump called to me. “Can I walk you home?” He asked. “There are no spooks. I am fine. But by the way your life is unfolding I think this time I should definitely walk you home.” I said verbally slapping Hump. “I am still a gentlemen.” Hump told me.“The way you were carrying on, one would have thought you were frequenting a brothel.” I told Hump, “And if your boxers werent so conservative, I would have gotten a full peak at Junior.”“It was a bad night and she tried to capture me. Let’s be fair. Look, I would love to walk you home if you would let me. Daylight or night light, good night or bad night, I am still a gentlemen. But I’m a gentlemen  out of cigarettes. How about this. If you come with me to get cigarettes, I’ll get you more coffee.” Hump offered. After a stop to the corner store, Hump lit a cigarette. “You got lucky, Pal. She could have had a pet bunny.” I said laughing. Instead of laughing, Hump sucked down his cancer stick and was deathly quiet. Maybe it was because he had endured a near death experience, or maybe it was because he was tired. Either way, he was back to his moody self, the one that I had met upon our first encounter.“You’re lucky you got out alive. Sounds like you escaped Iraq.” I said with a loud half laugh. It wasn’t to be dickish but rather just to open up an individual who clearly was not as ready to laugh about this as the rest of his circle of friends was.Instead of laughing, Hump got even more deathly quiet, and a scowl came over his face. He said nothing and threw his cigarette on the sidewalk. Then my phone pinged. It was Jake Judy, yes the married former classmate things were getting complicated with. He wanted to know if I wanted to hang out because he was coming to town. A smile lit over my face. Sure, I was technically the other woman, but at least he wasn’t unpredictable like Hump. “Who’s that?” Hump inquired now curious.“No one.” I replied as we neared my door. “It was someone.”“A guy.”Half-laughing I told Hump the story. Maybe this would cheer him up. Instead his expression remained serious as if he were either attending to a hanging, an electrocution, or maybe even going to the gas chamber himself.“Sounds like a real asshole.” Hump snapped.“He’s not a bad guy. Sometimes, things are just complicated.”“He’s married to someone else and you are dating him. Not that complicated, Sweetie.”“It’s complicated. And you of all people should understand sometimes things just happen.” I informed my friend who felt the need to judge me and somehow forgot his most recent misadventure.  “He sounds like a real dickface, fucking around on his wife behind her back with you. You come down awfully hard on guys sometimes, but you pick some real assholes.” Hump seethed, annoyed.Hump took my inventory, and I was stunned at the double standard of the whole situation. But Hump wasn’t done. “He’s a douchebag. Plain and simple.” Hump confidently stated. “Not all men are cheaters as you say in your videos and blogs. Some of us want to treat a woman decently and have morals.”“Look, until Friendly gave you wardrobe you were near naked and I saw Junior poking out and love wounds on your back from a syphilis filled slut bag who thinks she can write when in fact she can’t. William Shakespeare would be rolling in his grave if he read the structure of her prose. You have no business using the word decently let alone morals in a sentence for the next 48 hours. Have a nice life.” I said and closed the door behind me.Good bye and good riddance.
Just then, Jake pinged me back but now I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him. Oh what tangled webs we weave.
For more on me please go to www.aprilbrucker.com

Rainbow in the Dark

Recently I have been blessed with some amazing news. In December I submitted my content to be on television in Europe. This past Tuesday I found out that I am streaming live on Finnish TV. It is a network called Love TV. They are applying for an American broadcast license. Still, I am streaming on www.TheLuminati.com.
This pleasant surprise was unveiled after a very hard day when I got a bad piece of news about a young man who grew up in my neighborhood that died accidentally and suddenly. What is cool about Love TV is that they are affiliated with Dr. Dre’s son. This is so awesome. My friend Dave Harris who is the most awesome friend a girl could ask for got my content broadcast ready. His wife Heather has been patient with my demands which sometimes earn me the title of Lady Hitchcock.
The week before I had enjoyed some press in England. Out of no where, a British reporter called to inquire about my children and I. Our family has received a bit of press over the years, but no one rang as of late. What piqued his interest I did not know. I assumed part of it was because I had broken a world record two weeks previous with the help of 250 other performers. One pianist from Australia had even messaged me, so graciously including me in his blog. Apparently, the Aussie’s have quite a cabaret scene. I was also amazed by his talent, and hope someday I meet him in real time. That is where the internet is truly a gift. It connects people who would not ordinarily meet, and through it I have met some extraordinary artists that while linguistics sometimes separate us, creativity connects us to the core.
I ended up chatting with this man who was a nice bloke as they say. Apparently, they spoke about my puppet family on the radio, and even ran a newspaper article on us. The fan mail from the chaps as they also say poured in. One even offered me a relationship. We discussed where we would live and everything. While our love affair moved a little too fast for me, the gesture was indeed flattering. I ended up Googling myself and found I was featured on TheRichest, a website where they list Top 10 things and cover the lives of rich folk like the Kardashians and reality television. I made number one on this list. I wondered how not only they remembered me, but how I became their numero uno. http://www.therichest.com/rich-list/most-shocking/15-most-outrageous-addictions-outed-on-reality-tv/?view=all.
Then I ended up speaking to a fan boy of mine. A former member of the military, he was amongst the troops that captured Iraqi despot Saddam Hussein. Now he works as a celebrity body guard. For a while he worked for Selena Gomez and some of the other teeny bopper stars in the states. Now he is working in England. This particular fan boy ended up showing my clips to two singers he is guarding. Their names escape my mind. It’s not completely because I am thoughtless, but when it comes to pop music I am a little bit of an old woman who lives in a shoe. I have a bunch of children and I don’t know what to do….bad joke.
Well they are pop stars in the UK, one guy and one girl. They dug me and played me on one British network and MTV Europe. This was another awesome announcement. Part of me thought he was lying, not that he would but this is just incredible. Then it would also explain some of the sudden press interest in me again from Europe. Actually, it would explain most of it.
Years ago, my plan was to be a global superstar. There were times that the dream seemed so far fetched. There were times when I wanted to let the dream go. Yet whenever I tried, I would always end up crying myself to sleep because it felt like my heart was being ripped out.
Back in late October, I almost threw in the towel. A pilot I filmed wasn’t airing, and my bank account had a negative balance. Not to mention I had that Come to Jesus conversation with my mom about what way my life was going. Maybe I had made a mistake by chasing this rainbow. Or maybe I had gone as far as I was supposed to. Now perhaps it was time for me to grow up, get married, have kids, and be a real person. It was a hard pill to swallow, but maybe that was who I was supposed to be for the next phase of my life.
I headed to do a singing telegram on Long Island, and barely had enough money to eat breakfast. My umbrella was broken, and the rain just kept coming down. To top it off, it was cold on top of being damp, and the raindrops felt like razor blades. For weeks I kept telling myself it was going to get better, and it had only gotten worse. I had no idea how I was going to get to my telegram without getting completely drenched because now my ghetto umbrella would not even open.
I asked God to give me a sign because I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Just then this feeling of calm came over me. I was going to be alright. This was my destiny, and while things looked bleak I had not come this far in order to be tossed asunder. There was no way I could quit now. Minutes later, as if the Heavens were sending me a message, the storm stopped.
The telegram was a success, and the client gave me an $80 tip. It helped put my bank account back on track, and it helped put some money in my pocket. When I got home, I had a fan letter from a young man in Texas who apparently was a huge fan of mine, and told me my day was coming sooner than I knew. Sure, everything was still not all better, but there was hope.
A week later, I released my country video. The fan mail I got was insane. They seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork. While I was still financially crippled, it was God or whomever was upstairs sending these angels to prod me along. The next week I found out a project I thought was dead was alive, and by a quirky miracle I became SAG-AFTRA eligible. Then I was asked to be head writer on a project, and the gifts have been coming ever since.
Right now, I am stoked about all the attention I am receiving in Europe. There is part of me that is very excited to be closer to reaching my goal of global superstardom. Granted, I know I am not there yet but have come one huge step closer. The feeling is amazing. So much so I want to do a happy dance.
Then I also feel fear because last years I waded through so much darkness, yet I am experiencing luck and light. I don’t want the light to fade, but know in my heart rainy days always do come and life always happens. But I have to silence that fear. The fear stops me from my goal. The fear is my naysayers and detractors, and by feeding their egos I feed the devil.
I know in my heart this is no accident. I have been working for the better part of a decade, and my efforts are now speaking for themselves. Because of what I have done, and the crops I have planted, the harvest is starting to come in. However, I don’t know what is next. Although I don’t know, I am sure it will be good.
For the most part I feel grateful and humbled for my fans. Yes, the people who supported me when no one else did. Yes, the people who watched me faithfully on public access or came to my shows. Yes, the people who buy my DVDs, my books, and watch me on the tele as they say in Europe. Yes, the people who cheer me on when life doesn’t. Yes, the people who are with me as I wait for the rest of the world to catch up. Yes, the people who write me and who I will personally answer until the end of time like Joan Crawford.
It’s not because I am crazy, it is because you mean that much to me. When something happens that I can’t explain, I know it’s you and all you. At times I want to give up the fight you keep me going.
You are my salvation, my reason for doing what I do. You indeed are my rainbow in the dark……
www.aprilbrucker.com

April Brucker Interviews Officer E.

Comment whether you love me or hate me. This is the land of the first amendment. We are all entitled to our opinions

Keeley's Last Stand

Back in the day, when Nishu lived on East 50thStreet, we had a crew of friends akin to the Outlaws of Sherwood Forest and the Lost Boys/Lost Girls of Never Land. We were a crew that somehow managed to test the laws of nature. While endearing and harmless in our way, there was no question some of us were more high drama than others. One such friend was Keeley. Yes, Keeley, she is so much so that these days we simply refer to her as “The K Word.”
In the early 1900s, Raku Nene magic was outlawed on an island in the South Pacific after a number of natives conjured this ultimately destructive spirit. While Raku Nene was fun in some ways, in others he was hell on wheels. The adventures with this fiend would begin as fun but always end in something burning down. To say his name was to summon him. These days Keeley has the same effect. So yes, as I said we now mention her by the term above and not her given name thus risking summoning her.
To give you a little background on Keeley, she is originally from the panhandle part of Florida. She is part Seminole actually, and her grandfather was a chief of some sort. Keeley came to NYC to attend NYU film school. During her tenure there, she discovered a love and a passion for makeup. So after graduation she worked as a makeup artist, and production supervisor. Keeley had quite a career until 2 things happened: First, the market popped, and second, employers discovered she was cat shit crazy.
Keeley had an interesting housing record. You see, she was either evicted or kicked out of every residence she lived in. When Keeley was kicked out, she was not just asked to leave but rather the cops were called as the roommates were throwing her things out the window. Or she called the cops to settle a petty roommate argument and they said, “Wow, this bitch is insane. We gotta get her out of here.”
It seemed as if Keeley’s luck was turning when she scored a luxury two bedroom that was rent controlled. She lived there for two years without getting evicted, a feat of strength for her. However, there was a new landlord who jacked the rent up to market value. During that period, the Recession hit and everyone was affected. Work dried up, and Keeley began to sweat like the rest of the world. So instead of getting a roommate or even moving, Keeley decided to fight her landlord in eviction court.
The East Coast female version of the Michael Keaton character from Pacific Heights, this had not been Keeley’s first rodeo. She knew the ins and outs of eviction court so well that she chose to represent herself. I don’t know what was worse, the fact she had been through this so many times, or the fact she actually did a decent job there for a minute. In order to sharpen her knowledge, Keeley spent countless hours researching. Sure, she wasn’t certified by the New York Bar Association, but she never let a little technicality like that get in her way.
Aside from acting as her own defense, Keeley was also an ardent conspiracy theorist. A member of the Occupy Movement, Keeley had been increasingly more active as time went on, and became convinced the government was tapping her phone. Then she also surmised that her landlord was selling her secrets to these people that were following her. To say she was off the hook was the understatement of the year.
Keeley’s first few times in court proved victorious, but she had a feeling they would be short lived. She also believed the eviction notice to be not because of unpaid rent, but rather, a plot where her landlord was aligning himself with the government. While I have met stoners with more plausible, concrete theories, theirs usually contain UFOs and they know when to knock it off. Keeley was stone cold sober, and that is the true enigma here.
Fearing she would lose and be homeless, Keeley began to cozy up to a suspicious old man who was nearing death. The two began trading racy text messages, and he promised Keeley a place to live for free. However, his living heirs stepped in and put a stop to this. Keeley is hardly Anna Nicole, but they suspected she had other motives.
Time was running out, and Keeley was at a dead end. So she decided to hit me up for a psychic palm reading. At the time, I was working semi-regularly as a palm reader and astrologer to supplement my income as a ventriloquist. Keeley, wanting to know what to do next, consulted me for a reading. Actually, she didn’t consult me. Rather, when we were hanging out she shoved her palm in my direction and demanded to know what the outcome of her eviction proceeding was going to be.

As a reader, this kind of thing was uncomfortable for me. You see, this is the reason I didn’t pursue this vocation further. There were people I read for with medical and legal questions. I don’t want to and don’t like to answer those. My brother and sister are doctors. They went to school for 8 years, not only would it be asinine for me to channel the answer, but also an insult to people with actual knowledge. Same with legal questions.
“Is the marshal coming for me, and do I need to hide?” Keeley demanded.
I took a look at her palm, and wanted to get out of this awkward space right quick. “I think the marshal will come when the judge issues his next ruling.” I told her. The marshal couldn’t legally come just yet, even if the landlord in judge were now in cahoots as Keeley had opined they were earlier that evening.
“What will the judge’s ruling be?!” Keeley demanded, her eyes wide and crazy.
“Consult a lawyer and things will go in your favor.” I wanted nothing more to do with this. Keeley began telling me more and more and asked if any spirits of dead people were around her. I lied and said yes. I just wanted rid of this crazy bitch.
Keeley’s eviction proceeding dragged on, and I didn’t know whether to loathe her for being a deadbeat or respect the fact she stuck like super glue to her skewed morals. It got to the point where she was driving everyone in our crew crazy. Jeanette avoided any and all contact with her, because Keeley became convinced this cougar would let he move in. Her words, “Anywhere she goes, everyone gets kicked out. No thanks.”
Sarit, who was lying to a racist Marine in Indiana about her age in order to entrap a breathing husband found Keeley’s behavior contemptuous. I believe she said, “Why doesn’t she work out a money deal with her landlord. This is ridiculous.” When Sarit calls you ridiculous, you need to take serious stock of your life.
Jessi and Jeanie found Keeley too much to take, and told Nishu that they would not be present if she were to be invited over. That is when Nishu revealed Keeley had a car and thousands of dollars worth of designer jewelry and dresses she could sell to pay her landlord back. Then again, why would our friend ever do the rational thing?
Jessi, Jeanie, Nishu and I were having a Keeley free Sunday. It was our plan because she had just become too psychotic. Just then, Jeanie’s phone got a ring. It was Keeley. We agreed not to pick it up. Then my phone rang, then Jessi’s. However, this ring was weird. It was one ring and then the person hung up. Was Keeley okay? Despite the fact our friend had annoyed us and we did a Regina George by not inviting her to hang out, she was still our girl. This worried us.
Five minutes later, Nishu got a text. It said:
“To friends and family members of Keeley O’Donnell, her body was found this morning in her West Side apartment. She has no family members we can identify in the area. Please call this number if you have any information.”
“This is so terrible!” Jessi said.
“Yeah, and so bizarre. I knew we should have invited her.” Nishu said casting an evil eye at the three of us.
“Nishu, she was off the hook the last time she was here and was trying to go the psychic route. How much crazy am I expected to handle?” I asked.
“She has a point.” Jeanie said siding with me.
We all agreed he should call the number. If our friend had died, we wanted to know. The four of us all began to feel terribly as Nishu tried not once, but six times. Finally he got an answer. In order to assuage us, he put it on speaker. “Hey, what’s going on?” A familiar voice said.
Our jaws dropped. It was none other than Keeley herself. “Keeley, you are supposed to be dead.” Nishu informed her.
“So?” Keeley said.
“So you sent this psychotic text saying you were dead. We were worried.” Nishu was appalled as were the rest of us.
“No one was picking up their phone. What else was I supposed to do?” Keeley replied as if this was no big deal whatsoever.
“Not do something fucked up like you did.” Nishu informed her, aghast that she thought this was an appropriate course of action.
“Look, I’m sorry if I worried you for real.” Keeley whined, “It’s just that-“
“I can’t deal with you now.” Nishu told her and hung up the phone. We all exchanged glances. A pall of silence fell over the room. It had hurt us to cut her out, but we had to. The bitch was too damn crazy. Of course then she sent Nishu an abusive text about how he used to be "cool, long haired and greasy" and now he was just a "sell out." He texted her back informing her that he was an adult who could keep a domicile without testing the legal system multiple times. 
After the awkward fairy had laid her dust,  Nishu suggested we watch Stargate. We agreed. Not another word was spoken about what had happened, and no one mentioned it thereon after. However, it was a silent, unwritten rule that Keeley was no longer an everyday friend. 
www.aprilbrucker.com