1992-erik-and-lyle-menendez

this is the worst summer camp we’ve ever been to

When Tammi Saccoman watched the Menendez murder trial in 1990, she noticed that gentle soul/murderer Erik seemed sad.  Sure, there were all those “you killed your parents” accusations to contend with, but there was something in his eyes that revealed more than the fear that in prison he wouldn’t be able mourn with a nation still reeling from the Milli Vanilli lip sync scandal. There was something forlorn, something missing, and Tammi ventured to find out what it was.  She wrote him a letter, began a relationship, and eventually landed the prize of marrying a man sentenced to life without parole, which coincidentally makes him a man without a chance to complain about dinner, leave his wet towels on the floor or have an affair with his daughter’s Preschool teacher.

Psychologists speculate that women attracted to imprisoned men want total control over a partner who is helpless in the conventional sense, they can take care of someone totally reliant on them. Also, they get to have all the closet space and sock drawers.  But really it’s that Super Magic X-ray Vision Power that sees into the hearts of men and uncovers the treasure within, despite the world’s opinion and the behaviors that formed that opinion in the first place. He may have split his father’s head open vertically with a shotgun blast but he had a plan and he followed through…that’s commitment! Plus, he teamed up with his brother.  Isn’t it refreshing to meet a man who knows the importance of family in these troubled times? But does he get credit? No sir. All anyone says is liar this, and trust fund that.  They don’t know him like Tammi does.

Stop saying Leif. It's pronounced Leif!

stop saying Leif. it’s pronounced Leif!

I was looking at Leif Garret’s mugshots online.  Heroin is not a forgiving mistress, and Leif wore her abuse all over his face. I looked into his glassy eyes and broken nose, and all I could think was “I could fix him.” Maybe I couldn’t cure all his problems but I could whittle him down to a weed and Chardonnay habit that would add years to his life. I would gently swab the blood out of his ears and he would feel my love for him burning so strong it would propel him into the sky like a hot air balloon. I would be the woman to save his life. I would be the hero, the Mother Teresa of Hollywood, the endlessly forgiving nature of Khloe Kardashian coupled with the short haired tenacity of Sharon Osborn.  And then, sitting at the Grammys while he sang a song dedicated to me, I would blink back emotional tears and sparkle in a dress that made me look like I had the boobs of a 20 year-old.  Everyone would know that I was the only one with the power to save him, like when Superman reversed the Earth’s rotation to rescue Lois Lane, and all those who doubted me would have to suck it.

delusion, the underrated super power

It could happen.

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