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Category: Crying Into My Cake

Crying Into My Cake: Elsa Doesn’t Give A F*ck

I booked an Elsa party at a swanky hotel on Manhattan Beach. Face painting and balloons. I hadn’t looked at the costume until I parked and opened my trunk. The owner would wrap the costumes in dirty garbage bags tied with balloons with a paper plate with our names written on them in crayon. I take out the dress, which was 8 sizes too big, no exaggeration, and a wig so ratty and misshapen I thought it had just recently passed away. I took a moment to mourn for the wigs family, and then violently wrestled it onto my...

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Crying into My Cake: Down To Clown

This was taken at my first clown party. You see, I was told when I was hired that I would usually be playing “princess’s or fairy’s, very rarely clowns”. To which I replied, “Oh, good, I hate clowns.” I was emailed by the owner of the company that there was a party again in a park(why all these parks?!) in Whittier, CA. I’m pretty new to LA, and pretty broke, so I said yes. I didn’t ask what the character was because, you know, they rarely do clowns. But alas, I was a clown. The clowniest clown there ever...

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Crying Into My Cake: Howdy

My first gig. I was a cowgirl. The kid was 1 and didn’t give a flying pig shit about cow anything. My shirt was a men’s XXL and the chaps were held up with balloons.There were about 70 people there at this one party. Not to mention the fact that the party was in a public park, so lots of parties were there to watch what rock bottom looks like on a 34-year-old woman.I walk up and say “Howdy!” The whole party stops talking and turns around. No talking, no nothing. Just staring at me with my big ass...

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