Saturday, August 8, 2009

Cue The Circus Tunes

I've been absent from the blog again. I'm really good at this neglect thing and I'm thinking that it may be a sign that I shouldn't reproduce for two reasons. The first being that the children probably wouldn't survive because I'm good at neglecting things (I walk by the flower department of a grocery store and the roses immediately turn's actually quite impressive), and the second reason being that I honestly don't think I should continue these genes. I have some pretty strange phobias, I lack rationality at times, and innate objects sometimes scare the crap out of me.

When I was a kid I had close to 100 dolls. Dolls of every variety from stuffed rabbits, porcelain, QP dolls, Cabbage patch kids, to Ice Cream Dolls and lots of basic Baby Dolls. I had a wall of Dolls that hereby shall be called "The Wall of Dolls".

The Wall of Dolls is the reason I learned how to sleep completely under the covers with no ventilation whatsoever. I'm fairly certain the increased levels of CO2 have caused some sort of permanent brain damage...or maybe it's just the weird genes.

These dolls would stare me down all during the night. It didn't help matters that the shelves where built into the wall across the room from the foot of my bed in perfect position for me to stare at The Wall of Dolls and for them to stare back. It made for a few really awesome sleepless nights.

Perhaps the most prominent doll would be a clown doll that originally belonged to my sister. If you took one look at this creepy little bastard you would fully understand why he was left behind when she moved out. I can't imagine what parent would buy him in the first place (oh wait, my mom did - that 'splains it). He had a stuffed body with stuffed arms and legs and a hard plastic painted face. His hair was stop-light red and stuck out in all directions that perfectly complimented the crazed look in his eye. I tried to google search for this doll and was unable to turn up anything that could remotely compare to the demented level of fear that this doll could conjure up in a child's brain. This is as close as I could find.

As a delightful bonus, my room was sprinkled with the sand-bag clowns that were so popular in the early 90's at Hallmark. Eample A:

I would have much preferred 500 sandbag clown dolls over the Hellish figure that sat high atop The Wall of Dolls. There he sat, each night, staring and waiting. All rationality tells me I am wrong, but I am certain he came to life after 9:30 and stood at the foot of my bed casting a demonic gaze my way. I'm also fairly certain he likes to snack on small children with a side order of infant baby.
One night in the middle of summer, I could no longer sleep cocooned under the blankets. I threw my covers back, grabbed a chair out of the guest room and climbed up to the top shelf of The Wall of Dolls. Grabbing the clown by the arm, I yanked him from his lair and threw him so hard into the closet he may have sustained some blunt force trauma to the head.
The next day I dug him back out of the closet and returned him high atop his evil little perch. This cycle went on nightly for probably 4 years. For some reason, my mom was pretty fond of that clown and would have belted me if she knew I threw him, nightly, into the depths of my clothes closet.
Some things are better left unknown.
Besides, it's not easy growing up in a room full of glass, button, and painted eyes. To this day I refuse to have anything hanging on my wall that has a face. The Mona Lisa gives me the creeps. It's almost phobic.
Now, if I ever saw a clown version of the Mona Lisa, I'd probably freak out screaming.
I have some good genes for that, t00.

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