Tag Archive | Bad Dates

I Shaved My Legs for THIS?

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Have you ever been on a date where there was too much back-story and the prologue so long that you didn’t think you’d last through the appetizer, let alone dinner, and you’re thinking,“I shaved my freakin’ legs for this?” 

Please welcome authors, Nancy LauzonRenee Wildes and Donna Alward as they join me in sharing a bad date experience. 

 

Selena’s experience:

Mine wasn’t really a planned date. It was foisted upon me by my brother (to this day, I still say in a dramatic way—”You sold me out for a ride in a fancy sports car?” (Yes, I milk my childhood mishaps).

I was fifteen at the time and I was at a big Italian wedding with my family. One of the guests was someone I knew from the neighborhood. Every community had one. You know the type, rich, popular, great hair…the Fonzie of the neighborhood. Except he never impressed me.

A. He was too full of himself and I was never one to follow a trend or the crowd…especially the group of girls who visibly drooled whenever he entered a room.

B. His family scared me. Especially his grandmother. More on that later.

1I’m pretty sure the only reason he wanted to ask me to dance was because I ignored him and didn’t salivate or swoon over him at this wedding.

Unknown to me, my brother made a backroom deal with this dude. My brother guaranteed Dude that I would dance with him if my brother got to drive his brand new sports car around the block. (16 year old’s with brand new sports car that daddy bought them, another reason not to like this guy). My brother to this day defends himself: “At least I didn’t sell you for a herd of goats.” (Like that even makes any sense or justifies his wanton greed to drive a sports car).

My brother then promised me he’d help convince my parents for me to go on a school trip, if I’d just dance with the Greek-Fonzie-Adonis for just one dance.

I thought, what the heck, one dance won’t kill me. No, it won’t kill me, but I just about killed HIM.

You see, Greek-Fonzie-Adonis was severely allergic to shellfish. I had just finished eating a shrimp cocktail.

We danced.

He went in for a kiss.

I told him he’d lose an arm, leg or whatever necessary part he loved, if he tried to kiss me.

He didn’t believe me. He planted a big one on me.

First his tongue swelled.

Then he gasped and fell to the floor.

His mother came running over with an Epi pen.

His grandmother pointed at me, gave me the “Evil Eye,” said a string of things, while shaking her bony fingers at me in Greek and then in broken English told me she put a spell on me for trying to kill her oh-so-sweet grandson.

And the band played on. . .

I shaved my legs for this? by Nancy Lauzon

My worst date happened back in college. I had a crush on some guy who was a friend of my roommate’s boyfriend. He was very quiet, so I couldn’t tell if we had anything in common or not, but he was so good-looking I didn’t care. We went on a double date to a local amusement park. Things were going pretty well, until half-way through the evening, my date disappeared.

1That’s right, he disappeared. I can’t remember the exact details. Maybe I went to the restroom or maybe he left to get cotton candy. All I know is, he vanished into thin air. My roommate and her boyfriend looked everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Needless to say, it was quite a blow to my ego. To say I was embarrassed would be putting it mildly.

I was almost hoping he’d been struck dead by a runaway roller coaster car, but alas, that was not the case. He never explained himself or apologized to me. His official excuse — sent via my roommate’s boyfriend — was he’d suddenly forgotten he had to be somewhere, and couldn’t find me to explain. R-iiight.

I shaved my legs for this? by Renee Wildes

1I grew up a tomboy and I’m still not a girlie-girl, but even I have my limits. I agreed to go camping with…Grizzly Adams, I swear to God. I was thinking tent and Dinty Moore and s’mores. But noooo…

It rained, the tent blew down and we had to do laundry in a RIVER. With leeches. Seriously, THAT’S what the salt was for??? Eww. Stupid me thinking it was for Margaritas! He wanted to show me this cool cave. Really cool – until a bat pooed on my head. Tried drying the darn clothes on a tree branch – I fell out of the tree. Everything smelled like mud and smoke and…trout guts. I can’t eat anything with the eyes still looking at me, people. I was starving when I got home! I took a two-hour bubble bath and pigged out on fried chicken and Haagen Dasz.

I shaved my legs for this? by Donna Alward

When I was fourteen I experienced the sweetest, most romantic moment a fourteen-year-old girl could hope for. I was sledding with friends over the Christmas break and the whole week I’d had a thing for my friend’s cousin. He was 16. We were at the top of the hill, lying in the snow looking up at the stars, and a shooting star went zooming across the sky. And then he kissed me.

You’re all sighing right now, right? And you’re thinking, Hey, Donna, this is supposed to be a BAD DATE story. What the heck?

Fast forward about 4 years.

I’m going to university an hour or so from where this guy lives, and he calls me up, asks if I want to go out. Now bear in mind after a few months of cute letters back and forth, our brief romance kind of died off. But…good memories, right? So I say sure. It’s just a movie after all. And I’m curious.

1He picks me up in his old pickup, which isn’t that big of a deal. None of us are driving anything new, we’re struggling students. Except he’s not alone. He’s brought a friend along. ON A DATE. And while I did my hair and dressed cute and all that stuff, he had on an old paid of jeans and a T-shirt and a ball cap. And not the cute kind of ball cap either, more the “I got this for free from the local garage” kind of ball cap, complete with nylon mesh. I’m already thinking this isn’t the most promising start.

The movie we go to see? The most romantic movie of all time, of course! TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES. The three of us. Then we went to a Chinese place for something to eat…let’s just say sitting there with two 20-year old guys being, well, GUYS…. (need I say more?)

To be honest, I was really disappointed. I have some very good memories of times spent in their neck of the woods and it was like he was a whole other person. Then again, maybe I was too. But I never understood why he asked me on a date and then…that was his idea of a date?

I don’t remember if he kissed me goodnight or not, or if he even tried. But I do remember being relieved when he was gone, and sad to have that teenage bubble of sweet memories popped by a pin of reality.

What is your bad date story?

 

 

Book Launch Party – A FEW DEAD MEN by Nancy Lauzon

A Few Dead Men – A Chick Dick Mystery

Book Launch Party

March 1 – 8

 

Drop by Nancy Lauzon’s blog anytime during the first week of March to join in the fun!

Play games, nosh on virtual goodies (a.k.a. recipes) and win prizes!

Leave a comment on Nancy’s blog and receive a FREE copy of A Few Dead Men.

If you like what you read, post a review on Goodreads, Amazon or the website of your choice and win another FREE copy of any Chick Dick Mystery!

BLURB

Life has dealt part-time mystery novelist Darcy MacDonald a lousy hand. The men she knows are either missing, dead, drunk or demented.

Lying next to the corpse of her boyfriend, the head of Bloodhound Investigations, definitely qualifies as lousy since he’s the man who also issues her paychecks.

The doctor says her boss had a massive heart attack during an orgasm, and it wasn’t Darcy’s fault. But she can’t help feeling guilty, since his orgasms were her responsibility. Or so she believed, until his grieving widow shows up, along with a mysterious, punk rocker chick who weeps inconsolably at the funeral and claims he was murdered.

 

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Darcy MacDonald stared at the ceiling and thought about murder. There were lots of ways to kill someone. Poison, a bullet, the well-placed blow of any heavy object.

Her right hip ached, and she had a crick in her neck. She couldn’t shift onto her back or she’d fall off the couch, since Fergus took up most of it. It might be comfortable enough to have sex on, but there wasn’t enough room for two people to lie side by side. She ruffled Fergus’s silky, dark brown hair.

“Hey, wake up.”

When he didn’t make a move, she eased off the sofa, smoothing down her skirt as she glanced around for her panties.

“You can sleep later, Fergus. Right now you have an appointment. Something about a missing person.” Darcy tucked her breasts back in her bra and hooked the front clasp together. “You don’t want a client to catch you with your pants down. Bad for business.”

She scooped her white, cotton blouse off the floor. It was a wrinkled mess. Next time she’d buy polyester, something more suitable for a quickie at the office.

Fergus lay on his stomach, facing away from her; arms bent at the elbows and tucked in at his sides. A dragonfly tattoo adorned the lower half of his back. She could see the tail peeking out from underneath his unbuttoned shirt. There was something missing, but her mind couldn’t quite register what.

Then it hit her. The dragonfly wasn’t moving the way it usually did whenever Fergus slept.

In fact, it wasn’t moving at all. It was perfectly still, with no rise and fall.

Somewhere outside the high-pitched cry of a seagull split the air, twice. A cool gust of air rattled the dusty Venetian blinds and carried the smell of rain through the open window.

Darcy shivered. “Fergus?”

Tugging gently on his left shoulder, she leaned over to look at him. A string of drool hung from his sagging mouth, and his eyes were open, staring at nothing.

She jumped back.

Two sharp knocks hit the door, and a muffled voice, thick with boredom and a Russian accent, said, “Mr. Fergus? Yourthree o’clockis here.”

She bounded across the room and wrenched the door open.

Vaughn, the receptionist, eyed her up and down with open disapproval. “You want our clients to see you half dressed? You can’t put some clothes on?”

Hauling Vaughn into the room by the arm, Darcy shut the door. Her mouth worked, but her throat was too dry for words to come.

Vaughn’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

She pointed to Fergus. “He’s … there’s something wrong. He’s—”

“Half naked. Is not good, in a place of business—”

“He’s not breathing.” Panic bubbled up, and Darcy lurched for the phone on Fergus’s desk, knocking the handset out of its cradle in one frantic swipe.

“Not breathing? Why not?”

Vaughn’s ridiculous question seemed to come from the other end of a long, dark tunnel, and Darcy couldn’t answer. It took all her concentration to dial 9-1-1.

Everything shifted into slow motion, including the phone ringing in Darcy’s ear. One ring. A long pause. A longer ring, an even longer pause. Oh, shit, hurry up.

Vaughn moved to the couch to examine Fergus more closely. Finally Darcy heard a female voice at the other end of the line.

“Nine one one emergency—”

“My boss, he’s not breathing. I need an ambulance, now. Bloodhound Investigations.” She repeated the address twice.

“I’ll dispatch an ambulance right away, ma’am. Stay on the line, please.”

“He is dead,” Vaughn pronounced sadly. “Poor Mr. Fergus.”

Nancy Lauzon’s Blog Tour Stop #1: What is a Dead Man?

My latest mystery novel was inspired by my youngest daughter’s disastrous dating history. The ‘dead men’ in the novel are composites of every boyfriend and/or bad date my daughter ever had. Believe me, I had lots of material to choose from. In fact, I didn’t have room for all the ‘dead men’, since I didn’t want to go over my word count.

This book raises several questions: Who exactly are dead men, metaphorically speaking? How did they become dead? Are there more dead men than live men? And where do you find live men?

But the book is also about a young woman compelled to solve the mysteries around her, like her favourite amateur sleuth, Nancy Drew. She doesn’t go about it in exactly the same way.

Sure, a dead man is a male corpse, but let’s think outside the box for a moment. A dead man could also be a dead beat, or a wooden, callous, dull, boring dud. A dead man could be cold, frigid, sterile, unemployed, unresponsive or useless.

The dead men in my novel A Few Dead Men might be dead, or they might be any of the above things. I can’t tell you which, you’ll have to read the book to find out for yourself. All I can tell you is, all of the men in this book are either really dead and/or metaphorically dead.

VISIT THE NEXT STOPS ON THE BLOG TOUR TO FIND OUT MORE:

Saturday March 3rd

Nancy is interviewed by Annie Acorn, the prolific and internationally known author, whose readership recognizes her mainly for her cozy mysteries and richly woven stories with a warm southern flair.

Tuesday March 6th 

Nancy is a guest blogger at Limebird Writers, a wonderful team from the UKand USAwhose motto is ‘Let Your Creativity Fly’. She’ll be blogging my theories regarding the next question: How did the Dead Men become dead?

A Few Dead Men is now available on SMASHWORDS

Coming soon to:  Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Chapters/Indigo/Kobo

About Nancy Lauzon

Nancy Lauzon worked nine years on a hospital ward as a cardiac nurse before the night shifts turned her into a zombie. She got a day job in health promotion and began to write health-related articles for magazines and newsletters.

Life threw out a few curve balls, and to relieve the stress, she began to write fiction part-time. Five years later she sold two different manuscripts to two separate small-press publishers, using a pseudonym. She retired from nursing in 2003 and began to write full-time.

She is now the author of four Chick Dick Mystery novels, inspired by her early love of Nancy Drew Mysteries.

Visit Nancy’s Website

Join the Chick Dick Mystery Group on Facebook 

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