Haven’t we all come to the conclusion that clowns no longer make a sensible costume to try and lure children into the woods with? Or just like, just a sensible ploy to try and get kids to trust you at all?
I just had the pleasure of reading a recent story in which
a clown or a person dressed in clown clothing
is trying to lure children into the woods. Well, I mean, first off we have some detective work to do like, is it JUST a person in clown clothes? Or is it a born clown? We need to know.
And ok sure, it’s not a “pleasure” to read this per se but you should see some of the shit these Clown or Clown Imposters came up with. It’s the worst list of “How to Lure a Child” ever and I believe it looks something similar to:
Step 1: Don a Clown costume (Not to be confused with – Don, a Clown costume which is the name of my personal costume)
Step2: Move around in said costume to ensure optimum comfortability and then grab some knives and money.
Step3: Master weird noises and your “but i have some candy” voice
Step4: Go into the woods and wait.
Step5: Check once more you have the knives and money, kids love that shit.
Step6: See a kid? OH MAN HERE IT GOES! Wield your knife and yell very loudly that you have candy and then maybe even laugh a little with crazy eyes.
Step7: Repeat all steps again if you’re having trouble procuring a child.
Understandably, the non-clown residents of Greenville, SC are a lotta disturbed. One woman’s concern:
It doesn’t make no sense that they would be targeting kids,” Donna Arnold said.
Well, Donna… you’re right, it doesn’t make no sense. But only it does, because it’s as cliche as a southern person saying “it doesn’t make no”. The question here, Donna and everyone else, is WHY they think this is effective for what I assume is a very comical child sacrifice they’re prepping for.
Donna’s husband felt it appropriate to, in respect to his community, clear up the type of area they live in:
We talk to them constantly [about stranger danger] because this is a bad neighborhood, but nothing like this has happened,” James Arnold said. “This is one of the neighborhoods where guys are walking around carrying guns, but we’ve had no clowns before.
Thanks for clearing that up, sir. I’m not terrified beyond my very rational fear of clowns now.
But apparently, this ‘clown thing’ doesn’t stop at children. Look at the harassment this woman faced:
An unidentified neighbor is mentioned in the sheriff’s report as having seen a clown when she was walking to her house at 2:30 a.m. in the morning of Aug. 21. “[She] saw a clown with a blinking nose, standing under a post light near the garbage dumpster area,” read the incident report. “She stated the suspect waved at her and she waved back while she made her way to her residence safely. The suspect did not approach her or harm her.”
The question here is what was this woman doing out alone at 230am, especially with clowns loose in the area. Had something happened to her, I think we can ALL agree it was probably bc she was dressed very scantily. Or maybe EFFING CLOWNS ARE JUST LOITERING IN GREENVILLE AND THAT’S EFFING SCARY AS FUCK.
Per the sherrif’s report, multiple children believe the clowns (yes plural, residents have seen up to 10 at once) live in a house at the end of a man made trail nearby…which conjures many questions but the first being, are they always dressed like clowns while lounging around this house? And also, um, dafuq you know where a whole gaggle of clowns live, kids?
I’m getting away from myself, basically Forest Clowns, lay off the kids. That’s fucked up, you’ll go to jail for attempted kidnapping even if you’re just trying to teach them about their future adult life and how horrifying it is in some weird southern art installation.
And honestly, you seem dedicated. So switch up the costumes, Party City has a bevy of hilarious costumes to wear so Buzzfeed writes an article about your apparent attempts at child thievery.
Enter me, it’s 7:32pm on a muggy Monday night and the apartment is quiet upon my entrance. No, “Mommy! Mommy!” from a child, no “RUHRUHRUHRUHRUH!” from the other furrier child… No “Hello!” from the SO.
Everything is amiss.
Where are they? What happened? Were the aliens gentle in taking my whole family away? Will I ever see them again? What am I having for dinner? So many questions, the weird energy in the apartment is bountiful.
And then pops the SO from the bathroom, he sees my face and even though I think I’m neutral he suddenly says, “Nothing happened but…”
I pop an eyebrow and immediately stomp into the living room to see my child, completely naked, sitting in her stuffed chair, shirt dangling from her hand. Rosie sits avoiding eye contact on the couch, suddenly a fiber of the sofa is fascinating to her.
“What happened?” I asked the room, Rosie chooses not to respond. Corina tries to put her head through the arm hole of her shirt.
“I had just taken the fan apart and started the bathwater to clean it off when i heard the door close so I thought you had just come home. But then I don’t see Rosie…or hear her bark at you. And then the door opens again and there’s Corina, naked in the doorway. Rosie was still in the hallway.”
POP ALL OF THE EYEBROWS.
My daughter, apparently ready to join nature with her dog sister in tow, had walked right out of the apartment. Sure, she walked right back in realizing maybe nature (my old apartment building hallway) could wait until she could make well rounded cognitive decisions. Sure, she left Rosie in the hallway probably because Rosie orchestrated this whole thing and is trying to escape our love and medical attention on her infected eyeball. Sure, we should have boarded up any exit in our apartment the second we saw the crazy spark of independence in Cori’s lil baby eye years ago.
But we didn’t.
So my daughter was given a taste of true freedom, decidedly in her birthday suit. Thank God no unsuspecting tenants rounded the stairs to see a small naked child with wild eyes and a winking dog, because what horror movies aren’t made from that kind of scene?
And now we live behind always locked doors.
Until she finds out how to unlock 3 deadbolts.
Or climb from her window to see a boy (hopefully clothed…for awhile anyway).
Or sneak into the garage for Dad’s car.
Or gets the keys to unlock her first apartment.
K, I’m gonna go cry now. AMIRITE?
Sup, weirdos. S’been awhile and oh how I’ve missed you. Per my previous post, I did indeed start a new job and it has been quite a good time. Still learning and absolutely loving it.
A nice perk working at this agency is the creative flow I’ve got all around me, and not just with work, these people ooze it out of the office as well. It’s contagious but I still found that, for some reason, I couldn’t peg down a blog post topic for months now. It was so frustrating. I was thinking so damn hard about whether or not I wanted to write about Coconut Water (it’s like thick AND water…) or God forbid the damn politics… Nothing was working in my head. Until I realized, I’d been a busy lil chick lately and I HAD been writing. So why not show off something I’m very proud of. My bestie is obsessed with pineapple. Her husband and I have grown to accept this and for her birthday I chose to celebrate her illness instead of judging it. Because I’m amazing. And humble.
Some say it’s a masterpiece. Re-written to be a masterpiece about Pineapple.
And thus I present, my genius (after Lin Manuel Miranda’s original genius) adaptation of “Satisfied” from Hamilton… about Pineapple.
A toast to the fruit!
To the fruit! To the fruit! To the fruit!
To the spikes! To the spikes! To the spiiikes!
For Erinnnn, who’ll always take a bite!
To the whole foods! To the whole foods, to the organic choices! And the hope that it provides. (it’s provides! it provides!)
May you alwaaaaaays, have a bite.
I remember that bite, I just might-
I remember that bite, I just might-
I remember that bite, I remember that bite, I remember that…
I remember that bite, I just might regret that bite for the rest of my days.
I remember that produce aisle, tripping over ourselves just to get a taste
I remember that dream like, sunny light, yellow bright that you can’t quite place.
I’ll never forget the first time I had your taaaste
I will never be the same,
Green sprouty plant and a spikey edge frame.
And when you were sliced I forgot my dang name- set my mouth aflame, canker sore aflame
This Is Not A Game.
Pineapple: You strike me as a woman who will never be satisfied
Me: I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, give me that fork.
Pineapple: You’re like me, I will never been satisfied.
Me: You’re- a- fruit.
Pineapple: I have never been satisfied.
Me: Her name is Erin O’Reilly
Pineapple: Alexander Pineappleton
Me: Where’s your tree from?
Pineapple: Unimportant, there’s a board to cut, let’s get it done. And just you wait! Just you wait.
SO SO SO, so this is what it feels like to wipe juice from muh-chin from the fruit, what the hell is this mess?
It’s the yellow, the sweetness, don’t eat the spikes.
It’s a Erin with a sweet appetite, you see it right?
The juicy snack lasted two minutes maybe three minutes everything I ate in total agreement it’s a dream and it’s a bit of dance, a bit of a dribble and a bit of a stance
He’s a bit under ripe but I’ll give em the chance
I asked about his tree, did you see his answer? His green started fidgeting, he looked askance. He’s not organic, he’s flying by the seeds of his plants.
Juicy, boy does he know it.
Spiked skin, and he can’t even shed it.
I want take him far away from this plate but then I turn see Erin’s face and she is
And I know she is
and her eyes are just
And I realize 3 fundamental truths at the exact same time….
I’m a girl in a world where my only job is to
give a gift
My grocer had not one, so I’m the one who has to search queens for one
They were the oldest and the shittiest, not the hottest but not so pity-ish
And pineapple at its shittiest HA!
Doesn’t mean she’ll want it any less
I’m a great gift giver I’ll search for the finest one, you’d have to be naive to pick precut for one, the price doubles I
Couldn’t imagine a pineapple so hard to find
Nice going dumb Erika, you were right it’s gonna be Whole Foods time.
I know these aisles like I know my own mind I will deftly find the ripest spikey of our time.
If I don’t pull through for Erin she would silently resign with no rind
She would say I’m fine-
I FINALLY FIND
The juiciest prospect I cut up before our eyes
And I romanticize what it might be like if I hadn’t sliiiiced it up so quickly… At least my dear best friend found it nice.
At least I have her breath in my life…..
TO THE FRUIT!
I’m starting a new job next week.
I’ve been with the same agency for 6 years and now I’ve decided to move on to a new opportunity.
So exciting, right? YES. Yes. y…….es.
But I’m a Taurus, through and through. Predictability. Routine. Change is terrifying, even when the necessity reaches me to the core… I will hide my pride here and say I. Am. Terrified.
My friends and family are psyched, and I smile as I say this is great but inside it’s pretty much the scariest thing I could do. I birthed a human… I grew her and evicted her from my womb with sheer force and lots of pain…. But this is my soft spot. The new. The unknown.
So… Enough of being a wittle scaredy cat. Let’s suit up in the armor of my better Taurus qualities and find the positive things that’ll help me transition into a new journey.
- I have the backing of some pretty clear signs that this was right. I had other recent interviews and there was one particular “omen” in the form of an old boss who was a literal nightmare. I felt tainted immediately when I saw her randomly after an interview. But this go around? Some of the coolest and most precious signs I could get. I won’t go into detail except for one, my Grandma. She came to me 6 years ago in a dream to tell me I would get a job at the place I had just interviewed. I did. She came to me last week and here I am. I don’t question her role in my life. I might be scared of the new, but she’s letting me know this was a rad move and all is right.
- I will eat my fear in the form of sweet sweet treats. Cupcakes, donuts, whatever… There are a lot of anxieties to eat and who am I to let anxieties fester? I will murder them with icing and glaze. It will be okay.
- The agency alone is fucking neat. The people I spoke with were natural and honest. I trust the person who gave me this opportunity and I’ll lean on that aspect more than cupcakes because I have a waistline to keep in check. AMIRITE.
- Lastly… I was home with Corina when I got the call that they’d love to have me. We were dancing and having a good time when I picked up the phone. I took the news in excited stride and hung up. The song playing at the time was perfect:
This is indeed a new ride. And I will not only fall graciously into the unknown but I will fall with sheer determination. Will I make mistakes? Yes. Will I learn from them? More Yes. Will I grow, laugh, live, try, fail, try harder, look dazed, send gifs randomly in email? Of course.
So, I guess what I mean by all of this is…. Allow me to take the bull by the horns…cough…the Antlers.
A few life friends of mine can vouch for the obsession and constant acting boner I have for Leo DiCaprio.
My mom can vouch for the endless VHS search of his lesser known roles (This Boy’s Life was the hardest to find, followed by Marvin’s Room).
My walls still linger with the ghosts of his Teen Bop posters.
I cried when I didn’t get to do my 6th grade power point presentation on him and I didn’t cry when my boyfriend at the time broke up with me because I loved Leo more (that boyfriend recently robbed a pizza hut with a gas tank or something… So I won.)
I was a girl and loved Leo, he’s adorbs.. I mean seriously. But beyond the teeny bop obsession is the first person who told me I was an actress. And what it meant to balance so many feelings and experiences in one person.
Not to my face, no. But through every role he played.
I was way too young watching Basketball Diaries in my Pine’s Apartment home. I wasn’t supposed to be learning about excessive drug use, prostitutes or skipping class. And for reasons of my own, secrets of my own, that movie helped me understand a part of my journey at a crucial time in my life.
Around that same too young of age, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape fell into my lap and carved its way into my heart. I’ve always been sensitive, I’ve always balanced the deep sadness of witnessing a life that wasn’t given as wholly as mine and the joy you can still give them even if they don’t think or live like you do. And while I related too seriously to Depp’s character (way too young), it was Leo who showed me the power of living someone else’s life. The vulnerability of absorbing yourself around those that aren’t like you and taking their experience and wearing the mask so seamlessly. I can barely write about this movie without crying, the impact it had on me will always shine bright.
Anyone who knows me understands the dynamic I have with my family. And if you’re close, you know what my grandmother meant to me…means to me. Marvin’s Room was a window into that teenage life of battling the emotions that come with growing up. I was given a glimpse into what my mom was possibly thinking and feeling, being a single mom with kids and struggling with who she was as her own person. And it gave me the hardest peek at what it meant to lose someone, to watch them deteriorate. I was given the gift of not watching my own grandma wither away before she left us, but when I think of Marvin in the room…watching those colors on the wall…I think of the love I have for her and the constant, cold ache her absence leaves me with.
And lastly, even though I’ve seen every one of his movies and it kills me to cut this list off here, This Boy’s Life prepared me for a moment I didn’t think I would live… The story centers on a boy and his mom, how she found someone to take care of them, and that man turned out to be an abusive asshole. As I watched someone I admire take on the role of a young kid, a teenager, who is suddenly responsible for getting his mother out of an abusive situation I had no clue it would put a spark in my soul that would lend itself to quick thinking to help someone I loved in the same situation.
Leo doesn’t know me, probably won’t ever know me… But he should know what each of his choice in roles did for my life growing up. I giggled and blushed at his looks…but I grew as a person as he grew in his career and he supplied me with the emotional range I would need to conquer many aspects of my life.
Last night was a long time coming for him. But in my world, he didn’t get an Oscar for The Revenant… he got an Oscar for giving me invaluable strength, not only in my actress soul but in my real life.
On the daily I have battles with different Erika’s in my head. Future Erika, yesterday Erika, hungry Erika, drunk Erika…lots of Erika’s. But this morning I had the fortune of reuniting with 6th grade Erika, and boy, was she fun.
The problem is, while she was fun, nobody knew that’s what was happening and I’ve given at least one poor soul something to ponder on today.
Allow me to set the scene:
I was on the train, I had just sat down after squirming between the shoulders of two men that I am now perched below. They are deep in conversation when I notice that one of them has a very much untied shoe. Maybe it’s the mom in me, maybe I didn’t want to read a Buzzfeed article about a young man who lost a leg on an escalator, but my immediate impulse was to alert him to this tiny issue that could lead to a spectrum of troubles.
So…how could this go so wrong?
Have you thought about telling another adult, “Your shoe is untied” without immediately thinking “Made ya look!”
And thus, a completely unsuspecting girl cracked up laughing on the train. Alone. I couldn’t stop. People noticed. The man still had an untied shoe.
It took a few minutes to really get myself under control but once I did I couldn’t help but think, but his shoe is still untied.
Does an adult tell another adult that their shoe is untied? Does a stranger tell another stranger that their shoe is untied? I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW PROTOCOL! I ALSO DON’T KNOW THAT I CAN TELL HIM HIS SHOE IS UNTIED WITHOUT SAYING I MADE YOU LOOK. Or worse, not even getting that part out and just laughing wild eyed.
I wish it had been a short shoe lace but the thing literally looked like an ankle noose, just waiting for someone to step on it or a train door to close on it. I had a responsibility here. I had a life in a my hands. If I could just stop giggling.
In the end, I managed to sheepishly say “Excuse me” *far reach to lightly touch his hand because apparently touching his thigh would have been wrong* “Your shoe is untied.”
His shoe is tied.
I’m a hero.