And I thought I was small...

I have climbed into the boat that ferries the unsuspecting down the river toward middle aged. One might think that, at this stage, I've arrived at a certain level of 'been there, done that.' Apparently, there are still new experiences to be had in this life and I'm soaking up the joy of one right now...

I have poison ivy.

This may not seem unusual to those who spend long summers scratching at rashy skin that is coated a divine shade of calamine pink. But I, Zaedah, have never, ever had the pleasure. It's something to brag about and, if you're me (apologies in advance) there is, on average, so precious little to boast about. I've grabbed the three-leafed nuisance with bare hands and flung the vines carelessly over our fence for eons. Folks, I've even strangled poison sumac with no consequences.

I've been pink all week.

But alas, I did a little internet research - and we all know how reliable that is - and found numerous mentions of tea tree oil as a cure-all for this annoyance. So I jaunt over to the local health store and alas, I could not locate the stuff despite a whopping ten minutes of aisle wandering. I mean, seriously, the store only has four aisles. The reason I missed it became clear later, when I finally held the supposed fixer in hand...
People, it's tiny! Imagine 'Honey I Shrunk the Nail Polish' and you'll have some idea. Or better yet, give yourself a thumbs up, paying particular attention to the size of your thumb nail and you have the gist. But don't worry, it gets better. The cost of this micro-wonder?Yip, what equates to a half a tank of gas is spent on this thing. Thus the rate at which I'm using the oil is the rough equivalent of waving the fumes over my skin. They mentioned neither the size nor the price on those sites that praised the stuff. I will report the success or failure of my experiments, but be assured that in the meantime, I will be avoiding three-leafed things for the rest of time.

Confessions of an Addict...

Hello, my name is Zaedah (sorta) and I write fan fiction. I have been an addict for years and I am confessing for the good of my soul. And also to gripe.

For those out of the loop on this worldwide phenomenon, fan fiction is the blatant stealing of someone else's characters for the purpose of bending them to your will. Let's face it, how many times has your favorite show either jumped the shark or created unbearably slow or unfulfilling storylines. Fan fiction is our way of setting right these wrongs. I write original works too, but fanfic is a great venue for stretching one's craft with unusual premises, unique genres and receiving simultaneous feedback.

Of course, it's also (in my selfish opinion) the highest form of flattery to the TV gods. We like the characters so much that we pilfer them and make them live in new and exciting ways. For no money and less prestige. I enjoy this so much that for the last few years, I've also served as a beta for other writers. A beta is what we spiffy internet folks call editors who, like fanfic writers, make zero bucks for the effort.

My gripe?

I take the art seriously, spending time that I should use to work on my tan to instead plop in front of my computer (which I don't do enough in my ten-hour work day). Lately, I've helped a few new writers who are, to be excruciatingly polite, novices and, to be utterly rude, deficient. I used to blame texting, which teaches us to squeeze whole ideas into as few letters as possible. Now, I'm shifting the guilt to the Word Verification box. You know the one. Many bloggers require readers to suffer these boxes when leaving a comment. Many websites use them to verify payments. And the words used are in no way actual words, unless you're a new fanfic writer, in which case you're sending me whole paragraphs filled with the following (taken from actual word verification boxes)...

ancedn, suptill, tratoxi, sesse, volodebu, matouff, mighhobi, crocizat, busaggr, diosogy, oushili, kyrreo, lasich. Do you want more? I've got more!

How are the impressionable youths of our society supposed to develop brains sophisticated enough to produce works of literary art when they spend their days typing the above nonsense? It makes one's eyes cross just looking at them. I tried to ponder possible definitions for this sampling of words but my brain melted and I had pour it back in.

Still gelatinous I'm afraid, but it won't stop me from writing my fanfic!

Jealous?

There comes a time when we must put away the 70's lounge-act costume, but that time is NOT now. Not when she, I mean he, can fill it with such... sass.

Note devilishly coordinated converse-to-bag combo, hearkening to bag lady, or... bag dude, fashions.

Don't hate, ladies. It's okay to be in awe of the striking manner with which he carries the ensemble.