Hello my little muffins! I’ve been away so long! My apologies. Life, ya know?
I was inspired to touch back on the good ole days as a sad clown as I saw my former boss who used to run this actual kids party company today at an audition. One glance at her tight, Botoxed forehead and her giant, shiny boobies brought back all those old memories of finger painting and balloon animals in the shape of shame and wieners. So I present to you another costumed tale of woe.
I was asked to do a birthday party for a 1 year old as Tinkerbell. This was a big step up for me. Tinkerbell was a pretty, little fairy. She’s delicate like a flower. Tinkerbell would never have a kid cough in her mouth. Tinkerbell would never have a dad tell her her butt looked delicious. Tinkerbell would just clap her fairyfucking hands and bring your ass back to life! She’s the jam!
So I had a decent feeling about this. Especially since I called the mom beforehand and she didn’t seem the least bit drunk!!
Before the gig I went to pick up my costume, like I always did, and dirty box of crap for the kids to touch and possible get a rash from, which I always did. I should mention that by this time my boss had decided she was getting back into the biz of show. She wanted to only really focus on that, so she moved out of her house, rented all the rooms, and started living in her garage, which was also her office where she kept all the party stuff, and her 3 unruly dogs. I LOVE dogs, but these dogs sorta sucked, especially one of them. Frankly, he was a total asshole. In their defense, they weren’t taken care of well, but still! I’m a super nice gal and he always barked at me even though he’d seen me 40 times! Then there was the one I always thought was dead. This dog was 90 years old. I’m not talking dog years. I mean human years, Oak tree, Yoda age shit. Old. I was always so afraid I would walk in to get my dirty wig for whatever dirty character I was doing and catch the asshole dog eating the old as balls dog. Once I walked in and the old dog was lying on it’s side with it’s tongue out. I stared at it for a long time trying to decipher if it was breathing or if the slight movement under it’s skin was it’s soul trying to escape. Then the shitty dog started barking and it startled the almost dead dog away from the heavenly light, so I breathed a sigh of relief, coughed because I breathed in too hard and got a huge nose-full of dog shit, and ran outta there.
Oh yeah, the dog shit.
As I mentioned, my boss didn’t take care of these dogs. I’m not trying to call this person out, but they were pretty neglected. There was a sign on a paper plate on the door that said:
“Watch out for dog poo! Long day and no walks!”
I would have to practically hover over the floor with the amount of piss and shit on it, which, thankfully, seeped into the hems of the overly long princess dresses and cracks in the dirty boxes, so at least there was that.
Anyway, back to the party.
I get partially dressed in the outfit at home. I was expecting to see an outfit like this:
What a cutie! Sparkly, pretty with a cute up-do! Great!
What I pulled out from the ripped garbage bags left a little something to be desired. It consisted of:
An XL nude bodysuit, a green 1980’s ice skater dress, a pair of filthy wings that only has one wing that stays up, the other flops over on itself like it’s depressed and can’t face the world, a ratty wig with a “bun” on top that for some reason had leaves in it.
So totally normal!
I throw on the body suit and the ice skater dress. I notice that the bodysuit, thought huge, is also pretty see through. It rolled over my ankles and knees, so it appeared I had recently gotten the lap band surgery and lost 150 pounds and my loose skin was starting to pool. I also notice that the ice skater uniform is see through. I figure if I wear nude underwear and bra, it won’t be noticeable. But I’m also a dumb dumb.
I hold off on tacking on the ratty bun wig because I wanted something to look forward to!
I pull up to the address. I see a tarp covering a back area, I hear music, and not inappropriate music, playing, and I smell a grill.
I walk to the back. There are tables set up and a few older women with kids gathered around. They all stop and stare, then the kids start to smile and the older women start to tell them to get ready. I smile back and wave. My eye catches a super, duper masculine lady with grey sweatpants on and a matching grey t-shirt. She had a wrist tattoo that I think said “Tits” on it. Then:
“Yes?” Though I realized I answered like she was asking me a question. It was more like her identifying what she was seeing. Like she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Yeah! That’s me!”
“Yeah! You here to dance for me Tinkerbell?” hehhehehhehehcoughcoughcoughehhehhheheheh. Cracks her knuckles, looks at my crotch.
First red flag has been established. And boy oh boy, this flag was big and wanted to see what my vagina looked like. I pulled down my dirty oversized green skaters outfit, rolled up my excess knee skin.
‘Where’s the birthday boy?!!!” I SCREAM!
Tits tilts her head in the direction of the kids, then stares at my crotch again as if she’s trying to read the fine print of a contract she’s going to sign. I swear to God, I had a moment where I thought I could feel it heating up down there. She was trying to start a panty fire! I cover my cooch with the dirty box(pun intended) and walk to the kids.
“Show time!” I scream again.
I drop my dirty box and start to pull out the face paints. The second the box hits the ground the kids start diving in and taking shit out. So the first 30 minutes was me going:
“Ok, so who…no, no, noooo, put that back, that’s for later! Thank you! Ok, who likes magi…no, that’s not yours. That’s my purse. Put that down. Why do I have a purse? Because they don’t put pocket on fairy dresses. It’s true! Ok, how about we…put that down, seriously. No, don’t eat that. Because that came out of my purse and it’s from a bottle that’s not marked…” etc.
I glance up during this time and “tits” has gotten her phone out and is taking pictures of me. And no, I’m not vain and just assume that’s what she was doing. It’s because every 2 minutes I heard:
“Tink! Tiiinnnkkkkerbelll! Smile for me Tink! That’s right! Ooooh, Tink, when you gon’ dance! Someone turn on the music for Tink! hehecoughcoughhehecoughcrackcough”
Finally the face painting starts. Heart, flowers, easy stuff. Then Batman. Batman got negotiated down to a rendition of a bird. Then Spiderman. Which ended up looking like a horrible, scarred sunburn with a badly angled swastika. I’m not good at face painting.
Kyle, the birthday kid, is awesome. He’s so sweet and cute. He walks up to me and smiles.
“I’m Kyle, it’s my birthday!:
“Hi Kyle! I’m Tinkerbell!
” Can you fly?”
“I can! I flew here in fact!”
“You did?!!!! Mom! She flew here!”
“Tinkkerbelllllll! You like to hehecoughcough fly! I bet you like to fly Tink!”
What does that even mean?
With all the chaos, coughing, sexual harassment, Kyle was a sweet angel. He was polite and adorable. We did the magic and the balloons and I told him I had to go.
“Ok, thank you for coming to my birthday party!!”
Then Kyle gave me a hug. It was heartwarming. For a second I forget about the eye rape and microwaving of my junk. l pick up my dirty box, wave goodbye, and start to walk out of the yard. I don’t notice Tits hiding out by the boom box.
“Tinkerbell? You leaving? Where’s my hug?’
“Sorry, I only hug the birthday kids.”
“But it’s my birthday Tinkerbell. I have a birthday too.”
“Sorry. Where’s the mom?”
“Come sit on my lap Tinkerbell.”
I stomp into the house, tripping a little on my loose ankle skin. Mom is sitting on the couch. I realize she hadn’t been out the entire time. She was on her iPhone.
“Hi, Kyles adorable. Thanks for having me. So I need to collect the balance.”
“The what? Oh, yeah. Um, give me a second.”
Mom and who I assume is her boyfriend go into the other room. I hear quiet talking. Then:
“Can you wait outside for a second?”
I go outside. I hear louder, “I didn’t know. No, just…that. Just do that!”
Mom walks out with a tight roll of money thanks my quickly and waves me off. I have a bad feeling. Collecting the balance at these parties is so shitty. It had been fine up until this point, but I knew that when I counted it there would be something wrong.
I get back to the car. I count the money. It’s short. Big fucking surprise. I sit for a second. I walk back in. Mom is sitting on her couch with the two dudes.
“Hi, this is short $25 dollars.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is. You owe me this!”. My voice had gone up 2 octaves. I was practically singing, trying not to make a big deal of these. Like, hey, I’m suuuppper cool with this!
I show her the balance on my sheet.
“No, I paid that already on my credit card.”
“Ok, let me call my boss!!!” I say this with so much glee in my tone it’s as if I was just surprised with a trip to Fiji. I feel my face getting red.
“Hi, it’s Amy! So Mom said she paid you already! Can you confirm this?!!! I sound like a cartoon mouse.
As I’m talking on the phone her boyfriend starts to stand up and walk towards me. I notice out of the corner of my eye. I smile at him. He doesn’t smile back. My fucking boss is looking on her computer, which must be on dial up because holyfuckingshit it’s taking a long ass time.
“Hold on Amy, I can’t find it.”
“Ok, they’re waiting!” My voice is so high now that dogs within a mile of this location had started to howl.
The boyfriend is standing in front of me now. He says:
“What’s the fucking problem? She paid you already. Leave.”
“Sir I was told to collect a certain amount and it’s short. I’m just making sure it wasn’t an error!” My voice shattered a glass on the patio.
“It’s not an error. She paid you, so get the fuck out of here! Do you want to step outside?”
This dude was asking me if I wanted to fight. This grown man was asking me, a woman in her 30’s if she, while dressed like a fairy who looks like she had been on a drinking bender for 6 days, if I wanted to have a physical fight with him.
I drifted off for a brief second and had a mini fantasy that I went outside to rumble with the big man, but Tits came to my rescue and snaps his neck with one of her giant hands, then she and I take a cooking class together, and she proposes.
I snapped back in.
My boss says “I don’t think she did…oh, wait…maybe..no, that was someone else…”
“Why are you still here?! Do you have a problem? Leave!”
“Amy, I think she gave me a credit card.”
“okaygreatbye!” I am already out of the door, tripping on my excess skin the entire way to my car.
I sit back hard on the wings and bend them so now they’re both bent the wrong way in my car. I drive away so fast I leave tire marks.
I get a call from my boss who tells me the credit card they gave was a fake and I need to go back there to get the extra $25 bucks. I laugh and tell her, verbatim.
“There is no fucking way I am going back there ever again. I felt threatened. You go get the money if you want.”
She put on her fake “soothing’ voice she had probably been practicing in the dog poop covered garage she was living in while she was working on her “acting”.
“Ok, Amy, I understand. But that money was for your payment. I understand if you don’t want to go though. It’s your choice”. Purrsoothpurrr.
“Great”. I hang up without saying goodbye.
I didn’t take that pay cut, I paid myself the full amount. And also, no.
Tinkerbell is not here to fucking dance for you.
2 thoughts on “You Here To Dance For Me, Tink?”
Good… Gawd… I know it’s hardly your intended purpose, and perhaps it could have the adverse affect on others (inspiring in that your still out there doing it as it were and whatnot) but this blog makes me thankful that I’m a completely talentless factory worker with no unfulfilled artistic inclinations.
PS You’re are awesome, talented as f*** and hilarious and don’t ever stop.