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:
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.