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RIP Waffle

Tuesday, January 13th, 2015
Last Sunday my friend Nishu decided to have a brunch. It was because Hedda had departed back to Spain and back to work. Therefore, he was alone. In the olden days, Nishu would have spent his time much differently. This would have meant a cast of Lost Boys and Lost Girls that made the characters of Peter Pan look like a bunch of amateurs. Usually, I would have eagerly been present for the tomfoolery that occurred, which included prank calling people we knew on Google Voice.

Nishu’s apartment served as a sort of lair every Sunday for our crew. These included but were not limited to the following people: Keeley, a makeup artist and conspiracy theorist who’s kerfuffles always ended with a friendly phone call to the local precinct; Sarit, a 34 year old who lied about her age that baited much younger men on Plentyoffish.com with anger management problems; Jeanette, a cougar who had several breast augmentation surgeries that spit men out like watermelon seeds; and of course Jessi who works in television production, a friend I miss very much.

Since Hedda came into the picture, many of these characters have become little more than my descriptions on the page. Keeley, who’s misadventures deserve a blog of their own, has merely become “The K Word,” a sort of Raku Nini, a spirit that shall not be spoken of. Sarit has also faded into the woodwork thankfully, and the last we heard was dating a Haitian man of questionable means who may or may not sell drugs for a living. Jeanette has been travelling since catching feelings for her last conquest, a bus boy who went to community college part time. Jessi works quite often, and she moved to Queens so she unfortunately fell off the map completely. Aside from Jessi, Hedda’s presence had a lot to do with the disappearance of these folks.

Since Hedda has entered the picture, Nishu has become more and more adult. As a result, with Hedda temporarily absent, he has elected to do an adult thing. Instead of inviting one of the many Kramers in the crew over, he elected to have a semi-sophisticated brunch.  

So Nishu messaged me Sunday morning, and then told me Jeanie was coming over as well. Jeanie works with me at the singing telegram company. A night owl, Jeanie sings swing at the local clubs and tumbles in as the sun is coming up. Often she does not rise until noon and don’t bother her until after 2. So we elected to have the brunch at 2 or 2:30, that way Jeanie would be up long enough to have fun, but it wouldn’t be too early for her.

I said Nishu was becoming an adult. Relax, that didn’t mean the rest of us were, silly.

Anyway, Nishu told me via text he wanted to make waffles. This was definitely a change of pace. Nishu probably elected to do this for two reasons: 1, he was lonely and Nishu, like all men, does not do alone time well; 2, Hedda was a pastry chef at one point and Nishu is learning how to cook. While Nishu does not touch the stove, he has become accustomed to Hedda’s cuisine and therefore has become intrigued by the kitchen process. Plus Hedda got him a waffle maker for Christmas.

I came over, and Nishu was most definitely like a man in the kitchen. He had the waffle maker, but no clue how to make waffles. I told Nishu that in order to achieve his goal, he would need waffle mix. My friend looked at me baffled. “There’s a thing called waffle mix!?” Nishu inquired, as if this were the 1800s and I told him about this new invention called the lightbulb.

“Yes, they sell it at the store.” I gently reassured my friend.

So Nishu recommended me go off to the store. That way, he could get champagne for mimosas and waffle mix. Although I am not a cook now, I was growing up. I am substandard at best, but know my way around a kitchen in an emergency. Meanwhile, Jeanie was waiting for the bacon and eggs to be delivered to her house. Note, Jeanie doesn’t cook either but she felt she had to bring something. I suddenly realized something very scary. Out of the three of us, I was going to be wearing captain’s jacket on this mission. OH SHIT BIRD!

Oh shit bird was right. As we walked in the market, it occurred to me Nishu had no clue in hell as to make waffles. “Do we really need eggs and milk?” He asked, wide eyed and serious.

“Yeah. The waffles don’t make themselves.” I told my friend. Then I informed him as a woman I had superior knowledge and he had better bow down. Well Nishu had more money in the bank and paid for everything. So perhaps he won the important fight.

 “How will we know what to do?” Nishu asked me, worried about this undertaking.

“There is the recipe on the back.” I informed my friend. Nishu was such a man. He had no idea how to handle himself around a kitchen. Oh Hedda had her work cut out for her. However, Nishu did have the for thought to put fruit on the waffles and had previously invested in syrup. At least he had almost planned ahead.

When we got back to the ranch, Jeanie arrived with the much needed bacon and eggs. She had woken up late, about 1, and felt a little tired but was excited for brunch. We loaded up on protein aka brain food. Then we began our adventure. As we started, it was clear we were quite unprepared for battle. No, Nishu did not have a measuring cup.  “Would a regular cup do the trick or do I have to go to the hard wear store?” Nishu wondered.

“That is a good question. I don’t cook so I don’t know.” Jeanie said as she lit a cigarette. The explorers were at a standstill. Jeanie then decided to contribute to the cause. She took Nishu’s remote control, and found banned commercials on youtube. After that, she began making the mimosas, the liquid food group. Somewhere, Julia Child was hitting her head against a waffle iron in the afterlife. In all irony, Julia was a Smith woman and Jeanie from Mount Holyoke. Maybe subconsciously, Jeanie had planned this against her rival sister school without even knowing.

 “It’s pretty close. If it doesn’t add up, we can adjust the recipe.” I informed them, using my middle of the road NYU on the spotness. Yes, the would be Ivy I graduated from, where we have inflated egos, huge vocabularies, and pretend we know everything.

I began the mixing. It still frightened me I was the best cook out of the three of us. All was going well until we discovered we needed oil. Like someone who seldom cooks, Nishu did not have oil. So I told him butter could be used. Jeanie poured a mimosa as Nishu nuked the t-spoon of butter in the microwave for 30 seconds. We began mixing. “What do we need to stir with?” Nishu asked and discovered a knife. Was this man for real?!

“A fork would probably work.” Jeanie told him. She was right on this.

“Yeah, you want to wisk it. I made these as a kid.” I told him. As I began wisking the waffles, we all began to dive into the banned, inappropriate commercials more and more. Jeanie made sure we didn’t mention “The K Word.” You see, Jeanie hates that everytime we mention Keeley, we end up gossiping about her the entire time. It’s not our fault, Keeley is just a disaster that never stops and is entertaining from afar. Not to mention that when we do speak of her, she calls and we are stuck inviting her over. When she is in a whacky place, this could be a big mistake. Brunch was peaceful. This was a good call on Jeanie’s part.

When the time to put the waffles on the grittle came, there was another crisis. “Do you have any Pam?” I asked Nishu. Shitbird McDouble, this was the one thing I forgot!

“What’s that?” Nishu inquired.

“It keeps the waffles from sticking. You’re in a world of hurt without it.” Jeanie told him.

“No.” Nishu was surprised. “Waffles stick?” Jeanie and I both nodded. This was getting more and more scary by the moment.

“We can just use butter. Any anti-stick.” I said. This felt bizarre, surreal, and outright odd that out of the three of us, I was the one with the good ideas in this department. If there was a massive fire in the neighborhood, the three of us would somehow be responsible.

“It will just be high calorie and bad for you.” Jeanie said, mimosa in one hand, cigarette in another, and half eaten bacon on her plate. It was clear this whole group was on the longevity plan as it was, so why not go the extra mile and just buy the damn heart attack!?

 “But butter always tastes better.” Jeanie said as she finished off her cigarette and went for the bacon. Note: Julia Child would have used lard.

Nishu greased the waffle maker and in the mix went. “How will we know when it’s done?” Nishu asked, now panicked that he might not know what to do next.

“Good question…..Does the waffle maker come with directions?” Jeanie asked intelligently. While she had no idea what to do, she is always a problem solver. Got to give my friend that.
“Yeah.” Nishu said turning the box over. “It says something about a blue light. When the light turns blue, the waffles are done.”

“There you go.” Jeanie told him.

A few minutes passed. “Are the waffles done?” Nishu wondered, panicked that he would miss his goodies.

“Is the light blue?” I asked. Of course as a man in the kitchen Nishu had forgotten all about the directions and just wanted results.

“No.” Nishu said.

“Then the waffles are not done. Give it a minute or two.” I gently informed him. Sure I was wearing the captain’s jacket on this mission, but I had a feeling the plane was about to crash.

Then the blue light went off. Time to taste our waffles. We split it into sections so each of us could try. So far so good. Yum. Perhaps there was hope. With newfound confidence, we decided to make another waffle.

Nishu wanted to improve upon my original and wanted to make it browner. So he put more waffle mix in and off he went. A few minutes later, another waffle was produced. It was crispier and extremely delicious. Perhaps there was a future for the three of us in the kitchen. Maybe we could do this. So Nishu began to plot for the best waffle yet.

With his newfound zeal, Nishu prodded me to post on facebook that we were making waffles. That way Hedda could see what was happening several time zones away. Secretly, I hoped she could teleport and take over, but no such luck. Therefore, we had to do without.  

Nishu, Jeanie, and I were now becoming increasingly cocky in our waffle making. Self-assured, Nishu poured the final batter into the waffle maker. As we waited, in our minds we saw ourselves rivaling Waffle House, the destination of all drunken comedians coming from a road trip who needed to sober up for the ride home. We saw our waitresses looking like Playboy models instead of the welfare mothers our mental rival employed. The blue pilot light went off and stoked we were. However, our joy was short lived.

“Oh my God! It won’t open!!!!” Nishu exclaimed. The waffle maker was holding our creation hostage. “What happened!!!!”

We were panicked. Nishu tried to pry it open. This was a fail. Then he got a fork and a knife. Finally the waffle maker opened. There was our tragedy before us. Nishu tried to pry this pathetic creation out of the jaws of death it had succumbed to. However, the waffle would not come out. Alas, it met it’s doughy demise.

“What happened!” Nishu was now sad. Our adventure in waffle making ended in ruin.

“Did you add butter?” I asked Nishu, suspect that he had not.

“I had to add butter again?!” Nishu asked as his face drooped with utter despair.

“Yeah, you always need to add butter.” Jeanie told him empathetically. I nodded in unison. Nishu’s face continued to fall into a look of utter defeat, just like our culinary disaster in front of us.
“Hedda would have never let this happen if she were here!” Nishu shrieked. Jeanie and I laughed. Oh this waffle was a gonner.

Feet away, Nishu had immortalized in his refrigerator the pancakes he and Hedda had made. These were delicious apparently, and had Hedda’s awesome touch. Those pancakes were not murdered by three incompetent cooks. And now here in front of us was the waffle we killed. Oh what tangled webs we weave.

Of course I had remembered two years earlier, another life time ago, the cast of characters coming in and out. Keeley would have been yelling about some conspiracy theory. Sarit would have been lying to some random free dating site dude about a fake pregnancy so she could keep him. Jeanette’s hair would be messed from her latest one night stand with a man half her age. Jessi would have a crazy friend with her, one who escaped a harrowing adventure. Jeanie would be getting trashed out of her mind to tune out the chaotic drama live on center stage, no fourth wall. Alas, I would have the curse of being the record keeper. In these misadventures, there would be no cooking. There would be a lot of drinking and cigarette smoking perhaps, but no food unless we ordered out. Or maybe leftover junk Nishu had, but even that was suspect.

Either way, although it was a disaster, this adventure was one of growth. There was no drama live and in color unfolding in front of us. Two of our waffles had been successful, but the third died. He would forever be remembered for his bravery in the face of the inferno. So yes, this adventure had been more of a success than we realized. That is when the three of us decided to perhaps start a tradition, a brunch every other Sunday. We also plotted a celebration upon Hedda’s return. Note: I will elect her to cook, she will be much more successful than we were.


I suppose slowly but surely, the three of us are (somewhat) headed towards being real grownups. Yes, this story did end happily ever after. As for the poor waffle, his carcass is currently being cleaned and he will receive a proper agnostic burial. 

www.aprilbrucker.com

Words From a Writer

Sunday, December 28th, 2014
I haven’t blogged in a while because I have been busy. Busy with the holidays. Busy with family. Busy with all that Christmas/Festivus/Channakah/Sparkle Season entail for the entire world. In between, I have been working on a writing project-more on that later. Either way, I have begun to look like a writer. My shoulders are slumped and my spine is curved like Quasimodo. As for my eyes, they are dark like that of a drug addicted relative. Wait, the drug addictive relative looks slightly better and they managed to eat. Oops. Yes, I am a writer.

Writers are the indentured servants of the creative world. We are always the first called when someone wants a story. The world thrives on stories. We slave over keyboards and have to put up with pricks who couldn’t get published themselves correcting our grammar. After that, we endure the continuous agony of idiots who have no idea of what story is but are somehow in charge of the business end of things telling us what an arc is. Yes, arc, those assholes think it’s the thing Indiana Jones discovered. After which we are abused by the establishment, but we work the hardest. Then when all is said and done, we are the first on the chopping block. We are the first to get screwed out of rights and money. We are left in the poor house or to die with a pauper’s grave while the man chomps on our bones.

Some starlet who can barely read butchers our dialogue. Then an asshole model turned leading man can’t even read, so at least the starlet is winning the race of the beautiful and stupid. After that some director and his “creative license” totally adapts our work to a way in which we would object but we signed away our rights. When I hold a pen there is a part of my heart, a part of my soul, that wants to stab them all. To stab the idea. To stab the establishment.

The worst part is being a woman in this whole mess. When I stick up for my work, I am angry. I am a man hating chick with penis envy. My rage can’t hack it in the so called boys club. Female writers who churn out material that makes my skin crawl and makes me want to go out like a Hemingway when I read it inform me I shouldn’t let the paradigm insult me. I should let me be me, and be the best me I can be. Yet one of us continues to wait for the imaginary man we create in our books, and another one of us knows it’s fiction. Maybe the one that knows it’s fiction knows all too well.

I have stopped letting the sexism on behalf of some of my male colleagues crush my spirit, although it has been hard. One former writing partner in particular was incredulous over the fact I would get published and he didn’t. We were friends until he realized I was far more talented than he was. Then it became all about my man hate. Yes, man hate. Man hate this, man hate that. What about moron hate. What about you are a freaking, drooling, imbecile who sits on a soapbox and pretends to be a man’s man you moronic poser? Or perhaps it was because I refused to let him use me to get ahead. Hmmm….

Then when you write, you run the risk of your work collecting dust. My book is in several collections, several libraries. When I was younger I used to think librarians were anal retentive wart hogs sent from Satan to terrorize children. Now I respect them as the Earthly body guards of my work. I spent countless days and hours, sacrificing a life of any sort, to put my stories on paper. Sure, doggy ear my book. That means you are reading it. However, if someone spilled something on it I would be livid. Yes, livid. So therefore, I treat all written words with kindness just as everyone should.

Sometimes I curse being a writer. I am a wordsmith which makes me a total heal as a screenwriter. When writing dialogue, I am selfish and verbose which makes me a mediocre playwright. The personal essay is my forte because I am a self-centered prig. Novel writing is also my strength, I did it. But I wish I could sing beautifully and harmonize.

Better yet, I wish I could knock a trumpet solo out of the park like my cousin. That way people could sit back, relax, and just enjoy me rocking it out all Old Satchmo. Then there are other times I wish I could draw and paint like my uncle, where people could get lost in the beauty of my work. Or maybe dance like my cousins, where the glorious experience would be interactive. Reading my work involves thinking, imagination. People hate that shit, remember?

Then I remember everything starts with a story. The written word is the man begins the relay for his team. Ideas on paper, great books, inspire people to talk and think. Those great books are adapted to great movies. Those even greater talents keep the work alive, even when the author is long dead. The musicians, dancers, and visual arts augment the story making it fabulous beyond words and compare. This is how stories live for thousands of years and tales become endless.

When one is good at one creative art they are always good at another. Writing is a springboard for other creative talents we all have. Prince wrote songs for others, and then recorded many hit albums himself. Harold Ramis was Egon Spengler, but more also helped write the script for Ghostbusters as did Dan Ackroyd. Writing allows me to perform my own work onstage, sing my own songs, and be whoever I want to be because my imagination is my own unique original creation from heaven.

That is, until I accidentally cut my finger on the paper from all the drafts I print out. Be kind to writers is all I am saying.

Come see me perform my writing and comedy as I help break a world record for Guinness
Friday January 2 @ 11:45
Metropolitan Room
34 West 22nd st
Xo

April

Getting Some……

Sunday, December 21st, 2014
Several years ago, on Valentine’s Day I received a the best present ever. I got to be on television. It was my first live television appearance ever. Of course I didn’t know it was a live show until I got there, which was both exciting and scary. My boss Bruce wanted me to blast the company all over Good Day NY, and dress in my cute heart costume. I was to sing to the newscasters, and then go out and deliver.

The show filmed from 5:30-7:30 AM, and I had to be there about 5 AM for hair and makeup to go on about 6. It sounds horrendously early and it was. Welcome to the wonderful world of television. When I got there, I remember alerting the security guard who looked peeved he was made to wake up that early. He called someone down to get me. Arriving was  a butch lesbian stage hand who had a stern, businesslike look on her face. I had my heart costume in a laundry bag and was holding it in my hand.

“I’ll take that.” She announced in an authoritative tone.

“It’s okay, I got it.” I told her. If you know me I am super OCD about props and costumes and there was no way I was letting this stranger touch it. Plus it was all of 5 pounds.

Grunting with a mix of distain and the believe that I was in fact a moron, she snarled, “It’s a Union job.” With that, she snatched the laundry bag from my hand. I stood there shocked. So far, I only had one cup of coffee. This was something I needed three to deal with. The security guard gave me a sympathetic glance. Up on the elevator we went.

As soon we got upstairs, I realized my escort was not being difficult but rather carrying my things was part of her responsibility not only as a stage hand, but also as a Union member. So instead of being an asshole without adequate coffee, I decided to take the high road and apologized. She said it was okay and didn’t show emotion either way. Still, I do think she appreciated it. You always want to make friends with your crew. They are the last people you want to piss off, EVER! Even though I was unaware of the Union job, I was aware of that.

As I readied for my screen time, my hair and makeup was done by this gay man who was in a bitchy mood because not only was it early, but he had a busy morning. Bruce had suggested I look one way on television. This man had other ideas. While Bruce knows his stuff, this man was quick to tell me that would not fly on “his show.” Later, I learned he would tell people what they should look like and what they should wear whether that individual liked it or not.

Of course after I was waiting to go on, I began to talk to the campaign manager of a Senator from Illinois named Barak Obama. I learned that Mr. Obama was running for president and people were discounting him. Note: That is how long ago this was. Anyway, his campaign manager was a very nice man, and we were fast friends.

I went on in between stories to sing and perform for the newscasters, and the whole appearance was fun. However, there were fireworks behind the scenes. The hairdresser, king of his domain,  kept stealing me to fix my hair and makeup. In turn, the producer, a woman with a Type A Plus Plus personality freaked out when she could not find me. She and the makeup artist screamed at each other as a result. From what I understood, this was a normal day on the job and they were friends in real life.

In between my turn on the air, the news team was covering an exciting Valentine’s Day story. Of course, this was after my splits and tumbling from my days as an acro dancer at Dance Connection. While I was somewhat spry, I was not nearly as good as I used to be.

One newscaster, a perky Asian lady who’s name escapes me, said,  “The theme for Valentine’s Day is safe sex and they are giving out New York condoms. The slogan is, ‘Getting Some.’ What do you think of when you think of getting some?”

There was an awkward pause in the studio. The producer looked like her head was about to explode. This was live TV with no editing, and one wrong word or move could cost the station a few grand. This could go real wrong real quick. Even as the hair and makeup man attempted to steal me for another touch up, he glanced sympathetically in our direction. At that moment, the poor news woman realized she had opened a door accidentally, and now the battle ship could go down right quick.
Oh shit. It was early and had already been a long day. Now things were about to get much worse. For what seemed to be a few seconds but felt like an eternity, we all held our breath.

“Well, when I think of getting some, I think of getting some sleep!” Said the nice looking, male, talking head who looked like the white bread boy you would bring home to Mama. The rest of the team laughed, and the energy of the place eased. That was a brilliant save. A smile crossed the stressed out producers face. The make up dude shrugged. Barack Obama’s campaign manager let out a muffled laugh. God bless television. God bless New York.

Later that day, I tackled a full break neck schedule of telegram deliveries. Then I performed standup that evening with May Wilson. How did I do it in those days without killing myself? The thought makes me tired. How did I complete that day without dying of exhaustion? To answer your question I got no action that night. None, zippo, nada.

Since that day, I have been on television several more times. I have done a lot of shows, some scripted and some not. I have done a lot of shoots, some live and others pre-recorded. Still, the memory makes me laugh.  Over time I have seen a lot and that still is one of the best saves ever. End of discussion.

Lately I have been thinking of getting some. No, not sex. Relax. Get your mind out of the gutter. It has been forever and a day since I had a man though. Not that I would have time for one now. If I did what would I do with him. “Hi Baby, I have a huge writing assignment. Could you clean my apartment and cook me dinner?” Some dudes would be game for that.

Or, “Hey Baby, I am about to be on national television. Could you go away so I can prep? Yes, you ca play poker with the boys. Or better yet, you can cheat with that red head down at your hang out. It’s okay. I need the stage time and moments alone to prep for the next two weeks. I ain’t mad.”
Or, “Hey Baby, I never had an honest dude with a job before. I don’t know what to do or say. Since I am used to guys who have been to jail, can you just step in this cage? That way I know you won’t go anywhere.”

So far, I don’t have any takers. Who wudda thunk it?

But yes, I have been thinking of getting some, as in sleep. Since last week I have been living inside a treadmill on a pressure cooker. The workload has been insane. I have a photo shoot for this, a writing deadline for that, I have to get my video ready for this one, and then I have to send paper work to that one. There is always something to be done.

The upside is, much of this action is because years of hard work and keeping a break neck schedule have paid off. While many of my peers either were chasing the social life or gave up the dream to have a family, I kept chugging. Now as a result doors are opening for me, and that is not an accident. There can be a great many things said about me, but one thing no one can argue with is I have a hell of a work ethic.

I am grateful for a lot that has happened this week. For starters, I am performing as a part of the Guinness Book of World Records World’s Longest Variety Show. I perform January 2nd at 11:4 PM at the Metropolitan Room. (PLUG) Tony Danza is on that afternoon. We perform for four days straight. I still have to decide what jokes I am doing. We had our photo shoot this week. Then I got some good news on a writing project, but it included a deadline which meant I was working all night. The next day I woke up looking like someone who spent the night writing only to find out I was asked to be on a local show. At first I passed. I was too tired and looked like the camera and I weren’t going to be friends. However, they were paying me a decent day rate and were up the street. I am glad I went. I got the best Christmas present ever aka I got a Taft-Hartley into SAG-AFTRA. While I have been on TV a bunch, I never joined the union because I wasn’t working on TV consistently enough, and wanted the experience so I could book the jobs. Now I have it.

Of course then fans are ordering DVDs and I had to mail them along with personalized photos. Add in I had to do some video stuff. Oh and I had a full telegramming schedule. To say I am tired is the understatement of the year. Friday was a decent delivery day though. I delivered to the IAB aka the cops who investigate other cops. They were good people, and the guy I delivered to is actually a published author as well. He has another book coming out which is awesome. It was cool to meet one of my people. We are now twitter friends. I cannot wait to read his work.

I did another delivery Friday where my brain was leaking and I could barely complete a sentence. The dude I delivered to was cool, but the contact did not tip. People get stingy with tips around holiday season. Still, it was fine. I got paid. Whatever. Either way, afterwards, my poor little legs were so exhausted they could barely carry me. Mind you even before the Guinness Book photo shoot I had filmed for another TV show, did an animal benefit, and attended the Heisman’s and had family in town not once but twice during this whole time……that’s another story.

Either way, I am leaving to see my parents. Like most young adults, it brings up a mixture of love but also anxiety and dread. However, I also welcome the rest. I will be able to sleep in and I need it.
Of course my dad asked me when I will be releasing my next book. While I am so exhausted and worn thin I hurt when I move, it is sweet when your family dreams with you. My dad also asked if I am dating any dudes.

Before any of this can be done, mama needs a nap. So yeah, I am getting some. Getting some sleep. And when I wake up, perhaps I will get started on my next book. And in my dreams I will get lucky with a handsome prince that loves puppets and is gainfully employed.

Xo
April

www.aprilbrucker.com

Ten Things No One Tells You About Life After Dating Violence

Sunday, April 27th, 2014
It is the end of the month and I am doing my last piece with Fraternities 4 Family because the campaign is ending. I felt the need to address this issue, of life afterwards because no one ever does. Most people assume once you are away from your other half, everything will be hunky dory. Prince Charming was the whole problem, and life will resume and all the eligible suitors with jobs, careers, and a future will want you. And you will want them. After you get married and live happily ever after with your 2.5 kiddies, you will drive them to softball and make lemonade. Oh and this will all be like a bad dream.

Not so much. When I was there, I was a mess. I found it was far from happily ever after, an if anything it was just the opposite. I was out of hell but just went to a higher layer. Life was real, I was damaged, and there was some healing to be done. Here are ten things no one tells you about what happens afterwards.....For real:

You Will Be Paranoid- Every time you hear keys jangling or someone walks too close to you on the street, it will make you go nutso, especially if your ex had a habit of stalking you. Or worse yet, you might check the house to make sure no one broke in if your ex had a habit of that. Some women have even called the cops thinking someone broke into their house when there was no one there. It’s because you are used to being tortured. So yeah, you’re a little crazy right now. Don’t worry, as time passes this too shall pass. It won’t last.

You Will Feel Terminally Unique- The thing about experiencing relationship violence is you feel alone during the experience, and afterwards you feel alienated from the rest of the world. You have lost your ability to relate, and the relationship problems other people bellyache about are asinine to you. You might want to tell them, “At least he has a job and doesn’t hit you!” Truth: Whether the relationship is violent or not, everyone experiences unhealthy codependency at least once in their dating lives, not just you. The secret is to know everyone has dark times, and to get out there and keep living.

You Will Be Very Angry- Yes, you will have rage issues. This is normal, you have been through a ton of crap. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself getting road rage for no reason or snapping out at service workers because they are moving “too slow.” You have been bullied, and sometimes when someone is bullied excessively they want to take it out on everyone else. Just remember, these drivers and service people did nothing to you. They are doing what they are supposed to do. Snapping out at them will make them feel badly, and won’t make you feel better.

You Will Have a Reckless Phase- Okay, you have been through some hard stuff. It’s okay to want to cut loose. Beware, you will be cutting loose in a way you never dreamed of. As in getting drunk in any day that ends in a “y,” drug experimentation, inappropriate sex activity with strangers, overeating/under eating, or overspending. When you risk losing your job, house, car, etc it is time to put on the breaks. Seek therapy or a Twelve Step Meeting pronto. They will love you until you love yourself, and most women in there dated your ex or his clone.

You Won’t Want Nice Dudes, and They Won’t Want You- In the movies, a nice dude rescues the girl from the abusive lover. Truth: This ain’t gonna happen. When a nice dude hears abusive ex, he gets weary because he thinks you are crazy too. And he’s right, you chose to stay. Also, if your ex is stalking you, he might run because he doesn’t want to get killed. Can you blame him? If he chooses to stay, you won’t trust him because you are not used to trusting. Also, you were with a jerk, so you became a jerk in order to survive. This will get old for everyone involved. So maybe work on yourself so that the nice guys know you are sincerely open for business.

You Will Have Some Friends Consider You Persona Non Grata- Yes, some of your friends won’t stick by you. When things got bad, you cut them out. And then when you came around, you brought drama. That makes people tired. But good news is, they still love you. It killed them inside that you were going through this. Also, hurt is simply masquerading as anger. They miss you, but you messed up. So do what you have to do to repair those friendships aka be a friend again. If they see you are sincere, nine out of ten times they will be back.

You Will Have Friends and Family Try To Fix You Up- Everything thinks what you need right now is a good matchmaker and a nice guy. They couldn’t be more wrong. Every once in a while, this ends happily but most of the time this is a disaster. You might melt down mid-date, which sucks for everyone involved. Or you might dump on your date mistaking him as your therapist, which most dudes can’t deal with. This too shall pass, but you need some alone time so you can work on yourself. Seek real Therapy not a male captive or some sort of counseling so again, history does not repeat itself.

You Will Date Beneath You- One consequence of dating someone who’s abusive is your self-esteem is crushed. And you let them crush it. So therefore you will not view yourself as worthy of quality company. Instead, you will settle for someone who simply does not hit you or put you down. A race horse being a horse alone does not make it a winner. Translated, you might find yourself dating a string of unemployed idiots or ex-cons for a little bit. Again, this is why therapy is important kids.

You Will Find Some People Don’t Relate- Yes, there are men who will ask you what you did to make your ex so crazy. Some might even call you bitter, God forbid you be honest. Others might walk away because it’s “too much.” Some women might tell you that you’re a “drama queen.” Also, if they are older they might inform you that you picked him, it was your fault you couldn’t deal with him. Or they might let you know you are an idiot for picking him in the first place. Either they are forced to look at their own stuff or life hasn’t happened to them yet. Don’t worry, when it does it will be brutal.


You Will Lose Faith In Love-  This is a given, and be prepared for it to happen. You will distrust men for sometime and will believe love will never find you. You will become the cynic at Disney Movies. Yeah, it happens. But be aware that just as there are bad men, there are good men that will treat you well, too. They key is working on yourself and breaking those patterns so you find them. Also, it is not giving up hope and having faith that there will be a happily ever after. Sometimes you have to go through hell to get to heaven. 

So it's not going to be happily ever after right away. Don't get discouraged, it does get better. It isn't a presto chango thing but it does get better. You will find nice people who want to date you, and your dreams can come true. But it won't be instant. It won't be because of some man who's the right one. It will be because you worked on yourself. For more on dating violence and legal solutions go to http://www.charlesullman.com/our-firm/fraternities4family/

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

Suavecito (Malo)

Friday, April 25th, 2014
I kind of went out on a date a while ago. It was fun and crazy. I don't do it often. Between my schedule, awkward shyness, and distrust of men it hardly ever happens. Actually, I am becoming less distrustful. I have been through a lot. However, it doesn't define me. Still, my makes me see the worst in people off the bat.

This dude and I started as friends and things progressed. A little voice in my head saw this was a bad idea. Still, it had been a long, terrible winter. We went out. We had fun. He was a complete gentlemen. The only time I have seen this is when guys have either gotten out of jail or have an ulterior motive. Very rarely are they true gentlemen. He spent money on me he didn't have. This was reminiscent of an ex of mine who was a pathological liar and had a Mr. Ripley complex. It felt weird. Did he rob it from an old woman?

I hate it to begin with when a man pays for me. It makes me feel strange. It makes me feel like he wants to be paid too. It doesn't feel like a treat but rather a gun to my head. I know the game.

Well people around me warned me he had an ulterior motive because he wasn't a citizen. I didn't want to believe it. However, as time went on I did. For starters, he wanted to be my boyfriend right away which is a bad sign. Whenever someone wants to rush you into a relationship, it means they are not looking for their next lover but next victim. He also wanted me to hang out in his neighborhood, probably to show off as a trophy to his friends. I also went to his facebook page. I have never seen someone post pictures and tell so many American women that he loves them. WOW! Oh, and then at the same time he was going back and fourth having a salacious conversation with a girl from his home village.

I never took him seriously. The age gap was significant. Rather, I had been a friend to him when a lot of people weren't. I treated him like a person and a lot of people don't. What makes me angry is my friendship was sincere with no motive, and he thought he could use me for his own gain. Yeah, I get it. You want to be a citizen. I get it, the laws aren't fair. My assistant just got his papers. But to use someone that was kind to you? To think I was stupid enough that you could snow me? To have an ulterior motive, and that was the only reason you were ever friends with me? When I gave him the heave ho he posted this thing on his timeline that said, "Those who don't believe in magic never find it." Yeah, blame your devious notion on me. Have a little bitch fit, Sir.

For a minute I regretted treating him like a person. I always treat people like people no matter who they are or where I meet them. Most of the time it pays off. They treat me kindly back. I am friends with my deli people, my cart dude, my grocery store folks, my super, etc. I treat people with dignity in respect no matter what position they have and no matter how much or little money might be in their name. This is why this was like a stab in the back and a knife to the gut. So maybe I should stop treating people like people, right?

No. All people should be treated like people. And then there are some who will view your kindness as weakness. This happens no matter what a person's race, age, gender, class, or station in life. He was an idiot and user. I don't regret being kind because I can look at myself in the mirror. He uses women for his own gain, and will always have to look behind his back for as long as he lives. Thank God he didn't become my boyfriend. He would have been showing up unannounced at my house demanding I feed him. Or worse, he was probably going to try to weasel his way into my life. The cherry on top of the cake would have been if I got a hate note from one of his little tricks he was leading on. He believes in magic, remember?

I still feel the sting of being used. However, that will fade. Especially when he is stuck playing the same games over and over again. Or maybe the village tartlet will come to his rescue. She can cook, clean, ride a donkey, and she will believe every lie that comes out of his mouth. I will continue to treat everyone I meet with dignity and respect, but rest assured I am never making that mistake with him again.

So he's a user, a loser, a douche bag.....Or how about a Suavecito. That's one word he will understand.

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







10 Things Young People Should Know About Love

Thursday, April 24th, 2014
Poetic Justice is my favorite guilty pleasure as far as films are concerned. Tupac isn't acting by the way. Sure, sometimes the characters set their people back an amendment or two but there is happily ever after. Oh and you are rooting for Justice and Lucky to make it. The scene where they go to the BBQ, and Janet Jackson's friend is there with her boyfriend Chicago. Note, the four are on a mail run and they are going to a family reunion pretending to be related in order to get free food. Then a fist fight breaks out.

Maya Angelou, who's poems John Singleton used in the making of the film, had her guest star as one of the three wise old women under the tree. She begins by saying, "I want to talk about love." And goes on to say young people know nothing about it. And then spots that Janet's friend is fronting and says, "She is no more married than the man on the moon."

Of course Jessie who owns the salon remarks that these girls "Don't know their cooch from a hole in the wall." They're right. Young people think love is this happily ever after thing. Not so. It's painful. It's complicated, and it's damn confusing.

So here are ten things I would tell my young self and tell them:

1. Falling in love is like becoming mentally ill. You don't see the person's faults. So what he's a troll who lives under a bridge? He makes you feel special. And you drop everything to live under the bridge with him. So yeah, love makes you kind of stupid.

2. Everyone has a past. Deal with it. It's who they are now, not who they were then that matters. So what his ex was a Playboy model? He ain't with her now.

3. When you fall in love, you start planning the future with that person. This is kind of dangerous. Get to know them before you purchase matching cemetery plots.

4. Your lover will hurt you and disappoint you. They are human, relax. But they also might amaze you too.

5. Games are not a part of courtship or the chase. They are a sign of an immature individual.

6. No one is worth fighting for. If they are stolen, they were willing to be stolen. If they are spirited away, they were never yours to begin with.

7. You don't need to be in a relationship all the time. Being single is kind of fun. What attracts people is confidence, not a nice outfit or good pickup line.

8. At times, the world will seem brighter and darker depending on your relationship. No one person should be that powerful in your life. They are a part of the whole, not the whole pie in this equation.

9. You cannot change someone, cure them of an addiction, or make them a better person. They are their own individual self.

10. If a relationship has too many rocky ups and downs, walk away. The fight/makeup thing is passionate when you are young, but it ages you very quickly.

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

Let Me Love You Down (Ready For the World)

Saturday, April 12th, 2014
Does age matter when it comes to dating? That is a good question. I have been on both ends of this stick in this matter. On one hand, yeah, it does. You can relate to someone your own age. On the other hand, it doesn't. Sometimes young energy is fun. Also, age can be just a number. I know 40 year olds who act 10 and mature 18 year olds who are wiser than many.

When I was nineteen, I remember dating a dude who was six years older briefly and being very eager to impress him. Wanting him to see I could hold my liquor, I got really trashed on Apple Martini's. As if that wasn't enough, I fell off the bar stool and the whole place saw my underwear. That evening, I begged him to "take me," because I had seen waaaayyyyy too many movies. However, he was a gentlemen and didn't, thank God. That was super mature, I know. It faded out though, because he was living in a hotel and was kind of homeless. But he was a good dude and was ultimately respectful of my lack of experience.

After him, I fooled around with a dude twice my age who was a mess. The son of a world famous opera singer and one hit wonder who's work is often credited to someone else, puppetry brought us together. This dude was a gossip, a shit starter, and someone who still doesn't have it together. The other day, an old friend of mine and I talked about him. He is currently off his bipolar meds and living in the woods in his home state.

Oh and then there was the trust fund dude who I fell for that was older. I wanted him to be my boyfriend and he thought I was too young. At the time, he explained if I were older things would be different. That didn't stop him from playing mind games and throwing a hissy fit when my fiance came along. Still, he was right. He did me a favor.

The fiance was much older than I was, and that is probably why the relationship was such a mess. He had a history of dating strippers, I never had a boyfriend. I can't blame him for everything, I was bad too. The relationship heated up faster than a Bunson Burner and just exploded out of control and if a container of gasoline was placed on the thing. We were a terrible match, yet somehow I have only said I love you twice in my life and meant it. He was one of those times.

After him, I dated a mix of older guys. Dudes my age couldn't keep up. Because I was used to an older dude, I was just more mature. I dallied with some dudes my age, but it never really went anywhere. I dated older dudes with money, but they bored me. Then I dated some bad boys who were older and had kids which was weird. Then I dated mixed up married not sure and divorced dudes looking for fun. Of course there were a few who were five years older, a nice split. More healthy and doable.

After one breakup though, things changed. I ended up hooking up with an Abercrombie model. He had acted heroically saving me from an assault on the street. The cutie had just been dumped by his high school sweet heart who wanted him back now that he was modelling. I remember thinking he could be a boyfriend, he was cute, sweet, and a gentlemen. But he was 19, I was 24. I felt like I was robbing the cradle. When I spoke to him, it became apparent he was 19. Granted, he was a good kid but I knew I was going to get my heart broken. Plus he was just a kid. He would get sick of me in a week. He was trying to figure himself out. I felt like the trust fund dude cutting a lose, young, love struck puppy lose. I still wonder about him, if his life turned out alright.

Oh and then there was the dude I dated in his 80s. For as much it looked like we were a cradle robbing complicit team, he was fun to be around. I loved his knowledge of comedy, and the fact he was a player even at that phase of his life. Hell, he was fearless and flamboyant. Oh and I always ate well. In the end, it looked like if we ever hit a home run he might die in the process.

I then went out with a dude who was 2 years younger. It was okay. There wasnt much age difference. After that I fell for Holden Caulfield who was exactly one week older than me. Yeah, we were almost exactly the same age. That didn't turn out so well. But it was the other time I said, "I love you" and I meant it. Still, it felt different because we were so close to the same age. It wasn't pressure to act older. It was more or less just to be myself.

Tony Manero was much older than I was, and the older guy seemed less appealing. Rather, it was an indicator this comedic hasbeen was never getting his act together. It made me miss Holden more, and was a reinforcer that sometimes when older men wanted much younger women, it was because they had yet to grow up themselves.

This past week I went out with a much younger dude. He's whippersnapper age. Some of the things he does are whippersnapper behavior. Hell, he is a whippersnapper. On the other hand, this is kind of attractive because he is very spur of the moment, and that is fresh energy for my old bones. Still, I know the way these things go. What he wants now might change in a week. Plus he is young and it is summer so he is going to want to play the field. He says he likes me though, and wants to be more than my friend.

There is a part of me that is like, "AHHHHHH!!!" because my New York jadedness makes me fear commitment. On the other hand, maybe this is whatever it is. I tried to let him down easy because I know the way these things go. He said even though he is young he is mature in other ways. Still, I know how these things end. Yeah, he finds some tenderoni closer to his age and I am just the old maid. I know I hurt him though, and that doesn't feel so good. But I also know with age and time comes damage. He needs someone closer to his own age who isn't quite so baggage filled and fucked up.

I do enjoy his company though. Ultimately we both agreed to be friends and see where it went. It leaves him room to be a whippersnapper without guilt, and leaves me room to be a cheetah who is on the prowl while she desires her own independence. On the other hand, if it does grow into something more, it could be awesome for everyone involved. Love is always awesome. But then it fades and sucks ass.

Either way keep hope alive.

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


Come see me April 22nd @ 7pm
Metropolitan Room
34 W. 22nd st. 

Let Me Love You Down (Ready For the World)

Saturday, April 12th, 2014
Does age matter when it comes to dating? That is a good question. I have been on both ends of this stick in this matter. On one hand, yeah, it does. You can relate to someone your own age. On the other hand, it doesn't. Sometimes young energy is fun. Also, age can be just a number. I know 40 year olds who act 10 and mature 18 year olds who are wiser than many.

When I was nineteen, I remember dating a dude who was six years older briefly and being very eager to impress him. Wanting him to see I could hold my liquor, I got really trashed on Apple Martini's. As if that wasn't enough, I fell off the bar stool and the whole place saw my underwear. That evening, I begged him to "take me," because I had seen waaaayyyyy too many movies. However, he was a gentlemen and didn't, thank God. That was super mature, I know. It faded out though, because he was living in a hotel and was kind of homeless. But he was a good dude and was ultimately respectful of my lack of experience.

After him, I fooled around with a dude twice my age who was a mess. The son of a world famous opera singer and one hit wonder who's work is often credited to someone else, puppetry brought us together. This dude was a gossip, a shit starter, and someone who still doesn't have it together. The other day, an old friend of mine and I talked about him. He is currently off his bipolar meds and living in the woods in his home state.

Oh and then there was the trust fund dude who I fell for that was older. I wanted him to be my boyfriend and he thought I was too young. At the time, he explained if I were older things would be different. That didn't stop him from playing mind games and throwing a hissy fit when my fiance came along. Still, he was right. He did me a favor.

The fiance was much older than I was, and that is probably why the relationship was such a mess. He had a history of dating strippers, I never had a boyfriend. I can't blame him for everything, I was bad too. The relationship heated up faster than a Bunson Burner and just exploded out of control and if a container of gasoline was placed on the thing. We were a terrible match, yet somehow I have only said I love you twice in my life and meant it. He was one of those times.

After him, I dated a mix of older guys. Dudes my age couldn't keep up. Because I was used to an older dude, I was just more mature. I dallied with some dudes my age, but it never really went anywhere. I dated older dudes with money, but they bored me. Then I dated some bad boys who were older and had kids which was weird. Then I dated mixed up married not sure and divorced dudes looking for fun. Of course there were a few who were five years older, a nice split. More healthy and doable.

After one breakup though, things changed. I ended up hooking up with an Abercrombie model. He had acted heroically saving me from an assault on the street. The cutie had just been dumped by his high school sweet heart who wanted him back now that he was modelling. I remember thinking he could be a boyfriend, he was cute, sweet, and a gentlemen. But he was 19, I was 24. I felt like I was robbing the cradle. When I spoke to him, it became apparent he was 19. Granted, he was a good kid but I knew I was going to get my heart broken. Plus he was just a kid. He would get sick of me in a week. He was trying to figure himself out. I felt like the trust fund dude cutting a lose, young, love struck puppy lose. I still wonder about him, if his life turned out alright.

Oh and then there was the dude I dated in his 80s. For as much it looked like we were a cradle robbing complicit team, he was fun to be around. I loved his knowledge of comedy, and the fact he was a player even at that phase of his life. Hell, he was fearless and flamboyant. Oh and I always ate well. In the end, it looked like if we ever hit a home run he might die in the process.

I then went out with a dude who was 2 years younger. It was okay. There wasnt much age difference. After that I fell for Holden Caulfield who was exactly one week older than me. Yeah, we were almost exactly the same age. That didn't turn out so well. But it was the other time I said, "I love you" and I meant it. Still, it felt different because we were so close to the same age. It wasn't pressure to act older. It was more or less just to be myself.

Tony Manero was much older than I was, and the older guy seemed less appealing. Rather, it was an indicator this comedic hasbeen was never getting his act together. It made me miss Holden more, and was a reinforcer that sometimes when older men wanted much younger women, it was because they had yet to grow up themselves.

This past week I went out with a much younger dude. He's whippersnapper age. Some of the things he does are whippersnapper behavior. Hell, he is a whippersnapper. On the other hand, this is kind of attractive because he is very spur of the moment, and that is fresh energy for my old bones. Still, I know the way these things go. What he wants now might change in a week. Plus he is young and it is summer so he is going to want to play the field. He says he likes me though, and wants to be more than my friend.

There is a part of me that is like, "AHHHHHH!!!" because my New York jadedness makes me fear commitment. On the other hand, maybe this is whatever it is. I tried to let him down easy because I know the way these things go. He said even though he is young he is mature in other ways. Still, I know how these things end. Yeah, he finds some tenderoni closer to his age and I am just the old maid. I know I hurt him though, and that doesn't feel so good. But I also know with age and time comes damage. He needs someone closer to his own age who isn't quite so baggage filled and fucked up.

I do enjoy his company though. Ultimately we both agreed to be friends and see where it went. It leaves him room to be a whippersnapper without guilt, and leaves me room to be a cheetah who is on the prowl while she desires her own independence. On the other hand, if it does grow into something more, it could be awesome for everyone involved. Love is always awesome. But then it fades and sucks ass.

Either way keep hope alive.

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


Come see me April 22nd @ 7pm
Metropolitan Room
34 W. 22nd st. 

Let Me Love You Down (Ready For the World)

Saturday, April 12th, 2014
Does age matter when it comes to dating? That is a good question. I have been on both ends of this stick in this matter. On one hand, yeah, it does. You can relate to someone your own age. On the other hand, it doesn't. Sometimes young energy is fun. Also, age can be just a number. I know 40 year olds who act 10 and mature 18 year olds who are wiser than many.

When I was nineteen, I remember dating a dude who was six years older briefly and being very eager to impress him. Wanting him to see I could hold my liquor, I got really trashed on Apple Martini's. As if that wasn't enough, I fell off the bar stool and the whole place saw my underwear. That evening, I begged him to "take me," because I had seen waaaayyyyy too many movies. However, he was a gentlemen and didn't, thank God. That was super mature, I know. It faded out though, because he was living in a hotel and was kind of homeless. But he was a good dude and was ultimately respectful of my lack of experience.

After him, I fooled around with a dude twice my age who was a mess. The son of a world famous opera singer and one hit wonder who's work is often credited to someone else, puppetry brought us together. This dude was a gossip, a shit starter, and someone who still doesn't have it together. The other day, an old friend of mine and I talked about him. He is currently off his bipolar meds and living in the woods in his home state.

Oh and then there was the trust fund dude who I fell for that was older. I wanted him to be my boyfriend and he thought I was too young. At the time, he explained if I were older things would be different. That didn't stop him from playing mind games and throwing a hissy fit when my fiance came along. Still, he was right. He did me a favor.

The fiance was much older than I was, and that is probably why the relationship was such a mess. He had a history of dating strippers, I never had a boyfriend. I can't blame him for everything, I was bad too. The relationship heated up faster than a Bunson Burner and just exploded out of control and if a container of gasoline was placed on the thing. We were a terrible match, yet somehow I have only said I love you twice in my life and meant it. He was one of those times.

After him, I dated a mix of older guys. Dudes my age couldn't keep up. Because I was used to an older dude, I was just more mature. I dallied with some dudes my age, but it never really went anywhere. I dated older dudes with money, but they bored me. Then I dated some bad boys who were older and had kids which was weird. Then I dated mixed up married not sure and divorced dudes looking for fun. Of course there were a few who were five years older, a nice split. More healthy and doable.

After one breakup though, things changed. I ended up hooking up with an Abercrombie model. He had acted heroically saving me from an assault on the street. The cutie had just been dumped by his high school sweet heart who wanted him back now that he was modelling. I remember thinking he could be a boyfriend, he was cute, sweet, and a gentlemen. But he was 19, I was 24. I felt like I was robbing the cradle. When I spoke to him, it became apparent he was 19. Granted, he was a good kid but I knew I was going to get my heart broken. Plus he was just a kid. He would get sick of me in a week. He was trying to figure himself out. I felt like the trust fund dude cutting a lose, young, love struck puppy lose. I still wonder about him, if his life turned out alright.

Oh and then there was the dude I dated in his 80s. For as much it looked like we were a cradle robbing complicit team, he was fun to be around. I loved his knowledge of comedy, and the fact he was a player even at that phase of his life. Hell, he was fearless and flamboyant. Oh and I always ate well. In the end, it looked like if we ever hit a home run he might die in the process.

I then went out with a dude who was 2 years younger. It was okay. There wasnt much age difference. After that I fell for Holden Caulfield who was exactly one week older than me. Yeah, we were almost exactly the same age. That didn't turn out so well. But it was the other time I said, "I love you" and I meant it. Still, it felt different because we were so close to the same age. It wasn't pressure to act older. It was more or less just to be myself.

Tony Manero was much older than I was, and the older guy seemed less appealing. Rather, it was an indicator this comedic hasbeen was never getting his act together. It made me miss Holden more, and was a reinforcer that sometimes when older men wanted much younger women, it was because they had yet to grow up themselves.

This past week I went out with a much younger dude. He's whippersnapper age. Some of the things he does are whippersnapper behavior. Hell, he is a whippersnapper. On the other hand, this is kind of attractive because he is very spur of the moment, and that is fresh energy for my old bones. Still, I know the way these things go. What he wants now might change in a week. Plus he is young and it is summer so he is going to want to play the field. He says he likes me though, and wants to be more than my friend.

There is a part of me that is like, "AHHHHHH!!!" because my New York jadedness makes me fear commitment. On the other hand, maybe this is whatever it is. I tried to let him down easy because I know the way these things go. He said even though he is young he is mature in other ways. Still, I know how these things end. Yeah, he finds some tenderoni closer to his age and I am just the old maid. I know I hurt him though, and that doesn't feel so good. But I also know with age and time comes damage. He needs someone closer to his own age who isn't quite so baggage filled and fucked up.

I do enjoy his company though. Ultimately we both agreed to be friends and see where it went. It leaves him room to be a whippersnapper without guilt, and leaves me room to be a cheetah who is on the prowl while she desires her own independence. On the other hand, if it does grow into something more, it could be awesome for everyone involved. Love is always awesome. But then it fades and sucks ass.

Either way keep hope alive.

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


Come see me April 22nd @ 7pm
Metropolitan Room
34 W. 22nd st. 

I Kissed a Ninja

Friday, April 11th, 2014
Last night I was swimming in stress and self-pity. My DVD taping is less than two weeks away. I was finalizing material. That day I had some camera man drama. I also had some other drama with other things that only a type A personality can understand. And then there was another dramatic situation that was just too dramatic to mention. Alas, I was drained.

Anyway, after an impassioned convo with a girlfriend we both agreed NY men were really women with the wrong equipment. They didn't say what they meant and meant what they said. And then they just couldn't ask you out without being weird. On top of that, when someone finally did they threw a tantrum akin to Toddlers and Tiaras.

So I took my grief to facebook. To my surprise, a bunch of dudes messaged me wanting to take me out. I knew some. Others are followers. One dude looked like he would invite me to his tool shed and I would never return. I had a similar experience in Nebraska where May Wilson and I were asked for a threesome. Perhaps this was him. Either way, it could have been. I was severely drunk at the time and it looked like it might be. That is when the Ninja messaged me. He said he was downstairs waiting. Yes, the Ninja. He is a kickboxing buddy of mine. A young man who is filled with energy, passion, and determination, the Ninja is a sometimes breakfast buddy who is a breath of fresh air.

Shit just got real.

Anyway, I wanted to see. There was a ninety percent chance Mr. Ninja was just pulling my leg. But then again, what if he was there. Ninjas are crafty like that. So I just went to see. Either he was going to be there or he was getting a laugh at my expense.

A minute later, I ran down my stairs. There he was on the other side of the street in front of the basketball court texting on his phone. The Ninja did not lie. I crossed the street, red faced. It had been forever and a day since I had been out with a man. Not to mention while I am not terribly old, I am not terribly young. The Ninja however is whippernsapper age. I felt like a cougar. I felt like I was robbing the cradle. I felt like the Ninja needed cookies and milk instead of the bitterness that came with the experience of being a New York woman.

The Ninja mentioned I sounded upset online. He wanted to make my night. On our way to our destination, the Ninja saw a man on the sidewalk trying his best to rock a bo. As we observed him, the Ninja approached this oaf and asked to buy his weapon off of him. I was stunned and so was this man on the sidewalk. He asked the Ninja if he was crazy. The Ninja did not respond. Instead, he just took the bo and began to twirl it with perfect precision. I was amazed. My jaw dropped. The man who had assumed he was an expert did not know what to do. The Ninja mentioned he should cut his bo. And then off we went.

We ended up going to this Spanish place and the Ninja knew everyone. He knew what was good and what wasn't on the menu. During dinner, we discussed Blood In and Blood Out. Apparently just like me, the Ninja knew every line. When the bill came, dinner was quite expensive. The Ninja insisted he could pay for it. This made me nervous that we might be washing dishes. I told the Ninja we could split it, and that I could get cash if need be. However, the Ninja had the money. It made me feel kind of guilty though, because I do not know how the Ninja got those gobs of cash.

I told the Ninja that I would take him to dinner next time. The Ninja told me that was never going to happen. According to the Ninja, he owed me a favor because once when the Ninja was homeless, because he was having some Ninja drama, I bought him breakfast. I told the Ninja we were even, and next time I would treat. It weirds me out when a man feels the need to spend money on me.

Afterwards, the Ninja and I went to the river and began to joke and talk about history and other things. And then it got late and he walked me home. All night, the Ninja was a perfect gentlemen. He pulled out chairs. He didn't make a move. What was his deal?

That is when the Ninja said he was not leaving without a kiss. When he kissed me, I felt this rush through my entire body. The long winter had finally vanished and the warm weather had finally arrived.

With that, the Ninja disappeared into the night. Will I see him again? Hopefully. Ninjas come and go as they please. I am not expecting a big love affair, because a Ninja's first love is being a Ninja. Additionally, he is a Latino Ninja which means he has a chica in every corner he appears and vanishes in. Plus he is quite young and he should have a chica in every corner he appears and vanishes in, regardless. Plus I don't do relationships.

However, it was also a lesson that I could go out with a dude who was decent and have him treat me well. It let me know that I was not damned to the fugitives, ex-cons and other assorted barely functional people I tend to go for. At the very least, the Ninja was a step in the right direction.

However the Ninja was a nice diversion. He made me smile and forget about how my Type A personality can make me so damn miserable.

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


Come see me April 22nd @ 7pm
Metropolitan Room
34 W. 22nd st. 

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