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That Woman

Wednesday, January 7th, 2015
Recently an old wound was reopened. They say when someone does this, it isn’t always intentional. Rather, that person is a messenger telling you to work on a part of yourself that is not yet healed. When the bandage is ripped off, the wound is reopened. The pain returns almost as if it were yesterday, oozing out of your every pour. Then you realize maybe you were not okay after all.

Monday night I had a giant reminder of my past. Yes, I am a domestic violence and stalking survivor. I have spoken openly in interviews and written about it. Heck, I even talk about it onstage in my comedy. Performance gave me an outlet to live through one of the darkest, most horrific times of my life. I maintain if it weren’t for comedy I would be dead. If my ex didn’t kill me, the pain that went with the situation would have. It’s amazing how the ability to laugh keeps people from losing their damn minds sometimes. Laughter isn’t just the best medicine sometimes, it’s the freaking miracle cure.

I had a friend read me the riot act. Mike’s like a brother. It’s not that he did it to be mean. I needed my ass handed to me. Since the relationship that left me invested in a separate mailing address, I have been very slow to trust men. I had a guy several years ago and it ended badly. Very badly. He still hates me, and I have earned his hate. His wife also has my face on a dartboard. I am not being dramatic, she does. I was a terrible partner. I know that much, and I admit it not to puff myself up but because I was. It’s the damn truth. Yeah this guy had his issues but when you’re the one with your former lover stalking you, there is no room to judge. Just saying.

I never set out to be “that woman”, but I was. Then again, no girl ever dreams of growing up and having Prince Charming turn completely psychotic when the relationship ends. No girl plays Barbies and sees Ken trying to kill himself when Barbie has had enough. It’s not the way it’s supposed to go. Cinderella and Barbie don’t have the real life ending where the dolls are damaged goods. If only Disney and Mattel lived in reality.

“It’s me or the puppets.” My ex said. I still remember the conversation like it was yesterday. He was already controlling my wardrobe and telling me who I could and couldn’t speak to. I thought he was kidding. My children were my blood, my life. I wanted to leave, but remembered when I had done so he broke a Vodka bottle, tried to dive on it, and missed. Then he took the remaining pieces of the broken glass and slit his wrists. I was terrified so I stayed.

For months I was dying inside. My friends saw the lifeblood drain out of me and begged me to get rid of him. Yet I continued to sell him like a used car. A shell of my former self, I turned into a zombie who either simply went through the motions, or when I could feel I was angry all the time. Then it was him or my family. The irony of the whole situation is that he wanted me to put away my puppets so I could become his puppet.

I was drinking alone every night, and that’s already a bad sign. To top it off I had stopped eating and lost a ton of weight. He had hit me before. I had seen female relatives walk this path and I knew how it was going to end. It was always a slow and painful demise where the woman got burned and the man walked away unscathed. More than anything, there was a part of me, my craft, my ventriloquism, my children, missing. I knew if I stayed in the relationship he was going to kill me or I was going to kill myself.

I ended it.

Needless to say it was only the beginning of another nightmare. My ex wouldn’t accept it was over. He called me terrorizing me. Sometimes he would send his friends to terrorize me. He would wander my neighborhood looking for me. Then there were times he would casually tell me he was going to kidnap me because if he couldn’t want me, no one else could have me. In the next breath he mentioned he wanted me dead. If that wasn’t getting to me, he doctored up photos of me online and wrote nasty things on them. Sometimes, he would draw photos of a girl who looked like me and she would be gutted or beheaded. The world has changed, but in those days a restraining order was much harder to get and cyberbullying was still a new crime.

I felt alone, but there were people who came to my aid. The ex was banned from several websites, and my neighbors agreed to watch out for him. Through that I was encouraged by those around me to get onstage and talk about the pain, the fear. More than anything, I was told by those closest to me that I had to reach for my puppets again.

Being a ventriloquist and woman is not easy, especially in the chauvinistic, closed minded comedy community. I heard the sexist jibes and the snide remarks that I was a prop act. However, I also had a lot of people support me as well. I knew in order to get where I needed to go my children had to become my life and they did. At times it seems we fortify ourselves against the world but hey, it’s not the worst thing.

My dream before meeting my ex was to become a professional ventriloquist. With work and effort, that has been happening for me. I have done two good shows this week. One was where I was one of over 200 performers that helped shatter a Guinness World Record. The other was for a bunch of children as part of Little Laughs at The Jalopy Theatre in Brooklyn. On both shows, I shared the stage with amazing performers who were not only dedicated to their craft but also good at it. Although the adventure left me slightly drained because things kept coming like gangbusters, I wouldn’t trade any second of it.

I have my act together onstage and off more than I ever have in my life. This past year, I have begun doing theatres and even filmed a DVD. I also have made a career enough onscreen to earn my union card, something else that felt like writing in the clouds before. Fans will write me letters and sometimes can spot me in public and ask, “Are you that puppet girl?”

Things have changed for the better. And while I was “that woman”, a title I didn’t want, I am actually quite glad it happened. My life was going down a very bad road, and once I got out of the relationship it made me realize I had some decisions to make. I was 21 and could still change course. Maybe low self-worth and desperation had taught me a tough lesson, but I could still get back on track. I did by getting a goal. Also, because of my experience, I have had other people who have been “that woman” reach out to me. It lets them know they aren’t alone, but makes me remember I am not either. Of course, I now have a spider sense and can spot “that man” from a million miles away. I can also pick out a bully from a crowd, and have a special way of not tolerating that toxic individual. And if that bully chooses to intimidate others, I come to their defense as well.

“You’re no funny and will never amount to anything as a ventriloquist.” My ex once told me. Although my life has changed dramatically and I feel so far removed from those people and that time, the words still ring fresh every once in a while when I find myself stepping onstage to a performance where I headline, a theatre gig, or as I ready myself for a TV taping. Except now those words don’t sting, instead they motivate me whenever the doubt starts to creep in. Yes, that voice that speaks like my ex that tells me I have no talent, will go no where, and don’t deserve anything good to happen to me.

“I saw you on TV and you are very funny. Don’t let anyone make you give up your puppet children.” Another voice says. It’s the voice of a fan. They say never to believe your fans all the time, but you need to listen sometimes. While the ex’s hateful words motivate me, my fans are the ones in the race that continue to cheer me on. They let me know I need to keep running, keep fighting, keep my puppet children by my side.

Over time, I have learned to forgive my ex. For as tough as it was, he was a sick person. He had a hellacious childhood that I would not wish on my worst enemy. How could I expect him to give me a healthy relationship when he had no idea what one was in the first place? Plus he never made a secret of who he was. I chose to stay. In the end, I was just as guilty as he was. I wasn’t a victim but a willing volunteer. I heard through the grapevine he is getting help and his life is coming together. In my heart I hope this is true and only wish him the best.

However, when the wound is open it still feels like yesterday I was wearing running shoes in case my ex would show up so I could make a quick escape. It still feels like I just spoke to my mother, and she requested his info so she could have it in case I disappeared. I am always my harshest critic with my career. Things never happen fast enough for me. Perhaps sometimes it’s good the wound is accidentally re-opened to show me that I need to stop being such a brat, and that things could have gone much worse. It’s a stick it note from the universe that I lucked out, and that I am doing better than I think.

It’s also a sign that while in some ways I have evolved, in others I haven’t. I still don’t have a guy. I can blame the career and puppets all day long, but it is because I am scared to death of being “that woman” again. There have been women who are “that woman” many times over and that terrifies me. I am petrified of him taking my puppets. It hasn’t happened but it could.

There are times when I want to jump inside the radio and bust the heads of rappers and male singers sprouting misogyny until the gold teeth jump out of their stupid heads. It doesn’t make me feel bad because they have millions of dollars and can get them replaced. Then I realize it’s the same thing as getting mad at my male comedian friends. Those are just words. Nothing more. Some of the most ruthless dudes onstage have been my biggest supporters and greatest friends off. It’s not a personal affront.

Still, maybe it’s because while I have forgiven my ex, I haven’t forgiven myself. I was 21 and made a mistake. I didn’t know everything, how could I? Yeah, I needed to walk this path to get where I was. Sure, it totally sucked. That being said, maybe it’s time to try to find that handsome prince who likes puppets. He’s out there. Maybe it’s time to close the wound for good. 

Waiting For Guffman

Monday, October 7th, 2013
A lot of a career as an artist is waiting by the phone. When the phone rings, it is another hope. Did I get the job? Do you potentially want me for this job? Did you read my treatment? Do you believe in my dreams?

When the phone doesn't ring it is stressing. How will I pay my rent? How will I eat? Will my dreams come true?

Will I forever be an almost D-lister who sometimes get recognized by a fan? Or will my fans go away? Will I languish in semi-obscurity forever?

Lately things have been decent. I have been working a lot which means I have money in the bank and the bills are paid on time. At the same time, I am up for several projects. Two I pitched, one I am pitching, and of course one was just released and is not taking off as fast as I wanted. Two are in the works but still need t get on their feet. I was just interviewed for one and rocked it, never heard back. Someone was interested in my writing, never heard back. I know, it is still Monday.

I need the next break to come. I am starting to get momentum and am so scared of losing it. I had it years ago, lost it and I had to fight like hell to get it back. When I did, doors opened in ways I never dreamed. Now it is back and I am scared of losing it again.

I have a lot of people interested. A lot of people saying they will be in touch. No no's yet. No yes's. Just maybe's. A lot of maybe's. Maybe is a weird place to be, a gray area. Maybe it will never happen. Maybe I have seen my best days.


But maybe it might happen.

Yes it is raining. I am feeling better. Off of my Z Pack. My bills are paid. I am financially comfortable. They say God is never late, always on time.

Get here quick Big Guy/Girl.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of  a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Check out the first chapter of my audiobook

Kiss My Ass-Another Fan Encounter

Sunday, November 18th, 2012
I was walking down the street in my Hell's Kitchen neighborhood when this woman walks by in her leather boots. She was fierce I tell you, Sasha Fierce, Fiercy McFierston. Anyway I complimented her on her boots and she had a male companion with her. He turns around and says, "You're that puppet chick from TLC!?!? I just saw you on TV." WOWSA. JUST SAW ME ON TV?!?!? Sure my puppet kiddies and I have been on the tele quite a few times in America as well as the rest of the planet but I still get warm and fuzzy when I hear it.

"Yes, that would be me." I said sheepishly.

I got Sonny out, the man who lives rent free in my purse. The man who is always trying to pick up women but is never successful. The man who is and always will be a bachelor. The puppet destined to be the 40 year old virgin of our generation. So the girl who is mad fierce begins talking to Sonny. She asks if Sonny thinks that she is cute and Sonny says yes. She asks if Sonny can send her flowers and Sonny says he doesn't pay for women anymore, that they must take him out to dinner. So the girl says this is unacceptable and the only way Sonny can win favor with her is to kiss her butt. Now I don't know what is crazier. The fact that this woman is talking to Sonny as if he were a real man, the fact that I don't know what to do, or the fact her gay friend is getting this whole thing on camera!

"Kiss my ass puppet. You know you want to." She says and points to her derriere. So I know what to do, the camera is on. Sonny kisses her butt.

"Buy me flowers by two o'clock." She commanded and Sonny promised he would. The two walked off into the sunset and I found myself smiling. The whole thing is still cracking me up.

But Sonny is the typical man. Getting physical action and then making promises that he never intends to keep.


I told them to follow me on twitter. Perhaps they will buy my book.

Either way, I am (almost) a superstar. Better ride that cloud. I have a sink that needs Drano and when I get home tomorrow my mother is going to make me cook, clean, and vacuum.

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

Come Eat Some Cookies and Buy My Book This Thusday

Wednesday, November 14th, 2012
Come eat some cookies and buy my book this Thursday

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

Symposia Bookstore


510 Washington St.

Come eat some cookies and ask some questions

There will be puppets

7PM see you there xoxox <3

In case you havent seen them here are some screen shots of my Amazon Pop Ups and other photos


Princess Dropped Down to Earth

Wednesday, November 14th, 2012
The last twenty four hours have been something else. Yesterday my phone started ringing again, yipee! I got a telegram and didn't think it was a big deal if I left the house looking a little bit of mess. My winter coat was tattered. While white is a terrible choice for NYC I liked the color and design when I got it. I'm a woman. There is a part of me that strives to be as smart as Sandra Day O'Connor and Hillary Clinton but I have the vanity of Marilyn Monroe and Mae West. What I am trying to say is that when I see something pretty that's all I see and the common sense turns off.

I got to the London Hotel and was directed to the Hyde Room. When I walked up the stairs I saw a gaggle of girls. Apparently One Direction was in town and they were all camped out. As I am climbing the stairs and see these teeny-boppers one who was quite pretty asks, "Are you the puppet girl from My Strange Addiction?" I told her yes and shook my head gently. She mentioned she had watched my entire episode on youtube. Then again this generation is all about the YT. Anyway she's like, "You acted like you knew me." Well you have seen my episode, met my puppet children, and technically met my mother and sister so you know me. Why not?

We kabbitzed for a bit and they asked if I had puppets. I pulled Sonny out, my puppet boyfriend. Cause they were young I kept it clean, well we did. Anyway they asked how the show had helped me. I don't bring Sonny on dates anymore. They asked how Sonny felt and he said relieved. They also said I deserved love because I am a beautiful woman.


Anyway they asked what I was doing and I told them the truth, a telegram. They thought that was awesome. But I did mention on my episode I delivered telegrams in order to support my little puppet children, or occasional ingrates as I refer to them. They also told me they met Beiber and he was mean to them. Then again, he had just had his heart broken. They asked me which member of One Direction I liked. I felt like a pedo even thinking of crushing on those barely legal boys. One of the girls mentioned her forty-four year old mother liked Harry and Harry likes MILFs.

I am not eighteen. However, am I MILF age yet? On the otherhand, Harry does have money.

The telegram was a success. I gave the girls my tweedily deet so they could KIT. Keep in touch, I am writing like I am signing a year book now. These youngins.....

I left the hotel and saw a girl who was also there to see One Direction. She said she was coming from the Rockaways. Where she lived they had no power and were improvising for heat. She shared that coming to Manhattan seemed like crawling out of the end of the world zone, the city of the mole people, and re-entering the modern world where there were things like lights, cars, and technology. I asked how she was dealing without electric. She said she was used to it at this point and didnt care whether or not she got it back. Still it was crazy. It made me grateful.

I got home and discovered I might have the oppertunity to have a part of my book published. I also might get a new writing job. More on those later.


So awesome I chirped on the phone to my Mama.

Then I got a nasty email from my bank that I had insufficient funds :( WTF!?!?! I had deposited checks, paypal, and then written my rent check. Granted, it said the transfer was going through and usually did. I checkd my paypal, the money didnt go through. They had usually been pretty good. Then it occurred to me, this was all the fault of Superstorm Sandy, that bitch. I had transferred the money the week a lot of people lost power and when a lot of the banks had computers that were down. Somewhere along the line the money did indeed get transferred, but because the technology had been screwed up because of Mother Nature I looked like a moron.

I called my bank and they confirmed me. The transfer had never gone through. They said they had quite a few people having this issue because of the damage from Sandy to the computers and such. They also said that I had most of the funds in my account and perhaps my landlord's bank had a different policy and may have cleared me. But just in case I was told by them and everyone around me to give my landlord the heads up. This wasn't my fault. Screw you Sandy, insert middle finger.

This morning I had a seven in the morn delivery. I looked like I had rolled out of bed. With my chicken suit on my back I walked down the street wondering when it got so cold. Then I realized it was November. While it seems surreal it had already snowed once, actually we had a blizzard. Mother Nature needs her Prozac. Then again with all the pollution in the world we have made her bi-polar.

That's today's adventure, as in later today. Either way, I didn't lose my power. I just have been put in a place of financial insecurity. I still have my property and my well being. It's just a taste of life after a natural disaster and a prick from a thorn. Still it was an unpleasant surprise.

I found myself walking along in my beat up white coat. My hair was messed up because I had just rolled out of bed. I could hear my friend Roger hissing from the after life, mad as hell in his Chanel with his Gucci, "Stop looking broke and poor when you see me. If you keep it up I will give you a cup so you can beg for change. As long as you are going to look it why not act it?"

I went to get my coffee and greeted my coffee man by the name Boss. It is a term of endearment for our coffeemen and deli people in NYC. He corrected me and said he preferred my friend. Then he proceeded to give me free coffee, a free donut, and free hand sanitizer. I didn't look that bad.

Or maybe I did and he was giving me free things.

I went to deliver the telegram and woke the girl up. When she saw a giant chicken I am sure she regretted every brownie she ever ate in college. Then she realized I was real and for a slit second probably wanted to kill her brother. But then she laughed. I didn't want to kill her brother, he gave me a forty dollar tip.

I wanted to kiss him. MWAH. Maybe he is the hot man and the good man I deserve. I just want someone who has a part time job, minimal track marks, and a GED. It's not a lot to ask for but these days it seems so. Sometimes you have to work around things. Like for example, if he believes he turns into a werewolf every full moon but is a generous provider, just pull the blinds down so he can't see the moon. Solves all your problems.

Walking home I felt good. Everything was going to be alright. The worst was over. I still had my crown; that wasn't broken. My hair was just a little messed. Maybe I need to start dressing hotter in case I am photographed. Maybe next time I pay rent I should write on my check, "PRINCESS DROPPED DOWN TO EARTH" on amount. No money, just a phrase. I am on TV, I have published a book, fans know me and my children. Why should I be subjected to trivial things like bills?

Then I remember even Obama pays taxes and that the US stressed in their Constitution that there should be no royalty.

Either way, I have already gotten to work and got paid and it ain't even ten.

Okay, the hair is messed up, the space ship has crashed, but bitches this tiara ain't cracked.

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

Come to my book signing
Thursday November 15 (tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
510 Washington St
Symposia Books
See you there

Fan Photos: Highlight Libby J

Wednesday, November 7th, 2012
Hi Poppy seeds, sometimes you all do fan art of me. This week's poppy seed artist is Libby J, a talented musician who was numero uno on Reverbnation for almost one month!I am flattered to have such a fan. Check out how she made your Mama Foxx look red hot.
So poppy seeds if you want to create fan art I will gladly publish it in my blog
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Also on Amazon
Come to my signing November 15, 2012
Symposia Bookstore in Hoboken
Portion of the Proceeds go to the Red Cross for the relief of the Hurricane Sandy Victims 

Loser of the Week: Octomom

Thursday, April 26th, 2012
I hate this woman. I think Nadya Suleman is a breeding lump and a waste of flesh. In a skype broadcast she called her children "eight pieces of poop," when talking about how much work it was to raise them. She is addicted to popping out babies which is not only unhealthy for her body but unhealthy for the children she is raising. This bizarre freak believes she is entitled to food stamps and other government benefits when meanwhile not only did she choose to be a single mother, but she chooses to keep having children.

I want to deck this woman in her plastic surgeried face and then kick her right in her uterus because she is so freaking disgusting. My parents are both from large families. My dad is the second of seven and my mom is the first of six. While they love their parents and siblings, it wasn't easy coming from a big family. When my mom married my dad, she was overjoyed to get her own closet and drawer. When my brother moved out of the house for college, she got her own room, something she has never had ever. As kids, when we took family vacations this was a new adventure for my dad because his family was always too poor to take vacations. Not to mention he is fifteen years older than my youngest aunt, who was four when our grandpa died. Therefore, my dad did a lot of the dad stuff with her. Again, while I love my large extended family there were times where growing up with a lot of people in the house wasn't easy. This was because there parents were very Catholic and at the time the Catholic church, disregarding people as usual, disallowed birth control. Thus producing these huge families.

My grandparents had a lot of kids because people did it at the time. This bitch is doing it on purpose.

When my grandfather died my grandmother was barely entitled to his benefits. My dad was college aged and on his own and both of my aunts were married. She still had four kids in the house. The government gave her a hard time, and it was especially hard since my aunt and uncle were quite small. My grandmother didn't choose to become a single mother. This reject who doesn't care about her children and cares more about getting cut to look like Angelina Jolie did.

What's worse is that it's reported these children are living in squalor. They are using pots in the backyard to pee. They are eating off the floor. It is because not only is their mother a sick medical experiment gone wrong, but she is a fucking cunt with no regard for other human beings other than reproducing them for her own self-aggrandizement.

To make matters worse, these children were running around unsupervised while this fat fucking breeding lump was getting her hair done.

I think we need to take those kids away to families who will care for them properly and parents who know their priorities. Being a parent is not about getting your hair done. It is about making sure your children are well cared for. It is about putting your children before yourself. I know my mother missed plenty of things she could have been doing for herself because we needed things/got sick. It goes with the territory. Then again, my mother is one thing Octoslut isn't, a good parent and an upstanding human being.

I think we also need Octomom to step into the middle of the road and have a mac truck hit her. Seriously, the world would be better off without that waste of flesh.

But instead I think we should boycott her, sending a larger message that one shouldn't get publicity for being mentally ill as well as a bad parent.

You would never see my puppet children being so maligned and poorly cared for.
Octomom and her "eight pieces of poop." Endearing. They look tired and malnourished your worthless bitch.  Stop with the tired look too. You are a leech, a parasite, and maybe you will do us all a favor and die ridding the world of your smelly fucking breeding body you waste of fucking flesh. If you ever want to kill yourself I will give you some suggestions. 

These puppet children are happy, well cared for, and  know that they are loved. Not the house of Octomom

Video Killed The Radio Star (The Buggles)

Thursday, April 5th, 2012
A beautiful picture to start this blog. Now  that I wasted your time, decide if you want to read my diatribe. 
This past year I have really gotten into making videos. It started when I was on TLC a year ago. In order to keep my fans intrigued I started shooting little puppet webisodes with semi-famous for famous people. Then from there I did other little things. I was touch and go at first. Originally I expected the flood gates to open with the standup. It didnt happen. There were attitudes about who I was and what I did. There were adjectives like "fame whore" being tossed my way. Mostly, it was people angry I was getting TV time they weren't.

Anyway, I started working as a talking head for YouNow and many of the kids on there either watched youtube or made youtube videos. Some of the other talking heads were youtube celebrities. These talking heads and I sort of bonded. One in particular was Eddie Lawshea, or elawshea on youtube, who much like me used his platform not just to entertain but to be an activist. Standup was not the platform for social activism but rather almost the opposite. The videos gave us the forum to speak out, give an opinion. Eddie was especially inspirational, because not only did he care about his fans but he always had something to say. Not to mention he was very supportive of me.

As a result I found myself regularly on Eddie's show preaching. I found myself speaking out against domestic violence, homophobia, cyberbullying, and generalized hate. I also found myself using my puppets to help me deliver my messages. Whenever I would do my thing many of the fans would ask, "Do you have a youtube?"

I just started throwing videos up. Some were of my ventriloquism. Some were of me singing because I did it so often on younow. Some were of me just giving advice because as younow grew to an international audience I was poised as an aunt of sorts to these youngins. Many of these youngsters, from the UK, immediately subscribed to my youtube and began posting my videos everywhere. That's when my videos started to have more of a point. That's when my videos began to preach.

While I consider my videos entertaining, I also want people to think. My videos have given me a way to do that in a way standup hasn't. In standup if I address women's issues I am a "man hater." On video I could be labeled the same thing, however, there are young women who reach out to me to tell me that having someone like me in their corner comforts them. They know I am not just another woman but a friend, a friend who understands that feminism is the radical notion that women are people and not just objects.

In my videos I can address homophobia and generalized hatred. I can preach that all people are people regardless of what they look like or who they may date. As a result of those messages there have been gay kids who have reached out to me, telling me they were thankful someone understood. One young man wrote me telling me how he was beat up for being gay, and it was wonderful someone got it. I can't get this political in standup. My audience will go silent.

In my videos I can address dating violence. I do it in some extent in my standup, but it's not as in depth as I want it to be. When I do this I get letters from all sorts of people letting me know their horror stories from small to large.

I want my work to challenge and it does. Moreso, I want my work to encourage young people that they have a choice, that they matter.

On the other hand, I make videos that are fun and people seem to like them. My youtube fan base is growing. It is a good feeling everytime I get a new subscriber. I have also gone on to make holiday videos and birthday greeting cards via youtube.

Hey, why not?

On the flipside my videos have gotten me work. One is the poster girl for Panic Girl, a new series coming out. Todd Hollers saw my angry videos and decided I would be the perfect face for the new aged love child of Esther Greenwood and Holden Caulfield. Another was a role in a project on anti-bullying, where I talked about how my gifts as a comedian and ventriloquist gave me self-worth. Then of course there is the new agent I am sort of working with, Marcia, who fell in love with me in a way as a result of my videos. The beautiful thing about the videos is that my fans don't have to shove into some basement or club or schlepp. They can turn on the computer and see me ranting with a smile.

Ironically, my videos are also the thing opening the doors to the comedy clubs for me. Several comedy bookers have messaged me online, telling me they love my videos and offering me feature and headliner spots. Although standup hasn't been the focus for sometime, and at one point I thought about giving it up altogether, plans are changing. The strange thing is that it is all because of the videos. One booker called me today and informed me that I needed to make happier videos.

Done deal. No more dead beat daddies.

On the flipside when I walk into clubs comedians will tell me how they saw my videos. They will tell me how proud they am of me for doing well. And when I get home I see fan mail from some far reach of the globe from some young fan telling me how I either make them laugh or how my videos have changed their life.

So I will continue with the standup, awing and amazing crowds with laughter. However, my Poppyseeds have let me know my responsibility is bigger. Therefore, I must continue with my videos. My journey to superstardom has not ended but only just begun.

To be continued.....

Love, April

Making a video

Pictures of You (The Cure)

Thursday, March 29th, 2012
"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Mae West
The men of the world have made me as bitter and angry as I am. Now to make a self-indulgent youtube video
It's Norma Jean to you
Move over Lana Turner, the Postman just struck again
Yes I am your Hershey Kiss, here to give you a kiss. Smooch, smooch!
Two girls against the world
My name is Cake Boss
My puppet children and their Mama, exhausted after a loooonnnnggggg day!
Broadway here I come!
Trying to get a suntan under the hot lights and heat in my apartment. 
Playboy style. Or am I a Play Boi.....xoxoxo
My mom calls me a road warrior. I call myself a cow girl. Or should we make that cow boi. It depends on how I feel on that day at that hour. 
Getting ready for a show. Making gaffaws and breaking hearts at the same time. 
Sometimes I just need to lay down and try to seduce the invisible man, cause he is the only man who never let Mama Foxxx down. 
Me in the park. It's one of my favorite photos of me

Ron Barba, May Wilson and Mick DiFlo after filming of King of the List. They stopped men from groping me and May. May Wilson was no happy about them chaperoning.

Mission Statement

New York Comedy World strives to be a one stop show for everything in the New York Comedy scene…It is a site where you can purchase tickets to some of New York’s best Stand Up venues…We also sell tickets to New York’s best Improv, Sketch and One-Person shows…

There is a Comedian Resource section…This is a place where comics may be able to see choices in Comedy Schools, Seminars, Open Mics, New Talent Showcase & Industry Showcases…It also features Gigmomma, a new and innovative site that matches performers with people looking for talent…

It is also filled with additional content…You will find info on stand up comedy festivals, great podcasts, featured articles by great columnists about the comedy business. And some very funny videos…We hope you enjoy!