Miss April B

Shy

Saturday, June 15th, 2013

It's amazing how shy I am. People tell me I should be more confident when it comes to guys. Not in this century. Things have gotten slightly better with age. I am able to carry on a full conversation. I don't use liquid courage to tell a man how I feel only to be bitten in the ass again. I don't bring my puppets on dates. But it is hard as a brick of cement for me. Here is a poem about it.

SHY

When I see you

I want to disappear

As Mindfreak does

Breaking out of the chained box

My chained box

Called woman

Let me show off my mind

What a turn off

Let me show off my love

Of history and literature

That would be another turn off

With a side of rejection

Let me show off my hot body

Like that beef cookie

Talking your ear off

Hanging out of her shirt

When we all know

A bunch of guys railroaded Miss Thing

So what she wore some man’s ring?

I put her down in my mind because it feels better

As she wears a tacky sweater

When really my big bitch

Is that she is brave enough to

Talk to you without tripping over her words

It’s more fun to slut shame

When she only has a face and body

And no name to go with my insults

And she is a scapegoat to my insecurity

Frailty thy name is woman,

Hamlet was wrong

Legally the name is Catty

Legally the name is Insecure

Legally Insane actually

Stamp that

Seal it

I’ll be crying inside if you need me.

How absurd the things girls do

To make a man want us

And how we run to you

When I just can’t

With my feet of led

That just wont move

I want to run into thin air

Disappear and go for a swim

In the polluted East River

I don’t want to drown

Just swim into the Atlantic

When the sharks eat me

I wont have to face you

When you reject me

I wont have to replace you

And come up with a story about how

I put my foot in my ever blessed mouth

Once again like I do every Friday

Of course I could be wrong

Misreading the signals

In my hormonal rush

And your are my crush, crushing

My dreams, self worth, and self esteem

In my crazy head.

You already screwed this up

Cheated with the beef cookie

Dumped me like a load of

Wet laundry and then burned my heart

Making me want to jump into the water

Never to be heard from again.

I already dumped you in my mind

Am prancing fancy in a red convertible

Where I am driving by as a successful

Woman who cannot be touched by the

Sexuality and sensuality you possess

As I hide under my summer dress.

I don’t want to die

Even though this word objectifies me

And puts me in a box

I kind of like myself

And the words I write

My napalm and elixir against the world

I don’t want to die

I am bright and have a lot to say

Even if the men of the world take my voice

Away with one wink of an eye

It’s not just being a basketcase

Welcome to the world of being shy.

Posted in April Brucker, Blog, Crush, dave matthew's band, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, love poems, Miss April B, self-esteem, shyness, Sylvia Plath, women's issues, women's lib | Comments Off

This Girl is on Fire (Alicia Keys)

Friday, June 14th, 2013

I have been feeling a lot lately. The career is amazing, almost as if God Himself/Herself/Itsself ascended and gifted it to me. However I am having some deja vu and not in a good way. I have written about this a lot. When I was twenty one I found myself in a relationship with someone who was the textbook definition of a psychopath. He lacked empathy of any sort. Not to mention was verbally, physically, and emotionally abusive. During the course of the relationship I found my safety and well being threatened on several occasions. Not to mention he put everything I did down.

I wasn't funny according to him, so I started dropping the ball with comedy. I couldn't act according to him, so I began to explore other career paths. Yes, they made me unhappy but it meant I was supporting him. Oh and his friends thought the ventriloquism was stupid and creepy so I gave that up too. He said me or the puppets. I chose him. My ex had been like Prince Charming when we met. It was flowers. It was presents from wherever he could pick them up off the street. Then one day I set him off and blamo. Suddenly this monster reared it's head. We fought. We made up. He promised to change. He never did for very long though. My ex tried to kill himself in front of me not once but twice. Instead of running away I felt sorry for him, and told myself if I stayed maybe he would get help and change. My ex threatened to kill his mother in order to get the insurance money to be with me. Instead of running I tried to get him to do things like get a job, but that never lasted for more than three days. My ex also choked me on one occasion and I nearly blacked out. I arrived to class with strangle marks around my neck and a bullshit story because he promised never to do it again. The list goes on.....

In the end, I can list all the shit things he did to me but I let him. I kept staying hoping it would change. In the end I picked him though. He never made a secret of the fact he was anti-social personality or borderline textbook definition. My ex got a psych discharge from the Navy and from what I gather he may have punched a commanding officer. Truth is, as I said, I picked him. I choose him. Maybe it was being young and stupid, hoping love could fix everything. Maybe it was lack of self-esteem and just wanting a boyfriend. I was all too willing to overlook everything because I was tired of being alone. Even when he shoved it in my face that the only reason I got into NYU was because my parents were "rich" and my dad was a lawyer. I let my whole disaster of a relationship happen, even when he isolated me from my friends and tried to take me away from my family. For as close as I am to my mother, I never let her know what was going on.

When things ended, I had a bunch of bad memories and a different mailing address as not to be found. I did things I thought would make it better. I drank too much and then some. I engaged in other stupid behaviors. I didnt eat cause why? Of course there were the diet pills that made me peppy as shit. I dated ex cons because nice guys were either scared of the fact my ex was totally nuts, or were turned off by the fact I was insane. The ex cons treated me well but they came with complications. Things were crazy, things were wild, but there was no way in hell anyone was ever gonna put a cattle brand on me again.

Then things got bad and I kind of cleaned up my act a tad. I began to talk about my ex in my act. The bits killed. I got on TV some. I wrote a book. I established a hell of a career after living through hell. I was doing okay, right? Not to mention my puppet babies and I became reunited.

Around the time my puppet children and I got on TLC, they highlighted that my ex made me choose between me and my puppets. It was the way it was edited I guess. In interviews I was honest, by ex was sick. I got fan letters from people telling me I made the right decision. When I opened up in interviews, I got fan letters from young women who told me how they had an ex who was similar. Suddenly it occurred to me I had a bigger function, to end dating violence and above all things to end bullying.

I remember one reporter for a magazine in London asked me if I had any photos of me and my ex. I said, "No, he used to hit me. I burned them."

I remember there was a dead silence on the phone ass he whispered, "Sorry." It was almost as if she felt like she put her foot in her mouth by asking. Wasnt her fault though, how was she supposed to know there was more to the story without asking questions?

In my weekly webcasts I would share about my experience as someone who was bullied and someone who had come out of an abusive relationship. My followers rallied around me and I got the sense I was helping people which was cool. I came down like white rice on a paper plate in a snow storm when it came to men who kicked and slapped women around. In a lot of ways I fancied myself a feminine avenger of sorts. My mother had issues with this identity, but I was choosing the activist route by making myself as visible as possible. It was my way of letting young people know they deserved to be treated well regardless of class, gender, sexual orientation, etc. Again, I was okay, right?

A year ago I exploded online in a way I never imagined I would. It was around the Daniel Tosh time. To make a long story short, I found myself fighting online. The people I was fighting with werent enemies or people who hated me, but rather my own friends who were in my corner telling me to get a life. I remember appearing on a friend's radio show where a female caller told me if shit bothered me that much to just change the TV channel or to not purchase his album. She had also mentioned she had been raped once upon a time and was familiar with the angst I was feeling. The truth was, I was far from okay. In my quest to make the world a better place I knew there was a time to scream and shout. Also, there was a time to walk away, but also a time to laugh.

What had happened was in my quest not to be a victim, I had become rather fluent in victimese. In my journey not to make excuses for myself, I had bought into the philosophy of excusology. I was becoming everything I hated when it came to women's rights activist. I have never been a whiner and hate that brand of activism because it paints women as not having a role in their own lives, but rather pawns of a male society. However, I had comfortably set up my tent there.

Around that time I got the opportunity to participate in a campaign about dating violence The campaign was going to have me with two black eyes and other scratch marks on my arms. I remember being repulsed at the thought. This was not the message I wanted to send to young women at all. I remember talking to my mom around that time and she said, "Well he never hit you, right?" And thats when I told her the truth. My mom, who was only known bits and pieces of why her daughter became an angry lunatic around that time said, "I will kill him. If I ever see him, I will kill him." During this phase it began to occur to me the way to make a difference was not to pronounce this identity in an aggressive sense but rather to keep doing well with my life.

That is when I got the fire under my ass to publish my book. Since then I have recorded my audiobook. Oh and my book is a part of the collection at Brown, NYU, and Mensa said it was a Must Read. Britney Spears also plugged me on her website. Huffington Post let me write a piece. Fans write me and want me and my puppets to make videos about them. You know the scoop. The best revenge is to live well.

The ex has also reached out several times in order to make amends, which leads me to believe he is part of a Twelve Step or Group Therapy Program of some sort. Getting the amends has made me less angry about that part in my life. It has also made me accept my part in the scheme of things, whether it was staying or picking fights in order to get a leg up myself. It has also made it easier for me to trust people. I thought about writing him back but my mom said it best, "April, your ex is someone who cannot respect you as a person, and he has shown you who he is. You are a fool to ever speak to him again." My mom was right and everyone around me has echoed the same sentiment. He cannot respect boundaries and has too many issues. I took the healthy step of blocking him. While I did that, at the same time I forgive him. He had a hellacious childhood and didnt know any better. Maybe he has found a Higher Power who is guiding him, giving him relief against his demons. I can only hope and pray God protects others from his anger, but most importantly, God protects him from himself.

In a lot of ways I am grateful I walked this path. Not only did I get my proverbial shit together, but I have served as a guide to others it will be okay. I also know it's alright to be alone, and never at any time do I have to tolerate bullying or harassment from anyone, male or female. I am confident and can stand on my own and dont need anyone to pay my way. Sometimes I am so strong I surprise myself. Then I retreat to my crying corner with my cookie dough like any woman in New York. Okay, I had to put a joke in cause this piece is a little heavy.

At the same time, Rambo is my dream man because we have a lot in common. One is that we live in a world that is not always tailor made for us. People don't always understand what it's like to come out of hell. When I used to explain to people what I had been through I would always get the "Get over it." Or better yet, "Why do you keep provoking your ex?" Yes, I asked to be used as a punching bag! Of course there are the occasions when I want to knock the fucking grill out of Lil Wayne's mouth, or go to the after life and kick Tupac where he really thinks. For the record I wouldn't be a woman, I would be a "bitch" on that occasion. And sometimes I wish like Rambo my dream man I came equipped with a flame thrower and could just torch every half naked Billboard of a woman and every strip club that marginalizes my gender. Or there are those times I have just screamed my head off at some asshole male who pushes me around because I am a woman, and not that big. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs because this all opens a door and gives men the thumbs up that women are meant to be used, abused, and treated as chattel.

On the flipside, I never get what I want when I go that route. With the rappers, it is all an act. I have a lot of rapper friends as a matter of fact. Plus if I yell and scream it gives Lil Wayne and his woman hating grill more publicity. While Tupac used the term bitch loosely, he also campaigned relentlessly for women. Strip clubs kept me employed as a publicity person once upon a time, and at the root of it they aren't evil people either. The world won't change because I have a bad day. The world won't change because I have issues. It will keep spinning and I have to learn to work with it which means I have to accept it. Yes, whether it is the gender marginalization I feel as a comedian and writer or in general. If I let it upset me too much I just get really angry, explode, and end up making an ass of myself.

However, I can make a change. I can be successful despite the fact comedy favors undeserving, good looking pretty boys from time to time. I can say my talent got me in the door and have staying power as their testosterone driven brand of basement humor dies. I can be grateful I came out of a bad phase of my life, and live every day to it's fullest. I can enjoy my friends and have an open, honest dialogue with my family. I can treat those around me with dignity and respect regardless of who they are. I can share my experience, strength and hope when the door opens for me to do so, making me visible to others who need to see/hear me. I can also speak on behalf of women's rights and vote according at the poles. Most importantly, I can know in my heart I deserve not only to be happy but to be treated well. Oh and I can keep my sanity without looking like a damn fool.

The other day I was on the train when two idiots who were seventeen were talking and referred to a girl they wanted to "bone" as a "thorough bread." There was a part of me that wanted to smack these two assholes to whatever shithole they came from and whatever thing bore them. Then I stopped myself. While I am tiny and it would have been funny as hell, these two morons were not worth a felony charge. Plus the tombs are not air conditioned in the summer. Plus if they spoke this way about women, one of two things was going to happen:

1. Some girl there own age would slap them. That is after they took her to McDonalds and made her pay.

2. They probably had no women and their only hope for love was living on their right hand and her name was Palmala Han Solo. She's Thai I suppose.

So yeah, I just have to keep moving and can't let the past cripple me. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is the present because it is a gift.

xoxoxo
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook, also through Brown and NYU Books
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Summer
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Ali Fornay Center

Posted in abusive relationships, alicia keys, April Brucker, Blog, dating violence, healing after trauma, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, Miss April B, this girl is on fire, women's issues | Comments Off

Important Links

Thursday, June 13th, 2013

Want to read more of my outside work. Yesterday I was featured front and center on the Huffington Post about my book. My parents said they were proud and my boss loved it. Take a gander right here.
Don't be afraid to leave me a comment xo http://www.huffingtonpost.com/april-brucker/

And look at me as Infinity Publishing's Author of the Week. Apparently, they are proud of all the great stuff I am doing. These days my book has been featured on the official website of Britney Spears, and a Must Read by Mensa. It is also available through Barnes and Noble as an ebook and paperback, plus it is also a part of the collection at NYU and Brown University Bookstores. Click here. http://blog.infinitypublishing.com/bloginfinitypublishingcom/bid/116307/Featured-Infinity-Author-of-the-Week-April-Brucker

Also, here is the link to my new love advice column with John Powers. Take a gander and ask us anything you want to know https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Sex-from-Both-Sides/120533994691779?fref=ts

xoxoxo
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

Posted in April Brucker, arianna huffington, Blog, britney spears, dating advice, etc, huffington post, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, john powers, love, Miss April B, NYU, sex from both sides | Comments Off

Almost Famous

Wednesday, June 12th, 2013

Lately things have been kinda crazy. Two Fridays I found out I was on TV again. It was kind of cool to find out the OWN channel is still showing me and my puppet babies. I was like this is soo cool. Then that Monday I was on my way to tape something (more on that later) and this Spanish dude yells, "Are you April?"

I turned around. And then he said, "You are a youtube legend. I saw your clip on the Today Show. Do you have a puppet or something with you?" McAwesome. I did a mini show for him and his boy working at the car lot. Cool.

Middle of the week last week I found out I was on the tele overseas again. YIPEE!!! And then I made a fan video for a fan in Scotland. They showed it on the jumbotron in Glasgow. I was like, I McRock!

After that I was asked to write a piece for a biggie-more on that later. Oh and I was booked for a big family festival.

And then there was the good news about the NYU Bookstore and Infinity has made me their author of the month. Check it out here. http://blog.infinitypublishing.com/bloginfinitypublishingcom/bid/116307/featured-infinity-author-of-the-week-april-brucker

Oh and it gets better. I delivered a Yenta Sunday, and the girl I delivered it to was like, "I know you from somewhere." She thought I was an old student of hers, bless her heart. Anyway she kept insisting she knew me, but I had never seen her before. Whenever this stuff happens in my experience it means they have seen me on TV and are not making the connection. Usually they recognize my voice first which is pretty cool. But they don't know from where, and when we talk they make the connect which is so damn cool.

And then yesterday I was chilling with some old friends when one says, "I was sitting and chilling and saw you on Anthony Bourdain a year ago. I was like, 'Shit, there is April!' You had that gay puppet."

What can I say, my life is awesome. I am feeling a little tired but that goes with having a career. People expect you to do shit. I still have ways to go but I am further along than I thought I would ever be.

xoxoxo
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

Posted in April Brucker, art, Blog, dreams, fam whoring, fame fortune, Goals, hopes, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, love, Miss April B, my strange addiction | Comments Off

Never Date a Sailor

Monday, June 10th, 2013

Lots of women love a man in a uniform. It is something about authority that makes a gentlemen sexified from time to time. Not to mention he has tales of war and travel, as well as the fact he is automatically a hero in his our minds. Yes, the ultimate God in the Temple of Testosterone. However beware the sailor.

I didn't know about the sailor and his prowess to ruin a woman's life until it happened to my aunt. She met the man I will call Mick through my Nunni. My Nunni had fixed my mom and dad up, however over the years her skills had dissipated. So Nunni fixed my Aunt Rachael, who her entire life struggled with dyslexia and was self-conscious about it, with Mick the Navy man. So she moved to Virginia with Mick who was on constant probation with the Navy. Sometimes Mick would trick my Aunt Rachael into going on trips and he would get an AWOL. Of course he would then be in trouble and turn around blaming my aunt. At this point Aunt Rachael tried to work but couldn't keep a job because Mick would have all these trips planned and would get her fired. After that, it was revealed Mick had a woman in every port, and would shack up with some Pacific Island hottie because this squid in his pants and for him every week was shark week. My Aunt Rachael left him, and ended up dating his other buddy, a red neck named Ron who wanted to see the world with the Navy. Ron rushed my aunt into an engagement, and my grandparents spent their whole savings on the wedding. Well Mick saw my Aunt Rachael was happy, and he came rushing back. Aunt Rachael, who was seduced by Mick and his false promises, ran off with him to Hawaii. Ron found out and cancelled the wedding. My grandparents couldnt get their money back, so they had a party where they renewed their vowels. Needless to say, Aunt Rachael realized she made a mistake and began to pursue Ron again who told her he no longer loved her, he too had found some island hottie. Basically both these deadbeats ruined my aunt's life and I hope they burn in hell like a ship out of water.

I didn't think these morons were representive of all sailors until I started dating. My former fiance was a sailor. When we met he bragged about his time in the Navy and how he was proud of himself. Later, he admitted he was discharged because he suffered from depression. According to my ex, he had a high score on the ASVAP. Anyway, my ex said he was committed to the base psych hospital because things weren't going well and they let him go. From the things that came out later, it was revealed that as usual there was more to the story because sailors and liars are in the same boat. I think he may have tried to attack a commanding officer, I dunno. These are the pieces I gathered from what he told me. My ex also alluded to sleeping with a superior's wife. Either way I still have a seperate mailing address because of the psycho sailor I almost married.

After that, I had a brief fling with another former sailor who was still married. He lied and told me he was getting a divorce. Needless to say he never did because his wife was the breadwinner and he didnt want to work. So I sent that sailor out to sea.

Of course there was the former sailor who had been a cook in the Navy who claimed he had an open marriage. He told me about all the girls he banged back in the day in every port in the storm. As a result he and his wife had an open marriage. Needless to say, his wife was blissfully unaware of this, that is, until she paid me a nasty phone call. That ended our little tour around the world, ha ha.

After that came the sailor who still has a piece of my heart, Richie. He had been in the Navy for several years before being discharged. During his time around the world he had found drugs and had a heroin habit that took off soon after he left the Navy. Richie struggled to get clean and stay clean, but had a good heart. After some clean time he slipped and I had to say goodbye. Richie disappeared and proves my theory, that all sailors have a sea of issues.

Last on the list was the man I will refer to as Dead Beat Daddy. I met Dead Beat Daddy in my travels, and he joined the Navy and too traveled the world. However, he left out the fact he had two kids he didn't support and he also denied them. Oh and there was a third paternity claim against him. Yes, he was spreading his semen. LOL

So yes, sailors are disreputible. I shouldn't say that actually. My Pop Pop was in the Navy in WW II. Then again, my Pop Pop was an OFFICER and these are ENLISTED MEN. That is like Harvard as compared to Community College.

Anyway, no more sailors ladies. They will ruin your life.

Love

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
www.youtube.com/aprilthestarr
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

Posted in April Brucker, army/navy, Blog, come sail away, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, Miss April B, navy, navy men, never date a sailor, sailors, semen, STYXX | Comments Off

Catch My Fall (Billy Idol)

Saturday, June 8th, 2013

This past week was a good week, and last night was a good night. That is, until I decided to take a cab home. My reasoning was that my umbrella was breaking and there was no way I was making it to the subway without getting completely soaked to my bones. Plus I had a little money in my pocket, kind of. I hail this one cab down and I get in. However my umbrella is broken. Instead of being kind to me seeing that I am desperate and soaked to the bone, he begins to berate me.

The cabbie says, "You are getting my seat wet!" I try to explain to this piece of shit with some accent from no where and some island that probably allows him to treat women like chattel that my umbrella is broken. Asshole McFuckhead begins losing his shit on me. I calmly try to explain my umbrella is broken because the thing is cheap as shit, probably like the palm tree hut his family used to live in. Of course they didn't teach him manners. Assweed.....

Finally, we agree I am turning my umbrella a certain way so I don't drench his seat. Maybe Asshole McFuckhead has calmed himself. What a bully. I knew in my heart if I were a man he would have never spoken to me like this. He probably thought because I was a white woman he could treat me in such a disrespectful way. There are some people who yes, assume that white people have money because they are white. If they could see my bank statements they would see they were very wrong. As we rode I hoped the next interaction we had could be peaceful. I was still in a relatively good mood and didn't want to fight with this man who obviously didn't have a green card. However, I don't like bullies, especially men who bully women. Note, this has nothing to do with his color or the third world shit hole he came from so much as it does the fact he thought he could push me around cause I was a lady. As I fumed in my mind, I beat him like a rented mule with my broken umbrella. That would throw his dumb, woman hating ass for a loop.

We finally got to my street. Okay. That is when I go to pay the fucker. Part of me didnt want to tip. After all, he had been awfully mean to a poor little girl like myself. Just then he snaps, "That is not how you pay with the credit card. Are you stupid?"

This is how the exchange went:

Me: Listen Asshole McFuckhead, you have been nothing but a jerkoff since I have stepped into your cab. Don't fucking tell me how to pay with a credit card. You obviously have some issues with women. I am ordinarily kind but I am not tipping your ass.

Asshole McFuckhead: What! I have not spoken to you since you got in my cab. I don't know what you are talking about?

Me: Yes, you were rude to me when I stepped in. I don't like men who bully women.

Asshole McFuckhead: What? You got my seat wet. I can't have that.

Me: Well have a good night you piece of shit and suck my dick, you hear?!

Okay, not the most educated reply but he has pushed me. I am out of the taxi and mad as hell. That is when Asshole McFuckhead begins slowly driving behind me laughing. I turn around and give him the motion to suck it. If this moron wants to bring it he can. I used to fight with a former fiance who was twice as big and three times as scary and would come out on top. Yes, I am talking macho shit but hey, guys do it all the time and so what I don't have the equipment to back myself up?

As Asshole McFuckhead is driving behind me and laughing, I am telling him to drive away or I will call the cops and the cops will believe me over his scummy ass. Of course this was right after I flicked him off again. Just as I was temped to run over to the car and deck him I heard a voice say, "Is there a problem here?"

Asshole McFuckhead, seeing that he might now have to face a man drove like a bat out of hell. I looked over and it was an old friend of mine from the neighborhood who I will call Cliff. As it was raining, Cliff let me share his umbrella and told me that the guy was a jerk. Cliff explained that he was raised not to talk to women like that, and not to let any man talk to a woman like that. I explained to Cliff that I wanted to beat the living piss out of the jerkoff, and Cliff assured me he wasn't worth a felony charge. Cliff gave me a big hug, bought me a cup of coffee, and basically spent an hour talking my ass down from the high my anger had given me.

I remember a friend of ours saw us and I told him what happened. This friend, an older gay man I will call Edwin, laughed and said, "You got into a fight with a cab driver? Well, welcome to New York." I laughed. It's what I needed to do.

I don't usually lose my shit like that, but sometimes I do. I think because this dude was such a bully, and as a woman who travels the world alone like Amelia Earhart I run into dudes who feel like they can push me around. Fuck that shit. Of course some of it was that I was bullied as a kid, and as someone who stands up for herself these days I don't like bullies. So I have to fight back. It's just a reflex.

Cliff walked me home though, and let me know it was going to be alright. I slept well and jogged this morning putting the shiteous incident behind me. I suppose chivalry isn't dead. It is just in a coma.

Love

Posted in April Brucker, Blog, cab drivers, chauvanism, chivalry, did i stutter mutherfucker, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, Miss April B, new york city, street fighting, tough girls | Comments Off

Healthy…..

Friday, June 7th, 2013

I have been making it my business to eat healthy and exercise more. Yes, I don't eat a bad diet but all too often I treat my digestive system like a garbage disposal. Sometimes, especially if I am traveling a lot, my body turns into a landfill. It is Cheetos, donuts, iced cream, and coffee with lots of sweet 'n' low. Add in the sodas and you have a mini sugar high. Add in the fact I periodically forget to eat and then binge on this crappola from time to time. My excuses are always the same. The bad food that will lead me to heart disease and diabetes-both genetic in my family-is easy to obtain and cheap. Plus it brings me comfort in a life where the only man I have is a mouse named Mordecai.

As for the gym, I am good about going several times a week. I kickbox at least once a week. Then I lift at least three times a week and do the bike too. In addition, I do a jog/power walk daily. I don't go to the gym as much as I should. Either my work schedule is crazy and it takes me away or I get so pumped on fitness I binge on it all at once and get hurt. Yes, I will do an hour in the pool and wonder why I am sore? Answer, it has been three months since you swam. Add in the bringing up my weight limit in the weight room and then wondering why my arms hurt. Maybe I escalated too soon and too much all at once. That never occurs to me though. Couple that with the shit diet and it can be a recipe for disaster.

I am trying to eat better these days. Bad nutrition can really cripple you. Plus when you want to swim, kickbox, and lift more you are kind of forced to eat properly. I know, this is a basic we learned in health class as children. Not to mention my mom is active in the health and fitness industry. A few months ago I was going long hours in between meals because I was busy in between going to the studio, performing, working the telegram job, and filming a TV pilot the Queen Bitch in me was coming out. I remember the rock bottom with that was when I screamed at some kid at some club who was a stupid little intern being his stupid self, "Don't you know who the fuck I am! Don't you own a TV you little shit!!!!" Note to self: You look like an unstable bitch when you do that. The following day, when I was dropping off a press pack to a bookstore I ended up crying in the stacks and told my mother I couldn't handle my life. I also told her about my nutritional issue and my mom said, "I know how you get. I have seen you like this. But you have to eat properly April. If you exercise without a healthy diet you can get hurt."

I had never thought of that. I could seriously get hurt, SHIT! So I actually filled my house with good food. I ate well for almost a month and then got lazy. However, lately I have been realizing that I need to continue this trend of eating healthy. Not only do I feel better, but I have more energy. Not to mention working out is easier. Oh and it is cheaper to go food shopping once a week instead of eating out every night. And you are less likely to get sick.

On the other hand, my body is kind of rebelling against this new diet too. I get the occasional stomach cramp and find myself running to the bathroom more than ever. My body is used to this crapacular fried food and is asking itself, "What is this? What do you mean there is no sugar donut?" Basically the landfill that is occasionally my stomach has had flowers planted on the top of it. It doesn't know what to do. However, I know in a short time it will be okay.

Yes, it is chicken. Yes, it is fruit. Oh and then there is the pure fruit juice along with the pecan butter I get a scoop of before going to the gym. I am still drinking tons of coffee but am chasing it with water. This is making it easy to go to the gym. Oh and I like the gym because everyone there is really happy. Down the street is also an adult gymnastics class. I haven't tumbled in years and might take that too.

I dunno. I am happy and healthy. My career is good. I am single and proud without a man to use me, abuse me, and lie to me. Yes this is all about me. I need to take care of myself. You only get one body.

Now I will go. I have nothing more to say.

Love

Posted in April Brucker, Blog, fit and happy, health and fitness, healthy eating, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, Miss April B, physical fitness, pumped on fitness | Comments Off

Crazy in the Morning

Thursday, June 6th, 2013

Yes, this poem is about what girls think of when they like a guy and are feeling him out. It's a little crazy I know. I wish I could say this man thing got easier over time xoxo

So many times

We talk

You see me

We laugh

At my jokes

All bad

As I stumble over the punchline

Tripping over my feet

Trying to impress a man

Throwing out my brain

And all that feminism

Has given me

I flick off Gloria Steinem

As I dress all cute

Exposing my flesh

But all the while

Hiding myself

My mind

My interests

Trying to fit your (male) mold

I disappear

When I look into your eyes

Like a drowning body

Into choppy waters

I am enveloped

By your words

Although probably lies

Dripping like wine

I do not question

As a good American woman

Believing your lies

Like I believe in the government and false idols

I believe you to be sage like Jesus

Tough like Mohammed

Wise like Buddah

And celestial like Scientology

Be my false idol

Tell me sweet nothings

Lies on a sugar platter

So what they aren’t true

Tell me you love me

As the band plays a sonata

Dance with me and dip me

To Glenn Miller’s In the Mood

Then throw me out

Like yesterday’s news

Like yesterday’s status update

Make me MIA from your life

Tell your next girl

That I was crazy

That I mistreated you

That I was hard to take

Make your next girl hate me

Talk about me constantly

Play mind games

By the way, I love mind games like Monopoly

But wait, I am still here

Just standing

Obscured and unsure

In my insecurity

Does this outfit

Look good on me

Or do you want to hear

Me recite Sylvia Plath?

No the brain isn’t sexy

Same with the knowledge

Of literature and history

Only the bikini and disposable body

Walking up

Palms sweating

Dying and lying

I say hello

Posted in April Brucker, bad poetry, Blog, gloria steinem, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, love, love poetry, Miss April B, relationships, sucky love poetry | Comments Off

Proud to be a Tischie

Wednesday, June 5th, 2013

When I visited my brother and sister last week at Brown for their medical school graduation, I ended up talking to my sister's friend Libby. To give you the backstory, Libby is one of my sister's best friends. She was Skipper's roomie her frosh year and they stayed pals since. Libby now lives in NYC and works for the Clinton Foundation. Anyway, we ended up talking about college. Brown is sort of a little bubble in the city of Providence, a town known for it's cobblestone streets, townies, and mafia connections as well as water fires. Libby then asked me how NYU was and if I liked it. She told me that the thought of being in a campus so spread out was kind of strange in comparison to Brown.

I looked at the sprawling greenery and thought about what it would have been like to go to a college with a campus. After all, I had initially thought I was going to go the liberal arts college route. While I wanted to act, I wanted to write. Yes a conservatory would have been nice, but they only took a handful of kids and most folks I knew this a BFA came in one category: waiter. They had spent four years singing and dancing in order to get you napkins and ask if you wanted a refill. While I had perused the Ivy League route, I knew it was selective. Plus I thought I wanted to go smaller and have more options. I wanted to write, act, do some video stuff, and study lots of history. I love history and English in case you cannot tell. Plus my dad was dead set against me moving to New York because it was so dangerous.

So I switched gears. NYU was a reach anyway. Sometimes I didnt think I was talented enough. I liked school, but wasn't a school person per se. I wanted a place where I could have lively discussions, act, write, and indulge in my love for history. So I decided to go the women's college route. For me it wasn't about having guys in my classes, I was there to set up the groundwork for the next stage in my life. I spent the summer of 2002 touring the Seven Sister Colleges as well as other women's institutions. They were nice, scenic, and for the most part in New England. Some of the schools had walk in closets, a girl's dream. At one school it was so laid back the students walked to class without shoes.

This was fine and dandy until my dad went on one particular visit to one women's institution, and had to fill out paperwork for a man permit. Yes, there are some establishments that still require men to have permits to be on their campus. I thought my father's head was going to explode. After that, he met with some local femanazi's who had combat boots, shaved heads, and would probably generally scare any straight man. That is when my dad said, "April, if you want to do this want to do this for real you need to go to school in New York." The fates had spoken. My dad feared me turning into a militant femanazi and resented having to possess a man permit so much that he didnt mind me possibly getting murdered or killed in the big city. Dreams do come true.

I auditioned for NYU and got in early decision. Right away, the place was an awesome fit for me, because in the words of talent coordinator Patricia Decker, "NYU is a place for artists who like to think." The place was big enough I could have friends everywhere and in different departments, but small enough I could find my own community. NYU had an extensive mix of people. There were eighteen year old hot heads like myself as well as transfer kids with years of life under their belt. I had friends who were uber liberal, and then made friends with a former Iraq Marine who found himself in film school. I will admit my first year wasnt smooth but who's is?

Over time I discovered the place had a lot to offer. Although I was forced to take it, I ended up liking my Writing the Essay class. Psychology, while boring at the beginning, was even more interesting. While I thought Theatre History would kill me initially, I ended up not only loving my professor Ted Zeiter but also knowing where my craft emerged from. Sociology was an experience where I read about the world and society knowing more than what was outside of my bubble.

There were some classes that surprised me. At first I was ambivalent about whether or not to take Feminism and Theatre. However my teacher found out I did comedy, and gave me an article on Women in Comedy to read. Another class was a literature class where my teacher was fascinated by my love for ventriloquism. In there was a playwriting class with Jackie Allen which I learned true life makes the best comedy. Dispersed in there was stage combat. While I had my moments J. David Brimmer was a wonderful man. Lee Strasberg was a wonderful studio. I loved all my teachers like Ted Zurkowski, Bill Balzac, Lola Cohen, Jan Douglass, Madeline Reiss, Geoffrey Horne and the whole group. Lets not forget Richie Jackson, who taught me all I needed to know about the industry being a former agent. Stonestreet was awesome, too. Oh and then there was Mask Class. Didnt like speech so much but it was the class that I needed the most work in, nothing personal Erik and Scott. My teachers were not the drama school stereotype of people forced to teach because they were out of work, but rather they were artists who worked constantly and taught because they wanted to.

The beautiful thing about NYU was I could create my own path. It wasn't rigid like a lot of BFA programs, so it wasn't just focused on acting, acting, acting. At the same time, the acting training was wonderful. The academics were challenging, but doable if you put the effort in. While we were expanding our crafts we were also expanding our minds. Professors would answer questions, and counselors were readily available. This gave me the courage not just to be myself, but to follow the path after college. Being an artist who is trained to think has served me well. I don't feel the need to restrict myself to one medium and therefore, am having the time of my life not just as an artist but as a person.

While I have been bad about keeping in contact, I still have a lot of friends from that part of my life. I have worked with some on various projects or have seen them in passing, always a hello. Some are acting and have been quite successful. Then there are those who moved to production, behind the scenes whether it is producing or writing. Then there are those who left acting altogether, and decided to teach yoga, go to law school, and use their gifts in different ways to make the world a brighter place. One of my former classmates is now a drama therapist and helps troubled children express themselves. Bottom line, a good education builds the door and you can decide where to walk.

The cool thing is, when I see someone from Tisch who is doing well. It helps to know the training meant something. One of my most fabulous encounters was when I was walking down the street and saw an old friend who was rocking it out on The Great White Way. Apparently she had seen me on TV. We exchanged a hug. It was one of those, WOW, remember when and look at where we have come moments.

As of today my book has been added to their collection in the NYU Bookstore. YIPEE! By the way, I used the structure I learned in Writing the Essay. Oh and the audiobook is coming out. Produced and edited by frosh friend and studio mate Archie Ekong. We be rocking it.

I know I went to school where I was supposed to, and am proud to own my BFA. Tisch, Tisch, all the way.

McAwesome!

Love

Posted in April Brucker, B.F.A., Blog, Creative energy, dreams, Goals, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, Lee Strasberg Institute, life, Miss April B, nyu tisch school of the arts | Comments Off

Run Through the Jungle (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

Monday, June 3rd, 2013

Over the years on my job I have had a great many adventures. So much so I wrote a book about them. Since finding out my adopted MIA got buried in Arlington, a coup for him, I have figured perhaps the reason I wore the bracelet as long as I did was that we both had a spirit of adventure. I have been watching lots of Vietnam movies. For instance, I saw this thing on dog fights. My dad used to watch this crap when I was a kid and my mom hated it. Well needless to say I was into it. So much so there were some realizations.

One, I might secretly be a man in a woman's body.

Two, that John James Rambo is my dream man, ear necklace and all.

This morning I found myself in White Plains delivering a chicken. When I do these early morning missions I feel like I am an adventurer. I know how to get lost better than anyone there is. I have hiked across highways and through the forest. Although the government does not know about me, sometimes I feel I am more covert than the CIA when delivering a singing telegram. It was early when I reached my destination.

When I reach a place early I do one of two things.

One, get some Starbucks if there is a such a place.

Second, get my bearings.

This was a beautiful suburban hood and as I walked along, I saw the street sloped down. There was some basic plant life. Some folks had rose bushes. Just then I walked into a parking lot belonging to a set of condos. The rain had stopped and perhaps I could gather my thoughts through a silent meditation practice. Just then I heard this window open. I heard a voice, "HELLO!!!"

I turned around and a toothless woman was peering out. She was like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, but spoke in a very strange accent. I thought it was Spanish or Russian or something in between. Or like the bad guys from many of my recent war flicks, an accent from no where. I looked up in surprise. This was not a private lot.

This is how the exchange went:

Me: Hi

Woman: Can I help you?

Me: No.

Woman: Are you lost?

Me: No, just meeting a friend and I am early.

Woman: Where do you come from?

Ought oh. I can feel the spirit of John James Rambo. When questions like these are posed, it means you have wandered into enemy camp. That is when I did what any smart person would do. I bilked it. This woman had no teeth and an accent from no where. Maybe her house was not made out of candy, but I grew up on the Grimm Brothers. She had a cage and if I was not careful, I would be baked into a cake.

I did my delivery and it went smoothly. With the rain clearing up I decided to hike back to the train station. It was an excuse to get some exercise, fresh air, and not to mention save a few pesos. I ended up getting directions from a hippie type woman who was probably mean to Rambo back in the day. I hiked a bit until I came to a high way. Her directions were strange and there was no way to go without getting killed. So I figured I could risk an adventure or call a cab.

The Amazon Feminist, the part of me that knows men are basically useless, wanted the adventure. I could handle it. In my humble opinion with my wilderness survivor skills plus my sister Skipper's talent as a marksman, if we had to live in the wilderness and fend off fiends we could. But the cars were swerving by and I knew this could be dangerous. Plus I am unsure of whether or not I have health insurance at the moment. And if I do it probably won't cover the majority of my bones getting shattered, or my mother's heart break over her errant child's stupidity.

So I became a woman again and called a cab. Needless to say I felt like a yellow bellied coward. I felt like I could never be Rambo's lady. My POW/MIA would have never surrendered in this fashion. However, they had tactical training. I sing in a chicken suit. There is a big difference. Maybe one day I could make a pipe bomb out of a happy birthday message. Or maybe not.

Either way, I think I did the smarter thing. Maybe I am not equipped for the special forces after all. So much for all those TV specials on dog fights in Vietnam. They taught me nothing about wildness survival. I guess this little chick isnt running through the jungle anytime soon.

My dream man, Rambo. Don't talk about about him or he will shoot you up like Swiss Cheese and wear your ears around his neck

Love

Posted in adventures, April Brucker, big battles, Blog, dog fights, i came i saw i sang: memoirs of a singing telegram delivery girl, killing in the name of, Miss April B, POW/MIA, rambo, run through the jungle, special forces | Comments Off

Miss April B

Mission Statement