I Am Disturbed

So, I was minding my own business and researching some things about colleges since I have twins about to leave the nest. 

At a particular school, there was a news article mentioning how the hazing in fraternities and sororities have gotten out of control. After a few articles on the same subject, I decided to search on it myself.

And got some dandy videos out of the search.  

Let me say this: Parents: if you don’t warn your kids that these fucking clubs will try and get them to do sexual act you’re enabling the clubs to abuse your child.

I watched a girl, crying, ONLY BECAUSE SHE WAS BEING YELLED AT, perform sexual acts on another crying girl. All while these “sorority sisters” shouted verbal abuse at them… hit them… beat them… kicked them… and I asked myself:

“Why didn’t she just say, “FUCK YOU!” and walk out?”

Because she felt she needed to belong somewhere? Because this was mommy’s sorority?  

What the literal FUCK?!?!?  

It was the most disgusting practice I’ve ever seen… lining girls up against washing machines during the spin cycle, and when their thighs would jiggle (as everyone’s WOULD.. IT IS THE FUCKING SPIN CYCLE) the “sisters”  would spank them as hard as they could with large wooden paddles.

Let me tell you the correct response if someone ORDERS YOU to perform ANY sexual act on ANYONE: 





“Kiss my ass, bitches, I don’t need to PAY to have friends!”

I didn’t even want to LOOK to see what the fraternities have their guys do.  The one article about the drugs and rape was enough to make my stomach churn. 

Parents: Seriously. Talk to your children. Give them a way to contact you if they are scared. These people should NEVER become your child’s family away from home. ABUSE? Would you allow this?  Of your child? I sure as hell wouldn’t. And you can be this was the topic around our dinner table.  

Be OPEN with your kids.  They need you. NOW.  Not in college when they are making mistakes. They need to make mistakes where they are safe in your home so they know they can always come to you for aid.  

Don’t let your most prized possession become someone’s verbal assault and sex toy against their will. 


Robin Williams… GONE.

I am so sick of it. 

The depression. The pain. The loss.  What does it leave in our wake? 

A shocked and grieving nation; social media showing pictures  and people professing their love. 

I’m not sick of that… the tokens of respect. 

I’m sick of losing people. Losing people. LOSING PEOPLE!

It hurts. It fucking hurts bad. 

When will we stop wearing masks? When will be say, oh hey, maybe there’s an epidemic in the country and address mental health and emotional needs  When will we stop being so fucking self absorbed and actually BE THERE when someone needs us… I mean ACTUALLY FUCKING BE THERE and not let someone feel they are alone… trapped in the bell jar of celebrity status.  Did Robin have any real friends? Was he afraid to reach out? He had relapsed and been back in rehab again… his show got cancelled… both are major triggers for ANYONE to be depressed. Was he afraid of tabloids posting another story about him? WHO KNOWS. 

But what we do know is:

Just like so many of us, he wrestled with demons and felt cut off and alone. Maybe not always.But he did at the pinnacle moment when he made a choice to leave us all behind clutching our DVDs through our tears.  I cried watching Dead Poet’s Society when I was fifteen. My boyfriend bawled in the end scene of Mrs. Doubtfire.  We both sniveled through “It’s not your fault,” in Good Will Hunting.  I laughed my ass off watching him shake his in The Fisher King. Every movie, surrounded by a good memory, brought to life by a great actor. 

LIfe is fragile and we don’t know who’s hurting. It’s not their call to tell us. IT’S OUR CALL TO ASK. 

Do you feel depressed? With no hope? Have you had thoughts of ending your life? I’m not a professional, but I urge you to call this number and receive help:  1-800-273-TALK.

It’s a courageous thing to admit you’re hurting and get the help you need. I’m not saying that Robin never did that. I’m not saying  he wasn’t courageous because my God did he have some mountains he overtook. I’m saying at that one point, he felt alone. AND YOU ARE NOT. 

Tell someone you love them today. 




robin williams


The 17 Hour Car Ride From Hell

Imagine seventeen hours of an allergy ridden husband who let his prescription run out thus creating a cloud of kleenexes within our traveling pod so thick that if we were in an accident, no airbags would be needed. 

Add on top of that a set of twins that barely get along, and of course bought identical earbuds… of which each are suspicious that the other has somehow swapped out said earbuds. 

The dual car charger died mid trip so we had to get one of those hot neon green ones from the gas station that are five dollars.  Then they fight over who gets to charge which device and in what order.  So,on my vacation, here I am, making a chart. For two seventeen year olds. Who will, next year, be unleashed onto the world as adults. And they are in the minivan screaming at the top of their lungs like three year olds. 

The thirteen year old, bless his heart… all he wants to do is listen and watch his movie. He has his own DVD player and his own headphones because traveling stresses him out too much. When HE joins in and starts complaining that he can’t hear the fighting in The Avengers,  you know it’s bad. 

I know you’re having a hard time imagining it. Here’s a taste (My husband is identified as SNEEZES)

Josh: Where are my earbuds?

Marley (looks around, pulls them out from under his feet): Here they are. 


Josh: These aren’t mine. 

Marley: Well they aren’t MINE, mine are here in my purse. 


Josh sniffs the earbuds.


Josh: Bless you, Dad.  This is sick, Marley. These are yours. They stink!

Marley: They are NOT mine you idiot! That’s your earwax you’re smelling, and you’re whole body smells like that by the way. 

Joey: Can you guys be quiet? I can’t hear the movie!


Marley: Sorry, Joey, Josh is a moron. 

Me: Stop calling your brother an idiot and a moron. We’re family and we love one another. And we’re on vacation, so fake it at least. For me. 


Marley: But Mom…

Josh: You’re the idiot! (pushes her magazines off her lap)


Marley:  Hey! 

Punching commences. 

Joey: Hey! You’re fighting to the music. That’s cool. 


Marley and Josh scream and hit each other that can only be described as in the finest gladiator style. If they were Christians about to be sent to meet the lions in battle, I’d be impressed. 

But I’m not. 

Not by a longshot. 

And so the minivan gets pulled over. The tirade of lectures between sneezes begins.  We drive five miles. 

And Joey has to pee. 

Repeat this about twenty times. 

And then THIS doozie:

flat tire

And a husband who has no idea how to change a tire. Thank goodness Josh had learned from Boy Scouts of all things. Is there even a badge for that? There should be. 

Now, it’s really fun.  At some point during the great tire exchange of 2014, Marley has, from the goodness of her heart, rescued a turtle trying to make it across the road. She’s very proud of herself. I know this, because she says so. About five times. I assume she was making sure we heard her between Greg’s sneezes. 

16 hours in. Marley vomits all over the back seat, Josh, and the DVD player.  PROJECTILE vomiting. Screaming from the backseat.  We stop the car.  We do our best to clean out the car while Josh calms a hysterical Joey, and Marley continues to decorate the side of the highway.  Greg thanks Christ for his allergies, because he can’t smell the puke, so he gets put on the worst part of the clean detail.  Marley almost passes out.  We’re three miles away from a hospital, so we take her.  After waiting six hours.. SIX HOURS she’s finally seen. She has salmonella, which, guess what? TURTLES CARRY! So, the next time you see one of them trying to cross the road, use gloves or a newspaper to save that sucker. 

Marley’s released with a dose of phenergan that virtually places her in a coma. We decide to spend the night in town and get up at the ass crack of dawn. Marley is a zombie and quickly falls asleep in the van again. 

We drive an hour.  Exhausted we get to our destination: Yellowstone. And this is what we have: 

rainy road

Freaking rain. 

Our camping gear reeked of vomit thanks to my comatose child, my two sons bonded in a what I can only describe as an alliance against Marley, my husband still thanked all the gods ever known for his allergies, but still sneezing, and I’m wondering what the hell I did in my previous life to invoke the wrath of karma. 

We tanked the gear. We drove around for fifteen minutes and turned around and headed back. Marley woke up. But only 15 hours later when we had two hours left before reaching home. We had to stop and get Joey a new portable DVD player.  There was no salvaging the old one. 

At least we stopped at a hotel on the way back. The kids got to swim. I got a hot tub. (SNEEZE). 

I’ll say this: no matter what we do as a family, we always make a memory. 


For a fan, YES, I will do this!

I’ve been enjoying the last few remaining days of summer before the twins get back into school and doctor appointments resume for my youngest.  Of course, my peace shatters when my daughter apparently crouches in wait and kills my son on an Xbox game. Is it fair? Who knows. I retreat to my computer.

And lo, and behold, I find this lovely piece of fan mail in my inbox.  I’m not going to lie. It’s my first one. Maybe that’s why I’m sharing this. I mean, it’s asking a favor, but she was really nice about it and I felt like doing a good deed instead of strangling my offspring.

Dear Sasha,

Your blog is hilarious. You have depth too. Maybe that is why I love following it! I loved the poem about your mom, and the story from when you wen to the movies had me laughing so hard my sides hurt. I shared it on Facebook. 🙂 If at all possible…
Would you mind sharing a blurb about a television series I’m producing? My friend, Joe Carroll, created it, and it’s set to release 2015.  We’d love to have a social media push.
The show is called BACKGROUND! A group of discontent actors set the stage as they introduce a new reality of what goes on behind the scenes.
I don’t know if you’ve ever worked as an extra on a film before, but it’s not glamorous. It’s not easy.  You arrive early and stay late. While the stars of the film get waited on hand and foot, it’s the extras that sit in the tents with no air conditioning or freezing in the cold. It’s not a picnic.  And people do it because they love film.  This show was created to say, “I see you there.” And I am proud to be a part of it. 
Needless to say, Joe and I are excited about this show and know it will have a strong audience base.  Again, if you could share about it,  I personally, would be most grateful. 
Here’s the link to our trailer:  http://youtu.be/mI9cFD_M57Y
Thanks so much and keep writing!
~Marti Young
SO, here you go, Marti Young. I have shared your wonderful news, and I’ve even checked out your trailer. Looks great, and not only a show I’d watch, but my twins as well. Maybe my husband, but who can say with him. I wish you and Joe Carroll the best. Please update me with your progress.
To any other fans out there: we only have each other, right? Go and support this project. Who doesn’t deserve a chance to achieve a dream? Good karma exists too…

A Day At The Movies

Seventeen minutes into the movie and the girls in front of me start talking. Not a couple of girls. A group. Like ten to twelve. 

They’re disrespectful to everyone around them, leaning over one another to whisper shout, “OMG!~ I would TOTES do him!”  “OMG I KNOW! The FEELS!”  “I’m MELTED!” “I would give my left ovary to ride that pony!” “OMG right?!?!”

Crap like that. 

I have zero tolerance for stupid ass teen girls who think just because they are in a group they can say and do whatever they want. (Teen girls in a whole can be quite brilliant. These, however, were not).

So, just as rudely as I can, I muster up the biggest SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh of my life and let it out like a battle cry in the theater.  A guy behind me yells out, “Thank you!” and the married couple diagonal to me echo his enthusiasm. 

The girls turn, I suppose attempting to death stare me in the blackened theater.  As if I would be daunted by them.  Amateurs.  They’re quiet for a I’d say three minutes, and lo and behold, they start up again.  The group on my left, (they looked like some college buddies) all shot glances at me as if to say, “What now?”

I start to kick their seats. The college buddies join in.  We don’t them hard. Not bad. Not making any noise. But enough to be a pain in the ass.  Finally having enough, I can only suppose this airhead was the leader of the cloud crowd because she jumped up and shrieked, “OMG stop kicking our seats, we’re just watching the movie!” To which she was met with the loudest decibel shattering SHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh  from the guy behind me AND the married couple.  

Now, the nice black girls on the right side of the theater tell the girls to shut up in a not so nice way, and I literally laugh out loud.  It was more like an eruption of laughter. I couldn’t control it. God’s honest truth. 

Airhead:  Oh you think this is funny? You think this is funny?

Airheads friend in a hushed whisper:  Come on, just sit down. Sit down.

Airhead: No. NO! I will NOT be bullied. I paid money to see this movie!

And that’s when the nice black girls stood up.  

You guys, I don’t know where you come from. But I can tell you this. If black girls get pissed off and they stand up, RUN. Shit’s about to go down.  

Me:  You’re ruining the movie for everyone. You need to sit down. 

Black girl one shifts her weight from foot to foot. 

Me: You better sit down fast. 

Airhead:  I don’t have to do a damn thing you say, bitch!

Both black girls remove their earrings.  (That’s a VERY bad sign. Like, red alert bad).

The college buddies on my left let out various comments but all were pretty much, “Oh shit, it’s about to get real.” One darts out to get the manager. I think he could have beaten Usain Bolt with his speed. I laugh again because the movie played very dramatic music at that instance, as if the cinematic gods just knew about our plight. 

Airhead:  **insert complete idiotic rant that I didn’t care to listen to**

Black Girl One:  Bitch, I’m giving you one more chance to shut the fuck up so we can watch this movie! You ain’t the only one one who paid to see this! This is your last chance, I swear to Jesus! 

Guy in back: You better take the chance!

Black Girl Two: Yeah you bettuh!

Airhead: I don’t take orders from–

And that was it.  Black Girl One flies and I mean FLIES across the row and into Airhead’s row so fast that her friends jump up and popcorn goes airborne.  

“What’s going on here?!?!”  The manager’s voice booms from the entrance.  College guy’s hands cover over his mouth in shock. 

The married couple yells out, “These girls won’t shut up and we can’t hear anything in the movie.”

Guy in the back shouts, “Seriously,they refuse to be quiet!”

Airhead vehemently denies any and all allegations and points at me. I laugh again. LOUDLY. 

Black Girl Two retorts, “Oh hell naw you ain’t gonna push this off on her! You haven’t shut up since the previews and all of us know who’d you sleep with now, you skinny ass ho! Dayum!”

The manager then has the entire row of girls leave the theater (we all intercede for our African American ladies who were you know, just taking care of business) and restarts the movie for us, which I felt was a very nice move.  All of us in the theater enjoy quite a good movie and at the end, leave victoriously chatting with one another.  

So, self righteous teenagers: when you’re in a movie, just be respectful. 

And shut the hell up when you’re in the movies. 


I Sit Alone

I sit alone…

Holding her hand. 

Watching her breathe.


I sit alone…

Finding a rhythm in the beating of her heart

As the monitor declares it loudly

And without feeling


I sit alone…

Watching the eyes never open. 

The hand that never squeezes mine. 


I sit alone…

And let my tears silently fall

With prayers and bargains to God

To give me more time.


I sit alone…

While nurses watch from the hallway

As I somehow find strength to forgive her leaving me.

And I cry. 

And I cry. 

And I cry. 

And I cry. 



And she’s gone. 

A nurse shuts off the alarm 

and quietly leaves me with her. 


Nothing but silence

the sound of my muffled sobs 

Lost stories. 

Lost memories. 

Lost laughter. 


I’m alone. 




The writing prompt is: Go down the rabbit hole with Alice; play quidditch with Harry Potter; float down the river with Huck Finn… If you could choose three fictional events or adventures to experience yourself, what would they be?

So, to calm myself after my demon possessed GPS fiasco yesterday, I took to writing and here’s what I came up with.  I hope you enjoy it. 


It was Thursday morning. Early. I knew because I could hear my neighbor’s poodle, Millie,  furiously yapping at the garbage man, as was the ritual.  I buried my head in the pillow trying to drown out the sound and return to the haze of a dream I was forgetting. Too late.  I sighed and rolled over on my back. 

“All I want is sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeep,” I whined aloud, with a few fake sobs thrown in. 

Millie just wouldn’t let up. I stood and looked out my window. She wasn’t yelping at the mailman. 

“Oh my God!” I squealed, excitedly throwing on yesterday’s clothes. I flew out the front door, and down the cobblestone path, slowing down once I reached my gate with my towering magnolia trees. I opened the gate and stepped out onto the sidewalk. 

There, with his long flowing blonde hair, exquisite blue eyes and his elven glory, stood Legolas curiously observing the hyper spastic pet. 

 “She never shuts up,” I offered. 

He turned to me. 

“At least until he knows who you are.”

He crouched down by the fence, almost eye to eye with the canine. On the breeze I could hear a faint chant, and Millie quieted down.  Pleased, Legolas stood with a smug smile. 

“You promised to teach me that one day,” I reminded him. 

“Today is not that day,” he responded, the smile fading from his face. “I am fighting a formidable foe. I came to ask your aid.”

“Me?” I ran my fingers through my tangled hair. “How can help? I don’t even have shoes on.” 

Legolas grinned at me, and my legs turned  to butter. 

“Oh alright. You knew I would, didn’t you?” I started back to the house; Legolas close on my heels.  He grinned again. 

“I knew you would.”

Once inside, Legolas regaled me with talks of how there was a certain book of pages that he must retain, but it’s in a dubious site and his weaponry cannot break the walls.  

“I tried climbing in,” he shared reluctantly, “but alarms sounded and so I was forced to flee. It’s imperative that I return this book to my people. It’s our sacred book.”

“What is this book?” I asked.  

“The Biola Noafa,” he closed his eyes in reverence. “It’s our most holy book and what we strive to live by in each of our elven lives.”  

His eyes opened, now with urgent pleading. 

“Help me return it to my people.”

I nodded. 

“Let me make a phone call.”

In ten minutes, a knock came from the front door. 

“It’s open!” I called.  

“You should always lock your doors,” a male voice called as he entered. He swaggered in with his know it all attitude, chiseled chin and even more chiseled physique. 

“Legolas,” I smiled, “this is James Bond.”

Legolas, who had already arisen with the knock, nodded his head silently. James looked him up and down.

“Not from around here, are you?”

Legolas stiffened. 

“James, Legolas has had a book stolen from him and we need to get it back.” I patted him on the shoulder. 

His eyes lingered on Legolas for a moment and then met mine. They were bluer than I remembered, damn him. 

“Do I get paid for this, or is this the goodness of my heart?”

Legolas exclaimed, “You’d be returning the holy book to the Elves! What payment do you require?”

James glanced at the impassioned elf and back to me, his eyes mocking him. I scowled at him for a millisecond and then asked, “I’d like to help him. I have no money.”

“Can you pay me like you did the last time?” James chuckled. 

Embarrassed, I shot a look to Legolas whose scorn was apparent.  

“We’ll discuss payment to you after we get that book. Deal?” I really wanted to change the subject. 

James nodded. 

“Let’s break it down.” 

We stayed at my house for most of the night working on plans of attack, with a short break to order some pizza. 

“By the stars!” Legolas cried out when he tasted it, “this is so much more tasty than lembas!”

Sometime around sunrise, of course while I was nodding off, James said, “We need to do it today. He wouldn’t expect that.”

“Can I get some sleep first?”

 My question was met with looks that I can only describe as disdain and disgust. I sighed. LOUDLY. 

“Fine. Let’s go.” 


As James drove us in his souped up Aston Martin towards the city.  Legolas looked queasy. I tapped his knee as if to ask if he was alright. 

“I’m not used to this form of sorcery,” he said through gritted teeth. 

James chuckled to himself. I slapped his arm. 

“No laughing!” I commanded. 

He winked at me and veered the car off the road.  It looked as if we were going to slam into the side of the bridge. The Wilhelm scream had nothing on the decibels that Legolas hit as the bridge’s hidden door opened up and welcomed us into a facility with bright overhead lights and scurrying people in lab coats. The car skidded to a stop and James turned around. 

“Do you need to use the bathroom before we leave?” 

Legolas gasped for air. James turned to me. 

“Is he really going to be able to do this?”

“He’s a warrior,” I whispered. “He’s fought dragons.” 

James eyes the still wheezing Legolas and looked back at me. 

“Uh huh. Wait here.” James exited the car and had a very heated conversation with someone over some equipment he threw into some black bags. I focused my attention on Legolas.

“Legolas, are you okay?”

He was calmer now. His breathing was steady. His thumb was in his mouth as he bit it.

“I just was not expecting to head into a mountain today. That’s all.”

I patted his leg.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

He grabbed my hand and studied my face.

“What did James mean when he said you could pay him back like last time?”

My face flushed as I forced myself to not spout out a thousand lies.  The front door flew open and James tossed the bags of gear into the back seat next to Legolas. I thankfully re-situated in my seat. 

“We have to bring these back when we’re done,” James stated flatly. “Apparently the intern will let Q know if we don’t.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Did you find out where the Biola Noafa is being held?” I asked. 

“Yes, we’re headed there now.”

The car revved up and we were out of the facility in no time. 

Legolas steadied himself in the seat, a sudden surge of meaning in is gaze. 

“WHERE is the Biola Noafa?” he demanded. 

James steel eyes glinted; his hands tightened the wheel. 



Dusk was kind to Metropolis, creating silver linings behind the city buildings making it almost look magical. James drove us straight to a skyscraper that overlooked The Daily Planet. 

“Is Superman joining us?” I snickered as I got out of the vehicle. 

“Get real,” James tossed me a bag to carry. 

Legolas spiritedly jumped over to the base of the building and knocked on the windows as if to test their strength. 

James paused, studied him for a few seconds and then in a hushed tone to me, said, “Seriously?”

I watched Legolas for a second and just shrugged. I pulled the other bags out of the car. James threw one over his shoulder and grabbed the other. 

“So, you and Legolas,” he said. “What’s the story with that?”

“Oh, um…” my heart pounded and I looked away, hoping James didn’t see the sweat droplets starting to appear on my brow.  “We met at-“

“Come see!” Legolas cried out. 

Oh thank God, I thought. And immediately ran to his side. He pointed at the elevator through the window. 

“We may not have to venture on a laborious climb,” he said. “I’ve been scouting this contraption. It seems it rises and falls and takes travelers to where they wish. Perhaps we can request a ride.”

James chortled aloud and walked through the doors into the lobby. 

“Let’s see what James does,” I said to Legolas and added on the way in, “Great work, scouting!” He smiled, pleased with himself. 

We followed James into the elevator, who stopped it halfway to the penthouse. He unzipped the bags and tossed us all weapons of all sorts. They were heavy and black and hurt if you missed the catch and they fell on your toes. 

Legolas picked up a machete. 

“This I will not need.” 

James, now dressed in all black, blinked.  

“You may be grateful you have that when you see who we’re up against.”

I strapped on some guns, but I’m pretty sure I did it wrong because the leg thingy kept falling down to my calf.  A hostile sigh emitted from James who strapped everything onto me. 

“Didn’t you remember anything I taught you?” he said, exasperated.  Legolas eyed him suspiciously and cut his eyes back to me. I looked away just before his gaze met mine. 

“Let’s get the Biola Noafa!” I declared. 

“I’m serious,” James said quietly, “this is truly, as Legolas says, a formidable foe. Watch your step. He’s tricky. He’s villainous. And he will do you harm and not think twice about it.”

I giggled. 

“How bad can Lex Luthor really be? Come on.  He always gets caught! Please!” I laughed. 
The door chimed. 

We stood ready to take back the stolen Biola Noafa and kick some serious ass, if needed. 


The door slid open.  The air was cold, clinical. 

I frowned. 

“This doesn’t look like Lex Luthor’s decor,” I whispered, noticing the sparse gray atmosphere.

James slid by me silently, gun aimed and ready. 

“It isn’t,” he whispered. 

Quietly, we stepped out of the elevator and were met by the sounds of our own heartbeats and breathing.  Legolas furiously tapped my shoulder. I looked and him and he pointed straight ahead. 

There, encased in a glass box, was the Biola Noafa.

James quickly shook his head no and looked up.  

The ceiling was domed with lights. The walls were bare.  No motion detectors. No cameras. 

TRAP! he mouthed. 

But the Biola Noafa was right there. And Legolas wanted it. He started, but James grabbed his shoulder and shook his head no, motioning to the floor.  We looked down. The tiles appeared to be made of some sort of absorbent, yet lighted panels. 

“I don’t like it,” James whispered. 

“Like it of not, I came for the Biola Noafa!” Legoals whispered loudly. 

“And I came for Sasha! Not you. You’re not getting her killed!”

“I would never let any harm come to my-“

“Oh look at the time!” I interjected. “We need to be out in a few minutes before they notice the Aston Martin!”

They frowned at me, and to tell you the truth, I was feeling a bit uneasy with the entire thing. I was stupid to add James to the mix. My God, even with his big gun and reckless ways, he can still be a complete middle schooler and poor Legolas just doesn’t understand that this isn’t Middle Earth. With both of them eyeing me, the walls felt like they were closing in. I was having trouble finding air. 

“Cover me!” I cried. 

And before I could form a rational though, I ran over to the encasing and lifted it. I didn’t even check to see if it was wired. What the hell was the matter with me? I grabbed the Biola Noafa and placed the cover back over the now empty case. Excited, I turned to the guys and lifted the book high, all smiles.  

It was their expressions that made me realize I needed to urinate. I froze. Slowly, I lowered the book to my chest and noticed that there was a sound other than my own heartbeat. Breathing. Legolas’s eyes scanned the figure behind me, his bow at the ready.  James’ eyes were as wide as saucers. His Walther PPK was still raised. More breathing. 

He’s behind me, I thought. 

I like to think my eyes expressed my gratitude for both Legolas and James for coming with me and for sticking by my side. I’d like to think that. I was told later I looked like I battling constipation. At any rate, I turned around.  

Face to face with the thief of the Biola Noafa. 

Face to face…

… with Darth Vader. 

“Oh shit!” I shrieked and fell to the floor, still clutching the stolen article. 

“Yes,” Darth responded. “I see you chose to steal something that I’ve chosen to belong to me.” 

“That is a holy book!” yelled a defiant Legolas, “and that does NOT belong to you!” 

He shot a series of arrows that Vader easily deflected with the force. 

“Impressive,” he said, “Very impressive. I didn’t know ewoks could get so tall.” 

Legolas bounded over to my side and yanked me up to my feet. 

“What an ewok is, I do not know,” he declared, “but this book belongs to my people.”

“Darth Vader,” I said, lowering my eyes, “I’m terribly sorry for stealing from you. I was trying to help my friend here, and honestly I thought this was Lex Luthor’s place.”

Vader lifted me up via the force and I hovered. 

“Sorcery!” Legolas cried. 

Ricochets sounded as James emptied a clip in Vader’s direction. Everything missed, of course. He had the force. 

“These fight for you?” Vader asked me. 

I hesitantly offered a slight smile and nodded. 

“Do they even know you?”

More arrows. More bullets. I twirled high above their heads. It didn’t hurt. I was only floating. But I admit, I was in a precarious position and wasn’t sure how it’d play out. 

James threw a grenade.  Vader made it fizzle. Legolas, at on point, attempted to jump on Vader’s back to remove his helmet, but he was thrown to the wall and it took a few seconds for him to recover.  

Darth Vader just laughed and laughed.  

James rummaged through the last black bag and emerged with a small device.  With the push of a button, a long light appeared. 

“A light saber!” I screamed. “How did you get one of those and why didn’t you get me one!?”

I fell the the ground as Darth Vader activated his saber. 

Legolas ran to me. 

“Are you alright?”

I nodded, never taking my eyes off the impressive sword fight. I handed him the Biola Noafa. 

“You risked your life for this,” Legolas’s eyes teared. 

“It’s important to you,” I replied.  I leaned in-

“”Um, guys, can we go?” James yelled.  


Legolas sprang to his feet, taking me with him. We ran to the elevator. 

“I don’t think so,” Vader stated calmly, and with his force death grip raised us all up in the air.  We gasped and fought against the invisible hand that was crushing our windpipes. 

“Thieves die here.” Vader said. 

I glanced through my tears to the guys, who both were refusing to die with their sheer will. Everything got splotchy and blurry…

…and suddenly we were on the ground. I shook my head and looked up. 

“Come on, come on, come!” James yelled and dragged Legolas and me to the elevator. 

In awe we watched the Jurassic Park T Rex roar, the cape of Vader hanging from his mandible. 

The elevator doors slid shut. Bad muzak. 

The car ride was silent. 

Legolas held the Biola Noafa in his lap and wound finger the pages gingerly. James quietly stared ahead. I tried to sleep, but I swear James would hit a pothole on purpose. 

Back at the house I collapsed onto my sofa. 

“Let’s talk about payment,” James said, a glint in his eye.

“Oh well, let me send Legolas on his way with his holy book,” I replied, “I know his people must be upset not having it.” 

Legolas smiled. 

“You risked your life today,” he said. “Was it for the book or for me?”

I threw my hand over my face. 

“I knew it was Vader’s place, and I knew he wouldn’t hurt me,” I confessed. 

The guys looked at each other and back to me. 


“I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. It wasn’t my first trip to Metropolis.”

James edged closer on the couch. 

“But he had you up in the air,” he said quietly through clenched teeth. 

I sat up and drew my knees up to my chest. 

“Um… yeah…”

Legolas sat on the other side of me. 

“Is that why he asked if we knew you?” his eyes were serious.

“Um… yeah…”

James: “How well did HE know you?”

I glanced back and forth from them. 

“Oh look at the time!” I exclaimed, standing up. “I need to shower and get ready for-“


Legolas face was contorted in pain. 

“You didn’t steal the Biola Noafa for him, did you?” 

I dropped to his side. 

“Oh God, no! Never in a million years would I steal from you or the elves!” 

His face brightened and he stood. I jumped up and he embraced me with a big hug. 

“Then all is well. I shall return to my people with our treasure. I shall see you again soon, I hope. Come to the realm and pay me another visit where I can host you,” he said sweetly. 

“I will, Legolas. Thank you for asking me to help you.”

“I like hosting you, Sasha,” his eyes twinkled, making me blush. 

“I like to come,” I responded, giggling. 

Legolas said farewell to James and was gone. I leaned against the door and sighed. I looked back. James sat on the couch with a cheshire cat grin on his face. 

“Is there anyone you haven’t slept with?” he asked. 

“Oh shut up, man whore,” I said, walking to my bedroom. “Come on and let’s work out this payment plan.” 

And he did. 


I hope you enjoyed my writing exercise.  

This writing prompt was brought to us by: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/fictional-intruder/

GPS… Global Playground for SATAN!

Okay, so my family and I are headed to visit a friend.  We get her address. We plug it into Mapquest.  

We drive for our two hours and lo, and behold, it takes to a field in the middle of nowhere. NOWHERE. Okay, fuck you, Mapquest. 

We get on Google maps.  We ask for the highway closest to us.  Oh, the closest highway offered to us?  IN FUCKING NORWAY!!!! 

I shit you not, it gave us three options of the roads in Norway. Which is NOT helpful since we are in the United States of America. 

What the fuck, GPS???  Like, it’s not terrifying enough to be in the backwoods ANYWHERE where you can hear banjo pickin’, and you strand us here? 

We finally arrived… by calling our friends and having them lead us in. How close were we actually to the location you ask?  We were THREE COUNTIES OVER.  FUCKING GPS! 

It’s made by the devil, I swear to all gods living and dead. 

hell gps

Why Try?

I’m so tired. 

Who do I have to impress? My husband? He doesn’t care. He wants a robot that he can fuck. That’s it. A slave to do his laundry and fix meals and will put out to shut him up. 

My kids don’t care what I look like or what I say or how I feel, even.  Sometimes they are brilliantly wonderful and I do admit they are the reason I live. But seriously. Why try. 

There is an empty dishwasher OPENED FOR ALL TO SEE but the dirty plates get placed in the sink. Not even rinsed. 

I specifically purchased everyone dividing laundry baskets. To help them I even labeled each of the three bins: White, Colors, Darks.   They throw all of the clothes together.

I put out carpet cleaner on the floor, like, sprinkle it all over so the twins know it’s time to vacuum. I tell them it’s time to vacuum.  Somehow, between Adventure Time and The Big Bang Theory there’s just not enough time to do it.  But it’s okay to walk barefoot on chemicals and grind it into the new carpet we just put in three months ago. 

I just want a day where I can sleep all day long.  

“You don’t do anything by laze around the house. You don’t have a job.”  

Fuck you. I take care of a special needs kid that you can’t handle. << what I yell at the people who try to “inspire me to do more”.  

I bake cupcakes and planted a garden. I have two cats that bring me the dead mice. Why? They love me… I feed them.  I get more affection from these cats than my own family.  

Maybe one day this blog will get better, but for today, nope. I am off to sleep. Hopefully for a week. 


Dead, White and Blue Weekend

So, I’m watching the Dead, White and Blue marathon of The Walking Dead. 

I love this show.  Some things are just completely absurd. Like, how is the entire country not over populated by rats and vermin now? How are they getting hair cuts and shaves?  Why does no one ever mention how bad any of them smell?  You know, the normal things. 

Anyway, through the marathon, I kept thinking to myself: some of the characters are so dame easy to hate! Andrea in all her assumptions and pride.  Shane, for all his falsehoods and sleazy behavior.  Of COURSE The Governor who was bat shit crazy and the devil incarnate. 

And all of it, of course, is great writing. If you ever find a character that you love to love, OR love to hate, thank a writer.   It’s harder than it looks.