Thirsty Thursdays!

photo courtesy of www.current.com

It's time for another installment of "Crossing Over" - my new column at boredandthirstynyc.com.

Be sure to scroll down for this week's HELP WANTED, where I take the freelance life to a whole new level.

Chapter 21 - HELP WANTED: Tales of a Free- Spirit Professional

photo courtesy of www.clownpictures.org

Erin was an expert handler, walking me through the party, yelling commands like, “Birthday girl on your left,” and “Family dog near your feet,” as I danced around and waved for 45 minutes. Most of the children loved it, reaching out, touching my leg, grabbing my hand and poking at my stomach.


I couldn’t see a thing because Elmos’ eyes came up to my neck and all I kept thinking of was the kid who got stepped on as I peered down my nose, trying to get a look through Elmo’s eyes. It was strange being in that costume – the center of attention and so removed from it all. And Violet was right; It was CRAZY hot! By the time we were finished, I was soaked with sweat and could feel the heat permeating through Elmo’s head.

Erin kept checking to see if I was okay, but the problem was, she couldn’t really hear me. So, when I told her I needed to sit down, she responded with, “Let’s do a little Ring Around the Rosy.”

After the third time, I squeezed her hand really hard and practically screamed, “It’s too hot in here!”

“Everybody wave bye-bye to Elmo,” she sang, leading me quickly back to the kitchen. Erin was no bouncer, but she sure knew how to get me out of there quickly.

Once in the kitchen, I clawed at the clasps holding Elmo’s head on the jumpsuit like a claustrophobic astronaut. I was so hot, I couldn’t see straight and all I wanted was out of that damn head.

“I got it,” Erin soothed as she unhooked the clasps and lifted the head up and over mine.

“Ahhhhhhh,” I sighed.

“Drink this,” she said, handing me a fresh bottle of water.

As my body temperature began to recalibrate itself, I leaned against the kitchen counter and simply said, “Whoa.”

Erin laughed with a tinge of bitterness. “Why do you think I’m a handler? I couldn’t deal with all that shit.”

I nodded my head and wondered if I too, would end up being a handler after this party was over.

“That was GREAT!” the Mom squealed, bursting into the kitchen. “Afton looooooved it!”

“Awesome!” Erin said and though I barely knew her, I was beginning to see just how much she hated her job.

“We’re going to do cake and then we’ll be ready for Olivia the Clown!”

Ugh. I thought and almost said aloud. Why did I agree to be a clown?

Once Mom was gone, Erin leaned in close. “And whatever you do, don’t agree to be a clown again. It’s awful.”

Back in the bathroom, already exhausted from my sweaty Elmo experience, I smeared clown make-up on my face and felt suddenly depressed. What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t an actor! I was a singer and clowns don’t sing. In fact, I hated clowns; they were so……creepy.

But there was no going back. At least, not that day; I had balloon animals to make and little kids to entertain.

Another knock at the door from Erin, as I slid the red, clown wig onto my head.

“Okay,” I yelled, weakly.

Standing in front of the mirror, I was taken aback by how much I looked like a clown. I was creeping myself out! I looked at the clock on my cell phone, sitting on the vanity and whispered to myself, “45 minutes. That’s all. After that girl, you’ll never have to do this again.”

Thirsty Thursdays!

photo courtesy of peguclub.com

It's Thursday and you know what that means - check out my column, "Crossing Over" at boredandthirstynyc.com!

And.....if you missed it earlier in the week, scroll down to see what happens next at "Help Wanted:  Tales of a Free-Spirit Professional."

Chapter 20 - HELP WANTED: Tales of a Free- Spirit Professional

Check back on Thursday for more "Crossing Over" from boredandthristynyc.com!

My first job at Focus on Fun was a birthday party on the Upper East Side.  The birthday girl was turning four and I was scheduled to spend 90 minutes entertaining her and all her friends.  It was a “Double the FUN” party which meant the children would get 45 minutes of Elmo and 45 minutes of Olivia the clown, balloon animals and all.   

At Violet’s urging, I’d practiced wearing the big, Elmo head at home prior to the party.  With no blinds in the living room, I’m sure I was quite a site for my neighbors to see –  walking around my apartment wearing as a life-sized

Sesame Street

character costume, waving and dancing for nobody in particular. 

“It gets hot in that costume, so make sure you wear leggings and a tank top – nothing more,” Violet had warned when I’d trudged up the stairs to retrieve the costume from her apartment.  “The head is heavier than you think and you can’t really see out of it.  But don’t worry; there will be a handler to help you.”

Having a handler sounded very glamorous and made me feel very professional as I pictured a bouncer-like guy maneuvering me through droves of admiring children all trying to get a piece of Elmo. 

“And don’t forget to practice your balloon animals,” she’d said, handing me a pack of at least a hundred skinny balloons to be blown up and wrestled into poodles, purses and swords.

As I gathered all of my party gear, I felt like I was going camping at Disney Land.  It was a lot to carry and I wondered how I’d get it all to and from my apartment to the Upper East Side. 

Elmo’s head turned out to be great for storage and on the day of the party, I stuffed everything into his head and then into a very large garbage bag.  As I lugged my gear onto subway from Battery Park City to the party, I started to wonder what I’d gotten myself into.

When I arrived, the party was in full swing and at first glance, I figured there to be around 20 kids running around. 

“You can change in here,” the mom said, showing me to a small half-bathroom off the entrance way.  “Your handler is waiting in the kitchen, right this way.”

I followed her into the kitchen and met Erin who looked more like a helper than a handler.  She was barely five feet tall and I’d guess, around ninety pounds, soaking wet.  We said our hello’s as my visions of performance grandeur quickly faded into the distance.

“I’ll walk you around the room,” she said.  “The key is not to step on any of the children.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, I burst out laughing; thinking it was a joke.

But Erin wasn’t kidding.

“It’s no joke,” she said, smoothing her perky, blond ponytail.  “A couple of months ago, Adrian, the Cat-in-the-Hat guy, jumped up and down while he was dancing and stepped right on a two-year old, who happen to be crawling on the floor next to him.”

“Ohhhh….” I said, starting to sweat a little.  “So it’s…..dangerous?”

“Nah.  Not really.  Not with me here.”  She took a swig from her water bottle.  “Go get dressed and I’ll meet you at the door.  Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.”

The bathroom was tiny and maneuvering around with the big head, clown gear and my own clothes was tricky.  It was also really hot in there.

“You ready?” Erin asked, knocking on the door.

As I zipped up the back of the furry, red jumpsuit and held Elmos’ head in my hand, I looked in the mirror and thought of the $120 I would be making from the party.

“Yep,” I said, putting his head over mine and fastening it to the jumpsuit.  “Ready.”

Thirsty Thursdays!

It's time for another installment of "Crossing Over," my weekly column over at boredandthirstynyc.com.

And...if you missed yesterday's HELP WANTED, scroll down to see what happens next!

Chapter 19 - HELP WANTED: Tales of a Free- Spirit Professional

Be sure to check back tomorrow for my latest post over at boredandthirstyny.com!

*******

By the time Monday’s interview arrived, I had been to four different stores in search of a book on making balloon animals.  While there was no shortage of such materiel, making a sword out of a balloon was pretty hard to learn by looking at pictures.  Plus, holding the book and the balloon posed a major challenge as it was impossible to do both with success.

I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d just have to tell the truth.  Copping to my lie would surely cost me the job, but it was kind of hard to fake it with balloon animals.  I’d almost cancelled altogether, but when I called to do so the night before, Violet, the owner of Focus on Fun, was so excited to meet me, I found myself all caught up in her excitement, gushing about how I was so looking forward to the interview.

Violet worked out of her apartment on the Upper West Side and as I climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, I wondered again whether I should’ve cancelled.

“Just a few more flights up,” she called from somewhere above my head.

My heart was pounding and it had nothing to do with nerves.  I was in good shape, but five long flights of stairs had me grasping at the railing like a frail, old lady in an attempt to pull myself up to the top. 

“Hi Liz!” a voice said to my left. 

“Hello,” I squeaked, steadying myself as I tried to catch my breath. 

.

Violet stood in the doorway of her apartment and I wasn’t sure if it was the light coming from behind her or the lack of oxygen going to my brain, but she looked like a very tall cross between Pippy Longstocking and a clown. 

Her braided ponytails sat on her shoulders, held together by those old school ponytail elastics - the ones with marbles on the ends.  She wore lilac sweatpants, cut off at the knees with mint green tights underneath and a red sweatshirt tied around her waist.  The only tame thing about her outfit was the white man’s undershirt she wore with rhinestones circling her neckline.

“Come on in,” she said, as a wide smile spread across her face.

Inside, her small apartment was bright and cozy.  Her desk sat underneath a loft bed and the rest of the space - save for a small couch next to the window – was filled with costumes and props.  It was like being at a

Sesame Street

convention with Big Bird and Elmo looking down at me from their respective hooks on the wall.  Princess costumes and clown wigs hung from a rolling coat rack and in the far corner, sat a small pile of various balloon sculptures from poodles to swords to purses.  Hard to believe all that stuff fit into such a small space. 

“Have a seat,” she said motioning towards the couch as she settled into her fancy, ergonomic chair.

Sitting down sounded like a great idea, being that I was still a little out of breath from my journey up the stairs. 

“Let me tell you a little bit about what we do,” she said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

It was hard to concentrate as she talked because Violet looked like a kids’ party character.  Her green eyes danced when she talked giving life to the sprinkling of freckles across her light-chocolate skin and her hair – though braided - looked like a wild child wearing a pretty dress. 

The mention of balloon animals snapped me back to attention and I humbly admitted that I knew nothing about them.

“That’s okay,” she sang, clucking her tongue a little.  “I like you!”

And with that, she slid her chair over to me and gave my knee a smack.

“I’ll show you everything you need to know.  Don’t worry, it’s simple.”

Thirsty Thursdays!

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