OK, it's time for an admission. And perhaps a bit of absolution. In my heart, I am a clown. No, seriously, I mean it. A clown...
Almost 4 decades ago, in my Senior year of high school I decided to shoot off in my own direction and find myself. Instead of applying to "real" colleges like my parents suggested I decided to send off an application to Clown College. Ringling Brothers to be exact. I figured I had nothing to lose. After all, I came from a frighteningly dysfunctional family with enough baggage to move to Mars with so I figured I had lots of material to draw on . Guess what??? I actually got accepted!!! I came home from school one day to find the letter already opened, crumpled on the dining room table and my mother already livid. Cocktail in hand... Yeah, I knew this wasn't going to be pretty.
I was immediately informed that under no circumstances whatsoever was I going to allowed to become a clown. Was I out of my bloody mind??? A clown??? Let me repeat that: "A CLOWN!!!???!!!". Obviously, my parents had no clue at all as to who I really was... I loved really small cars with way too many people in them. And polka dots. And silly hats with an odd flower or two poking out from them. And wigs. Lord, did I love wigs!!! I still do. And flowers that squirted some sort of liquid. Any liquid. Just as long as it came out of a flower. And baby pigs in strollers. That were smoking cigars.
To be honest, I had been working on this idea since I was a Sophomore. I had my character down pat. She was to be wonderful, the best clown in the center ring in fact. The center of attention. Her name was Loretta and she was to be magnificent. She was HUGE with lots of padding, enormous nay-nays and lots of "back" if you know what I mean. Her dress was awash in polka dots, her stockings were striped, her shoes were the size of water skis, her purse was full of confetti and her wig was the size of a Volkswagen. The hat I can't even describe, it would take too long... The makeup? Completely garish, even for a clown in drag. Yet subtle in a center ring kind of way. For those of you who have had the privilege of seeing me in a foam nose (think Halloween in Mexico) you may have an idea what exit I was planning on taking. And Loretta was proper, almost elegant. Up until the time her triplet pigs escaped from the stroller and ran amok amidst the elephants and that really whorey chick riding on the back of that horse wearing WAY too many sequins for her own good. Fuck her, she's a bitch. And she only has that solo act because she's sleeping with the Ring Master. I can't wait to tell her that he's really gay-er than me!!! SO much gay-er than me. Just a lot more closeted...
I was born to mix-match patterns, wear rainbow wigs, drive cars the size of peach pits , throw confetti in elevators, embarrass the shit out of you at every possible public opportunity and carry horns that go "AH-OOO-GAH"!!! I want to run full blast through saw dust, throw buckets of dry water at you, squirt water out of my corsage, do pratfalls, sit on your lap, hug you and lick your face while my hat explodes. THAT, my friends, is ENTERTAINMENT with my name written all over it!!! Loretta wanted to juggle mangoes, chain saws and monkeys. And the occasional grenade launcher. Maybe a small nuclear device as well. My god, I could have been a contender!!! Stella???
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