Vader Blog: Capturing the Princess

So, I boarded the Princess Leia's ship today. Is it just me or is she really hot?

Mmmm. Work it girls.

She reminds me of a woman I knew a long time ago, a woman who died, leaving me with nothing but this metal gear where my heart should be. God I'm depressed.

Okay, so, about the boarding. It all went very well, I looked all dark and creepy in my black cape and we captured the Princess pn the first try. Go us! But the plans were not there! What is it with that? How do they always manage to hide the plans! And then my genius of a helmsman let a pod escape. ESCAPE! Said he didn't shoot because there were no life forms aboard. What, did we have some sort of laser beam shortage!! GAA! If you want something done right, you must do it yourself. *Broods* However, I did get to kill him, and that does always make me feel better.

I'm sitting here in my Dome of Solitude (NOT my Emo Dome. Damn you Emperor! Now all the guys have started calling it that behind my back, I know it! And they're laughing, I can tell they're laughing. Hate world, must revenge self...) and I noticed that there is this little red button next to my soda machine. I really want to push it, but I'm afraid of what it might do...

Button of Mystery....

 

So, I have a little problem with my suit. Why are the eye holes black? Have you ever tried to see through SOLID BLACK PLASTIC? It's really hard!!!!!! And you have NO peripheral vision AT ALL! People have started standing directly beside me when they talk to me and it DRIVES ME CRAZY! And the next person to snicker when I can't see the volleyball coming is going to get their windpipe crushed!

I just pushed the button. It made hot chocolate appear! I love my dome. But I hate life. And sprinkles. And the letter O.

I make suspenders look goooooood

Semi-Sequitur’s With Three Year Olds

While being buckled into her car seat

Thing 1: I think your Mummy and Daddy must be mad.

Me: What? Why?

Thing 1: Because you run outside and don’t sleep and then they will have to chase you!

While playing in the playroom, in reference to stealing her sisters toys

Thing 2: But I CAN’T say please because I am a pretty girl!

At lunch time. Out of nowhere

Thing 1: I think your Mummy and Daddy will laugh.

Me: Oh yeah? Why?

Thing 1: Cause I bumped my head really hard and now you get the sparkly dust!

On the playground. After falling down

Thing 2: But I CAN’T play because my nose hurts so I can only kick you!

Then proceeds to kick me.

After finding a pretty spectacular mud puddle

Thing 2: Look how muddy I am!! *super proud look of sublime accomplishment *

FIVE SECONDS LATER

Thing 2: Sasha................................................................. I’M MUDDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *Look of ultimate hurt and betrayal. Instant flood of tears* My pants are MUUUUUUDDDYYYYYYY!!! I WANT TO GO HOME!!!!!

The Worlds Fattest Ninja Chicken Rides the Bus

Link Plays Zelda: AKA, the one where I got distracted and didn't really write anything

So, I was going to begin the Adventures of the Ninja Chicken tonight, but instead I watched my brother play Skyward Sword for about an hour and a half.... So I'm writing about that instead!

Now, my brother is a... special child. And he is addicted to the Legend of Zelda games. Our step mom made him a pretty nifty Link costume too!

Anyway, I bought him Skyward Sword (which is the newest Zelda game, for those who aren't giant nerds like me) for his highschool graduation. Well, I say bought, but really I pre-ordered it. I gave him the receipt in a nice card and told him we'd pick up his game when it came out, which at the time was about six months away.

Now, as often happens, Skyward Sword got delayed. So here we are, coming on two years later, and the game finally, finally comes out.

My brother, being ... well... him, went to pick up the game in costume. He and some of his friends had a whole routine planned out. He was going to go in, get his copy of the game, and try to pay for it in rupees (zelda money, looks like this)

He made his out of those plastic jewels my five year old loves

So he goes in and starts his routine, but alas, the cashier doesn`t want to play along.

Brother: Hiyah Huh! *holds out game*

Cashier: Did you pre-order?

Brother: CHEEYA! *nods*

Cashier: Phone number?

Brother: Hiyah HUH!

Cashier: Phone number?

Brother: CHEEYA!

Cashier: I need your phone number.

Me: It's *gives numbers*

Cashier: We don't have you listed.

Brother: HUUUUUUUHHH!?

So, after going through every phone number I could think of and every variation on my very distinctive last name we realize that I had pre-ordered the game at a different store. (Don't judge me, it was nearly two years ago...)

So we piled in his friends car and headed off to the other mall! And this time we were determined to be more prepared. I made him a sheet of paper with all the pertinent information, game, phone number, name, etc. So we get there, and we try again.

Brother: Huh hut! *Hands paper*

Cashier: Okay, can I have ID?

Me: *Sigh* here

Cashier: Okay *Turns back*

Brother: HEYAH! *puts rupees on counter*

Cashier: That'll be $40.

Me: Here *gives debit card*

So, he got his game, but we're going to have a workshop on comedic timing. Next time, give the woman the fake money when she is watching.

Anyhoo, the game seems pretty fun. I'll be playing myself as soon as I get a moment. And really, it was worth waiting two years to get to see this



This must be what the Inner Child looks like. Oh, such glee...

Sunday Musings: Pancakes, Backwards Feet, and Genetics

My room smells like pancakes.

Now, this is odd for several reasons, the main one being that I haven’t eaten pancakes in... Three years? Four? Certainly not since I lived in this room, or even in this country. So the odds of there being pancakes hidden under the depths of my bed are slim. There are certainly other things down there, unspeakable, possibly sentient things. But pancakes? Probably not.  I’ve heard of phantom odours, but is syrup usually one of them?

I keep expecting a giant pancake monster to come crashing out of my closet. He’ll probably wait till I’m sleeping, then smother me in sticky goodness. I suppose there are worse ways to go.

                          Picture this guy, except made out of pancakes, and probably wearing a fez

On an unrelated topic, I had a very existential experience this afternoon. Even more existential than phantom hot cakes. I had just been outside in my socks, mostly because I was too lazy to put on shoes just to go out to the car, which normally wouldn’t have been a problem but today was bloody FREEZING! Anyway, I had just come in, and I glanced down at my stockinged feet, and for about half a second I could have sworn they were on backwards. Like, my toes were pointing the wrong way.

                                               This would take some serious Mojo. Believe me.

I actually had to stop and stare at them to reconcile it in my mind. They weren’t backwards, obviously, but I was legitimately scared! Who knows what sort of power it would take to literally reverse my feet. I could easily have been dealing with some kind of super villain. Or neutrinos. I have no idea how those work, but if they could potentially break the speed of light then I bet they could easily have re-arranged my feet. Scary stuff.

Anyway, my boss is having another baby in January, so we’ve been talking a lot about genetics, and whether it would be a good thing or a bad thing to be able to alter your childs appearance in utero.

Now, I have no idea how far away we are from this, but I know I’ve heard someone, somewhere, talking about doing this, at least in theory. Like, going in and choosing if your child will have blue eyes or green, be tall or short, have blonde hair or a mullet. That sort of thing .

 I don’t really know how I feel about it.

On one hand, it could lead to the barbification of the human race. Before you know it everyone has double D boobs and Kiera Knightly duck face. Which would be terrifying.

On the other hand, it could save the world from families that look like this:

Vader Blog: If Darth Vader Had a Blog, This is What it Would Be Like.

Yes, I did it. I finally got a Blog. I wanted to stay away from this whole online diary thing, it seemed a bit... fruity to me. But all the other Sith Lords have one and they kept saying "why aren't you on blogger?" "You didn't get the memo? I sent it out on blogger." "Did you see that really funny video I posted on Blogger of the Jedi getting his head blown off.?" And so on. So here I am. On Blogger.

God I hate my life.

On the plus side I got my helmet waxed today and it is very very shiny. I can see the stars in it! However, Grand Moff Tarkin keeps using it as a mirror. It is very distracting! How am I supposed to be all menacing and evil in a meeting if my boss keeps checking his teeth in my head! *sigh*

I also really really needed to scratch my bottom, and believe me, that is a very involved process. Have you ever tried to scratch your bottom through a PLASTIC SUIT??

 I didn't think so.

And don't even get me started on how hot in is in here! It's supposed to have environment control but either it's been broken for the last fifteen years or I've become cold blodded. I should not be shvitzing in my suit during important menacing moments! It's very hard to concentrate on the evil when you're sweating like a Gammorean. Grr.

Anyway, I was sitting in my dome of solitude today (The Emperor insists on calling it my Emo Dome. Remind me to put glue on his chair before the next board meeting) and I realized just how much I hate life. It's all meaningless. And black. Like my soul. And my helmet. Which is shiny.

                                            Me, in my Dome of Solitude. NOT my Emo Dome.

 

Conversations with Three Year Olds 2

Adventures in Nap Time:


Thing 2: *sneaks on elephant feet out of playroom and across hall, giggling quietly*

Me: Thing 2, it’s quiet time. You need to go back to the playroom.

Thing 2: I need to get Thing 1...

Me: No, Thing 1 is asleep. I need you to go back to...

Thing 2: But I need to paint her hair!

Me: No, Thing 1 is sleeping. Go back to the playroom please.

Thing 2: But I’m going to tip toe!

Me: No thank you. Go back to the playroom. One...

Thing 2: Stop that!

Me: Two...

Thing 2: I’M GOING TO TIP TOE!!!!!!

Me: Three. Go back please.

Thing 2: FINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*runrunrun SLAM!*

Two Seconds Later

Thing 2: *sneak sneak sneak*

Me: Thing 2?

Thing 2: *runrunrun SLAM!*

Thing 1: *coming out of room* I’m up!

Me: Siiiiiiiigh.

Ode to the Mysterious Jaw Man

GUESS WHAT!

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
No, really, guess!
.
.
.
Oh fine, I’ll just tell you.

I AM IN LOVE!

I know, I know. It’s wonderful

Now, I’m not talking about the “pick out some china because we’re getting married in the spring” kind of love, rather the “stare at you from the back of the bus and think about taking a picture of you with my phone because you would NEVER KNOW but not ever actually doing it because that would make me a creepy stalker and I’m not quite ready to make that leap yet” kind of love.

His name is, well, I have no idea because I’ve never actually talked to him, but I call him the Jaw Man. Why do I call him that, you ask? Because the man has a profile like a Greek God. Seriously, this guys Jaw was chiselled by Apollo himself. He sits there, reading his books, jaw like a door hinge, nose like an isosceles triangle and hair like a chia pet... Sigh.

Here, I drew you a picture



Hmm... Let me try again.




Not quite...




There! Now you can understand the depth on my longing.

Oh beautiful jaw man, why are we doomed forever to cross paths in the night, sitting always across the bus from one another. I gaze at you with ardent ardor, yet you never even glance my way.

Why, oh beautiful jaw man? WHY!

Is it the limp, sort of red coloured hair? The stained, vaguely army print sweatshirt with the bits of old food in the pockets? The wide, vacant stare and faint yogurt smell? WHAT!! WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME!

I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t shout at you. But you must understand just how deeply I pine for thee! We were a match made in heaven, I know it! You, with your perfect jaw, and me, with my back pimples... Why won’t you look at me!!!

Fine, I don’t want to have your perfect jawed babies after all. Who cares about you, Mysterious Jaw Man. You’re just, just a boy! On the bus! Hah! ZING!

Wait... What is that? Is it...........




OH MY GOD! We read the same books!!! We have a deep, spiritual connection! I KNEW IT! Come, let us frolick away into the sunset, hands clasped, discussing our favourite dark fantasy novels while I bask in your jawey glory!

He`s getting up! He`s walking toward me! Okay, act cool. Pretend you haven`t been staring at him for over a month. Check the breath, just in case... Aaaaaaaand casually glance to the right..... As he gets off the bus. Awesome. Well, at least I know where he lives now.

Next time Mysterious Jaw Man, Next time!

And Now, For Your Continued Viewing Enjoyment...

The Amazing Chicken Boy!!


The weird one in the corner is me.

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Falling Off Stage: Part 1

So, I have the unfortunate habit of falling off of or onto every stage I have ever performed on. This is not, as you might think, because I lack grace or co-ordination. No, good people. It is because I have been CURSED! It is a nefarious curse, a diabolical, horrifying, EVIL curse! A curse of such epic proportions that, well, it makes me fall. On stage. A lot. Ahem.

Anyway.

The first tragic incident occurred when I was merely nine years old. I was an innocent child then, blissfully unaware of the tragic turn my life was about to take...

It all began with a PVC Pipe set. Now, if you’ve never seen a set made out of PVC Pipe you might not understand the following events, so let me quickly describe it for you. First off,PVC pipe is long thin pipe that can be joined at angles and is typically used for plumbing.



We used our Pipe to build a house with three walls and no roof. We then covered the “walls” with painted bed sheets and voila! House! It was obviously a very big budget, bells and whistles musical. The play we were doing was Pippi Longstocking and one of the gags was that Pippi always climbed onto the roof of her house. Obviously our house had no roof, but we improvised by having me climb a ladder and stick my head up over the top of the pipe house. You can probably tell where this is going, can’t you?

Well, one fateful night (I’ve always wanted to start a story with “one fateful night.” Doesn’t it just sound ominous and amazing? Like something dark and or sticky is about to burst out of the woods behind you, or some really famous baby is being born. Like J Lo) we had been performing the show as usual, when it was time for me to climb the ladder. (the ladder OF DOOM! MUAHAHAHAAAAAAAaaaaaa)



Now, I had climbed this ladder many times before, but this time...... My shoe was untied. So, as I made to descend the ladder:



Well, okay, maybe not that bad, but I did trip and fall off the ladder, taking the PVC house down with me in a tremendous crashing pile.

We closed the curtains, fixed the set, and tried to go on with the play. Unfortunately, the next line was “Pippi, I’ll never get used to you jumping all over your house like that...”

We had to close the curtain three more times before Anakin could say it with a straight face.


NEXT TIME ON “FALLING OFF STAGE”:
Sasha falls into an Orchestra Pit dressed like a princess.

Coversations with Three Year Olds

So, I work as a Nanny (when I am not busy moonlighting as a famous actress and playwright) and I am lucky enough to take care of three year old twins. Why lucky, you ask? Because they are comedy GOLD!

So welcome to the first instalment of “Conversations with Three Year Olds!”
*For privacy purposes the twins will be referred to as Thing 1 and Thing 2 from here on out.

At the bus stop, on the way home from Pre-School

Me: What did you do at school today?

Thing 1: Played!

Me: What did you play?

Thing 1: *unintelligible word that might have been mouseribgloopwagonfy*

Me: ... Oh yeah? And how do you play mouserigerfy...

Thing 1: It’s orange!

Thing 2: No! It’s purple!

Thing 1: GREEN!

Both (In perfect unison, like creepy twins from a horror movie): It’s green!

The World's Fattest Ninja Chicken

I made the World's Fattest Ninja Chicken for my brother one christmas. Keep your eyes open, you never know where this little guy will end up...

First Kiss

I was sixteen years old when I got my first kiss.

Now, this wasn’t REALLY my first kiss, but I’m not counting that time with Reuban back in first grade or that time I had to make out with someone on stage (That’s a whole different story). Those are notreal kisses, and anyone who says they are is WRONG! Ahem.

Anyway, my first kiss.

I’d been with my first *insert dewey eyes and sappy music here* boyfriend for
about three weeks and I could not wait to get that kiss. I was sixteen for heaven’s
sake! My clock was ticking! But he was a pure gentleman and he insisted that my first kiss needed to be wildly romantic.

Bless.

Anyway, one beautiful sunny day (and yes, I know when people think of Hawaii they think of endless beautiful sunny days, but really the chances of getting a day when it is not pouring rain are slim, so this was quite a stroke of luck) my boyfriend took me out to a place I like to call Five Waterfalls. I have no idea what it’s really called. In fact, I seem to remember passing a “No Trespassing” sign on our way up, and there was defiantly some sort of water treatment facility on the property, so it’s very likely that just being there was pretty illegal. Anyway,
we went to Five Waterfalls. I call it that because there were five waterfalls there.


This isn't it, this is Rainbow Falls, but you get the idea. Just pretend there are five waterfalls instead of one.

Now five waterfalls was a beautiful, idyllic sort of place. Picture a huge lake/river, in Hawaii, surrounded by Five Waterfalls. Picture pure blue sky without a hint of cloud, tropical birds flying around singing, and sixteen year old me being wined and dined (metaphorically of course, I was far too much of a goody two shoes to actually drink wine) by her handsome twenty-one year old boyfriend. You’re jealous now, aren’t you? Thought so.

So there we were, eating a picnic lunch at probably one of the most beautiful and secluded places on the entire Big Island of Hawaii, when my boyfriend asked me if I wanted to swim. He took me down to the lake and we stood in the middle, surrounded by five waterfalls and singing birds and sun and sky and perfect, and he kissed me.

It was like a scene out of some Disney movie or cheesy romance novel.

It was every sixteen year old girls dream.

It was DISGUSTING!

I kid you not. It was probably the grossest thing that had ever happened to my face, and I had a horse, two dogs AND a little brother at the time! It was wet and slimy and tasted kind of like pepper and went on and on and on and on and oooooooooooooooonnnnnnn... I remember standing there thinking:

Eeew! Tongue! Pepper! EEEWWW! ... Okay. Still
kissing. Still. Kissing. Still... Kissing... MY GOD WHEN IS HE GOING TO BE DONE KISSING ME!

I couldn’t pull away first, obviously, because then I would ruin my perfect, fairy tale first kiss! So I waited. When he finally surfaced for air I tried to muster up a look that was slightly less damming than “mild disgust.” I needn’t have worried, he didn’t even just open his eyes, just sighed dreamily and smiled.

“That was amazing.” He mumbled, clearly still in a bliss coma from that apparently earth shattering kiss. I obviously didn’t know my own power.

“....Yeah, heh...Amazing” *Searches for nearest safe topic/escape route*

And that was my very first ever real not on stage or with an eight year old kiss. I thought it would get better, that maybe I would get used to it, because other people liked kissing, right?

Alas, no.

I stayed with this sweet, caring boy for nearly two years, but I never liked kissing him. I think that should probably have been a sign of the approaching Relationship Apocalypse, but no. I didn’t get that message until the One Ring he gave me got stuck on my finger and had to be cut off by a jewellery saw.


Again, not the real thing. This one probably would have fit me.

But that, as they say, is a different story.