Close Enclownters

As some of you may already well know, I am not afraid of climbing 50' ladders, catching spiders, or holding snakes. What freaks me out is clowns. I have a very mild form of coulrophobia that doesn't really cause me any problems outside of all my skin trying to crawl off my body. That, and I scare my boyfriend by screaming everytime I see a giant clown billboard (there's one up north on 99, and one lurking around Fremont).

Anyway, I was doing a training last week and one of my "students" asked me point blank, "Were you ever a clown?" I was horrified. I have always been afraid of clowns. Some times that fear extends to all mimes (even ones without face paint), giant stuffed animals, and weird things like cowboy santas (one attacked me with a platic knife once). Whenever I see someone climbing an imaginary rope, it just freaks me out.

A few month's ago, I met Saru's grandfather. He put his arm around me and said, "You know, I'm a clown." I did know that he was a clown, but once he said that, it was all I could do to not run away from him. Instead I stood there and giggled nervously. Snow bound and sick=rambling blog entries

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...

Weirdest Hotel Ever

I am beside myself with glee. I really thought this weekend would be fun, but not that special sort of fun that makes me giggle like a child. There is an abandoned mall inside this hotel. This is not a drill. Let’s back up for a minute. I’m in Yakima at the Hilton Tapestry hotel, a place known for having Mason roots. There is a tour you can take, but it’s only on weekdays, and I have already spent a night in a Shriner clown room*, so I’m good. This hotel is labyrinthine. The outside is a confusion of empty storefronts showcasing local art and no admittance doorways. The garage is keycard access only. The porte cochere is more of circular drive, with one part of the circle blocked by potted plants and a grouping of roped off chairs. There is a patio with arched columns, gated with ornamental fencing, where an air conditioning unit is housed. Walking around the hotel gives a disorienting feeling of always head...

Short Story: Not So Pleasant

It was Saturday morning and I was pulling the calash across the main thoroughfare. The young master preferred the calash, it was fast and had a fold-away cover in case the rain stopped. He preferred me for much the same reason, I was responsive to the reigns and quick on slippery cobbles. “Oh the way Ginny maneuvers!” he would boast to the other young men, “I’d take her over any thoroughbred.” I feel much the same, for all a horse needs to be happy is a kind master. Anyhow, it was morning, and we were crossing the road with the clock tower. Horses, carriages, and carts were weaving this way and that and a policeman stood in the middle, playing a song on his whistle while he danced. A white stallion was coming towards us, pulling a brougham. If the color of him had not been enough to get my attention, his high action and rolling eyes would have. “Is that not Miss Eloise’s carriage?” my master twisted in his seat, “She must have got a new ho...

Refracted Neurons

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