The plan is falling into place quite nicely, the timetable slightly accelerated do to a few unexpected but very pleasant surprises. I must be careful not to let my emotions dictate the pace of the procedure. Everything must be accomplished in a cold, calculating detached sort of way. According to the Rules of Revengement, for a plan to be effective it must be executed in one of two ways . . . A well thought-out strategy which takes months or years to develop OR a blind-sided quick-hit type of attack — both approaches guaranteed to leave the object of your revenge stunned, wondering what happened.

As much as I am excited about the prospect of extracting (oops, Dana-ism) some type revenge , I feel an air of lingering sadness around me knowing I will have destroyed the imagined bond I have created – knowing my days of publishing are numbered. It was never my intention to become so literally immersed in creating a story – no– I was more than content to just read them. But the addiction intensified to the point where I needed to share– needed to write– needed to find out if others experienced the mysterious magnet known as L. My admiration for the writers began to peel away my desire to be like them- to be one of them– exposing a new NEED, a DIFFERENT addiction I had been suppressing — the addiction to the story, to telling a tale. I pictured them as close friends, gathering daily at a small internet caf or each others homes to discuss the stories they were writing and reading — an exclusive sorority of FAN FICTIONERS. I could hear them laughing and joking and brainstorming – coming up with ideas for their next chapters. I wanted so much to be invited and accepted into the club, to learn the secret handshake, to say the magic password, to write a really good story – because that is what its all about – the story and the ability to tell a good one.

Deep down inside my heart and soul I knew it would never happen because I cannot and will not write about the shows characters. I cannot give the FAN FIC-ERS want they want — *****, *****, ***** and more ***** scenes. Its not their fault I am so pathetic – – WAIT A MINUTE -YES IT IS — THEY ARE TO BLAME FOR MY SORRY STATE — and they must pay even if it pains me to do so. To make my mission a little more bearable I need to picture what THEY look like so I can picture what THEY WILL look like when Ive got them. So Im heading to the mall today to people-watch.

I called in sick to work today because K wanted to stay in bed and have ***** all morning. Its easier for her to do those kinds of things being her own boss and all. Shes been insatiable lately, the prospect of us FINALLY living together seems to be keeping her in a constant state of arousal. Now she wants to go house-hunting. Jeez. Luckily I work for the government which has a pretty good leave program. If you have the time accumulated, you can take the time off. I have saved up lots of sick days because I am old and dont want some long-term illness to keep me from getting a paycheck if I am unable to work. Having so many hours to spare, I can call in every once in a while with no worries — my boss knows I old, too, so he figures its just an age thing when I need a day. After K leaves I eat a breakfast built for two to regain some of my strength. I check my pulse several times — I am so fuc*ing out of shape.

I dont want to be recognized while Im at the mall since Im supposed to be at work, so I will wear a disguise when I head out. I pick out a lime green floral patterned cotton maxi skirt, a peach colored checkered sleeveless top, navy blue ankle socks, a pair of white New Balance walking shoes, a babushka (my grandma used that word a lot –I miss her), and my Jackie-O sunglasses. Ill take my book about the ex undercover woman police officer as a decoy pretending to read while in the food court. But I will actually be taking notes on a legal pad trying to put faces to the names which belong to the writers of the stories to which I am so utterly and inexplicably addicted.

Satisfied that I have chosen an outfit which will have me blending in perfectly with the senior mall scene, I stuff the book and the legal pad into an oversized pink shoulder bag. I am SO ready, ready to complete the plan to hook the hookers.

I arrive at the mall and find a place in the food court where I can watch the shoppers as I eat some nuggets and drink a Coke from Chik-Fil-A. For a brief moment my life with K flashes before me in the classic film technique of 24 frames per second. Quickly our time together is visualized in my brain in short spurts of relationship-defining moments – -I remember the vacation we took walking parts of the Appalachian Trail and deciding that coming back to work with and learn from the hill people was something we both felt a need to do; I remember us dressing up like a straight couple to go to an elegant 5-star restaurant just so we could make out in public (K is a very handsome man!), I remember taking square dance lessons before that activity became such a big routine in our lives – we love that *****; I remember ALL the times we made love (not just had *****) with such intensity and sense of urgency that we when finished we were both stunned and awed by the overwhelming emotion of the experience; I remember why I love K and it has become more than just a necessity to get this FAN FIC addiction out of my head.

I pull out the legal pad and begin to make a list of reasons why I have to do this. I hope I have enough paper.1) I am lying to my lover 2) I am jeopardizing my future because I am lying to my lover 3) I am lying to my boss about being sick so I can be with the lover I am lying to about what I am doing when I am doing IT with THEM 4) not only am I READING stories I am starting to WRITE them as well, documenting my addiction 5) I am stealing – stealing time away from my lover, stealing lines from the Show to use in my documentary, stealing lines from other authors so I can deceive them into thinking I am someone else.. . .

I stop with the list for a moment because I am beginning to disgust my self with all the lying, stealing and cheating admissions. Instead I focus my attention on the passers-by trying to find a face to match a name. K and I play this game a lot when we go out together. Well pick out a person and make up a story about who they are, what they do, why they are here. Its much more fun to do with someone else because you can get on a roll and tell a literally never-ending story about a complete and unsuspecting stranger. I am sure they would not appreciate us believing they are some ex-***** star turned bible thumping evangelist hiding from the law because they are on the lam for public urination during a Billy Graham revival. I know what SHE looks like in my head – I just hope I can find her walking through the mall.

Before I can pick out my first face I spy a couple wearing t-shirts from their latest vacation destination – Cape May, New Jersey. I suddenly find myself thinking about my first real addiction – the beach. From the time I was a toddler until my teenage years my family traveled to the Jersey shore for our annual two-week, house renting 50 person family reunion. Being from the Midwest and landlocked, seeing the ocean for the first time was a life-altering experience for me even at that young age. Waiting impatiently year after year for the last week in July, the first week in August to arrive was pure agony . I had decided by the time I was 10 that I would live at the beach one day. I was so addicted to the sight of water meeting sand stretching farther than the eye could see, that I made my way back each summer even after my parents divorced and our family stopped going to the reunions. I worked at the shore during my summers between college breaks and felt the pride of being a local – helping all the tourists enjoying MY beach. I traveled to the party places in Florida during college spring breaks and planned my vacation each year after I got my first job to a different eastern ocean town from the Carolinas on down. This addiction was one I could never shake, nor do I want to. What draws me to the water is a mystery – why the feel of the sand between my toes and the smell of the salty air and the sound of the gulls is so hypnotic. I pity people who do not believe in some type, any type of deity because the sight of the ocean, the sand, the sky, was not created by some black hole or big bang. I am sure that mountains and other wonders of nature have similar effect on other people

I have often likened my addiction to L and the site to that of my beach thing. From the first time I saw the previews and teasers and trailers for the series I was hooked. I couldnt wait for it to start then experienced such weekly agony waiting for Sunday night.
Finding the FAN FIC site has made me feel like in some small way I am part of the show – that I am a local. Writing this story has made me feel like I am helping the other visitors to my world who also feel addicted. I want to share my joy, my experiences with them. . I know this story is not like the ones YOU ALL write; I have said it before but I can not bring myself to tell a tale about the characters themselves. Bette, Tina, Shane, Alice, Dana, are all off limits to me – – not that I havent thought about it- I couldnt do them justice. Not like YOU GUYS, not like HER. SHE takes such good care of the characters; SHE treats the readers with respect by giving us believable storylines. SHE makes me want to come back again and again. Like the sand in my toes and sun on my cheeks, HER words draw me to the site, HER story is reassuring , SHE is a mystery, I am hypnotized by HER talents. And SHE is rubbing off on ALL you guys. You are all starting to draw me in, to make me want more. I love reading these stories and I HATE YOU ALL for making me this way.

I snap back into reality as some one-foot-in-the-grave old man shuffles by me pushing an aluminum walker with tennis balls on the bottom of the legs instead of wheels. He passes gas as he passes me and that smell is not one of salty air and Coppertone. I remember why I am here, my mission, my goal, my singular thought of revenge on ALL the writers, not just HER. Yea, I remember now. I need to find some faces to go with names of the writers who are ruining my life. I toss the book and legal pad into the shoulder bag and decide to walk about conducting my search. I pass a novelty shop and notice a section devoted to the Three Stooges. Im thinking K would love to have a coffee mug with Curlys mug on it – I know I would love for her to have it !!


I enter the store, purchase the mug all the while yuck, yuck yuck -ing to myself — yep

Someone is going to pay – its the only way . . .


TBC