Homeless Clown

Next Thursday, as many of you know, I will venture to the town that has held my heart for the last 11 years, Portland Oregon.

I'm excited beyond explanation.  It truly is my home away from home and I hate that it's been so long since I've been there.

To get everyone else as PUMPED as I am, I'm going to share a couple of my favorite stories from my time living there.

First, I would like to share the homeless clown story.  If you've ever gotten me talking about Portland before, you know this story.  But it's a good one, so shut up and let me talk.

In downtown Portland during the summer they have the Saturday Market.  It's basically a bunch of hippies who rent booths and sell their homemade handicrafts.  I got a pair of custom made clogs.  They cost $150 and they never quite fit right, but good gods were they gorgeous.  For clogs.  Milling around, you can always see the best of Portland.  Street vendors, hackey sackers, the little person who sits on his electric scooter between 2 buildings and comes out to ask for money when you least expect it.  My favorite was always the homeless clown.

Under the bridge next to the coffee shop where a lot of people congregated, he set up a little area where he would make balloon animals for money.  He was insanity at it's finest.  Dirty, muttering, his rainbow clown wig almost grey from filth.  My sister and I were in line to get coffee once (like ya do in Portland) talking to the guy who made my clogs.  His entire head was a giant tribal tattoo.  I bet he never regrets THAT now.  Behind us in line was Homeless Clown, muttering to himself.  All of a sudden he started screaming FUCK FUCK FUCK THIS at the top of his lungs and ran off.  From that point on, he had my heart.

At his balloon making station, he had a rug.  It was the kind of rug you would set by your front door for people to wipe their feet.  And like his hair and clothes, it was fairly disgusting.  Next to it on a chair, he placed a sign that said "It's a real rug.  You can stand on it."  

One day my 4 year old niece decided she would like a balloon animal, so we walked over to homeless clown and she, in her precious wee baby voice, asked for a giraffe.  Homeless Clown told her to stand on the rug.  She made no move, I assume because she realized the potential error of talking to Homeless Clown.  He apparently did not like this because he yelled GET ON THE RUG!!! 

She did.  She got her shitty balloon animal.  Next time, we went to the fat balloon maker.  He could make swords and crowns.

Obviously I have no idea if Homeless Clown is still there.  Would I even recognize him if I saw him?  What if he's wearing a disguise?

This turned out way longer than I was expecting.  So next week you will get the story of my only friend in Portland and the time she made me go hiking.