For girls, you don’t get funny by being skinny when you’re ten. And you definitely don’t get funny by being pretty any year before your 18th birthday. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…
The gift of humor comes when your 21 with adult braces and you are forced by your delusional intermediate acting teacher (who is paid by the university) to wear clown make- up for 12 hours straight. And I mean full on white face, with abnormally red cheeks and frizzy ass hair.
… okay the hair was my fault…but I had a feeling that straightening my hair that day wouldn’t exactly diffuse the situation.
You know what’s scarier than clown porn? A clown with ceramic braces…. it’s just doesn’t look right…
I made a girl in my media law class run into a wall and cry that day….she didn’t like clowns/sexually based jokes/me with or without whiteface. Granted, I didn’t like her, so it kind of worked out in my favor. But that’s beside’s the point.
And yet I seemed to be the only person in my acting class that was not okay with this infamous “Clown Day.” Like, I was the freak for not wanting unwarranted attention based solely on my outer appearance.
Um, sorry musical theatre majors, but I couldn’t fit into blue jeans for 12 years and was forced to wear elastic leggings by my mother, that were color coded with the season, my mood and whatever fast food I was eating that day…so, um, yeah…I think I already got my fix of gawking stares from random passerby’s.
We weren’t supposed to talk for those 12 hours either, but after I had my first interaction with Mr. Obvious at nine in the morning, my inner bitch came out real quick.
“Dude, that chicks got clown make-up on.”
“Yeah, no shit, dickwad.”
… Did I mention that I’m not a morning person… or an afternoon person… or an “If it were socially acceptable to wear clown make-up on a daily basis…I so would” person.
Now don’t get my wrong… I love looking disgusting… but only on my own accord. I call it the Amy Sedaris syndrome: beautiful girl just dying to be ugly and wrinkly and sexually perverse for an audience. (Watch, Strangers with Candy).
But, next time someone tells me I’m required to wear white-face and frolic amongst the normal’s (and knowing my life this will happen again), I’m totally throwing out the race card…
“Wait…fuck you…why do I have to wear white-face...why can't I be black? You racist.”
