2006-02-10

Because I'm bored and all, thought I'd just recount my backstory. Tomorow, I'll do the stuff from Denver on and all. Details are fuzzy. I kept a little diary when I was there, but left it in the Orpheum Theater and never saw it again.

Wouldn't it rock if I was famous enough for a tabloid to find it and publish my packing list? I can see it now: "April Walsh wears control top! Shocker!" Or maybe my still-nonexistent stalker will find it. I'll get these breathy phone calls. "So you like... personal humidifiers (insert creepy breathing)."

Ahem. Yes. Anyway...

I've accepted the fact that they aren't going to show much of me singing by now. They're probably going to focus on my more goofy and embarrassing moments. I'll live. But I figured I'd just tell you what they would have shown if they'd shown all things involving me. So...

My mystery backstory:

It's scarily similiar to Kellie Pickler's in some ways. Never knew her story while in Hollywood. Single dad. Away a lot (though for different reasons). No mom. Live with grandfather. Waitressing (though without rollarskates.... or I'd be dead right now). We could've compared notes. Oh, well. Lost opportunities.

My dad is a truckdriver who came from a large, Catholic family of thirteen. I was jipped. Only got three siblings and no mom.

I come from a single father family (met my mother when I was 20 for the first time that I really remember. She's got issues). My father got all of us (my brother, sister and I) when I was a baby. See, my mother had been "taking care" of my sister and I, while my dad had my brother. But my grandmother in Arkansas (where I was born) tipped him off that she'd been leaving us alone in the house and not taking proper care. I was a six months old at the time and very underweight (I was two pounds at birth). Some people just aren't meant to be mothers.

My dad and my Uncle Carmen Uncle Chris hightailed it to Arkansas and (kind of) kidnapped us. We were badly malnourished and with bad diaper sores and blisters. We never cried at first. I guess babies stop if nothing comes from it. I don't know. I try not to blame my mother. She's a little off. Some people just can't take care of themselves, let alone kids. I just don't have her as part of my life.

My grandmother nursed us back to health, but the authorities stepped in. They weren't quite ready to give a single truckdriver three kids. We spent our toddler years in a foster home (a very nice one) before my dad finally got custody.

After that, we had an almost normal life. Dad was away alot on the road and our aunts stepped in. There was sometimes a big lack of supervision, though. I handled it fine. My brother and sister didn't, really. They did punk things with the punks in our neighborhood (who robbed our house once). After that, my father went on local jobs more often.

Anyway... I went through high school, doing lots of plays and chorus stuff. Then college, where I majored in theater.

After college, I pursued improv and stand-up comedy in Philly. Was part of a good troupe and trying to find my niche as a fat, funny chick.

My grandmother died that year, after years suffering from a bad stroke. We took shifts nursing her. First in California, then when we brought her to Philly, where more people could help full time (I had the night shift). But it wasn't enough. We were all broken up.

My grandfather went back to California, but was lonely. My father and Uncle Mike suggested I move out and stay with him. I could pursue acting and comedy and he'd have a roomie.

We got along great, considering. Take a twenty-something and an eighty-something and put them together. Heck of a sitcom. We had fun, though. We went out to breakfast a lot with Uncle Joe (where they'd bust on me tag team style) and Grandpop always tried to talk me out of this showbiz nonsense.

I did Second City stuff and extra work. Grandpop said the rosary five times a day. Very devout guy, my grandpop. This year, however, still counts as the worst year ever. Last February, he had a bad fall in his room. Won't recount that. Coming up on the anniversary now and it's hard. If interested, it's all in this entry .

Stayed here still and started caring for Uncle Joe and the kids full time, as Lisa worked. Aunt Crazy's husband passed away from M.S. Aunt Crazy went crazier. Details in earlier entries.

Then Uncle Joe died in Germany while on a pilgrimage to Medjugorje. Details in earlier entries. I kept caring for the kids and had my nephew for the summer (still couldn't straighten the little punk out, though. Behavior problems with that one). I'd actually given up performing by then. I'd long given up singing as a possible calling. I thought of myself as an actor who could sing.

At the end of summer, that's where I was. I was writing romance novels and caring for the kids and that was it. When American Idol auditions came around, I saw them as a last hurrah of sorts. I was a fan. I'd give it one more go before settling down and finally giving it up.

Things turned out differently than I'd expected...